Will, surprisingly, did know classical music. Now he talked in that calm, sexy voice about the night’s program, about the history of Beethoven’s King Stephen Overture and the Second Piano Concerto. But he wore his knowledge easily. His face was relaxed and happy.
“Beethoven tu
rned the piano into the monarch of romantic instruments,” he said.
“You play, don’t you?”
He gave a dismissive shrug. “I wouldn’t call it that, now. It’s hard to sit properly at the keyboard after my surgery and impossible to use the pedals… And I’m lazy and now I’m a little afraid of the thing. But I would much rather have been a pianist than a cop.”
“Really?” This surprised her.
He smiled. “Who knows?”
“You wouldn’t have to carry that.” She indicated the small walkie-talkie radio sitting on the table next to his drink. “Maybe you’ll play for me sometime. I’ll sit next to you and stabilize you.”
“Maybe I will.”
“I thought the tribute to the cellist was very moving,” Cheryl Beth said. “So much has happened this week that I had forgotten about that.” She shivered slightly, and not only from the cool air on her legs. So much violence had been visited in a few days.
Tonight’s program had been modified to include a piece dedicated to the murdered musician, with the cello solo played by a tall, willowy blonde. Although the program’s listing of her accomplishments made it clear she was at least fifty, she looked much younger, with Nordic features and flawless fair skin.
“That was Stephanie Foust,” Will said. “She was Jeremy Snowden’s teacher and mentor.”
“She said he could have gone to Julliard, but chose to stay in Cincinnati and study at CCM. If he hadn’t stayed, he might not be dead. It’s so sad. She seemed really on the edge of losing it. But she did a beautiful job.”
Will nodded. “Rachmaninoff’s Vocalise arranged for cello and orchestra. It’s such a hauntingly beautiful melody. She chose well.”
“It almost made me cry,” Cheryl Beth said.
“I think it did the same to her. Remember the final statement of the theme, which actually occurs in the orchestra. Stephanie was playing a counter-melody. It closes the work in the upper stratosphere.”
“I remember. It was magical.”
“But if you listened closely, she was so spent, so devastated, that she missed her entrance to the final repetition of the melody.”
Cheryl Beth hadn’t noticed.
He said, “She recovered in time… Most people wouldn’t even hear it. Sorry, I sound pompous.”
“You don’t!” Cheryl Beth said. She was rapt listening to him. “I love to learn about this from you.”
“I’ve heard the piece many times. It’s one of my favorites.”
“Well, thank goodness the police got the guy.”
Will’s face was thoughtful. “They think they did.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” Will gave a smile short of sly. “Only a feeling I have.”
She reached over and took his hand. The abrasions from his fall were healing, but she wasn’t examining him, only wanting the closeness.
“There’s so much to you, Will Borders.”
He gave a self-deprecating shrug.
“The symphony president thought so. She specifically came up to you at intermission to thank you for your help. All those important people were watching her and wondering who we were. A cop and a nurse.”