'Because they're not capable o—' He stopped on hearing his own words.
'Quite. I don't see any harm in allowing Tim another year of just being an ordinary boy.'
He was on his feet again. 'You haven't been listening to a word I've been saying, have you?'
Clare rose, too, glad that he was not taller than she. 'Yes, I have, and I see the validity of your arguments. It's you who won't see the validity of mine. You don't know Timothy, you don't know me. I thank you for your advice and I'll consider it—'
'But you'll do nothing about it. Don't offer me such an insult to my intelligence. Why don't you just say what you mean? You have no intention of taking my advice.'
'Don't put words into my mouth.'
'Why not? They seem to be more truthful than the mealy-mouthed prevarications you put there. Perhaps you are jealous of your son, and this is why you deny him the chance of fulfilment. Because your expectations for an artistic career-remain unfulfilled, so must his.'
'How dare you? Who do you think you are?'
'David Deverenko. I am somebody, Clare Malcolm, I have made this of myself. I am allowed to be as I am. I was not held back by an anxious mama, I was not made to pay for her…inadequacies. She was a musician—not of great talent—but she valued mine because it was of me, in me, indivisible from what I am. Ach!' He threw up the strong, slender, square-tipped hands. 'I have the tenses wrong, but the sentiment, the sentiment you cannot mistake. You have no heart, Clare Malcolm, if you can deny the boy his rightful inheritance. What would your husband have wanted for him? The best? Or the mediocrity of 'wait and see'? How dare you? And who are you to decide?'
'I'm somebody, too,' she threw at him fiercely, her nose shiny from the perspiration of her small temper, her hands clammy with the enormity of what she was doing—offending a man who had every right to believe that his advice would be treated with the utmost respect. But she couldn't let him overwhelm her with his force of will and personality; she owed it to Tim to fight for what she believed was right, even though it might cost her an agony of embarrassment in the process. 'I may not be famous, or a wild success at a brilliant career, but I am something that you can never aspire to be, Mr Deverenko—a mother. I have bonds with Tim that you can't possibly understand. I bore him in my body and I know him as intimately as it's possible to know another human being. He knows that I shall love him whatever he is—or isn't—and right now what he needs most is the undemanding reassurance of that love. People like you, Mr Deverenko, so eager to get their hands on him, would crush him with unreasonable expectations. Tim is gifted in other ways, too, but you would ignore that in favour of your bias, music. You didn't come here to ask, you came here to tell. Well, now you've told me, I'd like you to go.'
'Clare—' The fiery Russian temper was reined back sharply as her criticisms stung.
Clare walked to the door and held it open, just as Virginia came through with her best china laid on a tray.
'Oh, were you coming to get me? Are you ready for your tea?'
'Mr Deverenko is just leaving.'
'But…surely you can't have finished?' Virginia looked from one to the other, her heart sinking at Clare's paleness and the violinist's glower.
'Mr Deverenko's time is too valuable to allow him to fritter it away on anxious mamas,' said Clare coldly.
'I don't—'
'Besides, he would never dream of outstaying his welcome.' She opened the outer door and stood, ignoring Virginia's fluttering, her wintry expression a silent challenge to his pride. David Deverenko grovel for an audience? Never!
David stormed across the footpath to his car, a sleek grey Jaguar parked at the kerb. He slammed his hands against the roof and swore. He stood there a moment, stiff with outrage, then he swore again, more softly, and began to laugh. So much for his aggressive charm! She had routed him far more completely than his fiercest teacher! They had both lost their tempers, but it was she who had triumphed with her damned Cupid's mouth and dimples! How Efrem would laugh. Laugh? He would want to hire her. Anyone who could finesse David Deverenko out of the door when he didn't want to go was worth having on the payroll! His fingers tapped impatiently on the sunwarmed car roof. Dammit, since when did he give up so easily?
Clare was still leaning against the closed door, her legs weak with reaction. She had done it. She had actually outfaced the man… stood up for herself! Pride was mixed with the faintly nauseous feeling that always rushed over her after a row.
'You're a fool, Clare,' Virginia told her angrily, the teacups on the tray rattling their disapproval. 'How could you insult him like that? Jeopardise Tim's whole future! The day might come when you need that man's help—'
'He's not the only violinist in the world.'
'But he's the only one with such strong links with New Zealand. He's committed to helping young New Zealand musicians. Music is a very enclosed little world, you know. A recommendation from him or his school would be more than, a foot in the door; it would be the best seat in the house!'
'Well, if he's so committed, he won't turn his back on promise just because of a personal difference of opinion.'
'Difference of opinion? Clare, you were downright hostile!'
'You didn't hear what he said to me,' began Clare defensively, niggled by guilt… another unwelcome regular which attended her rows. She hated hurting or upsetting people, even when it was necessary. Her own sensitivity was a definite handicap.
Her confidence was
interrupted by a series of sharp raps that vibrated her head against the wooden door. The two women stared at each other for a frozen moment, and then Virginia jerked her head commandingly.
Clare swallowed. She knew very well who was on the other end of those demanding blows, and she didn't know if she had the strength to go through it all again. Reluctantly she opened the door, tempted to use the security chain but for Virginians hovering presence. Sure enough, David Deverenko stood on the doorstep.
'I forgot to give you these,' he said, holding out an envelope. Clare stared at it mistrustfully, and his dark, musical voice acquired a silky provocation. 'The tickets for my concert. Three of them. I promised Timothy… and I never go back on my word.'