“Does he look okay?” said a laconic viola player. “I’d leave it, love.”
She took his advice and marched to the back of the hall, swinging her violin case in ire. Bloody Milan. Sulking like a baby. Talk about taking the artistic temperament too far.
“Ignore him,” confided Vanessa, grabbing her coat and scarf. “He’s having an epic ego-strop. He’ll come round.”
“There’s no excuse to be so fucking rude.” Lydia was seething. “Just because they’ve hired another conductor—and a good one, too. What a twat. I’ve gone right off him.” I wish.
“It’s not just that,” said Vanessa. “It’s because they’re doing Má Vlast.”
“Oh. Oh, yeah. He’s from Prague, isn’t he?”
They swung through the double doors together, heading out to the grim, grey street.
“Exactly. So he takes it very personally if anyone non-Czech tries to conduct Czech music. I guess that’s what’s bugging him the most.”
“I suppose. Má vlast means ‘my country’, doesn’t it? I can see how that might rile him.”
“Hmm. ‘Homeland’. I think he does miss his homeland.”
“All the same…”
“Yes. All the same. You aren’t going to carry on with him, are you, Lydia? He’ll use you. He’ll break your heart. He’ll make you do things you’ll hate yourself for.”
“Is that what he did to you?”
“Yes. That’s what he did to me.”
They parted at the Underground station, taking different lines home. Lydia sat with her head against the dusty, padded rest and swallowed back tears all the way.
She avoided Milan the next day, deliberately going over to talk to Vanessa instead of joining the strings for a pre-rehearsal tune-up.
“He’s looking at you,” said Vanessa, only seconds into the conversation.
“He can look as much as he wants. Sod him.”
“He’s really looking at you. In that smouldery, bedroom-eyed Milan way.”
“Let him smoulder.” But Lydia had to force herself not to look.
“He’s coming over.”
“Shit. I don’t want to talk to him, Vanessa, tell him—”
“Lydia.”
His voice, right behind her, shattered every good resolution. She turned around, trying to act surprised.
“Oh. Milan.” Then, after a slightly sulky pause, “Did you want something?”
“A word. Please.” He gestured her away from Vanessa. She didn’t dare look back at her friend, knowing disapproval would be written all over her face, but when it came to Milan there seemed to be magic in the air. The kind that put you under a spell.
She shuffled off after him, to a dark corner of the hall.
“I’m sorry,” he said, bending earnestly towards her. “I didn’t mean to drive you away yesterday. I was—”
“Rude? Horrible?”
“Yes.” He nodded vigorously. “I know. I was angry. But not with you. Never with you.”