Once inside the majestic concert hall on the banks of the river, she tried to focus hard on the music and nothing more, but every chord made her think of making her life here and being an adoptive Bohemian. Evgeny’s perma-glower across the floor from the cello section didn’t help either. The surging lyricism of the Vltava movement from Má Vlast made her so emotional, and so happy, that tears welled in her eyes. Could she really mean that much to Milan? Or would her precious dream be snatched away?
When they took a mid-morning break for coffee and pastries, Evgeny made a beeline for Lydia, dragging her away from Mary-Ann by the elbow.
“It’s not just me and Milan who need to talk,” he muttered, while Lydia made apologetic grimaces to a nonplussed Mary-Ann. “We should talk too.”
“Go on then. Talk,” said Lydia fearfully.
Milan was surrounded by his usual mob of string players, too far away to summon for help. She allowed Evgeny to lead her to the side of the stage and sit with her in the wings.
“I know your game,” he said. “You want him for yourself. That’s always been your game.”
“It isn’t a game to me,” said Lydia. “And I’d never stop Milan from seeing anyone. As if I could! He answers to nobody but himself, and you know that.”
“He’s pushing me away, and I know you’re behind it. Why do you hate me? What have I done to you?”
“Nothing! I don’t hate you, not at all.”
“You don’t like me either.”
Lydia shrugged. That much was true.
“The truth is, I get in your way. You want to catch Milan and wall him up in some suburban marriage, just like they all do.” He laughed bitterly. “Milan and monogamy will never mix, my dear. Better get used to the idea.”
“I am used to it,” insisted Lydia. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
Evgeny’s eyes narrowed.
“I want you to accept that Milan can’t give you what you want. Accept it and move on. Find yourself some straight, upstanding back-row violinist who can give you the dull, boring life you want.”
Lydia paused, considering this.
Did she know what she was signing up for? She would be living in a foreign city with a man she loved, but who wasn’t cut out for the exclusive relationship deal. What if he left her alone, night after night, while he partied in the gay bars of Vinohrady? What if he met a girl he liked better than her, a girl who spoke Czech and who understood him better? The enormity of the risk she was taking struck her hard in the chest, winding her. He wasn’t, after all, the most reliable man in the world.
It seemed that Evgeny had seen the hesitation he had wrought in her.
“You know it can’t work between you two, Lydia. You know he’s not cut out for happy ever afters.”
A shadow fell across them and they looked up at the stage, where Milan loomed, violin in hand.
“Lydia, I need to talk to all the violinists together. That section at the start of Vltava isn’t working out. Excuse her, Evgeny.”
“Of course.”
With relief, Lydia left Evgeny alone and followed Milan back to the violinists.
“What did he want?” he muttered.
“To split us up, of course.”
“Well, he isn’t going to do that, is he?”
Lydia smiled weakly at Milan’s enquiring expression.
“Never.”
“Good. Okay!”
He clapped his hands and the fiddlers thronged about him. Lydia tried to forget the conversation with Evgeny, but her unease wouldn’t shift, and it hung about her like a miasma until lunchtime came.