The Protege

But I don’t care about need. I want to see her alone and the beautiful thing about it is there’s no reason why I shouldn’t. I’ve always been hungry for more of Isabeau and now I can have as much of her as I want.

Feeling like Tchaikovsky’s wolf coming out of the dark forest, I put my baton away in its case and call, “Miss Laurent, can I see you in my office, please?”

Chapter Eleven

Isabeau

Now

My stomach clenches at the sound of Laszlo’s voice and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. I try to read his expression but it’s closed and inscrutable. As I pack up my cello I notice one of the viola players looking at me while talking to her stand mate. She’s a woman in her mid-forties and I can’t work out what she’s saying but I don’t like the unfriendly look in her eyes. Then she turns away, still talking, so maybe it was just coincidence she was looking at me.

I carry my cello and handbag over to where Laszlo’s standing, intending to follow him to his office, but he takes the instrument from me as he always used to do after rehearsals. I look at the case in his strong grip, happy memories surging through me. There’s a soft expression in his eyes and I know he’s remembering, too.

In his office he closes the door and sets the cello carefully down. I’ve always liked this room. I don’t know why as it’s an unlovely, windowless mess of sheet music, violin and cello strings, rosin and discarded bowties, but it feels like Laszlo, and it smells like Laszlo.

“How did you find the rehearsal?” he asks.

I stand with my back to the closed door, hands clasped in front of me. It felt good sitting in the second cello chair and Domenica was welcoming and explained patiently how and when she wanted me to turn the sheet music. We’re sharing a stand and as I’m sitting below her that job falls to me. Some musicians can be fussy about how and when it’s done. Her bowing was easy to follow, too, as she sets the left and right patterns for the whole section so we’re moving in unison. After Laszlo, Domenica is the second most important person in the orchestra for me.

“Very good, thank you, Mr. Valmary.”

His expression flickers darkly. “I want you to call me sir when we’re alone.”

Heat flashes low in my belly. Sir. I’ve never heard anyone call him sir before. Is this something just for me? “Yes, sir.”

Something glints in his hazel eyes. I see it in the split second before he turns away and reaches for his notebook. It’s like a flash of victory.

He likes it when I call him sir.

“I have something that I want to talk to you about. We discussed your career before you went to university and you said you wanted to become a soloist. You’re too good to be wasting your time in an orchestra.” He taps a long forefinger over his knuckle. “And yet, here you are. Now, if in your heart you don’t want to be a soloist anymore I understand. There’s nothing wrong with playing as part of an orchestra. But being my protégé means helping you with your career, and for that you have to tell me your goals. What do you want, Isabeau?”

I wasn’t expecting this and I try and collect my thoughts. What do I want?

I’ve hated every performance I’ve given these last three years. Every note I’ve played hasn’t sounded right to my ears. I’ve tried to ignore it because I haven’t known what else to do, but that’s not how you win the hearts of audiences. They can tell when you’re faking it.

He comes and stands right in front of me, his eyes scouring my face for answers.

“I don’t know,” I say, pulling at a button on my shirt. I look at what Hayley is doing and I’m envious, but at the same time that doesn’t seem quite right, either.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re my protégé. I’m going to help you to figure what you want.”

I gaze up at him, relief and gratitude pouring through me. Just you. I’m happiest when I’m with you.

But there were things that I wanted before. Playing as a soloist was one of my keenest pleasures and I want that back. If Laszlo helps me find that pleasure again maybe my happiness will be complete.

I look at the foot of empty space separating us. Almost.

“Yes, sir.”

For the merest fraction of a second I think his eyes drop to my mouth but then he’s looking at his notebook again. “Good girl. All right.” He frowns down at the pages and then clears his throat. “Is there anything you need to know about the tour? Do you have what you need?”