The Protege
“Oh—Hello. Is this right? Is your assistant meant to be here or Marcus, or…?” I tail off because he’s looking at me with one brow raised, amused. Is this a coincidence or did he arrange for me to be next to him? He gets up and stows my cabin bag and we settle ourselves into the comfortable seats, and despite the fact that there are people all around us it feels cozy and private in these two seats.
“Did you want to talk about my career or the tour or…?” I trail off, wondering why he arranged for me to be sitting next to him, because now I think about it I doubt it’s a coincidence.
“No. I just like you close to me, Isabeau.”
Butterflies riot in my belly, this time with pleasure. He’s never said anything like that before. A flight attendant offers us a tray of champagne and orange juice. I take a champagne without thinking and swallow a large gulp. “Oh. Are we allowed to drink on tour? Sir,” I add under my breath.
Again that gleam in his eyes. He takes one himself and toasts me. A memory of a drinks reception at the Mayhew when I was sixteen comes back to me. Laszlo holding a glass of champagne, me sidling up to him. Can I have a sip, please? It looks so golden and pretty. Laszlo passing me the glass and saying sternly, Just one sip. Tasting the dry, ashy wine, and then sneezing because the bubbles tickled my nose. Laszlo smiling and taking the glass back. I wonder if he’s remembering that, too. Or if it’s just occurred to him that this is the first time we’re having a drink together.
I remember the way he stood so close to me in his office yesterday. How he’s looking at me now. Properly looking at me. He’s not the same Laszlo as he used to be. The last year we lived together he seemed to be afraid to look at me. I remember how evasive he was when I tried to be affectionate to him. Did he know how I felt about him? Did it disgust him and he just couldn’t find a way to tell me?
And now? His hazel eyes don’t slide away from my face any more. He’s looking at me with an intensity that makes my heart beat faster. Watching him conduct I always knew that Laszlo was an intense man but he’s never directed that intensity at me before.
I take another sip of my champagne, pretending to be more at ease than I feel. “Well, this is civilized. Does the RLSO always travel this way?”
“Preferably. I need you all well rested and limber when we get to our destination.”
I smile to myself. I might have known that there’d be a practical reason for the expense.
“When we land there’ll be time for a short sleep in the afternoon and then I’ll need you all at the concert hall by eight so we can rehearse.”
This will be my first professional performance…well, ever, really. I’ve never been paid to play in an orchestra before. I think of Hayley and the progress she’s made with her orchestra and solo career. She’s only one year older than me but she’s years and years ahead. At twenty-one Laszlo was musical director of the Cambridge Symphony Orchestra. I’m so far behind it makes me feel sick. To distract myself I ask, “Are Singaporeans very passionate about classical music?”
“Yes. The city has two concert halls and their own symphony orchestra since 1979. A very good one.”
Suddenly I feel worse. It will be an educated, unforgiving audience, and I’ll be right at the front where they can see me. The champagne is making me feel dizzy and I put it down. “Do you ever get nervous before you perform?”
Laszlo studies my face. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” I say quickly. “I just…I suppose nerves are good, really. They mean you play your best.”
I’m saved from more questions as the flight attendants begin their safety instructions, and I turn to listen as if my life depends on it.
Chapter Twelve
Laszlo
Then
“Laszlo, today I heard the most beautiful piece of music and I knew I had to play it with you.”
Isabeau hurries into the lounge still in her beret and coat and clutching some pages of sheet music. She hands me a piano part and at the top I see that it’s Rachmaninoff’s Vocalise, a very beautiful duet about five minutes long. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it performed by a piano and cello before. It could be quite lovely.
When I look up I see that she’s taking off her beret and is shaking her hair out. It must be damp out as her hair’s hanging in long auburn curls. I force my eyes back down to the page. “Would you like to play it now?”