The image that looked back at me from my mirror was reassuring—red velvet, and that orchid. It became me as no other dress ever had. Pietro had not said so, but his eyes had told me.
He had stood behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders, looking at us both in the mirror. That picture would be stamped on my memory forever.
“You look worthy…of me,” he said, with typical Pietro candor; and I had laughed at him and said that if he thought that I must look very well indeed.
We had gone to the concert hall together, and I had left him to take my place in the audience.
But what was the use of going over it. I must not think of him tonight. I smoothed one hand over the other, massaging my fingers. They were supple…adequate, I told myself. But I knew better. They had some magic in them tonight, and no one was going to rob them of it, not even the ghost of Pietro.
I was glad I had not been invited to dine with the party. Mrs. Lincroft had said that she had thought it a little remiss of Napier not to suggest it, for she was sure it had been Sir William’s intention. I replied that I preferred not to go.
“I understand,” she said, “you want to be perfectly fresh for your performance.”
I wondered about the guests. Friends of Napier’s or of Sir William? Scarcely Napier’s for he had not been home long enough to make many. How did it feel, I wondered, to be exiled and then return? It would be a little like that for me tonight. I had been exiled in a way, and tonight I was to go onto that dais and people would listen to my playing. It would be an uncritical audience, I told myself, quite unlike the audiences Pietro had played to. There was nothing to fear.
At nine o’clock I went down to the great hall. Sir William was there in his chair. Mrs. Lincroft in a long gray chiffon skirt with cornflower blue chiffon blouse wheeled him in. She was not of the company but like myself a kind of higher servant. I remembered thinking this as I saw her.
Sir William beckoned to me and he told me that he was sorry I had not joined the company for dinner. I replied that I preferred to be quiet before the performance and he bowed his head in understanding.
Napier came over to me, Edith was with him. She looked very pretty but highly nervous. I smiled reassuringly at her. Then the company seated itself and I went to the dais. I played the dances first as Pietro had done; and as my fingers touched the keys and those magical sounds came forth I forgot everything but the joy they gave me. As I went on playing, I saw pictures evoked by the music; and that wonderful mood of exultation came to me. I forgot that I was playing to strangers in a baronial hall; I even forgot that I had lost Pietro; there was nothing for me but the music.
The applause was spontaneous. I smiled at the audience who went on clapping. I scanned them lightly. I saw Sir William deeply affected; Napier sitting upright applauding with the rest; Edith beside him smiling almost happily; and somewhere at the back of the hall Allegra and Alice—Allegra bouncing up and down on her seat in her excitement and Alice gravely clapping. I sensed their pleasure—not so much in the music. But in my success.
The applause died down and I began the Rhapsody. This was Pietro’s piece but I didn’t care. To me it had always opened a world of color and delight. I could undergo twenty different emotions while I played it and so had he. He had told me once that during one part of the Rhapsody he always imagined that he was sitting in a dentist’s chair having a tooth removed which had made us both laugh at the time. “It’s pain,” he had cried. “Sheer pain…and then that acute joy.”
I suffered; I rejoiced; and there was nothing for me but the music. And when I came to an end I knew that I had never played so well.
I stood up; the applause was deafening.
Napier was beside me. He said: “My father wishes to speak to you.”
I followed him to Sir William’s wheelchair. There were tears in the old man’s eyes.
“I’ve no need to tell you, Mrs. Verlaine,” he said. “It was superb. Beyond…my expectations.”
“Thank you. Thank you.”
“We shall be requested to repeat this often, I believe. It—it reminded me…”
He did not continue and I said: “I understand.”
“These people will be wanting to congratulate you.”
“I think I will go to my room now.”
“Ah yes. Exhausting. I know. Well, we understand that.”
Napier was looking at me and I could not read the expression in his eyes.
“Triumph,” he whispered.
“Thank you.”
“I trust you approve my choice of pieces.”
“They were magnificent.”
He bowed his head smiling and people began to approach to tell me how they had enjoyed my playing. I could not escape for a time. I was aware of Miss Stacy—lavender bows in her hair—looking excited and fey as though she were in touch with the ghosts she was sure would be visiting us that night; I saw Mrs. Lincroft sending the girls to their rooms and I listened to compliments; several people mentioned my husband. Few of them had heard him play, but they knew his name. It was some time before I could escape.
In my room I could not stop looking at my reflection. The faint color under my skin, the luminosity of my eyes; my hair seemed darker and my skin gleamed magnolia color against the rich burgundy velvet.
“I did it,” I whispered. “Pietro, I did it.”
In a country house. To an uncritical audience. What do they know of music?
“They loved it!”
Pah! They would have been pleased with Essie Elgin. She could have done as well. Gymnastics, my dear Caro.
And I wanted nothing but to be with Pietro to quarrel with him…anything, but to be with him.
My cheeks were burning; I felt that I was stifled in this room and impulsively I left it and went down by means of a back staircase and out into the gardens.
The June night was warm, and it was a perfect night, for a near-full moon was high in the sky. I went to my walled garden and sat there, and I was filled with a longing to go back to those days when Pietro and I had sat outside the Paris cafés and talked. I should have had both Pietro and my music and how much better it would have been for us both if I had. I should have been closer to him; he would have respected me; I should have been better able to look after him; I should not have allowed him to subdue me; firmly I should have safeguarded his health.
I covered my face with my hands and wept for the past and longed to live it all again.
I sat there for some little time, my head buried in my hands; and then suddenly I gave a little cry of dismay for there was a movement beside me. Someone was sitting close to me on the seat.
“I hope I didn’t startle you,” said Napier.
I drew away from him. He was the last person I wanted to see. I half rose but he took my wrist in a firm grip. “Don’t go,” he said.
“I…I didn’t hear you come.”
“You were engrossed in your own thoughts,” he said.
I was horrified. I believed there might be a trace of tears on my face, and that he should see them was unendurable.
He seemed different, softer. That should warn me.
“I saw you come here and I wanted to speak to you,” he said.
“You…saw me?”
“Yes. I was a little bored with my father’s guests.”
“I hope you did not tell them so.”
“Not in so many words.”
“You are…”
“Please go on. You know you need not choose your words with care as far as I’m concerned. I’d rather know exactly what you think.”
“Then I think that you are a little…uncivil.”
“What more can you expect, brought up as I was. But enough of me. You are far more interesting.”