Authors: Justine Elyot
Musical Beds (23 page)
He jabbed his bow in her direction.
“Who are you?”
Dozens of necks swivelled, dozens of pairs of eyes roved over Lydia, who shrank back self-consciously.
“Er, Lydia Foster. Violinist.”
He frowned and she quailed.
“You are late.”
“Sorry. Bomb scare on the Victoria Line.” The words came out somehow, but they sounded foreign. And what was this meek, squeaky little voice?
“Bombs? We let bombs stand between us and our music? No. We don’t.”
Lydia tried to breathe in, but found that her lungs were full. Her urge to scream ‘
Stop staring!’
at the rest of the orchestra was mercifully quashed by the closed-up state of her throat.
Milan waved his bow impatiently.
“Come on, then,” he snapped. “Sit down. Get your violin out.”
Eyes fixed on the floor, Lydia scurried through the banks of chairs to the back row of the first violins, too mortified to hear Milan’s subsequent words about how to play the Weber piece to his satisfaction. Her fingers fumbled with the catch of her case and she almost broke a string trying to get the instrument out, conscious of the curious gazes of all the other violinists.
“Nice fiddle,” whispered the middle-aged man next to her, a note of sympathy in his voice. “Don’t worry about Milan. That’s just the way he is. It isn’t personal.”
“No?” she whispered back, grateful for the reassurance.
“He’ll have forgotten all about it by the time we’ve finished this piece.” The man winked, settling his chin on the edge of his instrument, bow poised across the strings.
Lydia thought she ought to do the same. Milan finished his spiel and came off the platform to his chair on the outer perimeter of the first violinists, though he remained standing, needing to be visible to the whole orchestra.
He held up his bow for a few seconds before counting in the beautiful cellist, who played the opening bars solo before being joined by the woodwind for the slow introduction.
Lydia watched the cellist’s smooth, dark hair fall, fringing his face as he bent over his instrument. Then Milan raised his bow, ready for the tumble into waltz tempo, and she began to play.
Surrounded by exhilarating dance music, Lydia forgot the woes of the moment and became nothing but a bow hand and fingers pressing on strings, her head whirling along with the imaginary waltzers, keeping pace with the black notes that whizzed past her eyes. Yes, she belonged here. Yes, this was right. Everything would be all right after all.
Incredible to think that she was working with the man whose deft bowing she followed, taking her cue from the speed of his arm and the wild flying of his hair.
I am working with Milan Kaspar! I am his colleague!
It was two hours before they made it to the end of the piece, two hours of stopping and starting, picking every phrase apart, being shouted at or coaxed or charmed by Milan along the way. Once those two hours were over, Lydia felt that she had fought and won a battle. She was a member of the orchestra now and it held her undying loyalty.
“Good, that’s good, that’s promising.” Milan, clearly enjoying his new conducting role, treated the orchestra to a full-beam smile. “We see what tomorrow brings when Clayton hands in his resignation. I hope the Trust will think we can do this.”
‘
I
can do this’, you mean
, thought Lydia cynically, packing away her violin.
She was craning her neck, looking for the friendly percussionist, planning to invite her for a post-rehearsal coffee, when her attention was distracted by an imperious click of the fingers.
“You. New girl.”
Lydia couldn’t quite believe it, but Milan was pointing at her, his eyes intent. He tossed his head and beckoned a long, pale finger.
Struggling to contain her breath, Lydia trotted up to him, wondering whether to expect an apology, a welcome, a scolding or a proposition, or something else completely.
“You know where Chappell’s is?” he asked brusquely.
“Of course.” Everyone knew where Chappell’s was. It was the most famous music shop in the UK.
He fumbled in his pocket and proffered a twenty-pound note.
“I need an A string. Eudoxa.”
Lydia’s mouth fell open. She looked from Milan to the banknote and back again. He was serious.
“Well? Why wait? Take it. I’ll be in the Delius Arms. You know it?”
“Next door,” said Lydia, taking the note before she could stop herself.
“Good, good. I’ll see you there.”
He nodded formally then swung around, dismissing her in favour of a group of other string players who appeared to be waiting for him.
About the Author
Justine Elyot is a UK based writer of erotic romance and erotica. Her work has appeared in numerous anthologies from Black Lace, Cleis Press, Xcite and Constable & Robinson. Her first full-length book,
On Demand
, was published by Black Lace in 2009.
Email:
[email protected]
Justine loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.total-e-bound.com
.
Also by Justine Elyot
Master Me: A Very Personal Trainer
Seeing Stars: The Sevarian Way
Subspace: The Science of Submission
Bollywood: Bollywood Superstar
Stiff Upper Lip: England’s Dreaming
Total-E-Bound Publishing
www.total-e-bound.com
Take a look at our exciting range of literagasmic™
erotic romance titles and discover pure quality
at Total-E-Bound.