“No, I will not spare you a new wardrobe. You cannot continue to wear mine. And you are so very beautiful, my dear. We cannot have you hiding your light under a bushel.”
“Well, it will have to be after I practice. My music comes first. It is what gives me what courage and wit I have.”
“I understand that, Soph. I truly do.”
~~*
Sophie dressed carefully for the evening ahead. Fortunately, she had commissioned a black evening gown from Elise’s London modiste by post when she was still in Derbyshire. It was black silk chiffon over black satin, high-waisted, with a square neckline and long sleeves that were puffed at the shoulder to give her ease of movement. The neckline, hem, and high waist were all trimmed with narrow black velvet ribbon. Black was de rigeur for performances, but Sophie was aware that it looked a bit stark on her. Taking a swath of black velvet ribbon, she arranged it tightly around her neck and fastened it in front with an antique cameo broach that Elise had given her when she had worn this dress for the first time at Ruisdell Palace. She had said that Sophie had a face fit for a cameo herself. Remembering that, Sophie smiled through her nerves.
What in the world had possessed her to invite the accomplished Carstairs and Gorgeous Frank to hear her play? Now she realized she would have infinitely preferred an anonymous audience for her first real performance. Flexing her fingers, she stood at her bedroom window, looking out at the twilight. What did she expect to happen tonight? Did she think she would suddenly forget everything she had learned? All the thousands of hours she had spent in practice? There must be a technique for distancing herself from the audience, but she could not think of what it could be other than losing oneself in the piece. That is what she must do. She would excuse herself from the table before the last course and go to the music room to prepare her mind and heart.
~~*
Frank was the first to arrive. As with the night before, he looked splendid in his evening clothes.
“You look lovely,” he said to Sophie in a low voice, shaking his head slightly as though to dislodge a vision. “Like you have been performing for years.” He handed her a bouquet of fragrant gardenias. “Perhaps you could put one of these in your hair.”
“Thank you. That is a wonderful idea. Maybe you could do it?”
He plucked a flower out of the posy. “Let me see. I think we want it on the side, toward the back.”
Her breath completely stilled as he came close.
“You’ll have to anchor it securely, or it will fly out while I am playing.”
She felt him loose a pin. The flower slid into place and was fixed securely.
“Thank you so much. What a very dear idea.”
They stood smiling at each other until suddenly the Carstairs, Fanny, and Buck were upon them. They went into dinner.
{ 6 }
WHEN FRANK ENTERED THE MUSIC room to see Sophie standing by the piano on top of a small dais, she looked different from the girl he knew. She had left the dinner table before the last course, she said to prepare; Frank wished he had been able to do the same. Her face had a lofty, removed look. Her head sat differently on her neck, which now seemed swan-like.
Conversation hushed as the small audience sat in the prepared chairs, facing the dais. Sophie waited a long moment, then put bow to strings, and bowed her head. As she lifted it, she drew the bow full length across the strings. A pleading note sang through the air, characterized by restraint.
As she continued playing, swaying slightly, eyes closed, Frank knew a gradual feeling of deepest humility and wonder. The music captured the love and awe of a sublime act of worship. Her bows were drawn out long and gracefully, her face incandescent. The melody went from a rich volume to whispering and back again. The piece, he realized, was really very simple; it was Sophie who gave it such dynamism.
Each note met him somewhere near his heart, murmuring a message that stretched him inside. His cynicism was being hollowed out, and the hollow was being filled with authentic feelings, some of which he had never felt before. His heart was ruling his head. It was liberating.
For once, he was fully present in his body, in the moment. Sophie was touching him everywhere, and he yearned to touch her back with the same poignancy. The intimacy he felt with the music and with Sophie enchanted him.
When she was finished, she held her violin to the side and bowed from the waist. He rose to his feet. “Brava! Bravisima!” he shouted, clapping with all his energy. The others were doing likewise.