Somebody whistled, and Meg quickly stepped back, blushing furiously.
She heard laughter, but it was friendly. Meg didn’t know how much of her story Maestro Campagnone had told to whom, but the entire orchestra had quickly adopted her, with many of them openly helping her to fit in.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been lassoed by a cowboy, Baker,” George, the concert master, said in a teasing voice as he came up behind her.
“Actually, John is a fiddler.”
“Really? Where do you play?”
And they’re off, Meg thought with a laugh. She had found a good many of the violinists in the orchestra were big fans of the country fiddlers, and she had enjoyed sharing what she was learning from John with them.
“You were fine, tonight, darlin,’” Bart said, coming up to put his arm around her. “I’m real proud of you.”
“Thanks, Uncle Bart,” she said, enjoying her new status at home, as well. No one in the family had batted an eye when John had announced that Meg would be staying at his apartment, and Meg felt doubly safe having this big bear of a man—literally—downstairs. She knew it was only a matter of time before her father tracked her down, and she was infinitely blessed to have her new family about her.
“Where is everyone else?” she asked.
“Oh, they’re hangin’ around the lobby. We figured two of us would be plenty back here.
Meg laughed. You’d all have been welcome, but you’re probably right.”
“Do introduce us,” Patty said, coming up beside them. She was barely five-foot-two, and Bart towered over her.
Meg smiled warmly. “Patricia Coleman, Bart Saint. Uncle Bart, this is Patricia Coleman. You probably noticed her this evening on flute.”
“I did,” Bart said. “I enjoyed the concert very much.”
“I’m so glad. And I am so glad to finally meet Meg’s friends here in town. We’ve been blessed to have her step in for poor Sarah.”
“I’m blessed to have the opportunity,” Meg said.
She wasn’t certain of what else might have been said, but a rumbling disturbance from the stage door interrupted all conversation.
“You!” The enraged, familiar man was nearly apoplectic as he stormed back stage, flanked by two burly bodyguards.
He headed straight for her, and Meg knew she had never seen him this angry.
“How dare you!” he raged. “How dare you lower yourself to hide out among these…these plebeians?”
“Now wait just a flaming minute!” Maestro Campagnone appeared at her side almost instantly, and she felt as glad to have him there as she did John and Bart. “Who are you, and what is the meaning of this outrageous display!”
“I’m here to take back what’s mine,” her father said. “She’s under contract to tour this year starting the first of next month, and…”
“My last contract with you was fulfilled before the end of December!” Meg said. She stepped forward but kept her hand in Bart’s. “I told you then I wasn’t going to tour with the Strad, and I certainly have not changed my mind!”
“I’ve invested too much in you over the years, girl, and I’m not giving you any choice! The contracts are signed!”
“If they are, then it is your doing. I’ve not signed anything.”
“Actually, she has,” Campagnone said, putting a proprietary hand on her shoulder. “Miss Baker has signed a contract with this orchestra which obligates her to perform with us through the end of next season. So you see, she is no longer available for touring.”
Meg tried not to react in any way to Campagnone’s bold announcement. The contract she’d signed that first day had only been for the end of the current season—through this coming June.
“And I tell you I have the contracts!”
“If you signed them in my stead, then they are forged—and your responsibility. I am under no obligation to you.”
He straightened to his full considerable height in an attempt to intimidate her. “This is madness! You owe me everything! You are a soloist! A virtuosa! How can you possibly leave that life and lower yourself to…to this?”
“As far as I’m concerned, this symphony is a tremendous step up from where I was before!” Meg said.
“But…!”
“I don’t know of any other way to put this,” she said, fighting for calm, “but I am declaring my independence. I will not go back to New York at any time in the future, with or without you!”
“Seems pretty clear to me,” John said, stepping up to her side
“I don’t know just who you think you are,” her father began.
“I’m the one who’s protectin’ the lady, here, from your unwanted attention,” John said.
“John…” she whispered, suddenly afraid for him.
“That won’t be necessary,” Campagnone said.
His signal brought some uniformed guards forward to escort her father and his bodyguards from the premises.
“This isn’t over!” the older man shouted as he was being hauled out of the room.
“Yeah, it is,” John said.
The room was silent for a long beat, and Meg had to force herself to look at Campagnone.