"He has good assistants. You know David Porter, the Wanderlust's drummer?"
"I know of him," she said.
"Well, he's there a lot, doing most of the heavy lifting. He also has a new girl this year."
"Who is she? A singer or something like that?"
"I think King is producing an album for her band."
Vy's former band. Better not mention that. He went on talking trying to think of anything to say that didn't have anything to do with Vy.
"Alice Lewis. She seems to do a good job with his contestants."
Isabella tensed. He was uncomfortably aware that his close-knit relationship with Vy, and his previous track record of one-night stands gave her good reasons to be suspicious.
"She's an odd duck. Like she's King's good luck charm or something. I've never seen the guy so relaxed, and I've known him since high school."
"Do you like her?"
"She's alright. Far less annoying than the big doofus himself."
"Do you think he likes-likes her?"
The question irritated him. Not just the juvenile manner of speaking. He wasn't happy with the notion that King might like-like Alice. Or the other way around. He swallowed his annoyance, deciding it was a good way to set Isabella's mind at rest about Alice.
"Maybe. They're always very chummy when I see them."
"Really? So soon after his divorce?"
The divorce. He didn't want to think about Christine King at that moment. All those years ago, she had chosen King over him, changing his life.
"He's not a monk. No matter how Zen he tries to act."
"You really don't like him, do you?"
He ruffled her hair, smiling. She seemed surprised that the animosity between himself and King was real.
"No. I grudgingly respect his talent. But no, I really, really don't like him."
She squeezed his knee fondly, and snuggled into him. He looked down at her almost sleeping form. He didn't love the woman, but he liked her. He liked her determination. He was in awe of her talent on the stage. Maybe they could make this work.
When Isabella fell asleep, he kissed the top of her head and reached for the book he had left on the table by the couch. His glasses were on top of Professor Lewis's treaty. He put them on and flipped through the book to find his place.
It was strange to read his private books with the warmth of Isabella's body pressed against him. It felt more intimate than having sex with her.
Sex with Isabella had been amazing, as long as he thought he was in love with her. When that vanished, it felt like cardio.
He never told her about the cancer. He hadn't told her that part of the reason he drifted away was that he'd been in danger of losing his life and his voice. He hadn't told her about the chemotherapy and the medication he had taken for months. He hadn't told her any of this because he never believed she could be fully part of his life.
Maybe once their child was born, they could find their way to being a real couple. Until then, he forced the door to his heart open a fraction more. He allowed her to be close when he immersed himself in the account of professor Lewis's expedition in central Africa.
His gaze paused on some photos of the excavating site. The stunning Lara Lewis held in her arms a little girl who had a bronze dagger in her hands. On the next page, the professor mentioned the incident in which part of the expedition staff had been taken hostages by a local warlord. He went into great detail about the disturbances to the integrity of the site, and his measures to make up for them, but nothing else about the people involved.
Chapter Thirteen
Alice
CARTER DIDN'T SHOW UP for breakfast every morning, but there he was, the day after she talked to Isabella. He headed for their table, tray in hand, wearing fitted t-shirt that gave her a good view of his biceps. He had clearly bulked up a bit since his unhealthy thinness at the start of the season.
She sat up straighter, hoping that he would choose any other seat than the one next to hers. Whenever he joined them, she couldn't enjoy her meals because she had to be constantly on guard. It was even more difficult when he was physically close to her.
Carter had a special way to get under Andrew's skin. It made life easier for everyone if she defused the tension at the table rather than help Andrew relax afterwards, when he wasn't even aware of how stressed out he was. Doing that, took its toll on her own ability to relax.
He sat down next to her, and the heat coming off his body in waves disturbed her. The only physical contact was when he accidentally bumped his hand into hers when he set down the tray, but all her senses were on high alert. A trace of masculine scent reached her nostrils. He not only looked better than usual, he also smelled great that day.
"Are you ready for the first live shows?" Carter asked.
"We emailed them the playlist yesterday," Andrew said. "You?"
"I'll do it today."
He bit into his toast with gusto. She did the same, hoping he was in a good mood and she wouldn't have to be on TC alert for a few minutes.
"Hey, Alice, how's your band doing? Vy doesn't mention you guys at all."
She nearly choked on her food. When she glanced across the table, she felt even worse. Andrew had frozen for a moment, his tell-tale sign when it came to Vy.
"We're fine," she said. "So nice of you to care."
She hoped that this would remind Andrew that TC was by definition not a nice guy, and he only cared about himself. With any luck, he would also figure out that TC was trying to rile him up and maybe for once, he wouldn't let himself be wound up.
"Of course I care," Carter said. "You guys used to play Dark Dream better than Wanderlust themselves."
Bastard. He was determined to drag Andrew into the conversation mentioning his old song.
"That is true," she said, looking intently at his t-shirt. "From a certain point of view."
"From a certain point of view?"
She asked in her best Luke Skywalker impersonation and Tim burst out laughing.
"What?" Andrew asked looking at the two of them.
"Return of the Jedi," Carter said, pointing at the title emblazoned on his chest.
"Very nice, Carter. Very mature," Andrew said, but to Alice's relief, a corner of his mouth quirked up, and the lines around his eyes were less visible.
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, then the looming ghost of Didier popped up menacingly in her mind and she instantly untucked it. Only Didier could make her thin hair look stunning and she knew better than to mess with his creation because she craved comfort. Now that he had trimmed and styled her fringe, she had a hard time getting used to seeing the world without the curtain of hair that constantly fell over her eyes.
"It looks good this way," Carter said, his gaze sweeping over her hair and meeting her eyes for a moment.
Alice blushed, hoping that Andrew hadn't heart his remark. He hadn't mentioned anything about the haircut, which meant that most likely he hadn't noticed it.
"It's... it's more practical like this."
"Double win."
She smiled awkwardly. He was making small talk. She didn't have any reason to feel uncomfortable. And yet she felt as if her cheeks were in flames. Maybe she should have said something nice about his shirt instead of making a Star Wars joke inspired by the t-shirt she peeked underneath.
He looked more handsome than usual that morning. More peaceful somehow. Or maybe it was just the contrast with her own guilt-ridden conscience. She had done the right thing helping Isabella, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was wrong to betray his confidence.
Andrew pulled up a notepad and started writing on it, ignoring the two of them. Alice was wondering if he was writing a song or he made notes about their team.
"How is your band doing?" TC asked, more seriously this time, and quietly enough so that he wouldn't draw Andrew's attention.
She shrugged. "With the semester in full swing, we don't have as much time to practice anymore."
"You make time to come here."
His warm voice made it sound like a praise instead of an accusation. She wondered what he meant by it. Nothing probably. TC had fun playing with Andrew's mind and mood. She wasn't important enough for him to play mind games with her.
"It's important," she said with a sidelong look at Andrew.
She would sacrifice her free time, and even her grades if it meant doing something that helped Andrew. King had entered her life as her friends' mentor, but he had become her friend.
"Gratitude. Loyalty. I respect that."
She blushed even worse, embarrassed that she had let her guard down. TC read her too well. When Andrew had discovered her secret talent, it had come as a relief that he didn't judge her for it. If TC got to know more about her, she'd be in big trouble. No matter how innocent his blue green eyes looked from so close. Anything she let slip, he would use against them in competition.
Chapter Fourteen
Alice
SHE LEARNED FROM VY about the birth of Tim and Isabella's son. She wished she could call Isabella and congratulate her, but it wouldn't do either of them any good if Tim was around when she called. They had both lied to him by omission enough.
To her surprise, he hadn't changed his routine in the House much. He showed up randomly at breakfast, and he often came into her music room when he knew Andrew was not in the House.
The only difference she could feel was that Vy wasn't sequestered in the studio as much. She could hardly believe her luck. She had her best friend back. They had even started a weekly movie night tradition.
Unfortunately, the new commitments created by her deal with Leonie, on top of her work at Sing caused her to miss band practices and many classes. At first she had tried to make up for the missed classes with late hours in the Library, but exhaustion was winning, and she was failing.
The lecture that had just finished proved as much. She looked at her notes, aware that she had fallen behind the others. She wished she could go to the Library and read all night, but she had promised the Drama Club that the alterations to the costumes would be ready in time.
She closed the notebook and checked her phone out of habit. She could swing by the flat to eat something before getting to the Drama Club. Vy would have texted her if she were there. She was probably trying to make up for her own missed classes. Alice let herself be swept into the river of students leaving the auditorium.
A few of her colleagues were talking animatedly, making plans to go to a pub.
"Coming to the Lion and Crown?" Mary Douglas asked when she saw Alice.
Mary was the only girl who still bothered to try to include her in the after-school activities. Probably because they were the only two people in their year involved in the Drama Club.
"I promised I'd work on the costumes," she said. "Next time for sure."
That was a lie. Her time was already too thinly spread. She didn't have anything she could set aside to make time to socialize with her colleagues.
She ambled along the brick paved street, gazing at the quaint shops. Salona was the first place where she felt she belonged. Her parents had studied abroad. Her grandparents had made their way through life without such fancy higher education.
Clara Pellerin had built a fashion empire on her talent and acumen. Nicolas Aristide was a fisherman's son but when he married Clara Pellerin he had a fleet of ocean liners. Tatiana Lewis, nee Wasilieva, the model that had been the image of House Pellerin made her way in life on her good looks and lucky naivete. General Alexander Lewis earned his fame in the Great War.
All her formidable grandparents had nothing more than the school of life. She wondered if any of them would even like the little university town in which they poured so much money.
She loved everything about Salona. From the old marble buildings to the red brick of the newer colleges, those less than a century old. She loved the crystal lake and its army of swans. She loved the smell of old books in the library and the smell of fresh bread on the main street.
Although it was close to Orsino, its cozy, small town atmosphere wrapped around Alice's heart like a comfortable blanket. The year before, without Vy, this little town had welcomed her. Not that Vy attending law school that year meant that she'd been around all that much for the first few months.
A scent of fresh bread distracted her. She made a detour and entered the red brick bakery. She set her phone on the table to make sure she saw the clock. Whenever she stopped at Pain et Canelle time had a habit of flowing by.
She smiled fondly at the vintage style logo. She loved how the name sounded. The words reminded her of the French boarding school where she had spent a few years as a small child, before her parents started taking her education in hand. Bread and Cinnamon just didn't have the same ring to it.
She found a corner table to savor the simple but perfect butter croissant. The constant clicking of dishes, the voices of the customers, the heavy French accent of the shop assistant, they all blended in a relaxing hum. The smell of a thousand different baked delights tied everything together like a red ribbon on a perfectly wrapped gift.
The building was empty when she got to the Drama Club. She should have expected that so soon after midterms, everyone wanted to relax. She should have taken Mary up on her invitation. No one would have missed her. Even as she was thinking about the others drinking beer and debating Shakespeare and politics at the Crown and Lion, she took one of the dresses from last year's production.
The good thing about staging Shakespeare plays every year was that they could repurpose the costumes. She looked at the moss green dress and tried to channel her grandmother. What would Clara Pellerin do with this dress? Can I turn Katarina's dress into Ophelia? No, it didn't suit the ethereal and death-marked character of a naive girl. But it could work for Queen Gertrude.
The costume changed in her mind's eye. She should get rid of that stitching. Add a few dark details on the bodice. Black silk inserts. She closed her eyes trying to guestimate Elaine's measurements. She would have to make sure to catch her at the next rehearsal and get her precise measurements.
She set aside the green dress, and riffled through the other costumes hanging on the rack. She paused looking at the white Arlechino costume. She could create such a lovely insane Ophelia with this white. She'd have to check with professor D'Amato how post-modernistic she could go in her choices. She took out the white costume, but went on looking for a more traditional alternative.
A plain gray dress reminded her of Barbara Saxon in the Doll House some ten years earlier. Alice's thoughts switched uncomfortably from mother to son.
To see Tim Carter in Hamlet... That would be a show worth watching. She fervently hoped that the Rose would never suggest or allow him to play Hamlet. Tim would slide too much in character. The more time she spent with him, the more she was aware of how fragile he was under the thick obnoxious shell he showed to the world at large.
Despite herself, Alice fell into the ingrained habit of thinking about Tim Carter like a historical character she had to figure out from literary works of the period.
Tim's father had died when he was a teenager, and as far as she could tell, he had never dealt with that. In order to play Hamlet, Tim would immerse himself in the prince's fragmented psyche. He would draw upon the helplessness he must have felt when his mother had to raise him by herself. On the complicated feelings he must have repressed about Barbara Saxon's well publicized affairs.
She pushed away the thoughts. Right. Hamlet. She had to find clothes for the prince as well. Her gaze went to the Arlechino costume again. How would the play look if both Hamlet and Ophelia would wear shroud white clothes? What if all the characters who died in the play would wear white?
"See, that's why you're not supposed to be alone here," she said aloud.
If there were people around, her imagination would not run away with her. Who would want to see a play with most of the actors dressed in white?
Only
the thousands of people who go to the ruins of the Greek theaters to watch the ancient plays staged twenty-five centuries after they had been written.
Chapter Fifteen
Tim
HE TOOK ONE DAY OFF for the birth of his son. That had been three months earlier to the day.
For the past three months he hadn't taken any more time off, but from the day Stephen was born, he stopped the late night recording sessions in his studio. He stopped arriving early at the Sing House. Gone were the extended session with his team.
To assuage the guilt for not over-working like he was used to, he started talking to Isabella about Sing. He found it difficult to explain the intricacies of his plans for his team, but even if she didn't understand, she wasn't complaining. She asked about his days and listened while he told her everything. About his team, about music, even about his daily attempts to annoy King and about mousey Alice's funny interreferences.
It should have made him feel better. Instead, he was looking forward to his working hours in the House. Probably because the first semi-final was a week away and he wanted to win. He wanted to have Music Room One again.
He looked over the dining hall. King was at his usual table, with David Porter across from him. Strange. That was usually Alice's chair. Where could she be, he wondered annoyed. The week before the semi-final. How irresponsible of her to take time off!
He went to the buffet and piled some food on his plate. The only thing Vy had asked him about this season of Sing had been if the food was as good as she remembered it. He trudged toward King's table out of habit and his heart leapt when he saw Alice had appeared. She was sitting next to King. Very, very next to him.
She was craning her neck to watch him writing. His second thought was that they had some more bloody forms to fill up and he had forgotten about them. His first reaction was a blaze of anger searing through him. And to think that Vy still pined after that dumbass!
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