by Ginny Aiken
Eva laughed at that. “I could never afford it.”
He grinned. “A reduced price, perhaps. Or finance it.” He shrugged. “Even I could buy it and you could make payments to me. If Jack would sell it.”
She shook her head. “Jack won’t sell it. But even if he would, I don’t want it. I mean, if Grandpa had given it to me as an heirloom, then I’d treasure it. It’s the principle that disturbs me.”
“The principle,” Georgio repeated. “You don’t want the Alono. Jack doesn’t want to play it. Your grandpa gave it away.” A short laugh escaped his throat. “Then why ever can’t I have it?”
Eva laughed, too. It wasn’t funny, but ironic. “I honestly don’t know.”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “Let us go to his shop and face your Jack once again.”
“He’s not my Jack,” Eva said more sharply than she intended.
Georgio nodded. “I should have said, ‘the Alono’s Jack.’”
Eva turned from him to put the Strad in its case.
“I have used the Alono long enough to know its quality,” he said. “I would like to return it to Jack and thank him. Will you accompany me to his shop in the morning? I don’t know where it is.”
Eva faced him and nodded. “I need to take some of my violins over there anyway.”
Georgio walked her out to her car as usual. He closed the door, then leaned down at the open window. “Thank you, Eva. I sincerely enjoy the time we spend together.”
“So do I,” Eva said.
She returned his smile. Driving away from the house, she turned on the Bach concerto. While it played in the background, she thought of how she never would have thought she’d be comfortable spending time with a famous concert violinist like Georgio Baldovino.
And yet, she felt so uncomfortable just hearing the name of Jack.
Jack wasn’t surprised to see Baldovino and Eva together. He’d learned from Al that the two of them spent each evening together at the beach house and that Eva had begun work on her own Alono.
He was surprised, however, that Eva came into his shop. She seemed to go out of her way to avoid him. Maybe she wanted to impress upon him that she no longer cared for him the way she had years ago.
Jack helped them bring in some of Eva’s violins. Then Baldovino set the Alono on the glass cabinet top.
“This entire wall,” Jack said, motioning behind himself as he stood behind the glass partition, “is for the display violins. I will keep beginner ones in a back room since those will be most of the sells.”
Eva nodded. “This is quite impressive, Jack.”
“Thank you,” he said, realizing that was the closest she’d come to being more than tolerant of him since he’d returned. She quickly walked away and looked around at the walls on which hung some guitars, fiddles, and banjos. She touched some of the same kind of instruments leaned against the walls and on stands.
Baldovino drew his attention again as he began to talk about his gratitude to Jack for allowing him to play the Alono. “I suspect you knew I would find the Alono irresistible and you’d raise the price. If so, you were right. I will pay what you ask.”
“Sorry,” Jack said. “It’s still not for sale.”
“Then why did you have me play it?”
Jack’s glance met Eva’s after Baldovino asked the question, as if she, too, wanted to know the answer to that question. She quickly turned toward the racks that contained music books of many levels of expertise and CDs of country, bluegrass, contemporary, and classical music.
Jack glanced back at Baldovino. “I offered it because your Strad was being repaired. And also because I wanted someone of your stature to play it.”
With a lift of an eyebrow, Baldovino seemed to accept that. “My offer will stand,” he said. He glanced around. “Nice shop. Could I see some of your bows?”
Jack slid aside the glass door and handed him one. He knew it was strong, evenly balanced and weighted, stiff but light.
Baldovino checked it out. “Appears to be excellent. Where do you get your hair?”
“Usually from horses,” Jack said.
Even Eva could not help laughing at that. Bows were strung with horsehair.
Jack unzipped the case, and Baldovino took the Alono and tried the bow on the strings. “Yes, this is symphony quality. Very smooth tone. And I see you have not bleached the horsehair. Although some violinists disagree with me, I think the darker hair grabs better; it produces more volume. And of course the stick is made from Pernambuco wood from Brazil.”
“Of course,” Jack agreed. “Fiberglass is adequate for beginners, also for their parents’ pocketbooks.”
Baldovino returned the Alono to the case and zipped it. “You mentioned once that you were a jack-of-all trades. I rather think you are a master of many.”
Jack wasn’t sure what he meant by “many.” “I studied with the best in France. And most of my horsehair comes from the Moroccan horses of China.”
“The more I see of you, the more I feel you and I have a lot in common.”
As far as Jack could see, they had nothing in common. “What’s that?”
“A knowledge of music, a love for it. We both have …” He looked up toward the banjos hanging on the wall. “How shall I say it? Ah—an appreciation for the finer things in life.”
Baldovino’s fingers grazed over the Alono case as he glanced toward Eva, who was examining some shakers in the form of fruit and vegetables. His head dipped slightly, but he looked up at Jack beneath raised eyebrows.
Like before, Jack got the clear impression Baldovino wasn’t referring to the Alono just then. However, he spoke of it again. “Will you keep the Alono in your shop?”
“No,” Jack said. “It’s not for sale, and I don’t want to chance its being stolen. I will keep it at my house.”
Baldovino nodded. “On display there, like a valuable piece of art.”
Jack shook his head. “It’s more valuable to me than that.”
The violinist looked thoughtful for a moment. “I sense there’s a story here.”
Jack nodded. “Oh, yes. Perhaps there will be opportunity to share it with you.”
Baldovino didn’t invite Jack to do that. He obviously wasn’t intrigued enough to carry the conversation further. He walked around the shop. Every once in awhile, Baldovino touched Eva’s shoulder or leaned near her and gestured toward an instrument or a CD or a music book. They both said a casual good-bye to Jack and walked out together.
Jack looked after them long after they’d vanished from sight.
A sense of loneliness invaded him. The words of a song ran through his mind. Tic Toc. Tic Toc. The clock stopped when the old man died.
His glance swept over his shop. So many musical instruments and items of music. Yet not a note of music sounded in the shop.
He looked at his valuable, expensive stringed instrument.
He had a violin he said he wouldn’t sell.
He had an Alono he rarely played.
He even had a story nobody cared to hear.
Chapter 7
Jack generally didn’t consider himself a bow tie sort of person, but this occasion called for it. Any other time he would have welcomed the opportunity to sit in seats reserved for special guests of performers. Tonight, however, he found the idea miserable. He, Al, and Eva were Baldovino’s guests for the evening.
If Baldovino’s Strad had not needed to be repaired, then perhaps Jack would be escorting Eva to the concert instead of being her and Al’s chauffeur for the evening, only to leave her to be Georgio’s dinner guest after it ended.
And tonight, when Eva would be Baldovino’s guest at dinner, all the “important” people in music would know her and that would increase her opportunities considerably. Yes, Baldovino could give Eva the kind of life that Jack couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting. He had wanted it once. Then he discovered that was not so important. He hadn’t been willing to concentrate on one area of music and become an expert. He didn’t have the desi
re to be top in any particular musical field.
After his studies in music, he’d worked in various clubs as a pianist, a soloist, and later a backup fiddle player for a well-known country music singer. Then he remembered that Al had taught him how to make bows and had said the finest bow makers came from France. He checked it out and decided he needed something more substantial as a career than clubs and backup for a fading star.
He’d let the years go by without letting the people he loved know that he loved them. He’d been too young and foolish for his mind to listen to his heart. Years passed. Then he discovered what he was looking for deep inside was not center stage at all. It was a filling of the empty spot in his heart that only the Creator could fill upon his complete commitment to the Lord.
Now, Jack felt like he was coming apart at the seams and there was no glue to put him together again.
He knew why Baldovino invited Al. He was grateful for Al’s having repaired his Strad. Jack figured he invited him, perhaps to soften him up, hoping he’d change his mind about selling the Alono.
There was a certain playfulness about Baldovino, like some kind of smug knowing in his expression and thin smile. Or was it a twist of sardonic humor knowing Jack cared about Eva and yet she was spending time with the great violinist?
Jack leaned over closer to Eva. “Is Baldovino a Christian?”
“No,” she said, and her voice sounded sad. “He believes in God and right living, but doesn’t believe Jesus is the only way to God.” She paused, glanced away, then back again. “But our mission as Christians is to enlighten unbelievers, isn’t it?”
“Exactly,” Jack said, but he wondered if Eva was thinking about the Bible’s warning against relationships with unbelievers.
He straightened in his seat for two reasons. One, this wasn’t the time or place to discuss the matter of faith since the orchestra was coming onto the stage and the audience began to applaud. Two, the fragrance of Eva’s delicate perfume had an unsettling effect upon his senses. Or, maybe it was just the nearness of Eva herself.
She looked particularly beautiful in a form-fitting black dress with rhinestones along the vee-cut neckline and her hair back in a chic French chignon.
But he must control his thoughts, dispense with his hopes about Eva. Perhaps she and Baldovino were meant for each other. Saying “God’s will be done” was one thing. Feeling good about it was another.
Jack joined the applause. The first violinist played his tuning note. The conductor strode out on the stage and shook hands with the first violinist. He bowed to the audience, stepped up on his box, lifted his baton, and the orchestra began transporting listeners into a sublime world of music, playing Franz Liszt’s Les Prelude, Symphonic Poem no. 3.
When the soprano came onstage, Eva leaned near Jack and with a delighted smile and eyes dancing with pleasure, she pointed to the program that listed the musical poems in French with the English translation beside them. “You understand all this,” she said.
“So can you, if you can read English,” he said.
She looked at him with dancing eyes and a warm, uninhibited smile. For awhile Jack thought she liked him, but when Georgio Baldovino appeared, striding out like he owned the world, Eva looked at the violinist as if he really did. The expression on her face glowed with awe and anticipation as she turned her attention away from Jack and joined the thunderous applause for Baldovino, who took center stage and bowed magnificently.
The concert was to be a special treat, combining themes of great composers. Usually an orchestra chose one theme for a concert. Tonight, they combined Liszt and Bach.
To make matters worse, Jack liked Baldovino. He liked the fact that such a gifted, famous man saw the worth in Eva.
From the moment Baldovino’s bow touched the Strad, he drew out the most heavenly music Jack had ever heard as he played Johann Sebastian Bach’s Violin Concerto no. 1 in A Minor. Jack found himself smiling broadly after the initial exposition, then Baldovino entered into what seemed to be a musical dialogue with the orchestra as if the two clashed, reminding Jack of dueling banjos. In the final gigue of two extended solos, Baldovino used a bowing technique that resulted in a curious croaking effect, delighting the audience.
In Bach’s Violin Concerto no. 2 in E Major, Baldovino opened with an impassioned melody, followed by serenity, and ending with a dancelike finale.
The audience rose in another standing ovation.
The concert concluded with Tchaikovsky’s Symphony no. 4 in F Minor.
Not being able to come up with a more apt example, Jack felt himself much like a Cinderella at the stroke of midnight, who turned away from the magical evening and faced the reality of returning to his place among the cinders.
For an instant, he jealously told himself that perhaps he should have excelled in something more glamorous than bow making.
Jack gazed at Eva going against the flow of the crowd as she made her way backstage after the concert. Jack felt bereft, as if he had lost her without ever having really found her. Her being in love with him had been an ego trip for him years ago. When he settled down to seriousness, he began to realize what a wonderful person Eva was.
He’d returned with the determination that if she were not already taken, he wanted to pursue a serious relationship with her. Perhaps that would have worked except for the appearance of Georgio Baldovino.
Eva was beautiful and would easily make Baldovino shine even brighter by being his dinner guest with the orchestra.
Baldovino had … “everything.”
Even Al recognized that. On the way home, he said, “Looks like our Eva hit the jackpot.”
“Not a ‘Jack pot,’” he replied. “Looks more like a ‘Baldovino pot … of gold!’”
He glanced at Al, who stared at him with that “what are you gonna do about it?” look. Jack never had been able to hide anything from Al. It had been Al who had cautioned him about Eva’s fragile feelings when they were younger. Jack had flippantly replied that Eva was but one in a long line of admiring females.
“Sometimes I’m tempted to give her the Alono,” Jack said.
Al harrumphed. “If she doesn’t like you now, would she like you if you gave her a violin?”
“No,” Jack said. “She would just like the violin. She’s angry with me.”
A light laugh escaped Al’s throat. “Reminds me of how I got mad at Ruth for dying and leaving me.”
“At least she’s not indifferent to me.”
“That’s something,” Al said. “What you do with your violin is up to you. But you remember what I told you about it.”
“That’s what changed my life.” Jack took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. He admitted to himself what had been nagging at the back of his mind for quite some time. Almost as if an audible voice had spoken, he knew there were two things he had to do.
One, despite any rejection he would likely receive, he had to let Eva know he loved her.
Chapter 8
Jack became more nervous by the moment about what he intended to. All day he vacillated between telling himself how foolish such an action would be and telling himself he must follow through.
What would he do if Baldovino were there? Was today the time to do it? Was it too late? Was Vizcaya the place? Was he just setting himself up for humiliation for the rest of his life?
Determined, he decided on dressy/casual attire and not to wear a suit as Baldovino likely would. The quartet had talked of wearing their matching outfits of navy and white since they were not out-front performers, but would provide background music to the guests touring the museum.
He arrived after noon, knowing the quartet was to play for a couple of hours inside the museum in the morning, afternoon, and evening between the outdoor Medieval activities. Deciding afternoon was not the time to carry out his mission, he watched a little of the Medieval jousting and remembered when he was a knight and when many young women, including Eva, admired him much the way Eva was now admiring the
famous violinist.
One big difference. She’d been a young college girl then. She was a woman now.
If Baldovino were there at Vizcaya, then Jack saw no way he could get Eva alone and talk with her. He didn’t see him.
He listened to the quartet playing their Renaissance music in the evening. Most guests took the music for granted. A few took time to lightly applaud. The sound was good enough to merit enthusiastic ovation.
“Eva, could I talk with you privately?” he asked when the quartet was putting their instruments into their cases.
She laid her violin in its case, then straightened and looked at him curiously.
He must have looked as ill as he felt. This was the turning point of his entire life. He had to know if there was a chance for him, although he felt he already knew. He was bold in most areas and never self-conscious. This weak-kneed, butterfly stomach sort of thing was entirely new to him.
He kept telling himself that he and Eva had known each other for years. They were like family in many ways. He could say anything to her. She was not an unkind person. However, his ego and pride played a part in this, too. But, he mustn’t let pride stand in the way of at least facing what he felt for her and letting her know, regardless of the consequence. He felt like a coward, but not telling her would be even worse cowardice.
If the truth were out, and he received her rejection, then he wouldn’t have to wonder and could move on, as difficult as that might be. But he didn’t want to live out his life having been a coward.
“Is Baldovino here?” he asked.
“I haven’t seen him,” she replied. “His tour manager was to fly in this morning. Georgio said he’d come tonight if he could.
“Is something wrong?” she asked quickly, likely seeing some horrible expression on his face. “Have you seen him?”
“No. Nothing like that. I was just asking.”
“Is Grandpa all right?”
“He’s all right. It’s … me.”
“You? Jack?” Her stare filled with concern. “Are … are you ill?”
“Ill?” He expelled a deep breath. “Not in the way you’re implying. I feel rather like I’ve got the flu, but—”