Perfect Notes

by Jaye Peaches

  Franz’s comments had triggered a wave of guilt. I brushed my thoughts of Stefan and his opinions aside and focused on me, three years ago, failing to live out my father’s ambition. No, never his. It was our ambition, and we shared it jointly. I had to acknowledge the truth. I’d given up. Abandoned it all because without Dad I couldn’t face doing it alone or, worse, failing to meet the grades and gaining no qualifications. My love of performing concerts had been vanquished by my lack of courage. Yet, I’d not stopped playing Nettie. I’d found new pieces to play, to replace those that reminded me of Dad, with the exception of the Mozart, which I clung to, as it was too beautiful to ignore.

  I’d planned to use that piece in my recital for my college application. I banged my head against the glass, angry with myself and how much time I’d wasted.

  It wasn’t too late, was it? A long time ago, I’d planted a seed in my mind and let my father nurture it. Left unattended, it had withered and nearly died. However, the roots remained, and for the first time in over three years, I wanted that seed to sprout and regrow. I didn’t need Stefan to tell me what was best for me. I could do this on my own.

  The train entered Munich, passing through the suburbs and on to the city center. People about me prepared to disembark, and I readied myself for the next stage of my journey—reaching the airport and checking in for my flight.

  * * * *

  “Callie!”

  I froze in disbelief. He’d found me, chased after me and probably driven like a madman, accumulating speeding tickets along the way.

  I turned to find a breathless Stefan running toward me. As he came closer, I could see beads of sweat on his forehead. I’d nowhere to go, surrounded by people with baggage trolleys and whining kids. In the middle of a busy terminal concourse, I had to face him. He halted in front of me, catching his breath. “Callie, wait…” he panted.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Dad told me you’d gone. Why didn’t you wait for me?” He raised his arms, almost as if to embrace me, but held back. “I said I’d bring you here. Don’t you trust me?”

  “Trust you?” I put my hands on my hips and deepened my voice. “Don’t let me ride roughshod over you. Remember that? Then you go and tell me to go to college.”

  “Tell you? Don’t be ridiculous. I suggested you read a book, that’s all.” He ran his fingers through his wavy locks. “Please, listen. I don’t know why you’re upset with me, but I’ve come to say I’m sorry—”

  “Sorry! And after that? You did more than suggest a book. What’s it going to be this time? More interfering, making decisions for me? What about letting me live my life?” I said in a hushed voice, conscious of the crowds around me. “I can do what I want. I don’t need you… Or Dad. I’m my own person. You think you’re perfect for me, don’t you?”

  “God damn it, Callie,” he said hoarsely, trying to keep his voice low.

  About us, heads turned and feet shuffled on the floor.

  Stefan crept closer, bending down to speak. “No, I’m not perfect. I’m not the perfect lover or the best Dominant. I fuck things up. I’m twenty-seven years old and I’m frittering away my trust fund, I’ve done bugger all composing and avoided commitment like it’s a disease. Even the conducting job is short-term.” He screwed up his eyes and clutched his hands together as if in prayer. “I am not wrong about us. You’ve inspired something within me. I’ve come alive.”

  “What about me?” I reiterated through gritted teeth, glancing about at our embarrassed audience.

  His eyes shone brightly under the lights. “You’re everything to me and I don’t want to change you. I’m sorry I gave you that impression. I wanted to inspire you—like you do me. Your choices are yours to make, as are mine. It’s me who needs to wake up and change. I… I don’t think I can do it without you.”

  I noted his fists clenching and unclenching. He tipped his head to one side, closed his eyes and pressed his lips together as if biting back a cry of pain.

  His almost pitiful expression—both unnerving and appealing—halted my anguish. It made him appear vulnerable, quite unlike the confident man who had commanded me to be his, ravished me then held me in his embrace while I wept tears of release. I’d put up a barrier and he’d smashed past it and grabbed at my heart.

  I reached forward, took a hand, pried apart his tense fingers and drew his palm to my lips. I melted into his warm hand, letting him stroke my tear-stained cheeks. I didn’t know where they’d come from, but they slipped out of my eyes unexpectedly.

  “Why do you keep running away from me?” he asked. “I’m reaching out to you in ways I’ve never done with anyone else. I’m trying very hard to be the man you want me to be.” He massaged my tense temple with his thumb.

  “I know… I overreact…” I murmured.

  “I need you,” he choked.

  I leaned into him. “Me too. Need you, I mean.”

  We must have made quite a sight, because a couple nearby applauded as we merged into an embrace. He smothered my mouth with his and kissed my lips hard. I breathed into him, letting go of the tension in my shoulders. The soft bristles of his goatee brushed against my chin. A familiar comforting sensation I’d come to enjoy. I rose on my tiptoes, draped my arms around his shoulders and spread the digits of one hand through his dark locks, until they swathed my quivering fingers. I drew his head lower, darted my tongue into his mouth and gorged on his moist taste. I couldn’t stop my legs from wobbling and he held me tightly to his chest, keeping me upright until I had recovered my poise.

  I brushed away my tears with the back of my hand. “Well, that’s some send-off kiss.”

  He managed to smile at my weak joke. “I’ll catch up with you in England, probably the day after tomorrow?”

  “Sure.” Two days without Stefan—a lifetime!

  “I have to go. Dad wasn’t exactly welcoming.” He grinned. “Got my work cut out for me.”

  “He told me you’re a good son.”

  Stefan blushed, a rare display of embarrassment. “He’s scared, deep down. I just hope he’ll settle and get strong again.”

  “I’m sure he will. He’s stubborn like his son.” I rested my head against his shoulder, swaying in his arms, and his heartbeat pounded in my ear.

  “Please, think about moving in with me. Not to save money or anything mercenary. Do it to be with me, nothing else.”

  “I’ll think about it.” The harbinger of doom—my overthinking conscience—told me too soon, and not to be impetuous. If he needed me that much, he could wait until I’d straightened out the knot of confused thoughts raging inside me. I couldn’t leave Talia without a flatmate at short notice. How would she pay the combined rent?

  I had a decision to make, and it was entirely mine.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I let myself into the house a little after six in the evening. “Talia?” I called out.

  Silence greeted me.

  In the kitchen, I found a note from her.

  Gone to George’s. Need to talk.

  With George or me? I frowned. What did I tell her about Stefan’s offer? I could warn her I might move out or leave it until I was certain. I dug about in the cupboards and found a packet of dried pasta and sauce. Quite a comedown after Stefan’s cooking, but I couldn’t be bothered to go shopping. I poured boiling water onto the mixture, reconstituted the miserable meal, downed it quickly then trudged upstairs to my bedroom. Lying on my back on the bed, I sent a text to Stefan, informing him that I was back safely. He replied promptly.

  Battle of wills here. Dad refusing to cooperate with Bianca. She’s made of tough stuff, though. Missing you. X

  I guessed Bianca was the live-in caregiver. Young or old, I wondered. I imagined a stalwart kind of person, with brawny arms for lifting geriatrics, and stout legs.

  Good luck! Missing you 2 x

  I also sent a text to my mother.

  A few seconds later, the telephone rang—not my mobile, but the landline. I groaned
, heaved off the bed and dashed downstairs to answer the archaic corded telephone.

  “Callie,” snapped my mother.

  “Mum,” I answered less than enthusiastically.

  “Well?”

  I imagined her eyebrows pinned to the top of her forehead. One word laced with so much curiosity.

  I’d prepared a speech. Without mentioning the word boyfriend, I divulged scant details about my trip to Germany. I kept to the line about helping a friend out. As excuses went, it was pretty lame, and I stuttered my explanation, leaving out many facts, like sex and moving in with him, and instead stuck to sailing boats and swimming pools.

  “Swimming? I thought you’d gone to help him. How does going for a swim help? Sailing? When have you ever shown any interest in boats?”

  I slumped into a nearby chair and buried my head in a hand, phone glued to my ear. “It was less of a crisis than I thought.” Which wasn’t a lie. Stefan’s father could have been much worse.

  The line went quiet for a few seconds before she spoke again. “You stopped bringing Micah to see me because… Well, you know mine and Charlene’s opinions of him. Is this going to be a repeat—ignoring me?”

  “No!” My quick response took me by surprise. Stefan was nothing like Micah, which made me realize that I missed Stefan and needed his comforting arm embracing me.

  “Then bring him for Sunday lunch. Yes?” It wasn’t a suggestion. Mother wanted to meet the man in my life and fobbing her off wouldn’t be an option.

  “All right.” I resigned myself to the fate of parental interference. “Dad would have liked him,” I said impulsively.

  “Darling, your father liked everyone. He was a generous man.”

  She moved the conversation on to other things, rattled off inconsequential gossip about the neighbors, and I stifled several yawns before she finished the call.

  My mobile beeped, my popularity unexpected. I’d ignored all the texts from Charlene, refusing to reply to her vulture-like inquisition, especially as she had sent her first text with the opening words—What have you gone and done now?

  To my relief, it was Stefan with an update.

  Blood pressure shot up this evening. Bianca very patient—Dad a bad patient. I played him Chopin Nocturnes until he calmed down.

  Your BP or his?

  LOL. His, mine too, probably. Sleep well x

  Can’t without you. Xxxx

  I didn’t bother to unpack my things. I undressed, slipped under the covers and fell into an instant sleep, dreaming about boats and drowning, which woke me up in the night. I peeled the covers away, letting my sweaty body cool. Indecision about my future kept me awake until dawn, when I managed to drift off for an hour.

  * * * *

  I’d missed three days of work, including Saturday. Consequently, I arrived in work early and bent over backward to make up for my lost hours. Bridget cruised in after eight, keen to know whether my excursion had been successful.

  “Things are better,” I said, laying out flowers ready for an arrangement.

  “Better? That’s sounds like it was hardly worth the effort.”

  She held out her hand and I handed her a carnation.

  “Okay. We made up, fell out, made up and it’s…promising.”

  She picked up a lily. “Promising. You really don’t want to say it, do you?”

  “Say what?” I fiddled with a detached leaf.

  “That you love him.” She snipped the stem with scissors, adding the lily to the bouquet. She made it look easy, balancing the colors and position of the flower heads. I would chop and change my mind about what went where, trying to find the perfect assemblage without success. She got it right the first time, every time.

  I hunched my shoulders over the worktable, not wanting her to see my flushed face. “I’m not sure if I do,” I muttered.

  “Nonsense, girl, of course you do. You shot off determined to find out the truth. Didn’t you?”

  I clenched my teeth together and sucked air through them noisily. How to explain about his tendency to dominate and take charge of me. “He’s a challenging man.”

  “All men are. What is it that you like about him?”

  I ceased twiddling my fingers. “I suppose he’s musical like me. Um, passionate… Sexy… Caring…” I pictured Stefan in my head, trying to sum him up without resorting to salacious terms.

  “He’s good in bed,” rounded off Bridget. “Perhaps, too good?”

  I froze with a hand outstretched, reaching for a flower. For some reason, I’d never articulated that particular fear, but as soon as Bridget finished speaking, I knew she’d hit on something that I had avoided. With Micah, sex had been mundane, quick and rarely fantastic. I performed for him, made the right noises, and he came easily. Naturally, I’d thought, back then, the sex was good enough. I pretended on the odd occasion to have an orgasm and didn’t think of it as deceitful, because he seemed to expect them. I couldn’t imagine lying to Stefan and I didn’t have to. If anything, trying not to come thrilled him more.

  Stefan’s sexual prowess held me in awe. The confidence he exuded the moment our bodies heated up astounded me. If I’d fallen in love with Stefan, his sexual skills had founded our relationship. What if I wasn’t good enough for him, or couldn’t sustain it? I picked up another lily and handed it to Bridget, trying to mask my trembling hand.

  “There’s nothing wrong with great sex. I’m rather partial to it myself,” humored Bridget. “Build on it. Take what is special in the bedroom and make it work in everything you do.”

  “I’ll get some more lilies out of the back.” I hurried into the storage room, my heart pounding. The cool air hit me and I leaned against the wall. What made the great sex special? His dominance. Could I tolerate that outside the bedroom? If my arguments yesterday were anything to go by, the answer would be no. That thought depressed me, because I didn’t want us to fail, but it seemed that we were destined to fall apart.

  I brought a pail of lilies to Bridget. To my relief, she moved off my personal life and rattled through the list of up-and-coming orders. A busy day, which was good. I needed the distraction.

  My mobile remained silent throughout the morning, making me pensive. What if Stefan’s father had deteriorated and gone back to hospital? It would delay his return. Feeling selfish didn’t help my apprehensive mood. I wanted to see him.

  Relief came in the form of a text message early afternoon.

  Took Dad to doctors this morning. Doc read him Riot Act and told him to rest. Bianca still wearing big-girl panties and won’t budge. Admire her tenacity.

  She sounds like a good caregiver.

  I kept my message neutral, not wanting to show optimism. He hadn’t mentioned his plan to come home, leaving me doubting his original two-day estimate. The shop bell rang and I stuffed the phone back in my pocket, plastering a welcoming smile on my face.

  Not long after that, I received another missive.

  Finally—a breakthrough! Bianca is a gourmet cook. She and Dad in the kitchen talking about recipes!

  I sensed Stefan’s relief shining through the words. I fired off a quick reply, hoping to build on his discovery of commonality between Franz and his unwanted caregiver.

  Great! Why not take them shopping for ingredients?

  Good idea.

  I glowed with self-congratulatory pride. Even from afar, I could make a difference.

  I worked late. Bridget didn’t expect me to, but I felt obliged. I ached in all the wrong places. I missed the way my body suffered after a spell with Stefan. In my furtive imagination, I craved the discomforts and soreness he inflicted on me. As I pottered about the shop, I feasted on a mental dish of our sexual feats. A contrary collection of images, because it meant I desired rough sex, not romantic cuddles and soft kisses.

  By the time I’d returned home, my mood had deflated again. The lights illuminated the sitting room. Talia was in, and it meant discussing my moving-out option. I refused to make it a certainty. It was a
possibility, nothing else.

  She showed surprisingly little interest in my exploits abroad. Instead, she fidgeted and tugged at the loose strands of her hair. When I went into the kitchen to make my tea, she followed me.

  “Callie. We must talk.” She pulled up a chair, sitting at the small kitchen table.

  I examined the contents of one cupboard. I seriously needed to improve my own culinary skills. “Sure.” I picked up a tin of baked beans. Sadly, it looked like it was going to be beans on toast.

  “I’m moving out,” she blurted.

  I nearly dropped the tin on the worktop. “Moving out?” I swiveled around, gaping in disbelief at her announcement.

  “It is silly. I am at George’s all the time. I pay rent here and sleep there. I know you cannot pay on your own. I’ve asked at the hospital. A few nurses would like to move out of the nurses’ accommodation. I am sure I can find you a new flatmate.” She gave me a sad-eyed expression and a little frown. “I am sorry. I hope not to cause you trouble. I will miss you.”

  I plonked myself down on the other chair, trying to hide an aghast expression. If she was moving out, then could I, too? What would the landlord do? Our agreement required notice to be given, arrears to be paid. I couldn’t afford to pay double the amount in advance.

  The realization dawned slowly, a creeping awareness of my own desires. My first thought on hearing Talia’s news wasn’t, ‘Oh yes, find me a flatmate to share’. It had been my own wish to move out and to have her plan meld with mine. Subconsciously, my mind had informed me that was my true desire—move in with Stefan and take the plunge.

  “What?” Talia leaned forward. “You’re not angry with me?”