I sat clutching the Strad to my chest like it was a baby, trying my best to concentrate on the class. It was like trying to traverse two worlds—one with two men who consumed my every waking thought, and this, my old life of lessons, practice, and big dreams for a future in music.
I felt caught between these two worlds.
Stifling a yawn, I returned my attention to our instructor.
“Am I boring you, Ms. Rampling?” said Charles Penn-Rhodes, a retired orchestra conductor out of Vienna whose accent was as thick as his round-rimmed glasses.
Cringing, I said, “Sorry.”
Salme raised her hand. “We strive for perfection,” she answered his question brightly. “We become the violin.”
Penn-Rhodes awarded her a smile. “In the beginning, we must be prepared to fail. With failure comes learning. It’s only with constant practice that you can become a maestro.”
Salme Baker came from royal orchestra stock. Her mom was a senior cellist in the London Symphony Orchestra and that meant she had the advantage over us lesser mortals—not to mention owning a multi-million pound violin. She played well and I didn’t begrudge her that. It was the fact she’d taken a dislike to me for no obvious reason.
But today, my wielding a Stradivarius made me a worthy opponent.
“Ms. Baker, play without worrying about perfection,” said Charles. “Don’t try. Do.”
Salme rose to her feet with the grace of a dancer.
With her bow raised and her chin high she swayed to the music as the beautiful strains of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s “Concerto No. 3” filled the room. I imagined that’s how Mozart had imagined it being performed when he’d scribed those notes on parchment, proof to the ear she played exquisitely. If this was meant to represent her not trying, she’d just been anointed star pupil.
Charles had influence at the London Symphony Orchestra, the kind of pull that made us all sit up when he walked in. His assignments were taken seriously by students who wanted to make a name for themselves.
I’d just committed professional suicide when I’d stifled that yawn. I muttered a self-scathing remark under my breath and then realized everyone was looking at me.
“If you think you can do better,” chided Penn-Rhodes.
“No, I was…somewhere else.” That sounded just as bad.
“Up you get,” he invited me to play with a sweep of his chubby arm.
I pushed to my feet and hurried into the center of the room, waiting for permission to begin.
“Emily.” Charles raised his hand to stay me. “Let’s try something else.”
My gut clenched with tension at the unfairness of him favoring her. Something told me I was about to endure a humiliating test.
A test. Unlike the one James had given me in the House of Commons…
“Emily, focus, please.” Penn-Rhodes gave a nod. “Show us how you scale without obvious change in the note.” He bowed respectfully. “Let’s not shame that Stradivarius.”
The look on his face was pure speculation, a silent question as to how I’d gotten hold of this instrument.
Positioning my chin on the rest, fighting a case of nerves and feeling self-consciousness mixed with doubt, I slid my bow across the strings and produced an A-major 3-octave.
“Again, please.” Penn-Rhodes shook his head. “This is your time to impress, Emily.”
Was that a hint he’d put a good word in for me at the orchestra?
Salme was tapping her foot and it was an off-tempo rhythm. I pivoted away to avoid being put off.
“Face this way, please,” said Penn-Rhodes. “Eyes open.”
This meant Salme and her tapping foot was directly in my line of sight. I raised my violin again and repeated the single-note scales and arpeggios and increased the tempo.
Penn-Rhodes raised a hand to stop me.
Laughter rose from the class.
“Again, please,” he demanded. “Trust your violin. It knows more than you.”
The rest of the day went the same way—in each class I felt progressively off-kilter. Perhaps I’d fooled myself into thinking I had any talent at all.
I finally headed out of the Academy, my violin case feeling heavier.
The weight of defeat?
Farther down the pavement, I saw Salme chatting with a group of friends. I had to walk past them to get to the waiting SUV—the one with the bodyguard waiting beside it. He wasn’t the same driver who’d brought me here, which caused me to feel uneasy.
Swallowing my pride, I put my head down and hoped Salme wouldn’t see me.
“Hey, Emily,” she called after me.
“You played great today.” I tried appeasing her.
“Where have you been?”
I was surprised she’d noticed my absence. “Just…around.”
“I think you might need to give up the Strad.” She glanced at the SUV. “It’s not working for you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your violin is pushing back.” She smirked. “It’s alive, you know, and it senses the person playing doesn’t deserve it. It’s a bit like a horse. It knows when the rider is scared.”
I’d find my stride again.
She raised an envelope in her hand. “Did you get one?”
I blinked at her and stared at the embossed envelope. “What is it?”
The waver in my voice made her smile.
“Penn-Rhodes’ top students have been invited to play at the Russian Embassy. We’ve been chosen to entertain a visiting dignitary.” She stepped forward. “Peramivir will be there.”
“Who?”
“The Russian Ambassador.”She beamed with pride. “You didn’t get one?”
“When is it?”
“Tomorrow night.”
Taking in their faces one by one, I could see they were enjoying this. These were the elite students who’d been bestowed with the honor of performing at the highest level. Each of them held the same envelope.
“Congrats.” I tried not to let my mortification show.
“Another VIP is going to be there.” She combed her thin fingers through her dark hair.
“Who?”
She glanced at her friends, amused.
“Ms. Rampling,” the bodyguard called over. “We have an appointment.”
Salme studied the man and then the car. “Looks like you got yourself a sugar daddy. Is he the one who gave you the Strad?”
“What?”
She burst into laughter. “Someone paying your rent?”
My face flushed brightly, which let everyone know she was close to the truth.
Except it was two men, not one, and they were far from her description. Of course, I’d never be able to say anything about them. That was the rule.
I couldn’t think of a clever retort. “I have to go,” I said, as I headed for the car.
“What happened to your other violin?” she called after me.
I turned to look at her. “Why?”
“You might want to play that one instead.” She pointed at my case. “Give someone with talent the chance to do it justice. It’s wasted on you.”
Her friends laughed.
A rush of humiliation mixed with doubt nearly overwhelmed me. Closing my eyes for a second, I thought of Xavier. The memory of his love calmed me like a warm embrace. She couldn’t touch me now…no one could.
“Good luck for tomorrow,” I told them.
With confident strides, I hurried over to the driver. He opened the rear passenger door and I leaped in. The vehicle was different from the one that had driven me here. It made me wonder if James had a car park full of them.
I pulled my seatbelt on.
The driver turned to look at me. “Do you know him, ma’am?”
“Who?”
There was a rap on the window.
Penn-Rhodes was standing there signaling to get my attention. A jolt of hopeful uncertainty tore through me. I reached for the button and nothing happened. “Can you lower the window,
please? That’s my tutor.”
The glass came down.
I knew immediately what Penn-Rhodes was holding in his hand as he passed it through. “I get to go to the Embassy?”
“You know about it?” he asked.
“Salme told me she’s going.”
“I was looking for you.” He glanced inside the car. “This is nice.”
I took the envelope. “Thank you.”
He pointed a finger at me. “Play your heart out tomorrow.”
“I will. I’m sorry about today.”
“Not everyone can access their heart like you, Emily. That’s a gift. The world makes accessing our soul that much harder. Don’t let it change you. You’ll soon be leaving us, and I wanted to say that, at least.”
That was the first time he’d addressed me by my first name.
“Thank you so much.”
As he headed back into the Academy, the car window wound its way up. We took off into traffic. It filled my heart with happiness to know that a musician as prestigious as Penn-Rhodes considered me worthy of playing at such an event.
“I have to make a call, ma’am,” said the driver, holding my gaze in the rearview.
I felt terrible I’d not asked his name. The screen between us came up before I had the chance, hiding him from view. I made a mental note to ask him as soon as he lowered it.
Peeling open the envelope, I read the gold embossed invitation stamped with the white, blue and red of the Russian flag. The invitation included the dress code required—black-tie for the men and evening gowns for the women. We were expected at seven P.M. and scheduled to perform an hour later. Leaving us all enough time to make it through security and get set up.
This would be my moment to shine.
In the envelope was a list of music Penn-Rhodes had chosen for us to play. I’d have plenty of time to rehearse these. Salme was probably heading home to an evening of practice, ready to get ahead of us all.
I noticed the driver had turned the wrong way. Instead of choosing Prince Albert Road, the car was driving through Marylebone and heading in the opposite direction, away from Primrose Hill.
I rapped on the glass. “Excuse me, we’re going in the wrong direction.”
Primrose Hill was only ten minutes from the Academy—a thoughtful touch by James to have me so close. He’d not mentioned us meeting anywhere else later today, though. In fact he’d told me to come straight home.
The glass remained between us as we picked up speed, swerving past Bond Street. Selfridges passed by in a blur on our right. Panic-stricken, I reached into my handbag and pulled out my phone, turning it back on.
The screen took forever to appear. I tapped James’ number and put the phone to my ear.
My heart pounded against my ribs as it rang and rang.
“Ballad,” he answered sharply.
“It’s me,” I said quickly.
The call dropped.
My fingers tightened around the phone as I went to redial. The car came to a jolting stop and I looked out, recognizing nothing.
The car door flew open and I saw a young man standing on the pavement looking in at me. His Middle Eastern features reflected a sharp intellect.
He made a sweeping gesture, inviting me to climb out of the vehicle. “This way, Ms. Kingston.”
I wasn’t moving. “Where are we?”
“Mayfair. You’re joining Sir Ballad.”
“He’s here?”
The young man glanced behind him.
Leaning low, I tried to look beyond him and peer through the Park Room Restaurant’s window, but I couldn’t see James.
“I’m Akmal,” the man said, making eye contact with me. “Nice to meet you.”
With a shaky hand, I grabbed my violin and then let him assist me out of the SUV, all the while glancing around at the passers-by as though they could help.
He eyed the violin. “You can leave that with me,” he said.
I clutched my case tighter and shook my head. “I’ll hold onto it.”
No way was I giving a stranger my Strad.
He shut the door behind me with a slam and gave a wave to the chauffeur.
“How was the drive?” he asked.
Terrifying.
“Fine.”
The concierge opened the door to the restaurant for us and Akmal motioned for me to go on ahead. I walked in carefully, eyeing the other diners.
We were led down a narrow hallway. I stopped suddenly when I saw a bodyguard positioned in front of one of the doors, that telltale wire spiraling from his earpiece.
“She’s with Ballad,” Akmal told him.
“They’re expecting her?” asked the guard.
“Yes.”
“Open the case, please,” the guard demanded.
I laid it on a nearby table and reached for the catches, flicking them open while thinking of different scenarios. No way would James allow any harm to come to me. He’d seemingly made every provision. I took a calming breath.
“Slowly, please.” The guard stepped forward to watch me open the case. “Take it out.”
I did as he ordered, gently easing the violin out, and then flashing a wary glance at Akmal.
“Protocol,” he reassured me.
I wondered who else this man was guarding in that room and a shudder of nervous excitement slithered up my spine. I couldn’t wait to see Xavier. Hopefully it was him.
“It’s fragile,” I told the guard as he took the violin from me.
He held it up to the light. “Looks old.”
“As in two centuries…”
“Whoa,” said Akmal. “Careful.”
With a nod I was handed my instrument back and I re-secured it in the case.
The guard opened the door for us and Akmal escorted me in.
James sat at a corner table. He was still in that waistcoat and jeans and his hair was playfully ruffled in an attempt to look less intimidating. It didn’t work. He still oozed a deadly suaveness.
He was accompanied by a sophisticated looking blonde in her forties. She looked familiar and I tried to recall where I’d seen her. My heart sank a little when I saw Xavier wasn’t with them.
The room was classically designed in a minimalist style, with hardwood floors and black and white prints of London’s landmarks. There was only one dining table. It was a discreet setting in the heart of Mayfair for private functions and meetings.
James stood and pulled out a chair for me, then took my violin case and placed it on the seat beside mine. “Ms. Kingston,” he said warmly. “How was your day?”
“Fine, thank you.”
We both sat and it felt reassuring to be close to him again.
James smiled. “Allow me to introduce Ms. Kingston.” He studied my face for a few moments and then gestured towards the woman. “The Right Honorable Agatha Parish.”
“Nice to meet you.” I reached over and shook her hand.
I recognized her now. Agatha was a senior member of the government, a woman who frequently held court with the press announcing her doom and gloom policies on behalf of the Prime Minister.
Her stare grew cold as she clutched my hand for the longest time, assessing me.
“It was good to see you again,” James told her.
She finally released me and leaned back in her chair.
“Home Secretary,” said Akmal, “I’ll see you out.”
She offered him a strained smile and then turned her attention back on me.
“Didn’t catch your first name?”
Ballad pushed to his feet. “Have a safe trip to Chequers Court.”
She’d be heading to the Prime Minister’s country estate, I knew that much. It was where he got to relax, and only the top members of the cabinet had the privilege of knowing what went on there. This included Ballad, apparently.
“Thank you, I’m quite looking forward to it.” She rose elegantly and reached for a large red case embossed with a royal crown and the initials E.R. beneath it. Her
intense stare landed on my violin case. “You play?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said respectfully.
Her lips formed a slow smile. “Ballad, you’ve been keeping this jewel locked away.”
“You have no idea.” He winked at me.
“Now, regarding the matter at hand,” she said, her expression stern, “the Prime Minister—”
James interrupted her with a confident wave. “Inform Charles nothing has changed. War is off the table—”
“But the speech—”
“He’ll appear to be the reasoned one. Let the United States carry this. They owe us.”
“You’re making a mistake,” she chided.
“I’m fully aware that you have your sights set on becoming PM.”
“A rumor.”
“You’re a hawk, Agatha. Some would call you bloodthirsty.”
“I’m merely putting the country first.”
“I suggest you visit the countries where you want to send more troops. Check out all the amputees. Then move on to the graves at home.”
“Don’t be crass.”
“Don’t throw away lives for political gain.”
“You’re no saint, Ballad.”
“That’s the most insightful statement you’ve made.”
Agatha sighed and sent a condescending glance my way. “She’s very young, James. Doesn’t she bore you?”
My forearms prickled in response.
He arched a brow. “Look at her one more time in that manner, Home Secretary, and you’ll be serving your country from Siberia.”
“Well, I must admit,” she said, her tone softening, “she is quite lovely.”
He gave a nod. “I’m grateful for that change of attitude. Please give Charles my regards.”
She walked away in a cloud of expensive perfume, glancing back nervously as Akmal led her out and closed the door behind them.
James turned in his chair to face me. “Wine?”
“Yes, please.”
He signaled the waiter. The bottle was ordered and the table was cleared.
“She looked like she was scared of you,” I said. “The Home Secretary.”
“That’s because I can have her on a plane to Siberia tonight if she crosses me again.”
“Oh, the heady power.” I gave him a cheesy grin.
Pervade Duet: Pervade London & Pervade Montego Bay Page 26