Heartsong

by Melinda Cross

  It surprised her a little to find the antique black Steinway in need of refinishing, with obvious gouges that showed bare wood and the tell-tale yellowing of ivory keys. It wasn't the kind of piano one would expect Elias Shepherd to keep in his home.

  But this house isn't his home, she reminded herself; he refuses to even sleep here. Besides, a quick check confirmed that the instrument was well cared for on the inside, at least. It had a fine, resonant tone, and was perfectly tuned.

  Without another thought she sat down and let the restful, almost mournful beginning of Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' erase the world. Within the first few bars she had pushed all conscious thought to the far corners of her mind, and lost herself in the music.

  The piano had always been her escape, her refuge from reality too harsh to face, her release from emotions too intense to keep locked inside. Ever since she'd first touched a keyboard the piano had spoken for her, celebrating her triumphs and her joys, keening her sorrows, mourning her despair. She had been painfully shy as a child, and expressing her feelings through the piano had been much easier than sharing them with people who were never around for very long anyway. It still was.

  She stopped playing after the first movement of the sonata, letting the sorrowful tones hang undisturbed in the air, a flawless echo of her mood.

  She looked up and saw Becky in the doorway, standing perfectly still, a duster hanging limply from one hand. 'I'd forgotten,' she said quietly. 'I'd forgotten what it was like to have music in this house again. It's been a long time.'

  'Rebecca!' The booming voice might as well have been a peal of thunder shattering the solemn moment. Becky's head spun so fast on her shoulders that a shiny loop of hair flew from the comb and dangled over one ear.

  'In here!' she called out, her face suddenly, brilliantly radiant.

  Within seconds Elias was in the doorway, scooping Becky into his arms with a smile Madeline had never seen on his face before. 'You're too damn gorgeous for your own good, you know. And you just keep getting better.' He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her gently on her cheek. Then they just stood there, smiling into each other's eyes, as oblivious of Madeline as if she'd been another piece of furniture.

  She swallowed, blinked, thinking that apparently his determination to avoid emotional involvement applied only to pianists, not housekeepers, or teachers, or whatever the hell Becky was. She cleared her throat nervously, feeling like a child whose wistful face was pressed against a sweet-shop window.

  Elias turned his head in a jerk and noticed her for the first time. 'Oh. I didn't realise you were in here.' He draped one arm over Becky's shoulder. 'I take it you two have introduced yourselves already—why don't we all sit down and have some coffee?'

  Madeline tried to smile, but she couldn't quite pull it off. 'Actually, I was just about to go upstairs. I wanted to try the piano first.'

  'So try it.' Elias started to cross the room, but she jumped to her feet before he'd taken his second step.

  'I already did. It's great, but I'm really tired now. See you both later.'

  She walked out calmly, casually, but the moment the stairwell blocked her from their view she took the steps two at a time. Elias called her name sharply just as she closed her bedroom door behind her, but she didn't answer. She sagged against the door and held her breath, waiting for him to call again, but it didn't happen.

  The dressing-table faced her from across the room, and it was inevitable that Madeline would eventually focus on her reflection in the mirror. The figure she saw looked shapeless under the wrinkled T-shirt, juvenile, and oddly pathetic.

  With a heavy sigh she pushed away from the door, crossed the room, and leaned so close to the mirror that her breath togged the glass.

  'You're invisible,' she whispered sadly. 'He can hear you play, but he can't see you, because you're invisible.'

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The setting sun was washing the room with rose-coloured light by the time Madeline awakened, jerked to a sitting position on the bed, and checked her watch.

  Four hours. Good lord—she'd slept for four hours, and no one had bothered to wake her. But then why would they? she thought ruefully as her mind replayed the image of Elias and Becky wrapped in each other's arms. Three's a crowd, and all that.

  Suddenly she was desperately homesick, for her own apartment, her own furniture; a safe, familiar place where she knew she belonged. The first time she'd seen it, she'd thought Rosewood could be such a place. The house, the setting, even the winter-dead rose garden had seemed to call to her like old friends; but how foolish that seemed in retrospect. There was no place for her here.

  She took as much time as possible showering, washing and drying her hair, dressing, then picking up the mess she'd made of the room— anything to postpone the inevitable trip downstairs, the inevitable confrontation with Elias and Becky that would remind her she was as much an outsider here as she was anywhere else.

  Like a child with a security blanket, she found some comfort in the one article of clothing she loved almost to distraction. Worn thin from countless washings, the long white cotton dress fell in soft folds from a high neckline all the way down to her ankles. With full sleeves caught loosely at the wrist and only an optional sash to define the waist, it was almost a parody of virginal modesty, and she caught herself wondering if wearing it had been a subconscious effort to counter Becky's skimpy attire.

  Becky. The memory of the woman's vibrant sensuality seemed to mock the pristine reflection she saw in the mirror, white from neck to ankle, with a cloud of hair that was almost colourless fluffed about her shoulders. Her hand moved automatically for eyeshadow and blusher—anything to give life to the pale translucence of her face—but then the folly of trying to emulate Becky's beauty struck her, and she left the makeup untouched. With no excuses left to keep her from joining the others, she left her bedroom and started down the stairs.

  Elias was waiting in the late afternoon shadows at the bottom.

  She faltered when she saw him, slowed, and finally stopped, looking down at Elias looking up, his hand gripping the banister, his face frozen in the strangest expression. His hair was shiny black, newly washed, tumbling in careless disarray over his forehead to angle across one brow.

  His eyes held her, rendered her silent with a green that seemed deeper than ever, as if all the intensity of spring's debut were reflected there. Peripherally she noticed that he was dressed all in black, but that only served to emphasise his eyes, to draw her gaze to the only two spots of colour and hold it there.

  Without uttering a single word, he lifted his hand slowly from the banister and held it out to her, and, without thinking, she took it.

  Her fingers tingled when she slipped them into his palm, and, with her eyes locked on his, she took a step down towards him, then another. She stopped one step up, her face level with his, because she could go no farther. There was no room to stand between him and the first riser, but there must have been, because suddenly he was saying, 'Come on, Maddie,' in a low whisper, and then his hands circled her waist and he lifted her towards him without effort. For one endless, mind-boggling second her feet dangled in mid-air and her heart seemed to float above her body as surely as her legs floated above the floor, then he let her down slowly. He was very, very close, and at the precise moment that Madeline became acutely conscious of the pressure of his fingers at her waist, he dropped his hands and backed quickly away from her.

  They both looked down at the floor at the same time, then up at each other hesitantly.

  'You must be hungry,' he said quietly. 'You slept right through lunch.'

  Madeline's head moved in a jerky nod, her eyes wide. Through some trick of memory, she imagined that she could still feel his hands at her waist.

  'Come on.' He turned and led the way down the hall towards the kitchen, and she followed mindlessly, her eyes focused on where his shirt clung to the hollow between his shoulder-blades.

  'Becky made supper for
us before she left,' he said over his shoulder. 'I didn't think you'd want to go out tonight.'

  She rubbed absently at her waist as she followed him, erasing the memory of his touch. 'Becky's gone?'

  'Hours ago.'

  The kitchen was filled with the long shadows of late afternoon, the air itself subdued with the gloom of twilight. The light over the sink was on, but there was not yet enough darkness for its glow to appear warm. Madeline stopped just inside the doorway and shivered, feeling a vague disquiet.

  Becky's touch was everywhere. In the galley area to her left the work-tops shone from a recent scrubbing, as did the ancient stove. The window over the sink was polished, and the empty clay pots had been banished from the sill to somewhere out of sight. In the alcove to her right, an expanse of shiny floor stretched to the newly swept hearth on the far wall, and even the easy chairs flanking it seemed brighter. Directly ahead, the table under the rose garden window was laid for two, its surface gleaming between sunny yellow place-mats.

  She remained motionless in the doorway of the transformed room while Elias went to stir something wonderfully aromatic simmering on the stove.

  'I've decanted some wine,' he told her. 'Will you pour?'

  She followed his gaze to the crystal carafe and matching glasses on the table. It was an exquisite, deeply faceted pattern, obviously expensive, and strangely out of place between the two place-settings of country crockery. She smiled as she poured, thinking how many contrasts she had found in the short time she'd been at Rosewood. Meticulous, loving needlework filling an empty, loveless house; Elias tender and warm, then brutally cold; a dead, untended rose garden in the lush surroundings of spring; and now dazzling imported crystal in a country kitchen.

  Elias joined her at the table. 'Cheers,' he said perfunctorily, lifting his glass. 'According to Becky, we're supposed to finish the bottle before we even think about eating.'

  Madeline sipped at the deep red liquid and slid into one of the ladder-backed wooden chairs. It made her uncomfortable that he remained standing, looking down at her. 'Is whatever she made that bad?'

  'No,' he chuckled. 'Becky's a marvellous cook.'

  Naturally, Madeline thought, drinkly deeply, wondering if there was anything the remarkable Becky couldn't do. Housekeeper, cook, shopper…probably a nuclear scientist in her spare time.

  'I take it you like the wine?'

  Madeline shrugged, then glanced at her glass, amazed to find it almost empty. 'I guess I must.'

  Elias nodded, smiling, and walked back to the stove. 'Becky thought you might. Help yourself to more.'

  Becky, Becky, Becky. Madeline wondered if her smile looked as forced on the outside as it felt from the inside, and she stopped her hand when it reached automatically for the carafe.

  Supper was painfully silent. Madeline spent most of the meal in a shallow pretence of watching darkness creep up on the rose garden outside the window, avoiding Elias's eyes as much as possible.

  'We were supposed to get to know each other tonight,' he said suddenly, startling her.

  'What?'

  He put his fork down on his plate with exaggerated care, and watched it for a long moment as if he expected it to move on its own. 'That's what the wine was for. Becky thought it might be nice if we just relaxed a little together; had a pleasant, social evening.'

  'Did she?' One of Madeline's light brows arched prettily.

  He nodded grimly and met her eyes. 'As pleasant, social evenings go, this one hasn't exactly been memorable so far, has it?' he asked wryly, tapping at the generous level of wine in the carafe. 'Becky was right. We should have finished the bottle.'

  It was fully dark by the time they'd finished washing and drying the dishes. The clean-up had seemed particularly awkward, as if they were two strangers trying to play house.

  Just as she was hanging her damp drying towel on the rack by the stove, Madeline heard Elias release a noisy sigh. His back was towards her, and she turned to see him leaning over the sink, his arms braced stiffly on the work-tops to either side, his head bent.

  It just wasn't fair that the light should hit him quite that way, she thought miserably, making his hair shimmer like a dark, liquid crown; highlighting the way his silk shirt clung to the musculature beneath, rippling with every breath.

  'We're not exactly ideal companions, are we?' he said, turning to face her with a wry grin. 'If tonight is any example, you're just about as adept at socialising as I am.'

  She smiled a little at that. 'I'm sorry. I've never been much of a conversationalist.'

  'Don't apologise. I'm the same way.'

  They both sighed at the same time, then mirrored each other's nervous smiles. Elias turned away and pretended to tighten a tap that didn't need tightening. 'David called this afternoon,' he said into the sink.

  'Oh?' She forced her eyes down and plucked an imaginary thread from her sleeve.

  'He wanted to come up and take you out to dinner on Friday.'

  Suddenly the thought of seeing David, of having someone, just as Elias had Becky, was enormously appealing. There would be no awkward silences in an evening of his company. Silence was an enemy to people like David, something dark and frightening to be kept at bay at all costs. 'I think I'd like that. What time will he be here?'

  He turned suddenly to face her, and there was something odd about his expression. 'He won't. I told him not to come.'

  Madeline hesitated for a moment, confused. 'Why would you do that?'

  'Because,' he began, frowning uncertainly, and at first she thought that was the only reason he would offer. 'Because… I didn't want anything interrupting our work just yet.'

  'I have to eat anyway,' she reminded him sullenly.

  He shook his head impatiently and looked off to one side. 'David's too distracting,' he said brusquely. 'I decided that the last thing you need is something that will distract you from the music.'

  She was speechless for a moment while she tried to channel the sudden rush of disbelief into words. 'You decided?' she finally managed to force out.

  His eyes narrowed defensively, but he still refused to look at her. 'That's right. I think I know what's best in this case.'

  Madeline looked down at where her hands were tightening into white fists even before she realised she was angry. He sounded like a pompous parent trying to justify an unfair curfew. 'You have no right to make decisions like that for me,' she said carefully, but behind the control of her voice she couldn't help thinking that it was all right for him to have Becky on a daily basis—and if anyone qualified as a 'distraction', she certainly did—but she wasn't even to be permitted one evening away from his control.

  The more she thought about it, the more she seethed, and when she finally looked up her eyes had darkened to a stormy grey and her chin jutted rebelliously. 'I work for you,' she said in clipped, precise tones. 'You don't own me, and if I want to go out to dinner with someone else, that's exactly what I'll do. I'll call David myself tomorrow, and I will go out with him on Friday night.' Then she spun in a swirl of white and stalked out of the kitchen and down the hall. She made it halfway to the stairs before he caught up with her.

  He didn't say anything; just grabbed her right arm from behind and spun her around with such force that she nearly lost her balance. And then, when he had her facing him, her eyes startled behind the screen of blonde that had flown across her face, he didn't seem to know quite what to do with her.

  His brow furrowed with confusion and he dropped her arm immediately. 'We can go out on Friday night,' he said, his voice gruff. 'There's no need to call David all the way up here.'

  'David obviously wanted to come,' she said petulantly, 'and I'd like to see him.'

  He met her eyes then and, in a gesture that caught her by surprise, lifted one hand to smooth the hair away from her face so he could see her more clearly.

  Her eyes closed involuntarily at his touch, then opened slowly. After a long, searching look into them, he spoke quietly. 'I see. Well.
That's different, then, isn't it?' He took a step backwards, and lifted his hands, palm up, as if he had held her trapped momentarily, and was now setting her free. 'You were going somewhere, I think.'

  Madeline opened her mouth, then hesitated, staring up into eyes that looked black in the dim light of the hallway. He tipped his head, as if he was trying to read her expression in the dark, then simply turned away and walked back to the kitchen.

  She followed him with her eyes, watched him glance over his shoulder at the last moment.

  'I'll work alone tomorrow morning,' he said tonelessly. 'Be in the studio after lunch.'

  In the next moment she heard the outside kitchen door open, then close softly behind him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Spring. Madeline's lips formed the word silently as she raised her bedroom window, then breathed in the warm, sweet air of morning. In less than a week it had become ritual, this daily opening of the window, pulling in a deep breath, trying to identify the new scents the world presented with each dawn. This morning the rich, earthy aroma of freshly turned soil wafted up from the garden beneath her, soil turned by her hands only yesterday, and that she had had even a small part in enhancing such a sensory wonder filled her with satisfaction.

  In the city, spring had always seemed to slip past her when she wasn't looking. But here, in the country, the season literally exploded into being, inundating her senses with a flood of fragrance and colour that took her breath away.

  I will cherish this particular spring for the rest of my life, Madeline thought. In spite of everything.

  Life at Rosewood had settled into a rigid routine of time periods divided more by the emotions they elicited than the hours of the day. While Elias worked alone in the studio, Madeline spent her mornings in the rose garden, immersed in the mystical wonders of nature, soothed by its predictability. These were the hours of serenity, broken only by an occasional piercing thrust of joy so unexpected that it never failed to surprise her. These moments were prompted by something as simple, and as miraculous, as seeing the hint of green life in a stem thought dead.