“How dare you run off and not contact me?”
Instead of looking apologetic, his expression proclaimed him unapproachable.
“I couldn’t stay.” His tone was clipped, even angry although she couldn’t imagine what the cause was. He didn’t explain why he couldn’t remain at the concert hall until the end of the performance, and before she could ask, he continued, “And today, as you know, I have rounds.”
She was not mollified. She had played just for him, as he’d requested, and apparently he hadn’t even noticed. But she took a deep breath—she didn’t want to sound like a harridan.
“When are you finished?” She thought that whatever was bothering him, they could discuss it over dinner.
He shook his head and raised his hand as if warding her off. “Late. And I have to study. Tomorrow, too,” he added.
“All right, then,” she said, taking a step backward, away from his coldness. “I’ll see you when . . . when you’re free.” She turned on her heel and got halfway across the lobby. Something was wrong, obviously, but she had no idea how to make him tell her.
“Sophie,” he called after her.
She halted and turned.
“You played beautifully. I . . . I thank you.”
She gave him a small smile, which he didn’t return.
“I have to go.” He disappeared back down the hallway so swiftly she was left looking after empty space.
“What the hell?” she muttered and retraced her steps home, feeling more confused than when she’d arrived.
*****
Riley knew he was behaving atrociously. He couldn’t even watch Sophie leave the hospital. He had to start walking in the other direction, or he would have gone after her and thrown himself at her feet. He distracted himself for the rest of the day on rounds, but that night, he gave up his futile attempts at studying to take a walk, a long walk.
From the moment he fled her apartment, on the verge of making love to her, he’d decided on a plan. He would make her hate him. It was a terrible plan, but one he was sure would be effective. And it would be easy to do, if the look on Sophie’s face had been any indication. He had only to act as boorishly as possible and hurt the woman he loved more than anyone in the world. He could tell he was already accomplishing that, and it left him both irritable and depressed.
With luck, his plan would mean minimal contact with her, which was vital to his sanity and to sustaining his determination to let her go. For the first time in a long time, he headed to the corner bar and sat down for a drink.
*****
“Get on with you,” Carling said, setting down her tea cup. “That doesn’t sound right.”
“He was behaving very queerly,” Sophie agreed. “And I have no idea why.”
“The stress of his board exams,” Carling offered. “Becoming a doctor can’t be easy.”
“True, but I’ve seen him in a crisis,” Sophie said, thinking of the train accident in Spring City. “He is completely confident in his abilities. I have no doubt he’ll make an outstanding doctor.”
“Give him a little time, then,” Carling suggested, pouring more tea and adding milk. “I saw how he looked at you at dinner. He’s a goner for you.”
Sophie had thought so, too, but in her heart, she knew something had changed.
This was confirmed when Riley had not contacted her by week’s end. The symphony started rehearsals for the next series of concerts, and Sophie threw herself into them heart and soul.
“You are positively driven, my girl,” Henry said after she played through Brahms Piano Concerto No. 1. He had halted the rest of the musicians when Walter’s piccolo cracked from being left on a radiator and then Seifert missed his queue.
Looking around, she realized what had happened. They were all staring at her.
“I’m sorry,” she offered, but knew she was going to cry. “I’ll be right . . . back.” She fled the stage for the ladies’ dressing room. A few moments later, Arthur came looking for her; she wiped her tears hastily and opened the door.
“Are you all right?” he asked, an awkward look on his face.
She was red with embarrassment. “I am. I just feel so stupid. To keep playing, making you all wait for me. And to ignore Henry’s signal to stop. I’m mortified.”
“No one minds, Sophie. You really are our star pianist and if we get to sit back and listen once in a while, that’s fine. Henry sent me, by the way. He didn’t think it would look right for him to leave the stage.”
“He is correct, as usual.” No one minded, Arthur had said. Was that true?
“Let’s have a little break, Sophie girl, and then we’ll be ready to catch up to you.” He gave her a reassuring look and she watched him go. How sweet of him to say that they needed the break, not her.
Taking a sip of water, she paced the room. She needed to focus on what she was doing and merely stop her mind from wandering to Riley. Yes, merely that! But it seemed as though, in the space of a week, the piano had ceased feeling like home and had become her personal battleground. Instead of getting lost in a song, she wanted to conquer it. And all the while she played, she longed for Riley’s smile and Riley’s warmth. If she couldn’t soothe herself with her music, then what was left to her?
Sophie did her finger exercises as she walked back onstage. The rest of the orchestra clapped. She hesitated then walked to the front of the stage beside Henry, and put her hands on her hips. So, they were teasing her now—applauding a performance she shouldn’t have made. But it was as though her family were playfully ribbing her, so she bowed low and solemnly. Then Otto whistled loudly and they all laughed. She took her seat back behind her instrument.
Thank God she had the symphony players or she would truly be bereft.
On Saturday afternoon, Carling got off work and convinced Sophie to wander along Market Street for some shopping. They each had a bit of money and spent an enjoyable few hours trying on shoes and hats.
“You can never have too many hats,” Sophie said.
Carling slapped a blue felt hat on her head and admired herself in the looking glass. She sighed and took it off. “I haven’t asked, but any word from one Mr. Dalcourt?”
Sophie shook her head sadly.
“That’s astonishing,” Carling stated. “It beats all.”
Sophie was equally flabbergasted. “Can you imagine if Egbert simply disappeared tomorrow and didn’t tell you why?”
Carling’s eyes flashed. “I’d murder him for leading me on.” But she placed her hand over Sophie’s. “I wish I could tell you I understood what’s going on.”
“It’s all right,” she said, though it wasn’t. “I’ve decided to get on with it, as you’d say. I’ve got rehearsals to think about. And Riley’s exams are next week. After that, I don’t know what his plans are.”
She tried to recall if their relationship had all been on her side. It seemed so long ago when he’d first kissed her in Spring City; certainly he had made the first move, unless he’d thought she was flirting by playing the piano for him.
And in San Francisco, had she led him on by allowing him into her room? At one point, after she’d been injured, he’d resisted her entirely and was able to undress her and leave her. And then . . . her cheeks burned, hadn’t she been the one to force him to her bed at The Grand? Even after he’d sought her out a week ago, he hadn’t pushed his way into her new apartment. And when given the chance, he hadn’t made love to her. No contraception, he’d said, without, it seemed, much regret. Yet he’d told her he loved her. Why?
Another week of rehearsals, this time of Henry’s own compositions, and still nothing but silence from Riley. On the eve of the first performance of their new series, Sophie had no illusions that Riley would be in the front row or even in the concert hall. She could only be grateful that he hadn’t taken her offer of intimacy that day after their walk. If he had, she would certainly feel soiled and discarded by his sudden and absolute abandonment.
*****
She dreaded the long hours on the train, hours in which she would do nothing but attempt to read while futilely pushing thoughts of Riley Dalcourt out of her head. At least, she could go home with copies of the symphony’s programs, her name prominently displayed with the other musicians, and feel proud of what she’d accomplished so far.
“You look pensive,” said Henry coming to sit beside her and hand her a glass of wine. “Good thoughts, I hope.”
Dear Henry. In some ways he reminded her of her brother; the way he conducted the orchestra was similar to how Reed handled a case in court: No nonsense, fair, and with exacting standards.
“Yes, I was thinking of how lovely it will be to go home for Christmas.” She told him her half-truth and then changed the subject. “It’s a successful Thanksgiving, don’t you—”
The words died on her lips as, in the background, behind Henry, she saw Riley enter the room. He looked so handsome her heart hurt, dressed as he was in a gray suit, vest, and boiled white shirt. She watched him pull at the collar as if it bothered him. He came to a stop in the middle of the room.
“Rivals the best I ever had in Massachusetts,” Henry agreed.
She could see Riley was searching the room and, helplessly, she stood up as if pulled by a puppeteer. His gaze snapped to her instantly, his face remaining shuttered as he contemplated her.
With supreme effort, she dragged her attention back to Henry, who had also stood up.
“I’m afraid I have to get going. I’ve been asked to stop by a few homes,” he said.
Sophie nodded, trying hard to follow their conversation when her brain was already imagining what Riley might say and what she might say back. But this was Henry, her friend.
“Bohemian Club members’ homes?” she asked, not surprised by how promptly Henry had been welcomed into the elite group of San Francisco’s professionals and patrons of the arts.
“Yes. You don’t mind, do you?”
She could feel Riley approaching.
“Not at all. I think I have quite enough people here to keep me company. I had no idea this many would turn out. We have more displaced musicians away from their families than I imagined.”
Henry smiled wryly. “I think it’s more the case that most of the musicians prefer the people in this room to their actual families.”
She knew Riley had paused a few feet away, apparently not wanting to interrupt. “And is Miss Barbour accompanying you on your visits this evening?” Sophie indicated the lovely young lady talking animatedly with Otto.
“Yes,” Henry blushed. “I am very fond of Inez.” The dark-haired soprano from Pennsylvania had been with them only a short time, but, plainly, Henry was head-over-heels for her.
“That’s wonderful,” Sophie said, meaning it with all her heart. “And you know, Henry, you are brilliant.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Get on with you, as my friend would say.”
“I’ll see you on Saturday for rehearsal, Sophie-girl.”
She smiled absently at Henry, who slipped away, nodding at Riley as he passed him.
For a moment, Riley still didn’t move and Sophie couldn’t help staring. Then, she swallowed the uneasy feeling as they walked toward each other through the crowd of revelers. For Sophie, everyone else practically disappeared.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.” How could her voice sound that normal?
“I know.” He had the grace to look ashamed. “I would have come earlier, but we had an emergency at the hospital.”
She nodded. “There’s still plenty of food, and you’re welcome to it. Let me get you a plate.”
He put his hand on her arm to stop her, and she jumped at his touch, looking first at his large hand on her emerald green sleeve and then back to his face, more chiseled than she remembered.
“I didn’t come to eat. I came to see you,” he said quietly.
She shivered. “Well, you can do both. Eat and talk to me.”
She noticed then the dark circles under his eyes and even that he had a hollowed look under his cheekbones. “You rather look as though you could use a good meal.”
“I’m just tired,” he said.
She wanted to strike him for his treatment of her, but she also wanted to kiss him. More than either, she wanted to take care of him, so forlorn and weary did he seem.
“Riley, sit down and I’ll fill you up a plate. Look, there’s a quiet spot.” She pointed to the other end of The Grill, where two tables stood against the wall, empty but still littered with the remains of the Thanksgiving feast. Everyone else now stood in the center of the room or sat at tables pulled closely together.
He seemed to hesitate but then complied; she moved as fast as possible to the kitchen and filled him a plate, worried that he would be gone when she returned.
As she hurriedly reentered the dining room, she nearly ran into Carling.
“Sorry,” Carling said, “were you looking for me?” Sophie noticed her hair was disheveled.
“Where were you . . . and Egbert?”
Carling blushed fiercely. “Oh, well . . .” she trailed off, then noticed the plate.
“Still hungry?”
“No, it’s for Riley.” Sophie nodded her head to where he sat, his back against the wall, his head resting on the wall, too, his eyes closed.
“What in blue blazes is he doing here?” Carling had been almost as upset by his disappearance as Sophie.
“I don’t know yet, but I intend to find out.”
She started to move away and Carling added, “You let me know if you need help. I can give a good swift kick when necessary.”
Sophie half-smiled. “I hope that won’t be required, but I’ll keep it in mind.” Her smiled had died entirely by the time she reached him.
Riley looked as though he’d already been kicked. She stood at the table, watching him, his eyes still shut, breathing evenly. He might be asleep. She plunked the plate down in front of him and his eyelids snapped open. He sat upright with a start but didn’t immediately look at the food. Instead, his gaze locked on her.
“Will you sit with me?” he asked.
She sat.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Hm,” she murmured noncommittally.
“How are your rehearsals?”
“Good. Performances, even better,” she said.
He picked up the fork then and took a bite of mashed potatoes. He swallowed like a man who hadn’t eaten well for a while, savoring the taste and going back for more. He ate all the potato in silence and then the pigeon pie. When that was done, he put the fork down.
Sophie watched him, feeling as though she’d be content to sit with him in silence forever, but she knew she couldn’t.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He stared at his plate. “I shouldn’t have told you that I loved you.”
Instantly, she could barely breathe. His words were like a knife in her side.
“Because you don’t?”
Hesitation. “No,” he said, cutting deeper.
She lowered her eyes to her hands in her lap. Tears were pricking already, but she was damned if she’d let them fall.
“Why did you, then?” Her voice came out in a gruff whisper.
“I wanted to spend time with you.” He didn’t say anything more for a moment.
She blinked again and, finally, she was able to look up at him. He seemed to be about to take her hand, but he stopped himself. “But I know you would have wanted more than I can give you. I’ve had a fiancée for a long time. I just want to be
free now.”
Was it possible she could feel her blood turning colder? For it seemed that her fingertips were suddenly chilled and then she felt shaky all over. But she had to speak to him levelly, as though her heart weren’t shearing in two.
“You didn’t have to lie to me, Riley. I was content to spend time with you.” Perhaps he would grow to love her. “I still am.”
She’d done it, offering her heart to him, asking only for the gift of more time together.
He looked away, then back quickly, holding her gaze with his tawny brown one. “Are you supremely happy?”
“What do you mean?” At this moment, she felt anything but happiness.
“Being in the symphony and living in San Francisco.”
Just hearing the words “being in the symphony” still excited her. “Why, yes. It’s everything I ever dreamed.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s good. That’s what I thought you’d say and I’m glad for you, Sophie.”
He didn’t sound glad. She reached out and touched his arm and he jumped. Then he grabbed her hand and clamped it down on his arm, so she couldn’t take it away. “I came to tell you goodbye.”
She didn’t know what to say.
“But I can’t do it at this table.” He stood up abruptly and took her with him, out the side door into the hallway of The Grand and then beyond. He was moving fast, dragging her along behind him.
“Riley, stop.” He did, but he didn’t look at her; he was looking wildly around, searching.
“In here,” she said, pulling him toward the employees’ coat room.
*****
Why did he hunger to be alone with her, even now, when he knew he had to be a wretched vile rogue and make her cut him from her life—and her heart—completely?
An Irresistible Temptation Page 21