Dmitri waited, unsure what to say. Had the Chopin been wrong? Going back over it in his mind, he’d played it flawlessly. More than that, he truly thought that he’d captured the essence of the piece. The dark and the light. The conflict, the romance. But this was why he needed more instruction. A coach. Someone who could tell him if his head was in the clouds, or just up his arse.
Mikhail Petrovich stopped pacing and turned back to Dmitri. ‘Play something else,’ he said. ‘Something that will tell me about you.’
Dmitri thought for a moment. His fear was slowly beginning to vanish. This was why he was here – to tell his story. A story that, for him, words could not adequately express. Only the music could do that.
He put his fingers on the keys, then began to pick out the melody of a simple lullaby, the berceuse from Stravinsky’s Firebird. It wasn’t something he had been practising, and yet, it came to him now. The soundtrack in the back of his mind ran on that this was madness. This wasn’t going to impress anyone, let alone this important man. But the haunting melody reminded him of playing as a boy, when everything had been so easy. The time before the darkness, his father listening to him, lost in the shared beauty of the music. Feeling that powerful hope, so full of possibilities, that only now had a chance of being reborn.
He finished playing, gradually returning to the present. Nicola… he looked up at her, drawing strength just from knowing she was there. Admiration shone in her eyes and he felt a warm flush of pride. He was aware of Mikhail Petrovich watching the two of them.
‘Yes,’ the man muttered under his breath. ‘I think I begin to see who you are.’
Dmitri nodded, unsure of the subtext.
‘I have some questions for you. Beginning with what you want, and why you are here?’
Dmitri took a breath, but before he could speak, the man cut him off.
‘You are not young. You did not finish what you started.’
‘No,’ Dmitri said, his head bowed.
‘Do you think that this is what you need? To come here and take class? To be torn down, built up? To what end?’
‘I don’t know.’ Dmitri raised his head, finding his voice. ‘I am here to get advice. Everything you say about me is true. But for many years, I have been torn down. Now, I believe the time is finally right to build myself up again. After all this time, I need to play again. I will play again.’
‘You need to play,’ the older man mused. He pointed back at the piano. ‘What do you need to play – for her?’ He had ignored Nicola the whole time, and now gave her a passing glance. ‘Play something for her.’
Dmitri tuned out the room, the situation, everything. For him, he was back to that first night in the church, when everything had begun. The reason she was here now. Not something romantic – that had come later. No, what he had found that night was the darkness. And a way to release it. Whether it was the right piece or not, he didn’t know. But somehow, it had been right for them, and the only reason he was here right now.
He closed his eyes and began to play again. Rachmaninov, The Bells. Moscow. That time was part of him. The past was part of him. Fire on snow. The darkness there. And the light.
‘Stop. That is enough.’
He hadn’t even been aware of playing. Of coming to the end of the piece. Or was he even at the end?
He opened his eyes. The light was almost blinding. The face of the man watching him came gradually into focus. Stricken with its own memories. He raised his hand to his face, and for a moment, Dmitri was sure that his eyes glistened with tears.
‘I will help you,’ Mikhail Petrovich said.
*
Nicola was used to difficult situations. Difficult negotiations, involving difficult people and millions of pounds. But how Dmitri could sit there at that piano, with that man Aslanov looking on, dissecting every note – every nuance – she had absolutely no idea. Several times, she’d almost got up from her seat. Clomped down the carpeted stairs. Told the old man where to go. Because that was easier than enduring the tension that was so thick she thought she might choke.
When Dmitri played the Rachmaninov, she almost lost it. It was so powerful, so raw. It catapulted her back to that night in the church when she’d first heard him playing; that first wrenching of the key that had unlocked everything inside of her. And yet, as he played it now, she heard a new beauty in it, a new depth. And when she saw the effect it had on Aslanov, she knew that whatever she heard with her untrained ear, she wasn’t just imagining it.
‘I will help you.’
As soon as the words were spoken, Dmitri seemed overcome. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Nicola immediately stood up and went down the steps. If Aslanov thought that her presence here was purely decorative, then he could think again.
Aslanov looked at her as she came down to his level. ‘And you are?’ the old man said.
‘Nicola Taylor,’ she held out her hand and shook the old man’s firmly and with purpose. ‘I’m Dmitri’s… manager.’
He raised a single grey eyebrow. ‘I bet you are.’
‘You know the situation,’ she said. ‘So we need to know what he needs to do next.’ She looked at Dmitri. ‘Right?’
‘Yes.’ The single word seemed to be a struggle.
Aslanov looked from one of them to the other. He finally settled his sharp gaze on Dmitri. ‘You have come here out of nowhere. Walked in off the street, with your story, and your ability. But I have checked up on you. I verified that you were in Moscow the year you said. And as surprising as it seemed, they remembered you. As someone with great promise. Had you gone back, perhaps in a year or two when you were older, then they would have made you into something different. You would have lost that innocent, untrained quality that you have to your playing now. A quality that was not valued back then. But today…?’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
Nicola kept a close eye on Dmitri, who was staring down at his scarred hands. He seemed to be able to do little else but nod in agreement at what Aslanov was saying. Nicola had the idea that the old man could probably go on all day like this. Lecturing, thinking aloud. Now that they were here, she felt angry with herself. She should have spent some time over the last few days doing her own research. Trying to figure out how to turn a man who ‘walked in off the street’ into a bloody concert pianist. At least known the right questions to ask.
Aslanov turned back to her. ‘He will need an agent. Someone who can open the right doors. There is really no time to lose.’ He turned back to Dmitri. ‘There is no point sitting here in masterclass, working towards a degree. Right now, you need to get your name out there. Tell your story, make recordings, sell them. Then, and only then, will you be able to achieve your dream of performing.’ The man barely paused for a breath. ‘You will need to be ruthless in your focus. And have much courage. Do you understand?’
‘I… think so—’ Dmitri began.
‘Yes,’ Nicola interjected. ‘Yes, we do. Now, do you have a name of an agent?’
‘The one I have in mind is called Bill Campbell.’
Nicola typed the name into the notes section of her phone.
‘He will know how to proceed,’ Aslanov said.
‘Good,’ Nicola said. At the end of the day, Dmitri’s career was a business like any other. Concert pianists were paid to perform. There had to be some reason for people to come and listen and pay for the privilege. Dmitri had told her that there was often an element of novelty to it, such as a very young or very old performer, or a competition winner. Or – a man with a past who had overcome serious obstacles. Either way, it was all going to have to be carefully managed. ‘And you will speak to him first?’
‘I will do it today,’ Aslanov said.
‘Fine.’ Nicola handed Aslanov her card and one of Dmitri’s. She respected his total no-nonsense and upfront manner – no platitudes, and no bullshit. She assumed the interview was over when he took the cards and put them in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. But Aslanov tur
ned back to Dmitri.
‘Play something else.’ He pointed to the piano. Nicola almost laughed. The interview was over, and now, Aslanov simply wanted to enjoy the music.
Dmitri instantly sprang to life, his eyes glowing with a strange fire. Then he closed his eyes and played a piece that was perhaps her favourite of all that he’d been practising. The one he’d recorded for her on the memory stick. He’d had to tell her more than once what it was; Chopin seemed mostly to call his pieces by their number and key signature. Nocturne No. 20 in C# Minor. The opening trill, dazzling like the glitter of moonlight on ice.
Nicola smiled as she sat down in the front row and closed her eyes, letting the music carry her away. At this rate, she really was going to be ridiculously late for work. But she didn’t mind. At all.
*
It was really happening. Everything he’d dreamed of – no, hadn’t even allowed himself to dream about – was there, almost in front of him. It was as if he’d been wandering for his whole life underneath a stormy black sky, and now, the clouds were shifting, allowing him a first, and infinitely precious, glimpse of the stars.
Dmitri spent the whole afternoon with Mikhail Petrovich. He played through more of his repertoire – feeling a profound joy even when performing for an audience of one, that took him by surprise. They had tea together, talked: about music, about Russia, about life in general. As a boy at the Conservatory, he would have been in awe and fear of a man like this. But now, even though they were not equals, Dmitri appreciated this opportunity to spend time with a master.
In the late afternoon when he finally left the Conservatory to go back to his flat and change before the night’s carolling, he felt like another missing piece of him, dislodged and directionless, had been found and reinserted. Between Nicola, and his piano, he experienced something that he’d never expected to feel again.
He felt whole.
40
22nd December
Even though she wanted this, Nicola still felt a little overwhelmed and a lot queasy. The auditorium, usually reserved for training events, client seminars and presentations, had been transformed into an Advent Calendar wonderland. There were fairy lights strung everywhere, and a Christmas tree on the stage. There was eggnog, mulled wine, champagne and sushi ordered in from Nobu. Chrissie had outdone herself. Had it been any other occasion, Nicola would have put her foot down, told her PA to stop the ridiculous expenditure. But she allowed Chrissie to go all out. Because it would be the first time… and the last.
Dmitri was due to arrive around four o’clock, along with the choir members he’d been able to gather. He’d had to rearrange a previously scheduled carolling concert and call in favours as only he could do on such short notice. Some of the people who were coming along to the Christmas carolling weren’t part of the main choir and Nicola suspected that they were mostly coming out of curiosity – to see Dmitri’s new girlfriend, the ‘The Heckler’, up close and personal. Now that the day had finally arrived, Nicola was glad that she’d already met some of Dmitri’s people, like Tanya and Carole-Ann. Having that hanging over her head today would have just been too much.
Yesterday, after going with Dmitri to meet Mikhail Aslanov, she’d gone into the office as the ‘Timeless’ deal was finally signing. Everything had gone smoothly, even telling Carl that she wouldn’t be going out for a drink with him, because she was seeing someone. When she got home, late that night, Dmitri was practising in the spare room after his carolling concert, and as far as she could tell, hadn’t had anything all day other than a cup of tea. All he could talk about was Aslanov – whom Dmitri insisted on referring to as Mikhail Petrovich, no matter how many times he used the man’s name in a sentence. The two of them had ended up spending the entire afternoon together. Whatever did or didn’t come of the whole thing, Dmitri, it seemed had made another convert. In the end, she’d only been able to shut him up by ordering him into the shower with her and proceeding to render him speechless.
After that, he’d gone back to practising late into the night and being, in Aslanov’s words, ruthlessly focused. He’d come to bed only as she was getting up. But that was fine – whatever hours he chose to keep, she was determined to support him in building the life that he deserved. On her way into the office, she’d googled the agent, Bill Campbell. To her relief, the man seemed legit. He represented a number of big-name stars in classical music, a few of which even she had heard of. When she phoned his office, she discovered that Aslanov had been true to his word and already spoken to him. They had a brief conversation and organised a meeting for early January.
All of it had kept her busy; focusing on Dmitri had taken her mind off how nervous she felt about this afternoon’s do. But even that was a ruse – an attempt to keep the memory, shrouded in the mists of time, out of her conscious mind. She hadn’t succeeded. It had happened a long time ago, but it had happened today. The twenty-second of December. A day – and night – that she would never forget. A night that had begun with two girls laughing, giggling, putting on make-up, dressing for a party. And ended sprawled out on an icy pavement, unable to move, breathe, or scream…
Now, though, as she stood frowning over the table with the chocolate fountain and the small army of wine and champagne bottles, she forced her mind back to the here and now.
‘Nicola?’ She turned. Chrissie was holding two large white boxes. ‘Can you help me put these out?’
Nicola obediently took one of the boxes and looked inside the clear plastic window on top. What she saw made her smile. Gingerbread hearts and stars, decorated and iced by hand. From ‘The Braided Loaf’. As she set the gingerbread out on the platters that Chrissie had brought up from catering, a few people began filtering down the corridor, coming in to see the final preparations and to have a pre-party cup of eggnog.
She’d just set out the last gingerbread when a text came in on her phone from Dmitri:
Train delayed, be there soon.
She clenched her teeth. Not today of all days.
Before Nicola could reply to the message, Brian, came up to her. ‘It’s all looking good,’ he said. ‘So you’re really going through with it?’
‘I think so,’ Nicola said, feeling not very sure at all.
‘Well, you deserve a healthy dose of happiness,’ Brian said. ‘We will miss you though.’
Nicola felt a tear welling up in her eye. She didn’t want to cry. Because once she started, she might not be able to stop. ‘Yes,’ she managed. ‘Thanks.’
As Brian went back to his office to send the email around to come to the auditorium, Nicola was relieved to spot Carole-Ann, Tanya and some of the other choir members being ushered in by one of the PAs. They were wearing their festive outfits, just like the first time she’d seen them at Waterloo Station. The night her life had changed forever.
‘Hi,’ she said to Carole-Ann. ‘Thanks so much for coming.’
‘Oh, we wouldn’t miss it,’ Carole-Ann said with a little wink. ‘All this posh food and wine.’
‘Yes,’ Tanya said, giving Nicola a quick hug. ‘It looks wonderful.’
‘Yes, well, it helps to know a fabulous bakery.’ Nicola smiled at her. ‘And Chrissie, my PA, did a great job.’ She pointed to Chrissie, bustling around on the other side of the room, putting out even more food. ‘The woman in the jumper.’ Chrissie was unmissable. She was wearing a Christmas jumper with a smiley tree made from green pompoms. Taking inspiration from Brian’s wife, she’d wired it up with flashing, battery-powered lights that surely wouldn’t pass muster with health and safety.
‘Lovely,’ Carole-Ann said. Nicola thought she probably meant Chrissie’s jumper, but she wasn’t going to hold that against her. Nicola had opted not to wear anything festive – no surprise there. But she was wearing an elegant, curve-hugging Dior dress in dark green crepe with a matching jacket. Without the jacket, the dress was possibly a little too low-cut for the office, but she didn’t expect any complaints.
Carole-Ann leaned in to
her. ‘And we heard you did a great job too – standing up to that frightening man at the music school.’
Nicola laughed. ‘Mikhail Aslanov. Actually, he was pretty scary. Though, of course, Dmitri charmed him in the end.’
‘And thanks to you, my brother may finally, after all these years, be a concert pianist!’ Tanya said, smiling warmly.
‘Well, it’s early days,’ Nicola said. The last thing she wanted to do was raise false hopes. ‘But let’s hope so—’
‘Nicola! I am so sorry I’m late!’ Dmitri came in, looking flustered and perfect in his formal black coat and tails. He reached for her and gave her a kiss on the lips, then pulled back. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘this is your work.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him back. Just having him here – his warmth and his energy – chased away the shadows and made everything all right.
Dmitri sent Tanya and Carole-Ann off to get everything set up on stage for the choir. He stood there, looking at her, his eyes shiny. ‘You look so beautiful,’ he said. He ran a finger down the column of her neck—
‘Ahem.’
Nicola looked around startled. Chrissie was there, giving her a very sly look. ‘Do I get to say hello to your handsome stranger, Nicola?’ she said.
Dmitri stepped forward and gave Chrissie a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Chrissie,’ he said, as if they were old friends. ‘It’s so good to see you again. And what an amazing jumper.’
Nicola laughed and rolled her eyes. ‘Thanks!’ Chrissie said, blushing. ‘Now, has anyone offered you any food or drink—?’
As Chrissie continued to chat to Dmitri, Nicola noticed another figure hovering by the door.
Ollie.
Looking absolutely murderous.
‘I think we need to get started now,’ Nicola said, interrupting the conversation between Chrissie and Dmitri. ‘Can you get the choir singing in, like, five minutes?’
‘Of course.’ Dmitri took her hand in his. She was surprised to see that he wasn’t wearing his gloves. He was still very self-conscious about his scars, and Nicola suspected that when she wasn’t around, he still kept his hands mostly covered. But today he had not. She was proud of him for that.
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