I held my breath but not before I got an unwelcome sniff of his odor—onions and stale cigarette smoke. “Now, please, not next week.”
I drew in a breath that felt as if it brought poison air into my lungs.
“Don’t waste my time,” he said, barking like a mean dog. “You must move my hand when you breathe into your belly. That’s how I know your breathing’s correct.”
I had no idea what he meant, and I was terrified having him this close to me. In all the years Li and I had collaborated together, he’d never touched me. Hoping to get his hand off me, I sucked in the deepest breath I could. His hand didn’t move.
“Don’t you know at all what I’m speaking of?” Basset asked. He removed his hand and put it on his own stomach. “Watch closely.” He drew in a breath and as he did so, his stomach seemed to expand several inches, thus pushing his hand out toward the piano keys. “Do you see now? The breath, in order for it to be properly sustained for long notes, must come into the diaphragm. In this way, you’ll be able to hold long notes. And, perhaps as importantly, not distract the listener with your ugly breaths while singing a refrain.” Back went his hand to my stomach. Bile rose to my throat. Did he do this to all of his students? Was this the first step in coercing them into his bed? Stay calm, I told myself. Get through this first lesson and then I can go home. This treatment was not worth all the singing skills in the world. Oh, how I longed for home and my sisters.
“What is it?” Basset asked sharply. “Do you want to remain a peasant?”
My bottom lip trembled as I tried to control my emotions. I wanted so badly to let loose the flood of tears that were just below the surface. I would not give him the pleasure of seeing how scared I was. No, I would give him his stupid stomach breath.
I breathed in, focusing on moving the air into my belly as instructed. His hand moved out and then in again.
“Better.” He seemed pleased with himself. “Do you feel what it is I want?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“Good,” Basset said. “Between now and our next lesson, I’d like you to practice this breathing technique. I have another for you as well. Do you have candles?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
He rose from the bench, his forehead furrowing with irritation. “Have the maid bring them.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
I scooted to the end of the piano bench, happy to leave his presence for a moment. Gabriella was in the kitchen, putting together several sandwiches for lunch. She jumped when I spoke.
“Mademoiselle, you scared me. I didn’t hear you.”
“I’m sorry. Could you bring several lit candles out to the piano? I don’t know why, but Mr. Basset wants them.”
“Yes, I’ll bring them right away.”
I thanked her and returned to the sitting room. Mr. Basset had arranged himself on the chaise, draping one arm along the back and crossing one leg over the other. A lit cigarette dangled from his mouth. Smoke clouded around his head.
“She’s bringing them,” I said.
“Good. While we wait, tell me more about yourself, Miss Barnes. What truly brings you to Paris? Surely it’s not only to study with me but to enjoy the rich, uninhibited culture?”
“Mostly to study, Mr. Basset.”
“All work and no play makes for a dull girl.” He took a drag from his cigarette and then blew smoke rings, as if that would entertain me. I wasn’t a child, even if he thought of me as one.
“I’m not here for long,” I said.
“All the more reason to play.” He took another puff from his cigarette before offering it to me.
“No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”
“All the better for your voice,” he said. “May I trouble you for a drink? I had a late, rather raucous evening.”