She took a few moments, a deep breath in, a slow exhalation, settling the churn in her belly. Something more than the normal apprehension she might experience before a concert. It was as if this performance was the most important of her life. The need gripped her to be perfect for him, an audience of one.
Lucy positioned her violin, her bow. Nodded. He pressed play and there was a pregnant silence before the staccato sound of strings filled the room. His eyes were on her, intent, as Lucy waited in those thrilling moments full of expectation before she struck the first notes of flawless sound, vibrating through her and her instrument. It settled the cracking nerves, soothed the bumps of fear. And then that sense of release overwhelmed her, and she was nothing but the flow of sound as her fingers worked and she drew her bow across the strings. Immersed in her playing, ceasing to exist bar a pinprick of consciousness where the music became everything.
But all the while she knew.
Something about this was different.
It was more than the joy of the music. She played forhim—Stefano. All the words left unsaid after their kiss in the conservatory were poured into her playing, and she hoped he heard what she’d been unable to voice, what the music allowed her to feel. Hoped he had the sense that she’d shared part of her soul with him.
Then she closed her eyes, let the memory of their perfect kiss wash over her, flood her playing, and sank into the music and her message, allowing herself to be carried away.
As patron of Lasserno’s orchestra Stefano had seen a great deal of music performed live before, by some of the best musicians on the planet. He was privileged in that regard. But this was something else...having music played for him alone by Lucy.
It was a revelation.
He couldn’t take his eyes from her... He felt the intimacy of this moment as he had in those perfect seconds as their lips had touched the day before. When he’d thought there could be nothing much better in the world than the way his need for her had hit his blood like a shot of spirits.
It was like that now, watching her play her violin. Her eyes half closed. Her face serene at times, agonised at others. He became immersed in the music as each note struck him, like an arrow to the chest. The sound embedded inside him, swelling and growing till the passion in her playing filled him.
It could crack you in two this music. How could someone take wood and strings and create a sound like from heaven?
In those moments it filled him to overflowing, as if the emotions in the music would spill out of him too. Lucy’s performance—the brilliance of her—had stolen his voice. His breath. It had stolen everything. He was lost in her. The perfect sound reverberated from the walls, flooded through him as if it could cleanse his very soul. He’d experienced many things in life. Beauty, pleasure, joy. But nothing could eclipse these moments now, when she played for him. It was as if every note carried a message, inscribed on his soul in permanent ink. An indelible mark.
Then, in a flurry of brilliance, fingers and bow, the music ended too soon. The crowd on the video applauded and he wished he could provide a true crowd here, to fete the genius he’d witnessed. But there was only him. Unworthy in all ways. He still clapped, though, because what more could he do? She deserved the accolades, the cheers ofBravo!that the audience on the video provided for her in a standing ovation.
He stood as well, whilst she clutched her violin with a beatific smile and bowed. Colour sat high on her cheeks. She breathed hard, looking like a woman who had experienced ecstasy.
In a blinding moment he wished he’d been the one to put that look on her face.
‘You’re magnificent,’ he said. His voice didn’t sound like his own. It was strangely hollow, almost as if he were speaking outside himself.
‘Thank you. I haven’t performed for a while. I made some mistakes.’
‘I would never have guessed. I don’t know how you do it.’
He approached her and she looked up at him, glowing. ‘Easy. Fingers. Bow. Practice.’
‘Don’t undersell yourself. What you do isnoteasy. I wouldn’t be able to play a single note.’
‘Of course you could. I could show you.’
He looked at the precious instrument which she held so lightly in her brilliant hands. Stefano knew the value of a violin so old—both in monetary terms and to a performer like her. She’d been willing to sleep with it to prevent it getting too cold. To let him touch it...?
‘One note?’ he said.
She smiled, and the warmth of her happiness filled him with the same joy as if she was still playing her violin for him.
‘We’ll start with the bow. Thumb here in the space.’ She showed him and it looked effortless. A light touch which created magic. ‘Middle fingers curled over. Tip of the little finger on the top of the bow.’
Lucy gave the bow to him and Stefano followed her instructions.
She nodded. ‘Pretty good. Now, take the violin and hold it firmly round the neck.’
She held it out to him and he grasped the wood, still warm from her hand, as she circled round behind him.
‘Don’t drop it, but don’t throttle it either.’
Her voice was close, and he could still hear the smile in it.