piano?”
“It’s a wonderful piano, but really I’d rather not play.” She looked at his transformed face, and said gently: “I expect you play yourself?”
“Yes,” he said simply. His hands wandered lightly over the keyboard. “This piano knows me well ... as I know it.” He looked up and smiled faintly. “Wouldn’t you even like to try it?”
“Oh, no ... Really, I’m quite out of practice.” She actually shrank back, so appalled did she feel at the thought of being obliged to display her musical skill in front of him, and she saw that he noticed the movement. “Wouldn’t you ... wouldn’t you like to play yourself, monsieur ?”
“And will you sit and listen to me?” he demanded. “Or will you run away, as I know you are longing to do?”
She coloured, but said a little stiffly: “Of course I don’t want to run away. And I’d love to listen.”
“Very well.”
He waited until Kathy was seated on an elegant gilt-legged chair near the fireplace, and then he sat down in front of the old piano. Once again his fingers touched the faintly yellowing keys, and this time the contact seemed charged with magic. Ripples of melody that were almost agonizingly beautiful spread across the room, and Kathy, enchanted, forgot to feel uncomfortable. He had not asked her whether she had any particularly strong preferences where piano music was concerned, but he wandered from Chopin to Brahms, and from Brahms to Schumann, and almost everything he played seemed to be a favourite of hers. He seemed temporarily to have lost all awareness of the passage of time, and each liquid melody followed its predecessor after only the tiniest pause. It was as if the music provided him with a kind of safety-valve ... an outlet for some sort of pent-up emotion, and perhaps because of this the well-known nocturnes and cantatas seemed especially wonderful and strangely disturbing. Kathy thought of all the regret and disillusionment and nostalgia that he must be feeling, and which he usually concealed so effectively, and realized that it was being given expression, perhaps for the first time, in his interpretation of Chopin and Brahms.
He ended with a softly executed Chopin nocturne, and as the last quiet notes died away Kathy realized for the first time how silent it was in the villa. It was a living, breathing silence, an extraordinary stillness, and Leonid seemed a part of it, for he remained quite motionless for several seconds after his fingers had ceased to travel over the keyboard. And Kathy remained quite still too, for the enchantment still lingered in the air like a vital, living presence, and she felt that a movement or a word would dispel it.
And then, saying nothing, Leonid slowly swung round to look at her. Her eyes were huge and luminous, and she made no attempt to conceal the wonder and admiration that shone in them.
“That was ... marvellous!” she said, and for the first time, as she spoke to him, there was no trace of shyness in her voice.
He did not answer, but only stared at her, and in such a curious way that at last she became conscious of it, and all her pulses started to beat more rapidly. Nervously, she stood up, and began to walk towards the door.
“Thank you,” she got out jerkily. “For playing to me, I mean. It was — it really was wonderful. But I think I’d better go to bed now. I must see if the Princess wants anything ... ”
Her voice trailed away as he stood up and took a step towards her.
“Please don’t go,” he said, and his voice was rather taut. “Not yet, Katherine.”
“But I must ...” Once again she broke off, for he had lightly taken hold of her wrist, and as a result the hand attached to that wrist had begun to tremble uncontrollably. But she had to get away ... she had to get away from those suddenly limpid dark eyes that were devouring her face. She had to get away from the softly compelling voice which seemed to be tearing at something inside her. She had never
“It’s a wonderful piano, but really I’d rather not play.” She looked at his transformed face, and said gently: “I expect you play yourself?”
“Yes,” he said simply. His hands wandered lightly over the keyboard. “This piano knows me well ... as I know it.” He looked up and smiled faintly. “Wouldn’t you even like to try it?”
“Oh, no ... Really, I’m quite out of practice.” She actually shrank back, so appalled did she feel at the thought of being obliged to display her musical skill in front of him, and she saw that he noticed the movement. “Wouldn’t you ... wouldn’t you like to play yourself, monsieur ?”
“And will you sit and listen to me?” he demanded. “Or will you run away, as I know you are longing to do?”
She coloured, but said a little stiffly: “Of course I don’t want to run away. And I’d love to listen.”
“Very well.”
He waited until Kathy was seated on an elegant gilt-legged chair near the fireplace, and then he sat down in front of the old piano. Once again his fingers touched the faintly yellowing keys, and this time the contact seemed charged with magic. Ripples of melody that were almost agonizingly beautiful spread across the room, and Kathy, enchanted, forgot to feel uncomfortable. He had not asked her whether she had any particularly strong preferences where piano music was concerned, but he wandered from Chopin to Brahms, and from Brahms to Schumann, and almost everything he played seemed to be a favourite of hers. He seemed temporarily to have lost all awareness of the passage of time, and each liquid melody followed its predecessor after only the tiniest pause. It was as if the music provided him with a kind of safety-valve ... an outlet for some sort of pent-up emotion, and perhaps because of this the well-known nocturnes and cantatas seemed especially wonderful and strangely disturbing. Kathy thought of all the regret and disillusionment and nostalgia that he must be feeling, and which he usually concealed so effectively, and realized that it was being given expression, perhaps for the first time, in his interpretation of Chopin and Brahms.
He ended with a softly executed Chopin nocturne, and as the last quiet notes died away Kathy realized for the first time how silent it was in the villa. It was a living, breathing silence, an extraordinary stillness, and Leonid seemed a part of it, for he remained quite motionless for several seconds after his fingers had ceased to travel over the keyboard. And Kathy remained quite still too, for the enchantment still lingered in the air like a vital, living presence, and she felt that a movement or a word would dispel it.
And then, saying nothing, Leonid slowly swung round to look at her. Her eyes were huge and luminous, and she made no attempt to conceal the wonder and admiration that shone in them.
“That was ... marvellous!” she said, and for the first time, as she spoke to him, there was no trace of shyness in her voice.
He did not answer, but only stared at her, and in such a curious way that at last she became conscious of it, and all her pulses started to beat more rapidly. Nervously, she stood up, and began to walk towards the door.
“Thank you,” she got out jerkily. “For playing to me, I mean. It was — it really was wonderful. But I think I’d better go to bed now. I must see if the Princess wants anything ... ”
Her voice trailed away as he stood up and took a step towards her.
“Please don’t go,” he said, and his voice was rather taut. “Not yet, Katherine.”
“But I must ...” Once again she broke off, for he had lightly taken hold of her wrist, and as a result the hand attached to that wrist had begun to tremble uncontrollably. But she had to get away ... she had to get away from those suddenly limpid dark eyes that were devouring her face. She had to get away from the softly compelling voice which seemed to be tearing at something inside her. She had never
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