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  When the concert was over, she took her time getting backstage and waited near the door for Nick. She wouldn’t meet Oscar’s gaze—not that he came within ten feet of her. When Nick was finally ready to go, Carolyn virtually ran for the door. Her silk suit didn’t combat much of the cool evening air, but she was sweating nevertheless.

  “Shall we walk?”

  “Please.” Carolyn kept her head down and plodded along. When Nick suddenly grabbed her, she jumped.

  “You’re crossing against the light,” Nick said.

  Carolyn looked at the light and then at Nick. She swayed when she studied the jacket, remembering what she had felt underneath it. She swallowed. “Why are you dressed like that?”

  Nick took a deep breath and said in a rush, “The male hierarchical control of the music industry and all aspects of performing and recording, including the symphonic podium, extending to the production of music which excludes the presence of female artists and interpretations.”

  Carolyn found she could laugh. “You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?”

  “I figure when the news finally breaks, I’m going to have to fit into a ten-second bite on BBC-One. If I’m ever famous enough.”

  “I’ve never…” Carolyn cleared her throat. “When I guessed that night that you were…a woman…I felt relieved and then I realized what that meant.”

  “What does it mean?” Nick caught Carolyn’s gaze in a long, steady look that was by far their most intimate exchange to date. Calm settled on Carolyn and she felt in control of her body, in control of her desires. The next was a hard step, and she would not be able to say later that she’d done what was expected, that she’d bowed to the romance of the situation.

  She was choosing.

  “That I want you because you’re a woman,” she said quietly. “Since the moment I knew…your secret, I’ve been very, very attracted to you. I’ve never felt that men were a part of my life and now I know why. But it’s new to me. I’ve known the truth about myself for less time than I’ve known you—counting from the moment I almost threw up on your feet.”

  “I was beastly,” Nick said, her voice distracted. Red blotches of emotion stained her cheeks, forehead and throat.

  Carolyn smiled. “Yes, you were. You were so macho I hated you.”

  “I’m sorry.” Nick shook her head. She started when a car honked in traffic. “We can’t stand here all night. Can I come back to your hotel?”

  The tenderness in Nick’s voice set off a chain reaction of prickling in Carolyn’s back and ears that would have shocked her even yesterday, but she welcomed it, encouraged the electric waves. I’m alive…at last. “It’s very impersonal. I doubt anyone would notice if I took a football team up to my room as long as I was quiet.”

  “Are you taking me up to your room?” Nick’s voice was low.

  “Yes,” Carolyn said. “To talk.” She crossed the street, sensing Nick behind her. In the dim light of the next block she put her hand on Nick’s arm. She was amazed to feel Nick shudder, and was aware again of her control and her choice. “My body is telling me I’m ready for more, but my head is way behind.”

  “Your body could help your mind catch up.”

  “I don’t think it works that way.”

  “It did for me. God bless Sister Patrick Rose, wherever she is,” Nick said, with a slight laugh in her voice. “But I’ll behave, if you want me to.”

  They slipped through the lobby of Carolyn’s hotel, attracting only a nod from the doorman. In her room Carolyn turned on the lamp at the desk and the lamp next to the bed. The glare of incandescent light banished every shred of romantic ambiance.

  Nick sat down in the neutral zone created by two uncomfortable chairs and a small table near the only window. Carolyn almost sat down on the bed, but thought better of it. She sat down at the table, too, and then had to smile because it appeared so businesslike.

  There was a long silence. Carolyn broke it by saying, “I thought you needed to talk.”

  Nick stared at Carolyn’s hands for a long moment, then shook her head. “I lied. I didn’t want to say goodnight.”

  “I don’t either, but I’m not…ready.” There’s so much I have to sort out, she wanted to say. There’s Alison and Samantha and how can I be sure it’s you I’m drawn to, and not just your body. Carolyn realized she had no idea how Nick’s body really looked. Her mind, unasked, began drawing surprisingly detailed pictures of how it could look, and then urged Carolyn to invite Nick to let her compare imagination with reality. She shook her head violently to clear it. “I can’t, at least not tonight.”

  Nick flushed. “Carolyn, I want you,” she said, meeting Carolyn’s gaze again, and the intimacy of her eyes made Carolyn waver. “The last thing I want to do is sound like a man, but I’ll have to know what you want, soon, so I can deal with it. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  “That’s only fair,” Carolyn said. She clasped her hands on the table. Business-like. You saved your virginity for thirty years and what did that get you? What’s holding you back? “Idon’t know.”

  “Don’t know what?”

  “I don’t know why, but I feel deep down that tonight’s not right. I know I want you, Nick.” Carolyn blushed slightly. “But I don’t know if I love you.” So, I haven’t changed. I still want the romance.

  Nick laughed, and ran one hand through her hair. “As a popular song from a few years back asked, what’s love got to do with it? Carolyn, I don’t know if I love you. I just know this intense wanting doesn’t happen too often.”

  “Nick,” Carolyn whispered, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “Nick, you have to go.” She stood up. “I promise we’ll resolve this tomorrow. I know,” she stammered, “that by this time tomorrow we’ll…” She waved at the bed. “But I haven’t been preparing.” Her voice faded away.

  “How so?” Nick’s brow wrinkled in amused perplexity.

  “I, well, I haven’t shaved my legs recently, for beginners.”

  “Sweetheart,” Nick said softly, “do you think I care? I’ve never shaved mine.”

  “I care. Nick, don’t laugh,” Carolyn pleaded. She knew she was scarlet. The “sweetheart” made her disgustingly gooey inside. “I need to be ready. I need the place, my…everything to be ready—the first time.” She repeated intensely, “It really will be my first time.”

  “Carolyn, I don’t think I can play the role of dream lover in a romantic setting you concoct. I’m the kind of lover I am.” Nick laughed suddenly. “But I’ll try, lord help me, I’ll try. I just realized how rusty I am. I need a shower and…maybe I could use a little time, too. And let someone else call the tune for once.”

  Carolyn walked Nick to the door of her room. “Thank you,” she said, unable to meet Nick’s gaze. “I can’t believe I’m saying no.”

  “I don’t really believe it myself,” Nick said. “You’ll come to the Cathedral tomorrow morning, won’t you? Salzburg is getting the most out of me with all these extra concerts. The balcony is for spectators, and Oscar will save you room.”

  “What’s the program?”

  “Mozart’s Requiem. Say you’ll be there.”

  “Okay,” Carolyn said. Carolyn knew she had agreed to more than Mozart. They stared at each other, then Carolyn opened the door. Nick went through it, then turned back.

  “Something on account,” she whispered, and her lips pressed against Carolyn’s.

  Carolyn gave a moan of surprise, but it wasn’t surprise that made her moan when Nick stepped away and walked down the hall without a backward glance. She closed the door and touched her fingers to her lips. They felt swollen, and not as soft as Nick’s had felt. She shuddered at the remembered sensation of Nick’s lips, and groaned, half in want, half in irony.

  She looked at the undisturbed bed and asked the chair where Nick had been sitting, “Am I fool, or what?”

  ***

  Nick awoke to Oscar’s quiet wake-up knock and was amazed that she had slept. She l
et Oscar know she was up, and as she stumbled into her bathroom, she was torn between annoyance at having to get up for the early mass and a joyful singing in her head that had nothing to do with Mozart and everything to do with Carolyn. Her body actually felt as if she’d been run over by a lorry, but early mornings could do that. She stretched and prepared herself for the concert.

  The early mass was the equivalent of a dress rehearsal to Nick, though she knew the Bishop probably didn’t think of it that way. During the time between the early and late masses, Nick reviewed a very abbreviated list of last-minute instructions with the choir and the chamber musicians who were arranged to the left of the choir, under the organ. She wanted to turn and search for Carolyn in the balcony, but she didn’t because she wasn’t sure what she’d do if Carolyn wasn’t there. And she wasn’t sure what she’d do if Carolyn was there.

  You’re about to perform, she told herself. Concentrate on your performance. Concentrate on the vocalists who are counting on you, and the musicians who are waiting to follow the tip of your baton wherever it leads. She breathed slowly and deeply, letting her mind be ordered by the opening parts of the service. She kept her mind focused on the music to come.

  If the popularized version of Mozart’s life was anything like reality, writing this requiem had killed him. It was both a rage against death and a plea for mercy and compassion. Thanks to the sisters at the orphanage, she knew the pattern of high mass backwards and forwards and the ritual was calming—the Anglican version was only slightly different from the Catholic. At the appointed time she strode to the podium, raised her baton, and summoned the attention of the organist, first violin and choirmaster.

  Nick had always believed that music was power; she had believed it from the first day she had made a violin do what she wanted. The magic of the moment had ruined any chance she might have had for a more prosaic career. As the organ swelled into the massive dome of the cathedral, she felt the power of the tones surging, but it didn’t stop with her body. Her baton seemed to glow, tracing a lighted path through the air. Afterglow lines showed where the baton had been, and she had never felt such an acute awareness of the concentration of the other performers on her, how their energy was directed at her, through her, and out of her again. When the music paused she could feel the music to come seething to escape.

  And it escaped—she was conducting music, conducting electricity, conducting light. Her intensity, instead of collapsing inward like a black hole, exploded outward—a nova that sang through her fingertips and haloed the choir and musicians. Her entire body was caught up in the magic; she rose to her tiptoes again and again, reaching higher in an agony of ecstasy. Recordare, Ingemisco, Confutatis.

  During the Libera Me the magic came unbound—it crashed in waves of light and sound through Nick, and then filled the nave, swelled through the chancel and then up into the great dome, carrying Nick’s senses with it. When the baton quivered at the last note, she came back to herself. The light faded as she lowered the baton. She wondered, then, if she had imagined the glow and the power.

  The cathedral was utterly silent—then the sounds of hundreds of people breathing in slowly, as if waking from deep sleep, filled Nick’s ears and she realized she had not heard the music, only felt it.

  She went quickly to her seat in the choir again, and could only stare at the baton she should have left on the music stand. When the service ended she stood and shook hands with the choirmaster, who looked as dazed as Nick felt, then winced at the enthusiastic handshake of the first violinist.

  “Mr. Frost, my card,” an older man in sober attire said, and Nick took it, glancing automatically down at it, but her eyes did not decipher the writing. “May I call on you at your hotel tomorrow?”

  “Mr. Smythe handles all my appointments,” Nick said automatically. Suddenly Oscar was there, face aglow with some strong emotion. “Oscar, this gentleman would like an appointment tomorrow.” She handed him the card.

  Oscar’s eyes widened when he read the card. Then, after an intense look of fierce pride Nick could only marvel at, walked a few steps away to discuss times with the owner of the card. She greeted other people, and evidently said the right things though she couldn’t have remembered a face or a word.

  Finally, after what seemed like an endless stream of people, one particular pair of blue eyes shone at her and Nick saw the trace of tears on Carolyn’s face. She moved closer to Carolyn.

  “What is it?” She traced a line of the tears with her thumb.

  Carolyn, moving it seemed to Nick in slow motion, put her hand on Nick’s cheek. “Yes, you’re real,” she said. “Nick…it was magic. Magic,” she repeated. “I can’t find the words.”

  “You felt it, too,” Nick asked softly.

  “Everyone feltit. I think I didn’t breathe.”

  “I feel as if I didn’t.” Nick took a deep breath and felt the haze, around her dissolve. “I need air.” She put her arm around Carolyn; it felt the most natural thing in the world to do, and they walked up the main aisle side by side.

  Carolyn stayed in the circle of Nick’s arm, blinking at the bright, crystal sunshine that sparkled around them. They walked slowly to the fountain in the middle of the cathedral square and stood for a moment.

  “I felt like the instrument of greater power,” Nick said quietly, with a kind of startled reverence. “Her power, from the earth to the sky.” She shook her head. “The nuns are spinning in their graves. I was a theological failure.”

  “If that’s what it takes to make music like that…Nick, I’ve never heard or felt anything like it.”

  Nick squeezed Carolyn for a moment. “I was blessed by a school matron who loved good music and encouraged music-making in all the girls. If I’d had a family they might not have been so patient with a caterwauling violin.” She shook her head again, trying to clear it. “I don’t know why I’m babbling about that. It’s just that this morning may be the first time that I’ve understood that everything is for a reason. I experienced the very first taste of why, maybe, I exist. I suppose that sounds foolish.”

  “No. I think you’re lucky. And everyone who hears you along the way is also very lucky.”

  Nick turned Carolyn to her, then after a moment’s hesitation during which Carolyn could have stepped away, she kissed her.

  Carolyn’s mouth trembled under hers, then the soft lips tightened with intent, capturing Nick’s mouth in return, opening and inviting. The kiss became sweeter still as Nick tasted Carolyn’s mouth, then surrendered to the gentle brush of Carolyn tasting her, slowly, thoroughly.

  Carolyn’s hands slid under Nick’s jacket and touched her where she hadn’t been touched in years. Aware suddenly of the layers of gauze obscuring her breasts, and the T-shirt that further blunted the contours of her body, Nick broke away, gasping.

  “Nick,” Carolyn murmured, “I want to very much, but I don’t think I can undress you right here in the square.”

  “I agree.” Nick tried to sound carefree, but she failed miserably. “Come back to the hotel and I’ll clean up and then we’ll go out somewhere for lunch.”

  “I know what I want for lunch,” Carolyn said with a laugh, “and they don’t serve it in any restaurant I’ve ever been to.”

  Nick stared at Carolyn. Her smile was pure invitation. Where had this self-assured, flirtatious woman come from? “You take my breath away,” Nick said.

  ***

  Carolyn flashed a happy grin at Oscar as they rejoined him in the cathedral. Oscar had been disapproving and aloof when Carolyn had arrived, but then the music had washed over them both until Oscar had taken and held her hand tightly until the last note. Oscar returned her smile then looked at Nick.

  “You don’t know who that gentleman was, do you?”

  “I glanced at the card, but I doubt I could have read anything at that moment.”

  “Deutsche Grammophon,” Oscar said. He said it as if he were announcing Her Majesty the Queen.

  Nick went very sti
ll, and Carolyn looked from Nick to Oscar. “What does that mean?”

  “A recording contract,” Nick whispered. “Maybe.”

  “I’d say definitely,” Oscar said. “Nick, you gave the finest performance of that work I’ve ever heard.”

  “You’ve never said that before,” Nick whispered.

  “One expression, one sound out of many,” Oscar said, as if searching for words.

  “I had no idea. I didn’t hear a note.” Nick groped to a seat and went so pale that Carolyn was alarmed.

  She dropped to Nick’s side, taking her hand. “Nick, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She cupped Carolyn’s face with a trembling hand. “I just can’t believe this is happening. After so much waiting. Just a little longer and I could be…free.”

  Oscar said, “I suggest that privacy would be welcome for all of us.”

  “Yes,” Carolyn said. “It’s time to have…lunch.” She pulled Nick to her feet and shivered at the electricity that still seemed to emanate from Nick’s body. “I can hardly wait.”

  Chapter Eight

  Rhapsodié en Bleu

  Nick felt lightheaded and weak when they finally reached the suite, and no matter what Carolyn wanted, food was a priority. She excused herself for a shower and went into the bathroom, stripping away her shirt, her T-shirt, then the wrapping of gauze that smoothed her form into a nearly flat plain. As always, Nick was grateful when her breasts unflattened. She must have been distracted to have wrapped them so tightly—they were sore.

  She plunged her hands under the tap, hoping the shock of the cold water would make her feel more earthly. She rubbed her face with her hands then unzipped her trousers, and pushed the rest of the clothes to the floor. As she kicked the boxer shorts away her gaze caught—and she stared down at the bloodstain for a full minute before the significance hit her. She clutched the edge of the sink.

  It’s not fair. It can’t be that time!