Read Online Midnight in St. Petersburg by Vanora Bennett - Free Book Online
Authors: Vanora Bennett
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himself.
The piece was being played with tremendous sophistication, too: with as much knowledge of emotional light and shade as technical confidence. Yasha found himself thinking, more poetically than usual: the flight of the soul â¦
And then it was over, moments after heâd recovered the power of movement, just as he reached the drawing-room door.
There could only have been one person playing, yet he was astonished, standing in the doorway, to see Inna there in the crook of the piano, with flushed cheeks and huge green eyes, looking around in apparent surprise at the tumultuous clapping, and only gradually, when she fixed her eyes on Barbarian and Agrippina, jumping up and down and cheering in their corner, letting her lovely face lift into a smile.
She had a violin cradled under one arm. After one shy glance around the room, she put it and the bow sheâd been holding down on the lid of the piano.
Yasha couldnât see Madame Leman, who must still be sitting down in a chair out of his line of vision, but Monsieur Leman was standing up, beaming, and Marcus, too, spluttering joyfully beside him.
They hadnât even noticed him standing in the doorway. They were too enchanted by the girl. A feeling Yasha didnât understand clutched at his heart.
âIâm wonderingâ, Leman was saying appreciatively in his big booming voice, âwho in Kiev can have taught you to play Scriabin?â
Yasha watched Inna shake her head. âOh, I had lessons when I was younger,â she said awkwardly, not seeming at all the mature player of a moment ago. âFrom my Aunty Lyuba. I lived with her. But sheâs dead now. I just mess about on my own. And I heard that piece at a concert, and liked itâ¦â
She looked over at Yasha, staring at her from the door.
âAnd I do have a lovely violin to play on,â she added, and smiled tentatively at him, as if inviting him to share in her triumph. But he couldnât. Her playing had been better than anything he, or the rest of them, could draw from the instruments they spent their lives working on â so much better that it had made him feel a primitive by comparison. He could tell now that she must also know precisely how pretty she looked, and how vulnerable; she was knowingly using her charms.
âLook,â she was saying. âItâs the first violin Yasha made.â
The children whooped and squawked and surged closer: âReallyâ¦? Letâs have a look!â They grabbed it. Smiling â smirking, as it now seemed to Yasha â Inna was holding it up, out of their reach. From the chair, inside, there was a pained female cry of âChildren!â
At the same time, but much more quietly, Yasha said, âThatâs my old violin?â It was too much. He thought of her passport, his parentsâ letter. Was there no end to the things sheâd taken?
But she didnât appear to notice his ominous tone. With apparent artlessness, she said, as if heâd be pleased she was waltzing around Russia with her bag stuffed full of his things: âYour mother let me play it. I brought it ⦠I thoughtââ
But Leman cut her off. Turning to Yasha, he boomed excitedly, âAh, come in, come in, my boy! So you heard, too? Good heavens, why ever didnât you tell us what a marvellous musician your little cousin is â the real thing! I was bowled over â especially since all I was expecting was more of that mournful Jewish caterwauling you go in for upstairs!â
He laughed so hard at his own joke that he didnât notice Yashaâs scowl. Yasha looked at the children. At least they werenât laughing at him; though it wasnât much better that Agrippina was gazing so adoringly at Inna. Barbarian, meanwhile, was taking advantage of being unobserved. He was down on the ground, quietly tying Agrippinaâs shoelace to a chair.
âInna reminds me of you, my dear,â
The piece was being played with tremendous sophistication, too: with as much knowledge of emotional light and shade as technical confidence. Yasha found himself thinking, more poetically than usual: the flight of the soul â¦
And then it was over, moments after heâd recovered the power of movement, just as he reached the drawing-room door.
There could only have been one person playing, yet he was astonished, standing in the doorway, to see Inna there in the crook of the piano, with flushed cheeks and huge green eyes, looking around in apparent surprise at the tumultuous clapping, and only gradually, when she fixed her eyes on Barbarian and Agrippina, jumping up and down and cheering in their corner, letting her lovely face lift into a smile.
She had a violin cradled under one arm. After one shy glance around the room, she put it and the bow sheâd been holding down on the lid of the piano.
Yasha couldnât see Madame Leman, who must still be sitting down in a chair out of his line of vision, but Monsieur Leman was standing up, beaming, and Marcus, too, spluttering joyfully beside him.
They hadnât even noticed him standing in the doorway. They were too enchanted by the girl. A feeling Yasha didnât understand clutched at his heart.
âIâm wonderingâ, Leman was saying appreciatively in his big booming voice, âwho in Kiev can have taught you to play Scriabin?â
Yasha watched Inna shake her head. âOh, I had lessons when I was younger,â she said awkwardly, not seeming at all the mature player of a moment ago. âFrom my Aunty Lyuba. I lived with her. But sheâs dead now. I just mess about on my own. And I heard that piece at a concert, and liked itâ¦â
She looked over at Yasha, staring at her from the door.
âAnd I do have a lovely violin to play on,â she added, and smiled tentatively at him, as if inviting him to share in her triumph. But he couldnât. Her playing had been better than anything he, or the rest of them, could draw from the instruments they spent their lives working on â so much better that it had made him feel a primitive by comparison. He could tell now that she must also know precisely how pretty she looked, and how vulnerable; she was knowingly using her charms.
âLook,â she was saying. âItâs the first violin Yasha made.â
The children whooped and squawked and surged closer: âReallyâ¦? Letâs have a look!â They grabbed it. Smiling â smirking, as it now seemed to Yasha â Inna was holding it up, out of their reach. From the chair, inside, there was a pained female cry of âChildren!â
At the same time, but much more quietly, Yasha said, âThatâs my old violin?â It was too much. He thought of her passport, his parentsâ letter. Was there no end to the things sheâd taken?
But she didnât appear to notice his ominous tone. With apparent artlessness, she said, as if heâd be pleased she was waltzing around Russia with her bag stuffed full of his things: âYour mother let me play it. I brought it ⦠I thoughtââ
But Leman cut her off. Turning to Yasha, he boomed excitedly, âAh, come in, come in, my boy! So you heard, too? Good heavens, why ever didnât you tell us what a marvellous musician your little cousin is â the real thing! I was bowled over â especially since all I was expecting was more of that mournful Jewish caterwauling you go in for upstairs!â
He laughed so hard at his own joke that he didnât notice Yashaâs scowl. Yasha looked at the children. At least they werenât laughing at him; though it wasnât much better that Agrippina was gazing so adoringly at Inna. Barbarian, meanwhile, was taking advantage of being unobserved. He was down on the ground, quietly tying Agrippinaâs shoelace to a chair.
âInna reminds me of you, my dear,â
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