three weeks is to look after you and Mr Elland..........’
‘I could help you,’ Hector blurted.
Leni hesitated. His behaviour was different to the other domineering westerners she had met. And he had a strange accent. Perhaps he was joking - the British sense of humour was famous. If he was serious, he would probably only get in her way. She was desperate to get out and make some sales.
She was regretting the three-week monetary arrangement she had made with Yul. Mama had serious money problems. If she hadn’t been tied up with the two Brits, she could have worked harder and longer and hopefully made more money for Mama. As it was, she was having to rely on Vilma having a good spell, then try to pay her back. Maybe today, however, she could get rid of Mr Snodd and make some sales. He didn’t seem to have any plans.
‘It is kind of you to offer to help me...Hector,’ she said, ‘but Yul wouldn’t like it. I am supposed to be looking after you. If you have no plans, why don’t you relax by the hotel swimming pool or do a bit of shopping. I could go and do some work and call back later this afternoon to see if you are comfortable, and Yul would never know.’ She added her sweetest persuasive smile at the end.
Hector was about to agree – he would have agreed if she had asked him to set fire to himself – when the hotel musicians started up in the lobby below.
Immediately, the sweet refrain made him clench his fists, and grit his teeth, to stop himself from crying. Madame Butterfly always had that effect.
‘You don’t like Madame Butterfly?’ Leni asked, having noticed the change in him.
Yes...no,’ Hector flustered. ‘Do you know this music?’
‘Of course,’ Leni smiled. It is my favourite Puccini.’
‘Can we stay and listen?’ Hector asked in a dream. Now he knew Leni was perfect.
‘We could go down into the lobby and listen, but we should buy a coffee,’ Leni explained.
Hector nodded and followed her. On the large mobile staircase that took them down to the lobby, with the fountain playing, and the music soaring, Hector felt like a king making a grand entrance with his beautiful queen beside him.
Leni guided him to a seat in one of the open plan restaurants. No one seemed to be listening to the music. They were talking, eating, drinking, reading, but not listening. Leni ordered coffee for Hector, but hot chocolate for herself, there being little food value in coffee. She eyed the delicious looking food, but daren’t ask, and arranged for the bill to go to Hector’s room number.
Hector sat just a few yards from the musicians, enthralled, ignoring his coffee. He had heard this wonderful music only on tape before. To see the violinists move in unison, feel the glowing golden sound wrap around him like a warm blanket, was indescribable. He started to shake inside.
‘They seem good,’ he said, trying to distract himself from his emotions.
‘They are part of the Manila Symphony Orchestra,’ Leni explained. ‘They do this to make a living in between concerts.’
Suddenly, Hector wanted to jump up to tell everybody to be quiet. How dare they speak when professional musicians were playing great music. How dare they ignore them. What else on earth, in life, could be as important as this. A master composer was ...superior. They knew the truth. They knew how we felt. They brought us messages...from...? They understood. They must be listened to.
The lobby chatter, created by the hotel’s pre-dominantly western guests, continued. Now the orchestra started on Rachmaninov’s ‘Vocalise’.
Hector glanced across the table at Leni. She sat straight backed, head high, watching the orchestra - a glorious sight. She sensed his gaze and turned.
‘Do you know this?’ Hector whispered.
Leni smiled, and whispered back, ‘Vocalise...
Rachmaninov.’
It should have pleased him. It should have delighted him. It did for a second. But then the realisation that she had become even more desirable,
‘I could help you,’ Hector blurted.
Leni hesitated. His behaviour was different to the other domineering westerners she had met. And he had a strange accent. Perhaps he was joking - the British sense of humour was famous. If he was serious, he would probably only get in her way. She was desperate to get out and make some sales.
She was regretting the three-week monetary arrangement she had made with Yul. Mama had serious money problems. If she hadn’t been tied up with the two Brits, she could have worked harder and longer and hopefully made more money for Mama. As it was, she was having to rely on Vilma having a good spell, then try to pay her back. Maybe today, however, she could get rid of Mr Snodd and make some sales. He didn’t seem to have any plans.
‘It is kind of you to offer to help me...Hector,’ she said, ‘but Yul wouldn’t like it. I am supposed to be looking after you. If you have no plans, why don’t you relax by the hotel swimming pool or do a bit of shopping. I could go and do some work and call back later this afternoon to see if you are comfortable, and Yul would never know.’ She added her sweetest persuasive smile at the end.
Hector was about to agree – he would have agreed if she had asked him to set fire to himself – when the hotel musicians started up in the lobby below.
Immediately, the sweet refrain made him clench his fists, and grit his teeth, to stop himself from crying. Madame Butterfly always had that effect.
‘You don’t like Madame Butterfly?’ Leni asked, having noticed the change in him.
Yes...no,’ Hector flustered. ‘Do you know this music?’
‘Of course,’ Leni smiled. It is my favourite Puccini.’
‘Can we stay and listen?’ Hector asked in a dream. Now he knew Leni was perfect.
‘We could go down into the lobby and listen, but we should buy a coffee,’ Leni explained.
Hector nodded and followed her. On the large mobile staircase that took them down to the lobby, with the fountain playing, and the music soaring, Hector felt like a king making a grand entrance with his beautiful queen beside him.
Leni guided him to a seat in one of the open plan restaurants. No one seemed to be listening to the music. They were talking, eating, drinking, reading, but not listening. Leni ordered coffee for Hector, but hot chocolate for herself, there being little food value in coffee. She eyed the delicious looking food, but daren’t ask, and arranged for the bill to go to Hector’s room number.
Hector sat just a few yards from the musicians, enthralled, ignoring his coffee. He had heard this wonderful music only on tape before. To see the violinists move in unison, feel the glowing golden sound wrap around him like a warm blanket, was indescribable. He started to shake inside.
‘They seem good,’ he said, trying to distract himself from his emotions.
‘They are part of the Manila Symphony Orchestra,’ Leni explained. ‘They do this to make a living in between concerts.’
Suddenly, Hector wanted to jump up to tell everybody to be quiet. How dare they speak when professional musicians were playing great music. How dare they ignore them. What else on earth, in life, could be as important as this. A master composer was ...superior. They knew the truth. They knew how we felt. They brought us messages...from...? They understood. They must be listened to.
The lobby chatter, created by the hotel’s pre-dominantly western guests, continued. Now the orchestra started on Rachmaninov’s ‘Vocalise’.
Hector glanced across the table at Leni. She sat straight backed, head high, watching the orchestra - a glorious sight. She sensed his gaze and turned.
‘Do you know this?’ Hector whispered.
Leni smiled, and whispered back, ‘Vocalise...
Rachmaninov.’
It should have pleased him. It should have delighted him. It did for a second. But then the realisation that she had become even more desirable,
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