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Authors: Angela Dracup
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frame a hypothesis as to the true nature of her troubles.
Dr Denton saw Georgiana as an innocent,
partially blind creature confronting a sheet of darkened glass, seeing only her
own reflection, her own feelings. In time he would clear the glass for her,
wipe away the darkness and enable her to see clearly into the outer world
beyond the inner turmoil.
The prospect of exercising such
tender and healing power was utterly seductive.
CHAPTER
7
Xavier waited a week and then he
telephoned Tara’s home number. Taking into account the tantalising message he
had scribbled for her on his personal calling card he was intrigued and rather
impressed that she had not been on the line to him before.
He recognized her voice
immediately, was struck afresh by its curious blend of grating assertiveness
and husky seduction.
She, in turn, knew immediately
that it was him. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed.
‘You did not go back to college?’
he enquired pleasantly.
‘No. Packed it in.’
‘It was not for you?’
‘No.’
‘That is because you are a
musician.’
Her answering silence was bold
and deliberate.
‘I’ve been making some
enquiries,’ he continued. ‘From your former teacher for a start.’
‘What!’
He took pleasure in imagining her
shocked and indignant expression. ‘I have something important to tell you,
Tara. My old friend Monica Heilfrich is here in London giving some master
classes and I want you to take part.’
‘Me? Play for the great
Heilfrich. Is that a joke?’
‘I’ll take you along myself.’
‘Is that supposed to make things
better? Do you think you’re any less terrifying than her?’
Xavier was delighted with all
this unashamed frankness. For years he had been surrounded with fawning
sycophants and had become heartily sick of their evasive style of speech. He
could almost hear their minds squirming as they painstakingly weighed every
word for fear of offending him.
‘So how often have you been
playing your father’s instrument since last week?’ he asked Tara, conjuring up
a detailed image of her in his head, the shaggy elfin haircut, the wayward
fringe flopping over those wonderful glinting green eyes. And her figure – so
small, yet so rounded, so firmly fleshed.
‘Around three to four hours a
day.’ This was a lie; she had been playing for seven at least.
A faint smile of triumph played
over Xavier’s lips. ‘I’m very glad to hear it. Now – listen to me! This is no
joke. I’ve been talking to Monica and she is most interested to hear you play.
She’s invited you to join her little group next week. Tuesday, I think. She
starts at two in the afternoon. So I’ll pick you up at eleven, we’ll have a
little light lunch together and then I’ll drop you off at her place.’
Tara breathed in deeply. ‘No.’
‘Tara! This is an opportunity not
to be missed.’ He wondered whether to exert a little extra pressure in the form
of dropping in a reference to her father, but decided against it.
‘Oh, I’ll come to the master
class. But I’ll get there under my own steam, thanks all the same,’ she added.
‘I see. Very well.’ His voice was
chilling.
‘Will you be there?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll be scared out of my wits.
I’ll probably play like a donkey.’
The line clicked off abruptly,
leaving Xavier high and dry. Dropping the phone back on the handset, he smiled
with devilish speculation. Of course the young sprite might be absolutely
useless and he would have a little egg on his face, for which Monica would tease
him without mercy.
He doubted however that Tara’s
lack of musical skill would be a problem. Her teacher had spoken of Tara’s
interesting potential in her childhood and early teens and, even if the wayward
nymph had not been motivated and practising for a while, that was unlikely to
have vanished. True talent was never lost – ruling out brain damage or physical
injuries.
No doubt Tara would present
plenty of problems outside
Dr Denton saw Georgiana as an innocent,
partially blind creature confronting a sheet of darkened glass, seeing only her
own reflection, her own feelings. In time he would clear the glass for her,
wipe away the darkness and enable her to see clearly into the outer world
beyond the inner turmoil.
The prospect of exercising such
tender and healing power was utterly seductive.
CHAPTER
7
Xavier waited a week and then he
telephoned Tara’s home number. Taking into account the tantalising message he
had scribbled for her on his personal calling card he was intrigued and rather
impressed that she had not been on the line to him before.
He recognized her voice
immediately, was struck afresh by its curious blend of grating assertiveness
and husky seduction.
She, in turn, knew immediately
that it was him. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed.
‘You did not go back to college?’
he enquired pleasantly.
‘No. Packed it in.’
‘It was not for you?’
‘No.’
‘That is because you are a
musician.’
Her answering silence was bold
and deliberate.
‘I’ve been making some
enquiries,’ he continued. ‘From your former teacher for a start.’
‘What!’
He took pleasure in imagining her
shocked and indignant expression. ‘I have something important to tell you,
Tara. My old friend Monica Heilfrich is here in London giving some master
classes and I want you to take part.’
‘Me? Play for the great
Heilfrich. Is that a joke?’
‘I’ll take you along myself.’
‘Is that supposed to make things
better? Do you think you’re any less terrifying than her?’
Xavier was delighted with all
this unashamed frankness. For years he had been surrounded with fawning
sycophants and had become heartily sick of their evasive style of speech. He
could almost hear their minds squirming as they painstakingly weighed every
word for fear of offending him.
‘So how often have you been
playing your father’s instrument since last week?’ he asked Tara, conjuring up
a detailed image of her in his head, the shaggy elfin haircut, the wayward
fringe flopping over those wonderful glinting green eyes. And her figure – so
small, yet so rounded, so firmly fleshed.
‘Around three to four hours a
day.’ This was a lie; she had been playing for seven at least.
A faint smile of triumph played
over Xavier’s lips. ‘I’m very glad to hear it. Now – listen to me! This is no
joke. I’ve been talking to Monica and she is most interested to hear you play.
She’s invited you to join her little group next week. Tuesday, I think. She
starts at two in the afternoon. So I’ll pick you up at eleven, we’ll have a
little light lunch together and then I’ll drop you off at her place.’
Tara breathed in deeply. ‘No.’
‘Tara! This is an opportunity not
to be missed.’ He wondered whether to exert a little extra pressure in the form
of dropping in a reference to her father, but decided against it.
‘Oh, I’ll come to the master
class. But I’ll get there under my own steam, thanks all the same,’ she added.
‘I see. Very well.’ His voice was
chilling.
‘Will you be there?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll be scared out of my wits.
I’ll probably play like a donkey.’
The line clicked off abruptly,
leaving Xavier high and dry. Dropping the phone back on the handset, he smiled
with devilish speculation. Of course the young sprite might be absolutely
useless and he would have a little egg on his face, for which Monica would tease
him without mercy.
He doubted however that Tara’s
lack of musical skill would be a problem. Her teacher had spoken of Tara’s
interesting potential in her childhood and early teens and, even if the wayward
nymph had not been motivated and practising for a while, that was unlikely to
have vanished. True talent was never lost – ruling out brain damage or physical
injuries.
No doubt Tara would present
plenty of problems outside
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