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I know talent when I see it. I've been trained by my mother's ear to recognize a true gift and that's what Isla possesses.
I feel a tap on my shoulder that I try to ignore, instead keeping my eyes focused solely on Isla. She's enchanting and with each new piece of music she plays, I'm more compelled to stand in place.
"Gabriel." A voice punctures the moment, seeping into my ear. "This is important. We need to talk right now."
I recognize the voice instantly. It's a friend of my father's; a man who worked for our company for decades before I stepped in and pushed the old ways, and him, aside. He was dead weight, pulling a hefty salary for essentially traveling on our dime. He did nothing and when I cut him a severance check and sent him on his way, I'd dealt with the wrath of my father. Our relationship has never fully recovered from that but the company has. I've increased our profits each year since then and I see no end in sight for our success.
I ignore him, hoping he'll recognize my inattention as a refusal to speak. He doesn't. He becomes more persistent, tapping me on the back now, his voice raising a full notch.
The woman playing the viola mutters something indistinguishable under her breath but the words, and disdain, are directed at me. I'm not going to tarnish this moment for Isla so I turn quickly on my heel directing him through the crowd and out of the room.
"What the fuck do you want, Cyril?" I don't try and temper my annoyance.
"It's Roman." He looks past me towards the atrium. "Was that Gianna with you?"
"That's none of your business. What about my father?"
I force myself to face him. His ineptitude may have cost him his job but he's still trying to claw his way back into my good graces. I want nothing to do with the man.
"You haven't heard yet?"
His non-answer only irks me more. "If you have something to say do it now so I can focus on my evening."
"Your father is getting married."
"What?" I snap back. "To who?"
"Caterina Omari." He takes a step back as if he's uncertain of how I'll react to that.
She's a model whose name means nothing to me. She'd thrown herself at both Caleb and me when she was in the vying for a spot in the woman's fashion show in Paris two years ago. I'd turned her down swiftly. Caleb, not one to mute his opinion for anyone, had chastised her in the press for being unprofessional. Neither of us had any interest. Apparently my father does.
"He's a grown man. His decisions are his own." I turn back towards the atrium and pause. "Send him my regards."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Isla
"Your grandmother would have been so proud of you tonight, Isla." Davis wraps his arm around my shoulder as we exit the concert hall. "I wish she could have been here to see you."
I smile at his gentle words. My grandma's death has been difficult on Davis too. He'd known her since he was a kid first learning to play the cello.
After her retirement, she'd become one of the most beloved private music teachers in Chicago. Her schedule was always full, a smile permanently on her face. Music was her passion and she'd passed that, and many other things, on to me.
"She would have been so proud of you too." I tap his hand. "You are one of her greatest success stories."
"Me?" He takes a step back to nudge his father's elbow. "Did you hear that, dad? Isla is singing my praises again."
I laugh out loud.
"I'm going to miss you like crazy when you go to Israel." I close my eyes, trying to curb my emotions. "Who is going to call me late at night to ask if I've practiced?"
His smile brightens. "I'm going to call you every day and you're going to keep practicing. Not that you need to practice. You were the star of the show tonight, Isla."
"I have nothing on them." I motion towards the main stage. Watching the Philharmonic perform tonight had been our gift for volunteering to be part of the benefit arts' event. Along with a classical guitarist, a pianist and a horn duo, we agreed to participate as a way to showcase young talent.
When Davis got the call asking our quartet to take part, he didn’t hesitate to say yes. It's not only an amazing opportunity; it's also our last chance to perform together. The new cellist, a woman slightly older than me, will step into his place late next month when we are booked for a dedication ceremony at city hall.
"You're going to be on that stage one day." Davis looks down at the worn violin case in my hands. "I'll be sitting front and center watching."
