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‘But now you do,’ Anya said tartly, her feminine hackles rising. She stopped moving, glaring up at him. ‘Do you know how arrogant that sounds?’
He kept his arm firmly around her, their bodies touching from chest to knee. ‘What about you? You obviously haven’t had much time for men if you think Mark Ransom is going to make you any kind of decent lover.’
She clenched her teeth. ‘There’s nothing the matter with Mark!’
‘I didn’t say there was…only that he’s not right for you. He’s too conventional. One look at your kinky underwear and he’d be blushing like a vicar instead of ripping it off you.’ He grinned at her expression and began dancing again. ‘You’re a buttoned-up little thing who needs a man who won’t be put off by those snooty boarding school manners—’
‘And you’re a white-collar professional with a big chip on your shoulder!’ she snapped, her body unconsciously obeying his lead, moving in perfect unison with his changing step.
‘Do you blame me? My one year at private school was an education in the corruption of privilege,’ he said, undermining her anger with his sudden gravity. ‘Because I was a scholarship boy I was automatically an outsider to the boys who had been there since kindergarten. My language, my mannerisms, my lack of money, my aggressive desire to succeed, they all marked me out as different and threatening to the status quo. And when I found warmth and acceptance in the one place that it seemed to be freely offered, I found that trust was also a flexible commodity. I trusted Lorna when she said she loved me, but she traded on that trust to deny me the true realisation of what it means to be a man.
‘I trusted your cousin, too, to be honest about her emotions and open about her intentions, but Kate wasn’t capable of that much unselfishness. Her claims of love were just flashy pyrotechnics, full of noise and dazzle but utterly ephemeral. So don’t ever think that there’s any way that I’d want your cousin back, or confuse you with her…or her with you…’
His words lingered in her head for the entire weekend, during which she cravenly stayed home and gardened. Heather had been sitting in glacial silence by the time they had got back to the table and Anya had quickly invented a headache which Mark had accepted with relief as a reason to excuse themselves from dessert and coffee. Anya had had the feeling that if she hadn’t been driving herself she would have had to listen to a lecture all the way home in the car. As it was she had escaped with only an irritated comment that in being submissive to Scott’s domination she had only succeeded in being rude to Heather.
Submissive? If only he knew!
She was not feeling at all submissive on Monday afternoon, when the final bell dismissed her last class and Petra bounced into her classroom towing her father.
‘Hi, Miss Adams. I hope your headache’s better because Dad and I’ve got a fantastic surprise for you!’
‘Oh, really?’ said Anya, moving behind her desk, taking off her spectacles and making a business of putting them in their soft leather case in order to avoid Scott’s hooded gaze. He doubtless knew very well the reason that she had not tutored Petra over the weekend was because she had not wanted to face him. Her headache had not been organic.
‘Yes—look! Dad’s got us tickets to go to a concert at the Auckland Town Hall tonight.’ Petra released her father’s hand to excitedly pull the tickets out of their printed sleeve. ‘They’ve apparently been sold out for weeks but Dad managed to get three review seats from a friend at one of the newspapers.’ She pushed the tickets across the desk to Anya, pointing out the name of a famous Russian pianist appearing ‘For One Night Only’. ‘He’s playing Beethoven’s “Fifth Concerto”—the “Emperor”,’ she exalted. ‘This is just going to be so fantastic!’
‘Tonight…?’ said Anya faintly, folding into the chair behind her desk, frantically trying to think up an excuse.
‘You already have a date?’ asked Scott, his eyes no longer hooded but blazing with challenge. He was going to pin her to the blackboard behind her if she tried to refuse, she realised.
‘Well, no, but…it’s a school night,’ she faltered, rolling nervously at the fine gold chain exposed by the open collar of her yellow blouse.
‘Oh, that’s OK, we’re not going to be out too late—Dad’s booking a hotel suite so we don’t have to drive all the way back home tonight.’ Petra was almost dancing with glee at the idea. ‘We can take everything we’ll need for tomorrow and Dad’ll drive us home in the morning and drop us right here at school.’
‘The perfect plan,’ purred Scott, and something in his voice alerted Petra because her face fell with ludicrous speed.
‘You’re not going to say no, are you, Miss Adams? I’ve never been to a concert where someone famous is playing—just free ones and symphony matinées…’
Anya had picked up a pen from her desk, instinctively trying to retreat behind her professional facade.
‘No, Miss Adams is definitely not going to say no,’ her father said in that same, silken voice, leaning both hands flat on the edge of her desk. ‘She wouldn’t dream of disappointing you. She’s delighted that I’m thoughtful enough to want to ensure that she’s bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for school tomorrow. She’s going to thank me nicely and say that she feels privileged to be able to attend a concert by a former Tchaikovsky prize-winner in the presence of a future Tchaikovsky prize-winner.’
‘Oh, Dad!’
‘Well, if you’re sure there’s no-one else you’d rather invite,’ Anya murmured. ‘Someone in the family. Or perhaps Miss Morgan would like to hear the “Emperor”…’ she felt driven to suggest.
‘Miss Adams!’ Petra stared at her, eyes rounded in horror at this unthinkable betrayal.
‘Miss Morgan thinks the “Emperor” is a giant penguin,’ drawled Scott, sending Petra into a fit of hysterically relieved giggles. He leaned further across the desk, his tie brushing Anya’s open text-book as his deep voice provided a counterpoint to the high-pitched giggles. ‘She also thinks that I no longer fit her profile of a desirable escort. I’ve apparently changed for the worse since I became an active father—I’ve become selfish, rude and indifferent to a woman’s needs!’
He certainly gave the lie to the first two criticisms that evening as he escorted a lady on each arm into the concert chamber, Petra minus her nosering and wearing a new dress—black of course—bought from a screamingly trendy boutique near the hotel and Anya in a silver lurex top and long black skirt. They had dined at the hotel, Petra in transports of delight at the sight of the luxurious, three-bedroom penthouse suite, confiding that she’d never stayed in a hotel before.
Petra sat between them at the concert, leaning forward in her seat in the centre-front of the circle, her hands gripping the ledge, while Scott lounged back in his seat, his arm extended along the back of her seat towards Anya, occasionally exchanging smiling glances with her behind his daughter’s entranced back.
Petra remained utterly still through the entire performance and during the slow movement in B Major Anya even suspected her of holding her breath so as not to make even the slightest sound that would interfere with her blissful appreciation of the adagio. Her expression was filled with such soul-wrenching purity and sublime yearning that Anya felt doubly moved by the music and blinked furiously to dispel the tears in her eyes.
A touch on her shoulder had her turning her head and seeing the corresponding glitter of Scott’s eyes as they shared a moment of perfect emotional communion. With his daughter’s coming the cynical, hard-bitten lawyer was rediscovering the joys and sorrows of vulnerability, was able to reveal the tenderness and sensitivity which didn’t detract from his toughness but merely added depth and breadth to his character. Her heart fisted in her chest. Perhaps what it really meant was that he was opening himself up to love…
The rousing final rondo brought the audience to their feet and Petra clapped and stamped and cried for encores with a glorious abandon that had the people around her laughing indulgently and leaning over to compliment Anya and Scott on their enthusiastic daughter. When Anya blushingly attempted to correct them, Scott swapped seats with Petra and told her not to be silly, and stayed there his arm draped around her for the brilliant short encore that again had Petra shouting herself hoarse.
