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“I am well, of course. Thank you, Marion.”
He blinked hard and focused on something over her head, unable to meet her eye. Yet, he could feel her questions. It was definitely unusual for him to interrupt her music time, but he didn’t know how to speak to her about this. The silence lengthened.
“I hope…”
He looked down at Marion. She was fiddling with her string of pearls, a little tic of hers when she was anxious. She seemed to be struggling with her words.
“I hope that I have not hurt you with my playing,” she said quietly, lifting her dark eyes, imploring him to enlighten her about his actions. He found that he was absurdly grateful that she had been able to speak.
“No, you have not,” he smiled tightly, “quite the opposite.”
“You do not seem contented,” Marion said, carefully turning the page of her music, clearly fiddling to have something to do. Simon knew she was trying to give him an opportunity to share the truth of his feelings. He wasn’t sure why it felt so absurdly difficult to do so, but he must at least meet her half way.
“I am sorry if I confused you,” he said honestly. “It is only…this piece reminds me so much of my father. What piece is it?”
“This is Vivaldi’s Concerto in D Major, one of my favourites.” Marion held out the music to him and Simon leafed through it. Though the notes meant very little to him, he could still see the complexity of it and admired her ability.
“You said you only played a little,” he said with a gentle accusation, smiling as he handed it back to her. “I think you may have lied to me, Marion.”
“Well…” Marion flushed deeply, but he could tell she was pleased with the compliment. She was incredibly beautiful when she was embarrassed.“What is ‘little?” she said, smiling. “Compared toMaman,I am only an amateur.”
“Your mother sounds like she was a very impressive lady,” Simon smiled at her.
“Well, in her own way,” Marion said. “Not impressive like your mother.”
The awkwardness of their dinner with his mother hung between them. Marion looked down as if sorry she had mentioned it. Simon wished he had the words for how impressive Marion had been on that occasion, but he was paralysed by awkwardness, not wanting to seem condescending towards her, and so said nothing at all. He wondered if he should leave. Thankfully, Marion seemed able to push through the uncomfortable silence.
“Your - your father was a great player, was he not?” Marion asked, keeping her dark eyes fixed on the keys.
Simon appreciated, once again, that she seemed a little braver than he was at pursuing a conversation. He didn’t know why it was suddenly so difficult! Perhaps it was because, unlike all of their other conversations about trivial matters, this was a discussion about things that were very close to his heart. He had not spoken with a woman about these things since Stella had died.
“Oh yes,” Simon smiled at the memories. “He was a prodigious talent, and played every day.”
“Yet he did not teach you?”
“No.” Simon shook his head regretfully. “I have the basics, but I am ashamed to say I was too impatient to learn properly. I believe he might have been disappointed.”
“I could teach you.” Marion lifted her eyes to his. They were full of a combination of trepidation and also hope. Simon smiled. She was trying to connect with him in a way that she hadn’t so far, and Simon couldn’t help but find it utterly adorable.
“I suppose you could try,” Simon said.
Marion’s face split into a beautiful grin and she moved along the piano bench, making space for him and patting the seat beside her.
“I would love to try,” she said.
“Well then,” Simon said, sliding in next to her and setting his hands on the keys beside hers. “I am ready, maestro.”
Marion laughed at him and turned the concerto back to the beginning.
“Take the melody,” Marion said, smiling gently. “We’ll go slowly.”
They had to go very slowly indeed to accommodate Simon’s lack of skill, but Marion was patient, and Simon soon relaxed, laughing with her when his fingers stumbled. He was enjoying the gentle scent of her so close to him; a combination of orange blossom and jasmine. He could feel her leg moving against his underneath the fabric of her dress as she worked the pedals, and gradually their shoulders became pushed together as they worked through the piece. Then, when they came to the more complicated part, Simon threw up his hands, laughing in defeat.
“No more!” He chuckled. “I have far exceeded my expectations! Things can only get worse from here!”
“You did very well.” Marion laughed. “I think you could learn.”
“You are too kind.” Simon sighed. “But thank you, this brought back pleasant memories for me.”
