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“I dabble.”
“It was intoxicating.”
“Did you think so?”
“Absolutely.” He took a seat next to her on the piano bench. Should have sat in a chair instead. But he was here now. And she hadn’t jumped up and run away. “When did you learn to play?”
“I’ve known since earliest childhood that my role in life was to be a muse for my father’s art. I practiced and practiced until my fingers cramped and my shoulders ached and my head throbbed. I had to play his music flawlessly or suffer the consequences.”
“He didn’t beat you, did he?”
“Nothing like that. He made his disappointment known if I played even one wrong note, he’d shake his head sadly and tell me that the angels were weeping in heaven to hear his music thus mistreated.”
“No pressure to achieve there,” he said drily. “And your mother?” He realized that he had no idea who her mother was, or what her childhood had been like. He wanted to know more about her. What had given her that inner light of peace and happiness?
“An Italian opera singer, a lyric soprano, with a voice direct from heaven. She was so dedicated to her art that after they were married, and she gave birth to me, she immediately left us to continue her career. She never sought to see me again.”
“What was her name—is she famous?”
“Mirella Bartoli. I don’t think she achieved the fame she sought. My father calls her The Songbird. He says that she was too young to be tieddown, that she was a bird in flight, and we were only meant to hear her song on the wind as she passed overhead. He wrote his Symphony no. 5 about her.”
“You haven’t attempted to contact her?”
“What good would that do? She didn’t want me. That’s an end to it.”
West tilted his head and searched her face. The words were sad but her smile never faltered. “What was your childhood like? Where were you educated?”
Her smile wavered. “I wasn’t given a formal education. My girlhood was spent touring with my father across the continent of Europe, performing for royalty and crowded concert halls. It was a dazzling education, in its way. I learned by observation, a silent witness to the parties and musical salons. I soaked in the wit and wisdom of some of Europe’s greatest minds. I visited dozens of countries before I was sixteen.”
“You said that you never made your debut in England.”
“Never. I wanted to... desperately. I didn’t want to keep moving from city to city, never settling anywhere. We finally did move to London but then my father was disgraced.”
“I remember the scandal. It must have been difficult.”
“His sun burned so brightly in those days, so hot, that it consumed everything and everyone around him. It was almost as if he absorbed the energy of everyone around him and he relied on me to feed his creativity, to care for him.I’m mostly happy to be the torch bearer, his amanuensis, his muse, and his nurse. But some days . . .”
“You want more.”
“I’ve propped him up for so long now that I’m not sure if I have my own limbs to stand upon, or if their only purpose is to support him.”
“You could be onstage, you know. The kind of talent you have is rare.”
“I never perform in public. I haven’t since I was a young girl.”
“Why did you stop performing?”
“The devastating realization that my father was losing his hearing. When his hearing loss became inescapable, when it began rapidly escalating, I became his caregiver.”
“Leaving no time for yourself.”
“I still have my music, even though I don’t perform. And I love teaching your sisters. It’s so rewarding to see them awakening to the power of music, to see it change them. Music makes us feel. It makes us weep and laugh. I wouldn’t want to live without it. It carries us away from the humdrum and places us amongst the stars, with light shining all around and shimmering in our ears. Music will always be there for me, even when I’m old and my hair has turned gray.”
The light shining in her eyes, the brightness of her smile, her graceful hands caressing the piano keys had a similar effect on West. She was dazzling. He had to look away. He should leave now. And yet he wanted to linger. To stay close to this vividly alive woman.
“That’s all well and good,” he said gruffly, “but don’t you want to have a family of your own?”
“I always wished that I was born into a large family like yours. I wanted siblings rushing around. A mother and father. My chance for a large family of my own is long past. I’m perfectly content to be an aunt to my friends’ children. And I hope to perform the same role for your sisters after they marry. I do dote on children. And I can’t imagine a mother abandoning her child. Mine must not have loved me at all.” She played a soft melody with her right hand. “What was your mother like?”
