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“Yes. That works. He is good company. I look forward to seeing him again when he comes to Angwin.” I haul her into my arms. “I think he liked you.” I nuzzle that pulse point beneath her ear.
Alessia squirms and giggles in my arms. “That tickles.”
I stop torturing her and gaze at her beautiful face. “We should sleep. I have to do my reading in church tomorrow morning, and then there’s the long drive back to London.”
“Are you nervous about your reading?”
I lean against the pillows while considering my response, and Alessia snuggles against me. “No. I’m not nervous at all. I feel a little hypocritical, to be honest. I’m not religious. Never have been. But Trewin is right. He’s here for the community, and I need to step up and be here for the community, too, whether I like it or not.
“Tonight, listening and watching all our tenants and estate workers, I realized that all of us bind together to make a cohesive whole. We all work for the good of the community. And you and me, we’re a part of that. I never thought about it before… when Kit was in charge here.
“Now, I want to be part of it more than ever. It’s important to keep this place together and thriving for us and everyone who lives in and around Trevethick. We are its beating heart.”
Alessia’s dark eyes are luminous. In them, I see her hope and… dare I say it, admiration. “I want to be part of it too,” she whispers.
“Oh, baby, you are. More than you know already.”
“I have loved our time here. I can’t believe that this is my life now. It is like a dream. Thank you.”
I skim my fingers over her cheek. “No, my love. It’s I who should thank you. This place has come alive with you here.”
Alessia shakes her head as if she doesn’t believe what I’m saying and kisses me. Properly, her hand skimming down my body… waking everything.
Again? Oh boy!
Chapter Thirty
“Do you want me to wait?” Maxim asks. They’re standing on an ornate mosaic floor in the impressive foyer of the Royal College of Music, and Alessia’s audition is in forty minutes.
“I don’t know how long this will take. But I’ll be okay.” Alessia ignores her racing heart to reassure him. “You have work to do. I’ll come to your office afterwards.”
He frowns, unsure, and she places her hand on his chest, feeling the heat from his body through his shirt.
Comforted by his warmth, her heart rate slows to something approximating its usual rhythm. “I’ll be okay,” she repeats and tilts her head back for a kiss.
“Okay. I’ll see you at the office. Good luck,” he says and brushes his lips against hers. “As we say here, break a leg.”
Alessia’s brow creases and she looks down at her feet.
Break a leg?
Maxim cups her chin with his thumb and forefinger, and lifts her gaze to bright green eyes that sparkle with humor. “It’s just an expression of good luck.”
“Oh.” Alessia returns his smile.
“Go. Warm up. You’ve got this.”
Alessia takes her bag, and with a final glance at her handsome husband, she follows the young student who’s been patiently waiting for her.
They head up two flights of stairs and along a corridor. The student introduces himself as Paolo and welcomes her to the college. He’s casually dressed in jeans and a sweater, and Alessia hopes she’s not too smart in her black trouser suit. He stops and opens one of the doors to a small rehearsal room. “You can warm up here. I’ll be back to take you to the audition in about twenty minutes.”
“Thank you,” Alessia says, looking around the intimate space but, more importantly, at the upright Steinway and stool. They’re the only pieces of furniture in the room. Paolo closes the door, and Alessia places her bag on the floor and sits on the stool.
This is it. She’s here. She’s practiced and practiced and practiced some more. She knows her pieces backward. She’s watched YouTube video after YouTube video on audition techniques and what to expect. She’s ready.
Taking a deep breath, she places her hands on the keys and launches into her warm-up… loving that the piano’s tone is warm and immediate in this soundproofed cocoon.
* * *
In the cab on the way to the office, my phone buzzes, and I think it might be Alessia. No. It’s another text from Caroline. She’s sent me a few over the last few days begging for feedback on her designs.
For heaven’s sake, we’re meeting later this morning. I didn’t know she was professionally so needy! Now she’s trying a different tack.
How was Cornwall?
A303 or M5/M4?
In spite of myself, her text makes me laugh.
You know I hate the A303
It’s for pensioners!
See you later
My eyes stray to the battered briefcase beside me on the seat. Within it are my notes from our meeting with Jem Gladwell, which I want to share with Oliver, and also Kit’s journal—its mere existence searing a hole in my conscience and nagging me.
