There was a swell of admiration among them. Daniel was relieved. He had prepared himself for an ordeal full of potential pitfalls.
A woman reporter from one of the big American stations was on her feet, jabbing her microphone at Amy. “Miss Hartston?”
“Yes,” she replied, remaining on her chair.
“I was wondering what you made of this. As a musician.”
Amy glanced at Daniel, unsure of what to say. “In what way?” she asked.
“You tell me,” the reporter continued with ill-concealed aggression. “What does it feel like playing something that’s written by someone almost your own age? And yet it’s not modern. It’s like some ghost from three hundred years ago, if we’re to believe all the hype we’re hearing.”
Amy nodded. “I haven’t spoken to Daniel about it.”
The reporters went quiet, sensing something but not recognising what it was.
“You never talked to him?” The woman seemed amazed. “But he’s the composer, right?”
“I…” Amy’s eyes sought his, pleading for help.
Massiter rose and clapped his hands. “My dear lady,” he declared loudly. “We have Fabozzi, a fine conductor, at the helm of this event. When we discussed how we would handle this unexpected opportunity, it naturally fell to him to direct the orchestra, not the composer. A decision you fully support, don’t you, Daniel?”
They stared at him, puzzled, resentful somehow. Daniel nodded. “Naturally. Why should I make life difficult by interposing myself between the players and their conductor?”
“Why indeed?” the American woman responded.
“There!” Massiter announced quickly. “Now, to practicalities, please. There will be tickets in the house for those of you who are accredited critics, naturally. And a few more besides which will go into the hat.”
Daniel tried to judge their mood. They worked as a pack, he thought, and, like dogs that had been half-fed, their resentment for what they had not received far outweighed their gratitude for the few morsels that had come their way. There was an air of nervousness about the concert, which he regretted. Fabozzi and his musicians had worked hard and deserved their acclaim.
Massiter stood and watched them go, then sidled over, took his arm, and whispered loudly in his ear, “Excellent, Daniel! They’re hanging on your every word.”
“Really, Hugo?” That was true, he supposed. “Perhaps they smell a rat.”
The cold eyes stared at him. “Nonsense. They’re too stupid to see anything that doesn’t strike them full in the face. But let’s play safe, eh? Tomorrow I’ll spirit you away somewhere, anywhere you like. Perhaps a room in the Cipriani for the weekend. Some peace and quiet.”
The idea of the palatial hotel in Giudecca instantly brought back another memory, of Laura screaming at him in the tiny room of the women’s prison at the opposite end of the island.
“Or Verona?” Massiter suggested. “Wherever, Daniel, but you need these animals off your heels. Think about it.”
“I will,” he promised.
Amy had stopped at the door, across the room, trying to catch his eye.
“Later, Hugo,” Daniel said.
The older man peered into his eyes. “Ah, yes. When we discuss this new price of yours.”
“Exactly.”
Unexpectedly, Massiter favoured him with a broad, conspiratorial smile. “You’re quite the one, Daniel Forster,” he declared.
“I’m sorry?”
“All this fey façade, when really you’re as tough as old boots inside.”
Daniel bowed his head gently. “Thank you.”
“Not at all. You could be a good pupil. I wonder whether I need an acolyte sometimes. Instead of the hangers-on.”
“But I’m a composer, Hugo. Don’t forget that.”
Massiter laughed, a short, controlled sound, then patted him hard on the shoulder. “Quite! Now, you’ll share my taxi to this miserable event?”
“No. But thanks anyway. I want to walk. I want to think.”
“Yes. About your price.”
He hesitated. “About Scacchi, actually.”
Massiter said nothing and slipped away. Daniel crossed the room and found Amy at the door. She was different now, he thought. She had lost some of the naïve exuberance he had seen in her face when they first met.
“Amy,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ve been out of things. I should have called you.”
“Why?” she asked, refusing to meet his eyes directly.
“Because I owed it to you.”
She sighed and stared at the long corridor stretching in front of them. They were alone in the echoing room. “I want to play this thing and be gone, Dan. Don’t ask me why, but this all feels so wrong. Like I’m going crazy or something.”
He placed his arm on her shoulder. “You’re not crazy, Amy.”
Her wide eyes met his. “Really? I told Hugo you never wrote that piece. You weren’t capable of it. Then I see you this morning. I guess that’s the real you, isn’t it? I just never saw him before. You had those reporters in the palm of your hand.”
“Perhaps.”
“No, you did, Dan. I don’t know why I read people so wrong. I don’t know why I read myself so wrong sometimes.”
“Be patient,” he said. “It’ll all work out.”
She folded her arms. “It’s all worked out already. Hugo and I are an item, in case you hadn’t heard. I’m to be a star. Just like you.” There was a bitter tone in her voice, directed more at herself than Massiter, he thought.
“We all make mistakes, Amy. It doesn’t mean you live with them forever.”
“No? But it’s all mapped out. He’s getting me into Juilliard. I can stay at his apartment in New York. It’s walking distance from Lincoln Center, apparently. I’m made, don’t you see?”
“That sounds wonderful,” he replied hesitantly.
“Sure. All I have to do is screw him whenever he comes around. Not that it’s about that, really. That’s just him marking his territory.”
That last insight seemed remarkably apposite. “Amy. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. Your parents—”
“He’s talked to them,” she spat back. “They think it’s all wonderful. Suddenly their dumb daughter’s got a career. Some rich, old boyfriend with English breeding too. They don’t need the money, but the class… that’s priceless.”
“Nothing’s set in stone.”
She glowered at him. “Really? Are you sure you get this? We’re both in the same boat. He owns us. Like he’d own a painting or a statue. That’s what turns him on. Knowing we’re there. On the shelf. Waiting for when he wants something. And…”
She swore under her breath. “Jesus, there is no way out . He understands when you see a door and just closes it in your face. We’re his now. We always will be.”
Daniel leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Amy stared at him, amazed.
“What was that for?” she demanded.
“For me. And also to say that I’m your friend, Amy. To say I’ll help you. Just be patient. And play like the wind tonight, love. Not for me. Certainly not for Hugo. Do that for yourself.”