"Very good – that will be enough for today. Please go over your scores very carefully tonight and we will work on the second movement tomorrow." She slid the folder of music to one side and stepped down from the podium, opening the attache case and dropping her notebook into it. "Good afternoon," she said, picking up the motorcycle helmet and walking toward the side of the stage with her quick, firm stride.
There was a murmur of response from the students, and they started moving around and getting out of their chairs as she left the stage. Some of them began putting their instruments in their cases and others began collecting in groups to chat. The tall, slender brunette who played the harp remained in her seat and watched the conductress walking along the center aisle toward the other end of the auditorium. Her long, sensitive fingers moved on the strings of the harp, barely touching them and making a whisper of a low, plaintive melody as her cheek rested against the frame of the harp and her eyes followed the conductress with a deep, hungry sight in their depths. The conductress faded into the darkness at the other end of the auditorium, and she dropped her eyes and sighed. Her fingers moved restlessly over the strings in a whirling cascade of rolling notes, then she stood up and began gathering her things together.
"Doctor Wycliffe?"
Janice stopped and turned as she crossed the foyer of the auditorium toward the front entrance. It was the librarian, getting up from a small couch at the side of the foyer; she had apparently been waiting. Janice smiled perfunctorily. "Yes?"
"Doctor Wycliffe, I'm Celia Thompson," the blonde said, walking toward Janice and pushing nervously at loose strands of hair which were hanging around the sides of her face. "I wanted to apologize for being late today with the music."
"That's quite all right, Ms. Thompson. You didn't disturb the class."
"Yes, well, I've been told by the head librarian to have the music in place before class starts, and…" She shrugged, smiling wryly. "Well, I'd hate to get a complaint or something – I really need the money I get working as a librarian…"
"I'm not given to complaining about trifles, Ms. Thompson," Janice said, a note of reproof in her voice. "Now I've gone and put my foot in my mouth again," Celia sighed. "Look, what I meant was… well, I was up until all hours last night working on a lesson for my comp class, and I didn't even get to bed until four this morning. And then I had an eight o'clock class…"
"I understand," Janice said, moving toward the entrance. "And it's quite all right, Ms. Thompson."
Celia started walking with her and stepped forward to open the door for her. "I understand that your compositions have been performed in all the big concert halls in Europe."
"Thank you," Janice murmured, walking through the door, then she paused and waited for Celia, her eyes coolly surveying the sidewalk and street outside the auditorium. "Have you found that your work with the library has helped you in your studies?"
Celia looked at her, puzzled then discomfited by the bland disregard of her comment. She cleared her throat self consciously and nodded. "Yes, well, it's… well, I've become familiar with the composers and their works…"
Janice gave her the cool, level smile which seemed to be natural with her as they started walking down the steps toward the sidewalk. "Not an inconsiderable advantage, surely."
Celia shook her head and looked down at her feet. "No, it's helped me a lot in history, and… yes, well it's helped. Comp is giving me a fit, though."
"Composition is a difficult subject," Janice murmured, nodding, then she sighed. "And even more difficult in practice."
There was a massive Harley-Davidson motorcycle parked by the curb, a long, heavy machine with glittering chrome exhausts and brightly shining enamel. She walked across the sidewalk to it, lifted the top of one of the contoured plastic saddle bags over the rear wheels and dropped the attache case into it, then she turned back toward Celia as she lifted her helmet and slid it onto her head. "But I'm sure you will master composition if you persevere, Ms. Thompson," she said smiling.
Celia smiled and nodded, glancing at the helmet again. It was large and heavy, looking almost outsize on Janice, and the bright pattern of orange and yellow flashes seemed to contrast with her sedate, reserved manner. "Yes," she said, smiling absently and nodding, still looking at the helmet. "Would it be cribbing if I asked you to give me a little help with…?" Her voice faded away as her attention seemed to snap back to what she was about to ask, and she flushed with embarrassment. "Hey, listen – I must be losing my mind. Every student in this whole conservatory would be after you to…" She broke off and started moving away. "Hey, look, I'm sorry about being late with the music, Doctor Wycliffe – I won't do it again not to you, anyway."
"It isn't that it would be too much trouble, Ms. Thompson…"
"…was out of my mind for saying something like that to you…"
"…please listen to me. Composition is a very personal, highly individual part of music. All anyone can do is simply point out that there are certain accepted conventions, rules, and practices to be observed in the various forms, and then you're by yourself – all alone. There are, of course, certain mistakes… pitfalls in the process, but the interests of education are possibly better served by one's finding them and dealing with them alone."
Celia nodded with a confused, flustered smile on her face as she moved back toward Janice, and she impulsively took Janice's hand in hers. "Well, I lost my head for a minute there. Everyone talks about how busy you are with the phil and everything, and how you like to be left alone…" Her voice trailed off as she realized she was holding Janice's hand, and she flushed deeply as she quickly released it. Her mouth opened to say something else, but she turned her head away in embarrassment, clearing her throat.
Janice had stiffened imperceptibly when Celia took her hand, and she had clamped a firm control over her reactions to keep her hand limp and unresponsive. When Celia released her hand, Janice began fastening the chin strap on her helmet, and she glanced at Celia thoughtfully. She looked away again, pursing her lips and thinking, and there was a moment of strained silence as Celia still looked away, trying to regain her composure. "How many students are in your composition class, Ms. Thompson?"
She cleared her throat again, almost glancing at Janice but dropping her eyes before they met Janice's. "Twenty-six," she murmured in a weak voice.
"And who is the instructor?"
"Ms. Carlin."
Janice's mouth tightened slightly; her impression of the woman was highly negative. She thought again for a moment, still tugging at her chin strap and looking along the street. "Perhaps I could help you a little, then, Ms. Thompson. But it would be… something I wouldn't want… to become common knowledge."
The blonde turned and looked at Janice, blinking rapidly. Her eyes moved over Janice's face as though she were actually seeing her for the first time, and her eyes involuntarily fell to Janice's breasts which bulged out in the light jacket. She flushed darkly and looked away again. "No, look, I can't ask you to do that…"
"Well, it could be that I would be of no assistance whatsoever…"
"No!" Celia almost shouted, her head snapping around, then she cleared her throat and looked away again. "Sorry. It's just that," she made an aimless motion with one hand, "I can't imagine anything that you couldn't do better than anyone else…"
Janice chuckled, and her attractive face suddenly became dramatically beautiful as the wide smile spread over her features and the edges of her white, sparkling teeth became visible between her lips. "Well, hardly," she murmured, taking her keys from her pocket and looking down at them, separating the key for the motorcycle. "What are you doing tonight, Celia?"
The blonde's head snapped around at the use of her first name. She frowned thoughtfully, then her eyes became bold as Janice continued to look down at her keys. Celia looked at Janice's face, almost hidden in the large helmet, then her eyes dropped to Janice's tiny waist and gracefully contoured hips and buttocks. She licked her lips and swallowed. "Nothing, Doctor Wycliffe. Nothing tonight tomorrow night, or any other time…"