And now she would have to stand on the podium and look down at her every day. Look down at her as she embraced her cello and produced those dulcet notes. An erotic instrument, the cello. Clasped between the calves and the thighs, with the breasts pressing against the back and hanging over the shoulder of the instrument, the deep vibratos sang though the body itself and were bounced from the very core of the being. Those golden, meaty notes would ring along those firm, shapely thighs and soar to the podium in an ecstasy of erotic torture.
The silence was now taut and strained, a complete lack of motion and noise. They were looking at and at Wendy. She looked at Wendy with a stony glare, and Wendy looked back, simply looking, a neutral, slightly apprehensive expression on her face.
"Congratulations, Ms. Nelson," Janice's voice slashed through the silence with a cutting, acid intonation.
"Thank you, Doctor Wycliffe," Wendy's voice came back in a low murmur. "You are aware we have a gala performance scheduled, Ms. Nelson?"
"I am, Doctor Wycliffe."
"Sehr gut. The program will consist of Symphonie Fantastique and the Mahler Fifth."
"I have a passing familiarity with Symphonie Fantastique, Doctor Wycliffe."
"I am not surprised the Sorbonne teaches Berlioz. But not Mahler?"
"Mais oui. Mademoiselle Docteur Wycliffe…"
"Ich kann nicht Franzosisch!"
"I beg your pardon, Doctor Wycliffe. I have never performed the Mahler Fifth en concert."
"Bittesehr?"
"I beg your pardon, Doctor Wycliffe. I have never performed the Mahler Fifth in symphony with an orchestra."
The others were glancing at each other, shrugging and shaking their heads vacantly. And it was impossible not to feel some respect for her. She was stone. She was nervous and ill at ease, but the rapid-fire exchange hadn't rattled her. Still somewhat apprehensive, but completely in control of herself, with her hands relaxed at her sides. The tiny, delicate, sensitive hands. Janice ached to hold them and kiss them.
She turned her eyes to Albertson. "Mr. Albertson, you will please see to the contract and explain the terms of employment to the new first cello, with particular reference to the standards of dress and appearance."
He nodded, clearing his throat. "Yes, Doctor Wycliffe."
She looked back at Wendy. "You will see the librarian for the cello score to the Mahler Fifth, and you will have it memorized by rehearsal time tomorrow morning at ten."
"Yes, Doctor Wycliffe."
Janice turned and walked to the seat where her helmet and attache case were, and she dropped the Beethoven score on the seat and picked them up. "Good afternoon," she said to everyone at large as she turned and walked to the aisle.
There was a murmur from them in reply, and she could feel Wendy's eyes on her as she walked along the aisle into the darkness toward the entrance.
CHAPTER TEN
Janice made a cup of tea and carried it into the living room, and she glanced at the piano with a sigh. She had missed two consecutive days of practice. Two full days, and that meant she was twelve hours behind. It was cumulative. One could practice four hours on a day when it was necessary to do something else, but the two hours had to be caught up later. Or a complete day could be skipped and spread over the next few days. It was unwise to miss more than two consecutive days, though, because the muscles rapidly became stiff and unresponsive. Practice had never been a problem when Lisa had been there. The piano and violin duets had been more of a pleasure than work, and frequently the practice sessions had been small, informal recitals for students and groups of friends. She got up from the couch and walked toward the piano, carrying the cup of tea. The telephone rang as she started to sit down on the bench, and she walked back across the living room and picked it up. "Doctor Wycliffe."
"Doctor Wycliffe, this is Alice. Alice Freeman? The harpist?"
"Yes, Ms. Freeman, I know who you are. I thought we had an appointment for you to come by during the counseling period…"
"I'm awfully sorry, Doctor Wycliffe, but I got held up in student admin. I told that silly woman I had to see you, but she kept fooling around with her papers, and… well, when I got there you'd already left…"
"I can mail it to you, then," Janice said, reaching for the pad and pencil she kept by the phone. "If you'll give me the address, then…"
"Could I drop over and get it, Doctor Wycliffe? I realize that this is an imposition – and not that I don't think you wouldn't mail it right away – but, well, I wanted to say goodbye, and…"
Janice smothered her sigh of irritation. Students. Always confused, forever disorganized. She could have scheduled her appointments better. "Very well, Ms. Freeman. I live at…"
"Oh, I know where you live. Will it be okay to come over now?"
"Yes, that will be all right, Ms. Freeman."
"Thanks ever so. See you in a few minutes. 'Bye, now."
"Goodbye."
Janice replaced the telephone and walked back to the piano, opening the key board as she sat down. Alice Freeman. Tall and attractive, and about twenty or so; her voice had been almost imperative when she asked to come over. Janice began running the A scale, her fingers nimble and rippling over the keys with an unconscious, unthinking rhythm. An inch or two taller than she with brown hair and nice eyes. Brown eyes. Hot eyes. Hot, hungry eyes. A sweet, young face contrasting sharply with the burning glow of her eyes which Janice had frequently turned and caught. It had been more amusing than disconcerting, and now it was a tantalizing memory. And she'd almost insisted on coming over; her voice persuasive and pleading. Janice switched to a finger exercise centered on middle C. Good. Her fingers were supple and responsive. A picture of Wendy almost came to her mind. She blocked it out, thinking of Alice. Thinking of the young, attractive face and the yearning eyes. She broke into the piano prelude to Gotterdammerung, her body bending over the keys and swaying from side to side as she filled the house with the rolling thunder of Wagner.
She was almost advertising. And she was apparently conscious of the fact because her face was slightly flushed and her smile was shaky. Hot pants so short they bordered on vulgarity, showing the curve where her buttocks met her thighs at the back, and a tiny cotton pullover which was too tight. And no bra. The firm bulges of her breasts bobbing resiliently when she moved, and her nipples jutting out against the thin material.
"Come in, Ms. Freeman," Janice said, opening the door wider, a neutral smile on her face.
Alice gave her a flushed smile and walked in, glancing around. "Hi, Doctor Wycliffe. Say, this is really nice – jeez, look at that piano, would you? I could tell it was a concert size from the tone." She turned and looked down at Janice as she turned away from closing the door. "It's really nice of you to do this for me – I really do appreciate it."
"It's no trouble, Ms. Freeman. Come on in – I believe I left my attache case in here."
"Could I get you to call me Alice? Like I'm leaving, and…"
Her voice died away as Janice stopped and turned, looking up at her. Then Janice smiled, a slow smile which spread across her face and made her eyes sparkle. "Very well, Alice. Why don't you call me Janice?"
Alice's face flushed darker, her eyes captured and held by Janice's. She nodded hypnotically.
"All right… Janice," she whispered.
Janice took her hand, leading her through the living room. "Come on, then, Alice." Alice's hand was hot and clinging, and her fingers laced through Janice's as they walked through the living room and into the dining area, where Janice had left her attache case. She disengaged her hand from Alice's and opened the case on the dining table for the envelope. "Here it is. Would you like to read it?"