looked like it had a voice message on it. Well, whatever it was, it could wait.
Except she didn’t put it back in her bag. She sank down on the edge of the bed and stared at it, then hit the button to see who’d left the message.
David.
As if she hadn’t already suspected as much. She would’ve thought he’d have better sense than to call her, especially today. God, why hadn’t she blocked his number when she had the chance?
She should’ve erased it, but instead she hit the “play” button. “Hi, Colette. It’s… Well, you know who it is. I wanted to wish you merry Christmas.” A short pause, and then, “I really miss you, you know. I think about you every day. And every night.” There was a muffled noise that sounded like coughing or nervous laughter, followed by, “I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry. Don’t worry, I won’t call again. I was just hoping to hear your voice.”
The line clicked off.
This time she did erase it, then hastily flipped back a couple of screens to delete his number. Her thumb hovered between the “delete” and “call” buttons for a second or two—until she heard a clomp-clomping up the stairs, and Aleks poked his head in the doorway.
“I’m sorry about our disagreement. You’re right—we came here to relax, not read newspapers.” He smiled. “Would you care to join me on the sofa for a glass of wine?”
Her startled heart tripped like a snare drum, though she managed to force a weak smile. “Give me a few minutes to change, and I’ll be right down.” She breathed deep as his footsteps faded, decisively hitting the “delete” button at last. There. It was done.
But she still felt awful. Anxious. Wrong. As if Aleks had caught her in the act. As if she’d betrayed him simply by listening to David’s message, when it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t as if she’d asked him to call.
But she’d been thinking about him too, and that was her fault. And now that she’d heard his voice again, there was little chance she’d get it out of her mind—at least, not tonight.
Chapter Four
After an entire week of blessed peace and quiet, returning home to noisy, gloomy Paris felt like a distinct comedown. Colette put on her best smile and tried to ignore the strange restlessness pricking at the back of her mind as she and Aleks settled into a regular routine. Each morning he went off to rehearse with the Orchestre de Paris , while she sat down at the piano and tried to concentrate on learning her new role. Rehearsals for Carmen started in another week, and she was nowhere near ready.
It shouldn’t have been so difficult. She’d learned Carmen’s two major arias, the Habañera and the Seguidilla , years ago at the conservatoire , but there were still duets and a host of other ensemble pieces to memorize. She’d even have to sing and dance at the same time, and she’d never been terribly confident about her dancing. Never mind that Carmen was one of the best-known operas of all time. Parisian audiences knew it like they knew the alphabet—which meant there was no room for mistakes. None.
Every day she spent studying the role of Bizet’s fiery gypsy left Colette more convinced that she had no hope of pulling it off. How could she compare with Callas, Price or Berganza? Oh she could hit all the notes, but what did she have to say about the role that hadn’t been said before? Finding something fresh and new in the century-old opera seemed not only elusive, but downright impossible.
At last the first day of rehearsals arrived. Colette’s hands trembled as she styled her hair and applied makeup, then put on a simple A-line plum wool dress and plain black flats. It was bound to be a long day, so she might as well be comfortable. Henri drove her and Aleks to the Opéra Bastille and dropped them off at the stage door, where general director Sergei Popov shook Colette’s hand, slapped Aleks on the back and led them to their side-by-side
Except she didn’t put it back in her bag. She sank down on the edge of the bed and stared at it, then hit the button to see who’d left the message.
David.
As if she hadn’t already suspected as much. She would’ve thought he’d have better sense than to call her, especially today. God, why hadn’t she blocked his number when she had the chance?
She should’ve erased it, but instead she hit the “play” button. “Hi, Colette. It’s… Well, you know who it is. I wanted to wish you merry Christmas.” A short pause, and then, “I really miss you, you know. I think about you every day. And every night.” There was a muffled noise that sounded like coughing or nervous laughter, followed by, “I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry. Don’t worry, I won’t call again. I was just hoping to hear your voice.”
The line clicked off.
This time she did erase it, then hastily flipped back a couple of screens to delete his number. Her thumb hovered between the “delete” and “call” buttons for a second or two—until she heard a clomp-clomping up the stairs, and Aleks poked his head in the doorway.
“I’m sorry about our disagreement. You’re right—we came here to relax, not read newspapers.” He smiled. “Would you care to join me on the sofa for a glass of wine?”
Her startled heart tripped like a snare drum, though she managed to force a weak smile. “Give me a few minutes to change, and I’ll be right down.” She breathed deep as his footsteps faded, decisively hitting the “delete” button at last. There. It was done.
But she still felt awful. Anxious. Wrong. As if Aleks had caught her in the act. As if she’d betrayed him simply by listening to David’s message, when it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t as if she’d asked him to call.
But she’d been thinking about him too, and that was her fault. And now that she’d heard his voice again, there was little chance she’d get it out of her mind—at least, not tonight.
Chapter Four
After an entire week of blessed peace and quiet, returning home to noisy, gloomy Paris felt like a distinct comedown. Colette put on her best smile and tried to ignore the strange restlessness pricking at the back of her mind as she and Aleks settled into a regular routine. Each morning he went off to rehearse with the Orchestre de Paris , while she sat down at the piano and tried to concentrate on learning her new role. Rehearsals for Carmen started in another week, and she was nowhere near ready.
It shouldn’t have been so difficult. She’d learned Carmen’s two major arias, the Habañera and the Seguidilla , years ago at the conservatoire , but there were still duets and a host of other ensemble pieces to memorize. She’d even have to sing and dance at the same time, and she’d never been terribly confident about her dancing. Never mind that Carmen was one of the best-known operas of all time. Parisian audiences knew it like they knew the alphabet—which meant there was no room for mistakes. None.
Every day she spent studying the role of Bizet’s fiery gypsy left Colette more convinced that she had no hope of pulling it off. How could she compare with Callas, Price or Berganza? Oh she could hit all the notes, but what did she have to say about the role that hadn’t been said before? Finding something fresh and new in the century-old opera seemed not only elusive, but downright impossible.
At last the first day of rehearsals arrived. Colette’s hands trembled as she styled her hair and applied makeup, then put on a simple A-line plum wool dress and plain black flats. It was bound to be a long day, so she might as well be comfortable. Henri drove her and Aleks to the Opéra Bastille and dropped them off at the stage door, where general director Sergei Popov shook Colette’s hand, slapped Aleks on the back and led them to their side-by-side
Similar Books
