Page 13 of Crescendo

“No wonder Ella and Eliza are each of them just about tripping over themselves to get to you. Here I’d thought it was just that you were famous, but maybe you’ve got a bit of charm in there too. You attract all the girls who have too many issues to properly flirt with you, don’t you?”

“I don’t know if either of them is actually interested in women. I just like to rankle people.”

Clara snorted. “The way Ella looks at you? That is not heterosexual behavior. Same for Eliza, but I don’t think you’d even be interested in her.”

“Oh, but I would be in Ella?” I huffed, pretending I wasn’t a little bit shaken by the idea. If Ella actually was interested in women—interested in me —I’d never been one for self-control around a beautiful woman with musical talent. Clara smiled dryly.

“You tell me, Lydia Howard Fox.”

“Not you too, Clara. I thought you were the only one I could count on to not whip that out like it’s an invocation.”

She laughed. “Ella’s not half-bad, you know. You could do worse.”

I shook my head. “If you want her, go for it. I live in LA. I’m not doing anything with a girl here.”

“Life’s unpredictable. And nobody says it has to go anywhere. You’re trying to reset, change up your routine, your life, aren’t you? And don’t worry, she’s not my type. Too… good. I’m more into the kind of person where you think you can fix them but instead they ruin you.”

“I’m happy to see we’re all self-aware here today,” I said. “Ella and I won’t do anything, even if she is really damn pretty. Not to burst your bubble. Thanks for the food suggestion, by the way. This is good.”

“Better than your American food, I’m sure,” she said, and I rolled my eyes with a laugh.

“Two hundred fifty years and you’re still mad we threw your tea in the harbor.

I live in LA, you know. You can find great food from any region you can imagine all in any one given city block.

You and your dodgy friend will have to visit once this is over and I’ll show you noodles so good you won’t want to go back until you remember that we don’t have Tetley’s. ”

She laughed. “It’s a deal. We’ll get the whole program to go visit the house of great composer Lydia Howard Fox and eat noodles.”

Sounded like a plan to me.

∞∞∞

Ella avoided me that evening after classes, and I tried not to take it to heart.

I assumed she just didn’t want me trying to give her a piano lesson, and so, well—for once, I decided to back off and give someone space when they needed it.

Adam invited me out for a catch-up dinner, and when I asked Bansi if he wanted to tag along, he practically cried in joy.

Adam loved him, like I knew he would—guy just loved anyone who loved music, and Bansi’s enthusiasm shone through in everything he did, and we got to chat all about Crescendo, about Adam’s latest work, about my burnout and handing over the script to Natália.

It was a good evening, a nice way to keep my thoughts in order, and I found what I didn’t need on my way back to the apartment: Eliza Wright, standing at the bottom of the stairs up to my apartment entrance, arms folded, Hannah at her side.

“So, good first day of classes, then?” Eliza said in her fake-polite tone.

“Pretty good, yeah,” I said, hands in my pockets. “How about you? Making good progress towards putting me in my place?”

Eliza quirked a smile. “Making jokes about it won’t change the fact that you are burned out. You know too well it’s a little… easy, right now, to put you in your place, isn’t it?”

It shouldn’t have stung, but maybe it was just the comments on top of the fact that Ella was ignoring me that left me a little prickly. “I feel like you should know what it’s like to have a crisis of identity,” I said lightly. “Won’t even use your real accent.”

Eliza wrinkled her nose. “Just because I make an effort to integrate better doesn’t mean I’m having a crisis of identity, dear. You wouldn’t know a great deal about prejudice against Northerners, would you? California is a long way away.”

Hannah found her moment to chip in. “You wouldn’t know, would you?”

I nodded towards Hannah. “And her? She’s still got her Northern accent. Are you saying you’re clever and she’s dumb, or are you saying she’s brave and you’re cowardly?”

Eliza frowned. “Don’t drag Hannah into this.”

“Don’t drag me into this,” I said, knowing full well I was giving her what she wanted right now, but I was tired and didn’t have it in me to deflect her commentary. She smiled wider.

“You know,” she said, “I used to look up to you a lot. Loved all your work, and every time I wrote a composition, I would ask myself what Lydia Howard Fox would do with it. But you know that, don’t you?

Even you ask yourself what the Lydia Howard Fox of a few years ago would do with a piece.

These days, do you have it in you to answer that? ”

“Do you?” Hannah echoed, and I sighed.

“Do you two want something from me, or am I allowed to go inside?”

Eliza pursed her lips. “Just telling you not to mess around with Ella. She’s a good person who will do just fine for herself without you poking your nose into things.”

“Yeah, so stay out,” Hannah said.

I prickled despite myself, and I almost made a smart comment before Olivia’s voice cut through the air, coming striding down the street in the glow of the streetlamps, now gloriously bedecked in her casual ugly-shoes, swamp-green Vans with wavy stripes.

She always dressed so nicely above the ankle.

Was it so much to ask for her to complete the ensemble?

“All right, you lot,” Olivia said, “try not to pick a fight in the street.”

Eliza batted her eyelashes at Olivia. “I was just saying good evening to my neighbor.”

“Yeah, and telling her a couple things,” Hannah said, and Eliza elbowed her lightly. Hannah flushed, and Olivia sighed.

“Even without your co-conspirator saying too much, I have ears. You’re all adults. Let’s head on inside and not send up our problems for all London to hear.”

“Sorry, Olivia,” Hannah said, and Eliza cleared her throat.

“We’re just heading back inside now. Have a good night, Olivia. Lydia… I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

The two of them disappeared inside, leaving Olivia with me in the street, giving me a wry look. I sighed.

“Thanks.”

“Next time they’re trying to aggravate you, you don’t need to engage, just let me know.”

I shrugged, looking away. “They were just concerned about Ella… that’s all. Well, Eliza was. Hard to say what’s actually on Hannah’s mind.”

“Hm. I somehow suspect that concern for Ella’s well-being was not the only thing on either of their minds. You’re a professional. Don’t sink to the level of bullies trying to pick on you. Well, have a good night, then.”

No sign of Ella once I got inside—safely tucked away in her room, judging by the lights on under her door. I considered knocking, if just to ask how she was doing just at a polite level, checking in, and saying goodnight, but somehow I found myself drifting past it and on to my bedroom.

Didn’t get any better come morning, either—woke up to a note left in the kitchen, headed out for an early breakfast with Alisha and Sian, I’ll see you in class today – Ella xx

Two kisses at the end of a message was hard to parse. Was that few enough it meant she was mad? Did it depend too much on the person? I wasn’t British enough to parse it.

I did see her in class, though—showed up just a minute before the morning lecture in the auditorium started, slotting in next to me, although judging by that stony look in her eyes, she wasn’t doing any better today.

She didn’t acknowledge me beyond a quick good morning , and I barely heard her keyboard tapping taking notes through the lecture, seeming more like she was checked out.

The woman was a doctor. She knew how to pay attention to a class, how to take notes. But here we were.

I saw some of it for myself this time—we ended up in a music theory workshop together right before lunch, and Ella was frozen solid when she was up at the piano keyboard, her fingers curled into the keys like claws.

She played the chords that the instructor mentioned, but it would have had more soul in it if a chord-shaped wooden block had fallen on the keyboard.

I could see the disappointment, the frustration, in the teacher’s face—or maybe it was just that the teacher in this one was a German woman, so disappointment and frustration were her default settings—and it wasn’t what Ella needed, tensing up more and more until she looked like she’d cry.

I didn’t even try to chase her down for lunch this time, once we broke, going out with a big group this time, Bansi having made best friends with a group he’d been put on composition homework with and inviting me along.

Ella hurried back to the apartment ahead of me when we finished, and I took a walk the long way through Kensington Gardens while I talked to Melinda on the phone, going on about every part of the program, of London, of music—everything except Ella.

Stayed on the phone with her while I grabbed falafel, and she left me with I’ve gotta get to work, so go do something productive with yourself, you bum, and I walked back home with nothing but the sound of my own thoughts to accompany me, at least until I got back to the apartment, where I could hear—I didn’t realize until I’d stepped into the foyer and shut the door behind me—music.

Piano music. Ella playing, from the music room, where the door was shut, just a whisper of the keys from inside.

Chords, simple arpeggiating. A soft, pretty thing, simple, but it was… shaky. Like she wasn’t all there.

At least, I really hoped it was Ella.