Page 20 of Crescendo

Ella

I had never been so tightly wound in my life.

The cello had somehow made it back to its stand. I assumed I’d done that, but I really was just going through the motions as every bone in my body wanted the interruption not to have happened.

It was foolish and risky, of course. I wasn’t ignorant to the fact that Lydia was only here for two months and I was still… a mess. But I couldn’t deny how she made me feel or how much I wanted her.

And, as if the doorbell wasn’t annoying enough when I’d wanted nothing more than her fingers unbuttoning my trousers and sneaking inside, she walked back inside with… Hannah.

Lydia looked at me like all she wanted to do was throw me back down on that couch and spread my legs again. I probably looked like I wanted her to do exactly that. I did.

Hannah, however, seemed too nervous to even register what she’d walked into, glancing over her shoulder like she thought Eliza might jump out of any given vase in the place.

Lydia smirked at me, knowing exactly what she was doing, before she turned back to Hannah. “So, what can we do for you?”

“Just… between us?” Hannah hedged.

Lydia nodded, intrigued. “Don’t worry, I know how to keep a secret. And, if it’s a secret from Eliza, because clearly it is, well, all the better.”

She wasn’t wrong. Footsie under the table, her hands sliding up my thighs, her fingers on my skin, feeling for the button of my trousers… Lydia knew exactly how to keep a secret.

“Right, well,” Hannah said, sucking in a breath and trying to compose herself. “I have a piece I’ve been working on for a while, just… in private, and I wanted to… see what you think?”

“Ah, I’m surprised you want the opinion of a destitute has-been,” Lydia said, sounding more than a little amused.

Hannah twitched, pulling her shoulders in tighter.

“Yeah, well, you’re, you know, a big name.

You know how these things work. And, I think you had a good point about the benefit of mine and Eliza’s pieces being different, but she wants…

Well, that doesn’t matter. I just wanted an opinion on whether something like this might be… okay…”

Lydia paused, holding the moment for a minute, and all I could think about was wanting to slide my hands up under the sleek, light shirt she was wearing. Even if, under normal circumstances, I’d be happy for Hannah pushing out on her own like this.

“If you don’t want to help, that’s fine,” Hannah said stiffly, obviously feeling embarrassed.

Lydia grinned widely. “I’d be delighted to listen.”

Hannah looked like her brain had gone offline, like she couldn’t really believe the Lydia Howard Fox would be so happy to listen to her music, to help her out. Maybe even to believe in her.

I understood that feeling. Although, I figured there was a little more to it when the Lydia in question was wrapped around your body as she taught you how to play the cello.

She gestured Hannah to the chair by the window, and I was immensely relieved she hadn’t picked the couch. “Let’s give it a listen.”

“Well, it’s just on my phone, so the quality might not be great,” Hannah said.

I was surprised by how much stronger her accent was when she was nervous and not around Eliza. It felt like the first time I’d seen an interview with Jodie Comer after seeing Killing Eve and I’d realised she was actually Liverpudlian, not Russian.

“Not the first time I’ve listened to music on a phone,” Lydia pointed out kindly. It wasn’t hard to see why her friend Melinda had thought she’d make a great teacher at Crescendo. “I’m sure it’s going to sound great.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” The way Hannah stiffened, looked down, and fumbled her phone gave the impression she’d never received a compliment in her life. It tugged painfully at my chest.

“I do. Hit play,” Lydia said, sitting down on the couch and crossing her legs. She’d sat exactly where we’d just been, where I’d played the cello to urge her on, wanting her, needing her.

Of course that was where she’d chosen to sit.

Hannah sucked in a breath and hit play.

It was good. Not to the level of Lydia’s work, of course—even the stuff she claimed was bad—but it had personality, it was real and interesting, and it sounded like she cared.

When it ended, Hannah eyed Lydia nervously. “What do you think?”

“It’s good.” She smiled. “You know what you like, Hannah. And you shouldn’t let anyone get in the way of that.”

“But, Eliza’s right, isn’t she? They’ll be judging us on this first piece.”

“Just because she might be right about that—in part, maybe—doesn’t mean you weren’t right too.” She gestured towards the phone. “This is who you are, this is the kind of music you want to make. Don’t you want them to be teaching you from that benchmark?”

“But… what if that’s not what they want?”

“I’ve been in the business long enough to know there’s space for all kinds of composers, all kinds of music.

What there isn’t space for, is people pretending to be something they’re not, people trying to compose music they don’t feel.

Why do you think I’m here, huh? Haven’t I talked about that enough?

Don’t tell me I’ve been talking and you’re not listening? ”

Hannah looked up at her like a confused kid. But a confused kid who was getting a message she needed. Whether or not it would sink in, I had no idea, but, honestly, I was just enjoying watching Lydia be like this—encouraging, hoping to set someone free from the things that kept them trapped.

Still, I hoped the message landed.

Lydia stood up. “Music is about passion, Hannah. And, if your passion is this , you owe it to yourself to put that out there. Even if it isn’t…

technically perfect or whatever else you’re hearing you’re supposed to be.

” She glanced at me and the electricity of her gaze set my body buzzing again.

“Some of my favourite pieces I’ve heard recently are the ones that aren’t technically perfect.

They’re the ones that made me feel something. ”

I almost moaned at her emphasis on feel.

Hannah smiled to herself, nodding. “Well, thanks for… listening. I’m going to go now. Thanks, Lydia, Ella.”

I gulped and nodded. “The piece really is good.”

She smiled at me gratefully before practically fleeing from the room and for the front door.

For one, wild, blissful second I thought we’d pick up from where we’d been before Hannah’s intrusion.

I stepped towards Lydia and watched the way her face transformed.

The hungry look shot straight into my core, spiking my heart rate and hitching my breath.

I’d have been embarrassed if Lydia hadn’t looked equally turned on.

But, the quick sound of the door latching that I was waiting for didn’t come.

“Oh, Hannah,” Bansi’s surprised voice called and he laughed. “Did I get the wrong apartment? I don’t know how I could have.”

“Oh. No. I just came to… deliver a message,” she said, sounding much more threatening than I think she’d been aiming for. “They’re in the music room.”

I shot Lydia a frustrated look as the sound of the door closing finally hit us but with the knowledge that we still weren’t alone.

“I thought you might need fuel for your study session,” Bansi said, holding up containers of food it would take them a few days to get through. “Composing is hungry work.”

“And you made too much food?” Lydia asked warmly.

“Maybe a little bit.”

We both laughed and headed for the kitchen with him. I might have hated the intrusion, but Bansi was always so sweet and genuine that it was impossible not to be grateful for him.

∞∞∞

Bansi seemed unable to do anything without it somehow turning into a party.

He was just one of those people others gravitated to.

Even when he was at someone else’s house, other people just showed up.

Which was exactly how we’d ended up in the middle of a group composition session, sitting on the floor of our music room as Clara, Dodge, Rosie, her flatmate Mariana, and Bansi played instruments and talked through ideas they had for their compositions.

Rosie still looked starstruck around Lydia, but it wasn’t like I didn’t understand.

By the time they all left, it was late—very late—and Lydia was shut in her room when I left the bathroom.

Part of me was disappointed. The other part was confused—surely she felt just as frustrated as I did?

I shut the door to my room and realised I could hear her on the phone.

The music room was insulated, but the rest of the house was from a time before soundproofing as we knew it now.

And Lydia wasn’t exactly the quietest person I’d ever known.

She was exuberant and expressive—and probably used to living in a place with exceptional soundproofing.

One where she didn’t even have flatmates to worry about in the first place.

“So, what am I supposed to do?” Lydia’s voice groaned through the wall. “It’s only been a week and it’s torture already.”

I knew I shouldn’t listen, knew I should take a shower or put on my headphones, like I usually did late at night, just to drown out the sound. Knew I should be doing a million things I was choosing not to.

“That’s not helpful, Melinda.” She paused. “Yes, well. I did say that. And that’s still true, isn’t it? I’m here for two months and then… what?”

My heart ached in my chest with the ferocity of its pounding. I knew what she was asking, knew what she was getting at. And she’d locked herself up in her room to talk to her friend about… wanting me. About me wanting her.

Lydia scoffed. “That would be all good and well if she didn’t want it too. The way she looks at me. The way she wanted it when I was teaching her the cello.”