Page 3 of Crescendo

Lydia

I jostled off the plane together with the rest of the crowds, packed in like sardines being extruded from a tube, and I sent Melinda a text as soon as the wi-fi connected.

Just landed in Heathrow. I hate international flights. If you need me, I’ll be a posh British pupil of the arts with a lovely cup of tea in a South Kensington flat.

Heathrow was an airport like any other, but mostly I was just glad to stop traveling, having left LAX early afternoon yesterday and—what do you know—I couldn’t sleep on planes.

I wasn’t quite with it. I strode across the terminal, my carryon suitcase rolling behind me as I weaved between people, and Melinda responded as I was queuing for passport control.

You’re going to be the worst person I know for the next two months, aren’t you

How rude. I’d been the worst person she’d known for the entirety of our relationship. Now she was acting like I’d only just managed that spot?

After an eternity standing in line like cattle, I was finally herded through passport control where a man who looked like he’d rather be anywhere than here made sure I wasn’t here for terrorism or human trafficking, and I made my way out to arrivals, where I had to scan the crowds to find a sign with the Crescendo logo on it and, handwritten above it, Lydia Howard Fox.

The woman holding it up was a tall, curvy Black woman probably in her late twenties, a tall natural Afro hairstyle and a sleek pantsuit accentuated with piles of glamorous jewelry.

Stylish woman. My opinion dropped a little when I got through the crowds to her and saw she was also wearing the worst heels known to man, bright jade green sandal heels with a kind of…

snakeskin pattern? I hoped to God it was just a pattern.

“Miss Lydia Howard Fox,” the woman said with a sly smile my way as I came up to her. She had a rich Londoner accent, very posh, very RP. Maybe she was rich and that was why she was allowed to get away with that choice of shoe. “It’s an honor to meet you in person.”

I put out a hand for her. “Please, just call me Lydia. I can’t take being Miss Lydia Howard Fox like I’m a royal.”

She gave me a quick handshake, slipping the sign into her purse.

“I must admit, it’s only a… a touch unusual to have Lydia Howard Fox herself here and to refer to her as Lydia.

But it’s absolutely a pleasure. My name is Olivia Gould, and I’ll be your Crescendo program liaison for the next two months. ”

“Oh, I have a liaison? We’re pulling out all the stops.”

She smiled wider. “Don’t get a big head, now, Lydia. It’s six people per liaison, so you’ll be sharing me. I’m afraid we can’t offer special treatment just because you’re a living legend who is, for some God-forsaken reason, taking a crash course.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to do my best to outdo the other five.

I’m very competitive, I’ll have you know.

” I stood back as the luggage carousel shuddered with a groan and started rolling, the first of the suitcases marching out from the back.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Olivia. I look forward to being…

liaisoned. Speaking of, what exactly does a liaison do? ”

“First of all—make sure that you make it to South Ken in one piece. The Tube is a bit unforgiving for newcomers. Second is to make sure that you can attend the orientation, which will already be just a touch… tight, considering the timing at the moment. Third is to make sure you have everything you need in the program. And of course, finally, to make sure you don’t cause catastrophic problems for everybody involved. ”

“Oh, good luck on that point.”

She quirked a smile. “Let’s at least pretend to behave ourselves today, Lydia.”

We’d see about that.

∞∞∞

London was beautiful from the moment we stepped out of the station, Olivia with her long stride leading me up a tree-lined road with stone pavers that zigzagged in light on dark, giving it a striking effect, especially flanked by the beautiful historic buildings with red brick and intricate stonework.

We’d met up with two other people Olivia was the liaison for at the station, a small and waifish white woman who just about disappeared in her glasses and cardigan and an Indian man with deep brown skin and a smile that seemed permanently affixed to his features, who Olivia introduced as Clara and Bansi.

She only introduced me as Lydia, and if either of them recognized me, they didn’t show it—Bansi talked a mile a minute about the program, gushing to us as if we’d known each other our whole lives, but he didn’t give any sign that he knew who I was, and Clara barely got a word in, so really, it was anyone’s guess.

Crescendo was held in a beautiful old building that was packed full of people right now, and Olivia led us up the masonry steps to the front door, pushing into a stunning interior with a soaring ceiling and classical wood finishings, the whole thing looking a little bit like I’d walked back in time to Beethoven’s era.

With electric lighting. It led from the entry through to a spectacular archway into a kind of auditorium that didn’t seem like it should have been able to fit into the space, and Bansi was rushing ahead of me to get into the auditorium when he collided with a woman coming our way, pushing against the crowds.

“Oh—I’m so sorry, ma’am,” he said, but the woman waved him off with barely any acknowledgement, stepping around him to confront me, forming an island with the two of us—three of us, when her friend stepped up next to her—that the crowds had to awkwardly split to go around.

“So, Lydia Howard Fox, then,” she said, in what might have been the most annoying posh accent I’d ever heard.

I think she was putting it on, at least a little.

She was a tall woman with a sleek outfit of a shirt tucked into a skirt and leggings, an expensive blazer, admittedly quite pretty with soft, stylish makeup and elegantly upswept blonde hair, but something about the attitude fouled it a little.

The woman at her side, a shorter blonde with a square jaw and a little too much eyeliner, wearing almost the exact same outfit and uncomfortably giving lackey with the way she looked at her friend, echoed her in a much less posh accent with, “Yeah, Lydia Howard Fox.”

I smiled. “I can recognize my own name without the delay effect, thank you. Something I can do for you?”

Olivia sighed behind me. “Lydia, these are some of my other liaison students… Eliza Wright and Hannah Carter. Eliza, Hannah, how about we get moving before the whole event carries on without us, hm?”

But Eliza, the tall one, ignored her, which meant Hannah the lackey did too.

“I’d heard about you entering this program,” Eliza said, looking me over like I was a dead mouse her cat had deposited on her doorstep.

Honestly, couldn’t blame her on that one.

An eleven-hour flight would make anyone look like a chewed-up dead rodent.

“So, the living legend composer Lydia Howard Fox, here amongst us mere mortals. And for what?”

“Mostly an artist’s block. It’s sweet that you’re so interested in my life, but you’ve never even told me about yours. So what brings you here, Lizzy?”

Eliza wrinkled her nose. “Don’t call me Lizzy.”

Hannah nodded. “Yeah, don’t call her Lizzy.”

“What brings me here,” Lizzy said, “is that I’m going to become the world’s greatest composer. And I’m grateful that you’re here. It simplifies the process of seeing exactly how to outdo you.”

I beamed. “Does that mean you think I’m the world’s greatest composer?”

Eliza pulled a face, searching over her words and visibly regretting them. “What I mean is—” She recovered with a huff. “Perhaps you were. But I heard your work in Once Bitten, Twice Sly and I heard your work in Over the Moon. You’ve been losing your touch this past year, haven’t you?”

Hannah nodded. “You’re here because you’re falling off the wagon.”

Oh, so she did know how to say her own sentences. Her own sentiments, probably not, but progress was progress. “I’m flattered you’re such a fan and know my whole back catalog,” I said. “Do you want an autograph or something?”

Eliza frowned pertly. Olivia, stifling laughter—the woman had clearly taken my side in this, which, well, I was very shallow and wanted validation, so I was willing to overlook the shoes now that she’d taken my side—put up a hand.

“We can resume this thrilling exchange another time,” she said.

“For now, I had to run in heels to catch the train and get Lydia here on time, and I’m not letting that valiant effort go to waste by missing the start of orientation.

Come along, then, all,” she finished, strolling past us, godawful shoes clicking on the hardwood floor as she led Clara and Bansi, both looking raptly at the exchange, to peel reluctantly away and follow her. Eliza hummed low.

“We’ll sort this later. Cheers, Lydia.”

“Cheers,” Hannah said, following Eliza with one last look my way as they headed through the arch and towards the auditorium.

“Cheers, loves,” I said, joining back up with Clara and Bansi to head into the auditorium.

“Are you… Lydia Howard Fox?” Bansi said in a low voice, and I laughed lightly.

“No, just look exactly like her. Those two will be disappointed when they find out.”

Bansi didn’t seem to believe me, shame. “I’m… I’m a huge fan of your work.”

“You and the two back there, it would seem.”

“They’re known elements in the scene,” Clara said, reminding me that she was there. “Both came from Liverpool to become great classical geniuses and… well. They’re fine enough, I suppose. They seem to focus more on bringing other people down. The bigger the better, and you’re, well, rather big.”

“I think you’re just rather short.”

“Entirely not what I meant, but thank you for that,” Clara said cheerfully as we filtered into the auditorium and took seats.

∞∞∞