Page 4 of Crescendo

I’d been ready to crash hours ago, so when Olivia directed me to the apartment on Queen’s Gate Terrace—we weren’t required to book our accommodation through the Crescendo partners, but they helped subsidize the often unaffordable places around here, with a whole swath of this street apparently rented out with a good deal on a regular agreement for Crescendo students, and even though I could have afforded to go elsewhere, I wanted the full student experience if I was doing this—I fully expected to fall asleep on the floor the moment I got inside.

It was already evening once we got out of orientation, and London was welcoming us as it did everyone with a drizzling rain shower, so turning the key Olivia gave me and stepping inside the warm, toasty air of the foyer felt like paradise, but somehow I felt invigorated coming out of everything instead of as exhausted as I should have.

“And this will be your flat for the time of your stay,” Olivia said, following me into the foyer but staying by the door. “You have a flatmate here—the last one of the students I’m liaisoning for, Ella—so try to be on your best behavior, if you think you can pull that off.”

“Doubtful, but we’ll see.”

“Hm. I choose to believe in you. On the ground floor, you’ll find the kitchen dining room, and the living room, which is also stocked as a rather simple music room.

On the first floor will be your bedrooms—yours is on the left.

If you have any questions, you have my contact.

Ostensibly, I am on call for all your questions and concerns, but practically speaking, I do also sleep, so please do not expect a response at three in the morning. ”

“Given how jet-lagged I am, I won’t rule it out. California is a long way away.”

“Physically and emotionally. Are you quite certain the lack of sunshine and beaches won’t kill you?”

“I’m in my brooding artist phase right now. The gloomier the better. London is perfect. Well,” I said, standing up taller, turning back to face her, “thank you for everything, Olivia. I look forward to sending you a million whining texts at three in the morning.”

She smiled oddly at me. “I have to say, you’re somehow not at all what I expected from Lydia Howard Fox herself, and yet… I am not at all surprised. Great artists and all that…”

I put my hands on my hips. “I don’t know if this is a compliment or an insult.”

“Unreservedly, a compliment, of course, darling. Well, that’s sorted,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Oh, and—be warned that Eliza and Hannah happen to be your next-door neighbors. Let me know if they try tapping on your windows to wake you up at night or something to that effect.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll just privately escalate the situation without letting anyone know until we’ve come to blows.”

“Hm. That would be rather what I am worried about. But you seem like a mature adult, so I trust you. Take care not to prove me wrong. Enjoy your weekend, Lydia.”

She shut the door on her way out, and I locked it, turning back to take in the place.

Must have been a good… five thousand pounds a month normally?

It was a steal at thirty-five hundred per person for two months.

The place was beautiful, immaculately decorated, modern and recently renovated with clean, polished finishings that meshed well with the original historic design like elegant molding, stunning windows, and a modestly sized but stately fireplace.

I took my shoes off, hung up my jacket, and I walked slowly through the building, taking it in, and I stopped in the doorway at an odd sight.

A woman. My roommate, I deeply and desperately hoped. She sat cross-legged on the floor in the living room, which was set up nicely with a few key instruments and even a basic recording setup, and on the floor in front of her was a clarinet sitting in its case.

Girl seemed to be having a staring contest with it.

She also seemed not to notice me coming into the apartment at all, let alone an entire conversation with Olivia in the foyer.

Sure, the door had been shut, and I could tell from the heft of the door that it had had some soundproofing work done, but still, this woman was locked in on trying to telekinetically play the clarinet.

It didn’t seem to be working.

She was a small thing, probably five three, a white woman with messy hair right at the point where I couldn’t tell if it was more blonde or brown, pulled back in a loose braid.

I’d seen her in passing at the orientation, out of the corner of my eye, but she’d been sitting at the back of the auditorium and, though she’d caught my attention with her eyes—one brown, one a striking green that only stood out more for the heterochromia—she looked like she was going through something.

“It works better if you pick it up,” I said, and she jumped with a shriek that caught in her throat, stumbling up to her feet and whirling on me with a look my way like I was an axe-wielding murderer coming into the room.

“Oh—God—you startled me,” she said, her voice a soft, sweet thing with a vaguely London-esque accent. I wasn’t versed enough in my accents to place it, but she certainly wasn’t putting it on like Eliza.

“Oh, did I? I guess I’m glad that’s not just how you get up from the floor normally. I’d have a heart attack with the shrieking monkey living in the apartment.”

She huffed, a pitch of color spilling out over her warm-hued cheeks, highlighting the freckles spilled over her cheeks. “I am not a shrieking monkey. I was alarmed when somebody crept up behind me and spoke suddenly.”

“And if that somebody just had a full conversation in the next room?”

“Ah. Well.” Seemed like Ella blushed easily. I decided to stop teasing, for now.

“Sorry for scaring you. I’m your new roommate, Lydia.”

She smiled oddly at me. “Lydia Howard Fox… is that right?” She straightened herself out, taking a long breath. “I heard somebody, er—well, having a go at you over it.”

“I’d almost enjoyed, for a minute, people not knowing who I was until Eliza and her sidekick shouted it to the world,” I said lightly. “But yes, that’s me. Lucky you, getting stuck with a washed-up has-been deep in the rut of creative burnout.”

She relaxed a little, cocking her head with an inquisitive look.

She really was… well, her eyes were striking, to put it politely.

To put it crudely, this woman was damn beautiful.

I guess there were worse faces to spend two months around.

“So, that’s what brings a hall-of-fame composer to a program like this. ”

“Mm. My friend recommended I come teach as a guest instructor here, help clear the cobwebs from my mind. And I’m unbearably spiteful, so I enrolled as a student instead.

She’s still a little mad at me. So—Ella, right—did that clarinet insult your honor, or are you planning on playing it?

Because I happen to be quite partial to the clarinet, but it sounds better when you blow into it. ”

Her eyes darkened, looking back down at the case on the floor, and she thumbed her pendant, a disc with the letter C. She put it away as soon as she saw me look. “It’s… it’s just a… mental block.”

“Ah. Been there. You’re a career musician too, then?”

She laughed. “Not quite. I’m a radiologist.”

If she’d given me a thousand guesses, I wouldn’t have gotten there. “Radiologists have a lot of need for orchestral scoring?”

“Oh, all the time. My supervisor is always telling me Ella, we need scans and some brass harmony on floor seven. ”

“I believe it. Anything is better set to the swell of an ambitious brass section.”

She relaxed a little more, still—I hadn’t really realized how much tension she was carrying around in her.

Seemed like there actually was something serious with her and that clarinet, something responsible for that haunted look in her eyes.

“I took a sabbatical for a few months, and wanted to get back to music. My friend told me about this program… but she just told me to enroll as a student. I’m not quite so spiteful. ”

Get back to music implied something interesting, for someone who’d ended up as far from music as radiology. Something had happened to drive her away, judging from the look in her eyes. And whatever it was, it was inextricably linked to the clarinet.

“Well, it is a pleasure to meet you,” I said, walking past her to the piano and opening the lid over the keys.

It was a nice thing—looked like a generic cheap upright at first glance, but looking closer, I recognized it as a higher-end Steinway model, simple and sleek in the design but a classic, elegant piece.

“You look like you want to play but the clarinet’s stumping you.

Shall we try the instrument to end all instruments? ”

She withered, just a little. “Ah… I, er.” She faltered, looking down, blushing hard. “Truth be told, well—I’m new to a lot of this. I played clarinet back in school, but I didn’t study music much beyond—”

“If you don’t know how to play the piano, I won’t judge you.”

“I don’t know how to play the piano.” She paused. “And I’m also afraid of being judged. Especially by…”

She trailed off, clearly not keen on saying the next part. I said it for her. “By a washed-up has-been who can’t string together a half-decent melody to save her life right now?”

She went wide-eyed looking at me. Damn, those eyes. She could look at me all day. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

“I had to call off a major project and tell the executives to hand it over to somebody else because I couldn’t do it.

And Hollywood isn’t an industry that looks kindly on someone saying sorry, I can’t do it, can you ask somebody else?

It was something of a cardinal sin. Enough I had to flee the country and start learning music from scratch.

Now, sit down and let me show you how to play the piano. ”

She scrunched up her face. “You’re offering— you, a world-class composer, one of the greatest of the greats, walk into my flat, scare the crap out of me, and want to teach me how to play the piano.”

I thought it over. “Yes, that seems to be an accurate summary. No instrument shows music theory more clearly. I’ll be upset with myself if you don’t outdo Eliza and Hannah over the course of the program. Or do you want to eat first?”

She laughed, still giving me an incredulous look. I’d gotten used to getting that from a lot of different people. “I… suppose it has been a minute since I ate.”

“Fantastic.” I turned away from the piano. “Well, it’s my first day in the UK since I was twenty-one, so I’ve got to do it properly with some fish and chips. Shall we have fish and chips?”

She tented her hands at her waist. “I’m a vegetarian, but I can do chippy.”

“Oh, fantastic. I’ll be vegetarian too, then.”

She laughed awkwardly. “You… do not need to do that. I’ve lived with meat-eaters before.”

I waved her off. “I came here for a change, so I’m looking for change.

Something to help jog me out of my routine and break this rut.

Trying vegetarianism for two months sounds like fun.

Maybe it’ll stick. Maybe it won’t. Either way—I show you how to play the piano, and you can show me how to eat some excellent meatless cuisine in London.

Now, shall we have…” I equivocated. “Vegetables?”

Ella stared at me for the longest time before she broke out into an odd smile—as if I was being odd. How rude of her to imply that. “Let’s do chippy,” she said. “It’ll be a proper welcome to the UK. Cheese and onion pie with cheese and chips.”

That just sounded like a pile of cheese and carbohydrates.

Who said vegetarian food would be boring?

Or healthy? “Lead the way,” I said, subtly closing the clarinet case while she wasn’t looking and sliding it back to its spot.

She seemed to be doing better when she didn’t see that thing. We could maybe get into it another day.