Accidental Engagement (8 page)

‘Just about!’ she said. ‘They seem a nice crowd.’

‘They are, by and large. And they like you.’

She was pleased. If she was to marry Mark it was important she could get on with his friends.

‘What say we go out into the garden?’ he asked, as he saw Olly Destrin bearing down on them. ‘With any luck, we might get five minutes peace!’

‘Good idea,’ Anna agreed. She had been wanting to ask him exactly what had happened to her engagement ring ever since Serena had mentioned it but there had been no opportunity. Out in the garden, she could say what was on her mind.

She took his arm. They went out through a wide open set of French doors and strolled across the lawns.

‘Where is my ring being repaired?’ she asked, assuming the ring had been damaged in the crash, and that Emmy or Claire had sent it to the jewellers whilst she had been too ill to notice.

Mark stiffened. His good humour seemed to vanish. With a sinking feeling she realised she had said something wrong

‘That is, if it
is
being repaired?’ she asked hesitantly, wondering what had caused his sudden change of mood.

His voice was cold. ‘You know the answer to that as well as I do.’

She found it difficult to understand him. Not knowing he thought she was acting out a charade, she had no way of knowing he wished she wouldn’t pretend they were real
ly engaged when they were alone,
when it wasn’t necessary. In fact, she had no way of knowing he thought she was pretending at all.

‘Then if it isn’t being repaired, where is it?’ she asked cautiously. She wanted to know about the ring, as she wanted to know about so many things in her past, but Mark’s attitude made her tread warily. Something, at some point in their relationship, had obviously gone very wrong between them
.
I
t must have done, to have caused this level of hostility. Had they had an argument, or was it something more serious? she wondered.

If only she could
remember
.

Mark’s attitude didn’t help. Nor did his strange words. ‘Don't do this, Anna,’ he said.

‘But I’m not doing anything,’ she protested, confused.

He detached her arm from his and she saw that he was scowling. ‘Don’t pretend.’

‘About what?’ She felt suddenly as though a large pit had opened at her feet, and as though, if she didn’t proceed very carefully, she might fall in.

‘The ring.’

‘But why should I . . . ’
She paused, confused, then continued. ‘Why should I pretend?'

He stopped and faced her.

She had never seen him look so grim.

‘Because you know as well as I do that there is no ring.’

It took a full minute for his words to sink in. ‘No ring?’ She felt as though she was now teetering on the very edge of the pit.

‘Of course not.’ His unnatural control snapped on the words, and she saw a flare of anger in his eyes.

‘But why isn’t there any ring? We’re engaged, are
n’t we? What happened to . . . ’

‘Anna!’

Not now
, she thought, her eyes closing in frustration as the sound of her name broke into her thoughts. Although the situation with Mark was difficult she knew that until it was aired it would never be resolved.

Nevertheless, she could not ignore Mr Leverington as he came out into the garden, and neither could Mark.

‘Now then, you young lovebirds, it’s no use hiding away,’ said Mr Leverington indulgently as he came towards them, with Serena on his arm. ‘Anna. We have come to ask you to play.’

Play
. She took a minute to compose her thoughts.

Yes. She would like to play. The piano was familiar, and something she understood. It had always been there for her, and although for some reason the music in her holdall frightened her, playing the piano did not. In fact, she knew instinctively that she had turned to the piano in other troubled times, to calm her nerves and soothe her spirits when the world had seemed a hostile place.

‘Yes, Anna, do come and give us a tune,’ said Serena mockingly.

And Mark, still angry with her for reasons she was unable to fathom, added his voice to Serena’s. It was as though somehow he expected her to make a fool of herself
.
A
nd worse, that he
wanted
her to fall flat on her face.

But if he thought she was going to crumple then he was very much mistaken. ‘I’d love to,’ she said, turning to Mr Leverington. Already she could feel her fingers flexing. How long was it since she had played?

‘And whilst you’re here, perhaps you could let me know what you think of the piano,' said Mr Leverington diffidently as they went inside. ‘It seems a bit showy to have a grand, but Serena always has to have the best.’

‘But of course,’ said Serena smugly. She was hanging on to Mark’s arm as if he was another example of “the best”, only this time, to Anna’s disgust, Mark was showing no sign of resenting it.

‘Although it seems a bit ostentatious when no-one in the house plays,’ apologised Mr Leverington.

‘I play,’ remarked Serena; a fact her father did not choose to comment on.

‘I know nothing about pianos.’ He stood aside so that Anna could precede him into the music room, a large, spacious room with ceiling-height windows that allowed in floods of light. ‘But I believe this one is remarkably fine.’

‘A Yamaha,’ breathed Anna as she went over to the instrument. ‘A Yamaha grand.’ She couldn’t contain herself any longer. Reaching out one hand, she lovingly touched the keys. The tone was exquisite.

‘But of course, in your career, you must play on good pianos all the time.’

Anna paused. It was true. She must. A concert pianist would play on only the finest instruments. But having the opportunity to play on such a good piano seemed like a treat to be savoured, not like something she did every day.

‘Well,’ asked Serena tauntingly. ‘Is that all we’re getting?’

Mark, his anger visibly cooling, looked as though he wished Anna had not exposed herself to Serena’s jibes.

But Anna rose above the taunt, saying confidently, ‘Oh, no. Far from it.’ Her fingers were itching to begin. Sweeping the skirt of the beautiful primrose silk beneath her she sat down on the piano stool. What to play? The choice was mouth-watering. Some Chopin? No. Debussy. The toccata. The toccata from
Pour le piano
. That should make them all sit up!

As she placed her hands in readiness over the keys she had a flash of memory. “
Ach
! The toccata! Fingers with the speed of pistons,
ja
?’ boomed a heavily-accented German voice in her mind, before dropping to a whisper as it murmured, ‘and the touch! Like a butterfly!”

She smiled at the memory, and the first notes rang out into the summer air. The toccata was dazzling, the rising and falling melodies set above a rushing cascade of notes. The effect was magical. As she played, Anna found that snip
pets of memory came back to her, of music lessons and
h
appy times,
so that when the piece was at last finished she felt rejuvenated.

She looked round - and had to blink. She had almost expected to see a small, cluttered room, with old Mrs Voronowski sitting in the corner saying, “Again, child! Again!” Instead of which she saw the Leverington’s elegant music room, and a sea of newly-familiar faces, all mesmerised by her playing. And then the silence broke, and there was a spontaneous burst of applause. She blushed, unused to such flattering attention, and slid from the stool.

She caught sight of Serena’s malevolent expression, quickly hidden, but was too exhilarated from the music to care. Claire was right. It was she to whom Mark had proposed. Serena’s hostility couldn’t hurt her. It was nothing more than petty jealousy.

From out of the crowd, Mark came forward to claim her.

‘Where did you learn to play like that?’ he asked, impressed.

She smiled. ‘At Mrs Voronowski’s. She was my teacher. She lived in the attic flat.’

‘Convenient that you remember,’ he said, his voice laden with irony. It was as though he hadn’t realised that it was the music itself that had opened the door of her memory, and that had provided her with a glimpse of what her past had been.

‘My dear, that was magnificent,’ said Mr Leverington. ‘I never imagined - but of course I should have known. Any time you want to borrow the piano you must come over here - don’t wait to be asked. Just whenever the fancy takes you.’

‘You’re very kind, but I won’t be here much longer,’ she said.

‘No?’ He sounded disappointed.

‘I have commitments,’ she explained.

‘I understand. Well now, I mustn’t monopolise you. There will be plenty of other people who want to talk to you.’ He turned to Mark. ‘But look after her, Mark. Make sure she doesn’t get too tired.’

‘Don’t worry. I will.’

It was early evening when they finally returned to Little Brook. The rest of the aft
ernoon had passed off enjoyably.
O
r at least, it would have done if Mark had not been so moody. But although Anna had been disturbed by this,
she had nevertheless made the most of the
opportunity
to get to know some of his friends. And when they finally returned to Little Brook she had plenty to tell Emmy, who was eager to hear all about it.

‘And Claire will want to know, too, but she isn’t as shameless as me about asking!’

Anna laughed. She was pleased to find that Emmy, although spending the evening quietly in her own room, looked much better. The worst of her headache had passed off, leaving her in a mood for a little light diversion.

‘So, my dear,' said Emmy with a twinkle. ‘How did it go?’

‘Better than I expected,’ Anna smiled.

She entertained Emmy for the next half hour with an account of the afternoon. Emmy was delighted to hear all about it, and to learn that Anna and Mark had been invited to a charity ball at the start of the following week.

‘Oh, I’m so glad you’ll still be here, it would have been an awful shame to miss it,’ said Emmy. ‘The
Kettering
’s charity balls are renowned. I used to go to them myself when I was younger
.
I find them too tiring now. But you’ll have a wonderful time, my dear.’

Anna returned to her room in happy mood. Happy enough, and confident enough, to do what she knew she must do next: try and recover some more of her memories.

The afternoon had already produced some new images, the music unlocking a few previously hidden details, and she wanted to try and concentrate on those images, hoping they would expand into something even more revealing.

She went over to the bag of music which lurked behind the curtains. It had frightened her when she had looked at it before, but she felt strong enough to look at it again. She was no longer feeling weak from the accident, and more importantly she felt more certain about Mark. Their argument over the ring still troubled her, but not sufficiently to make her fee
l afraid. She felt at home here,
and she felt strong. Whatever memories the music brought to the surface, she felt she could cope.

She pulled out the bag.

Mrs Voronowski
, she thought, as she opened it.
She was my music teacher. She lived in the attic flat, and we had the one on the first floor
.

But who were
we
?

She sat back on her heels and thought. She focused her mind, picturing the shabby flat she had lived in as a child - and as a woman. A battered old sofa covered in crushed velvet had been pushed against one wall. A small table had been pushed into the bay window. They used to eat there, her and her father . . .
Her father! Yes, she remembered him. A grey-haired man with kindly eyes. But the memory was a sad one, because she remembered that her father was dead. But there was something else, something that had come after his death, somet
hing she could catch glimpses of
just at the edge of her memory . . . What was it? And why did it make her afraid?

She looked around the beautifully-furnished bedroom to give herself courage. Here there was no need to be frightened. Whatever there was in her past that had alarmed her, it could not reach her here.

She looked down at the bag of music and, taking a deep breath, she opened it. The Chopin, the Debussy . . . She flicked through the music.
Für Elise
. There it was again, that frisson of panic.
Für Elise
. What was it about that piece of music that worried her so? She had an instinctive desire to push it away from her, but she fought it. That piece of music somehow held the key to her past.

There came a knock at the door. Anna, startled, put the music back in her bag and pushed it to the side of the room. But not hidden away this time. The answer was there, she was sure of it. She just had to be patient, and it would come to her. But she had the disturbing feeling that she did not really want to know. Because when she did it would change things. And she did not want them to change.