Hearts Unfold (71 page)

He should have guessed she
would instinctively understand what was needed.
 
“You do catch on quickly, girl.
 
I'll see to it.”

John let them go up to the
suite alone, as he took the violin to his room and placed it in the safe.
 
He changed his clothes, had a cup of tea,
before going upstairs.
 
At his knock,
Emily called for him to come in.
 
The
sight that met his astonished eyes caused him to halt just inside the doorway,
wondering if he shouldn’t turn and leave immediately.
 
Stani, stripped to his trousers, sat
straddling a chair, his arms folded over the back, while Emily stood behind
him, his discarded shirt tied over her dress like an apron.
 
The noxious fumes of liniment filled the air,
as she worked her hands over his shoulders, an expression of tender
concentration on her face.
 
With drooping
lids, Stani looked up to greet him.

“Ah, John.
 
It seems you've been replaced, at least for
tonight.”
 
He sighed contentedly.

“Yes, well, then.
 
I'll be going.”
 
John backed toward the door, his face
reddening.

“No, please John, don't
go.
 
I want to give you some pointers
while we have him in this condition.”
 
She ignored his chuckle and reached out to him.
 
“Come here, give me your hand.”
 
He obliged, letting her guide his fingers
across the knotted muscles, and press them over the spongy swelling of fluid at
the joint.
 
She demonstrated methods to
work out the tightness, gave him instructions on technique and pressure.
 
“Hold the ice here, just so, but only for
twenty minutes.
 
Then a warm shower,
Stani.”
 
A moan was the only
response.
 
“If you can do these things, John,
religiously, he might just make it through this tour.”

“Or you could come with
us.
 
Stani, lad, can't you persuade her
to come with us?
 
We'll put her on the
payroll, private nurse or some such thing.”

“I've tried, John, believe
me.
 
The cabbages won out.”
 
Stani pulled his shirt from around her waist
and struggled to put it on.
 
With a little
sigh, Emily held it for him, all the while frowning down at him.

“You're ganging up on me.
 
Not at all fair.
 
You're in good hands with John.
 
You've managed without me this long.
 
A few more months won't hurt.
 
Now, John, tell him you can do just as good a
job as I can.”
 
She fastened a few of the
buttons, fussing with the collar as she talked.

“I can't lie to him,
girl.
 
He never purrs like that when I
rub him down.
 
All I can do is my best.”

He left them, chuckling to
himself at the apparently never-ending facets of this new relationship.
 
Stani was showing remarkable self-control,
but he wondered if that shower might not be a cold one tonight.

Emily sent Stani off to
shower, phoned room service, and raced down to her rooms to change.
 
On the way back up, she endured the indulgent
little smile of the elevator boy, who by now, she thought, should know she had
no shame about the way she came and went at all hours.
 
She bid him a cheery goodnight as she dashed
off at Stani's floor in time to catch the waiter wheeling their meal from the
service elevator.
 
“I'll take that, thank
you.”
 
She signed the check and let
herself in with Stani's key.

Wrapped in a black silk robe,
he was just coming from the bedroom, drying his hair with a towel.
 
When he caught sight of the cart, he tossed
back his head and laughed.
 
“Hungry, are
we?”

“Of course.
 
You should always eat after a
performance.
 
That's hard work, sawing
away at those strings.
 
Now sit down.
 
I'll be your waitress tonight.
 
You've been serving me all week.”
 
She poured tea, buttered toast and set a
plate of steak and eggs before him.

“Breakfast, Emily?”

“Breakfast, Stani.”
 
Sitting across from him as he ate, she
studied his face.
 
He was relaxed now,
the pained look almost completely gone.
 
Sipping her tea, she stated matter-of-factly, “You know, if I weren't
already so much in love, I would have fallen hard tonight.”

He grimaced.
 
“Don't tell me, the dark, brooding
cello.
 
Those blasted Russians get all
the girls.”

“No, silly, the little
red-haired violin.
 
The way he moved, the
way he made love to that instrument, as if she were the most beautiful thing in
the world, I couldn't take my eyes off him.”
 
She rested her chin on one hand, her eyes on a level with his.
 
“I'd love for a man to handle me that way.”

Stani grinned, his color high.
 
“I can see I'm going to be forced send
you to your room.
 
You've plied me with
words of love and the touch of your magic fingers.
 
Now breakfast?
 
I begin to think your intentions are less
than honorable, ma'am.”
 
He threw down
his napkin and got to his feet, pulling her into his arms.
 
“You are the most provoking, not to say
provocative, girl I know.
 
For much, I'd
give up the bloody violin and take up farming, just so I could see your face
across my table every morning, noon and night.
 
A simple life, in the valley of love and delight?
 
Is that what you would offer me?”

“Oh, yes.
 
But you can keep your violin.
 
There's room for both of us, I'm sure.
 
Did I thank you properly for the beautiful
gift?”

“No, I'm sure you
didn't.”
 
His lips closed over hers just
as she was about to speak, and it was some time before she tried again.

“I suppose you should sleep in
your bed tonight, tired as you are.”
 
She
twisted a strand of his damp hair into a curl around her finger, avoiding his
eyes.

“I promise I'll be down first
thing in the morning.
 
It was wonderful,
seeing your face in the audience.
 
I'll
take that memory to comfort me on my lonely trek across the barren wastelands of
Europe.”
 
Walking her slowly across the
room, he opened the door.
 
“Little red-haired
violin, indeed!”
 
Laughing, he shoved her
gently into the hallway and firmly closed the door.

Chapter Fifty-seven

By Sunday afternoon, they were
both working hard to avoid the obvious.
 
They had been to Radio City Music Hall on Saturday afternoon to see the
Rockettes, eaten dinner at Tavern on the Green, and on Sunday morning they had
walked to church together.
 
The day was
raw, with a threat of snow in the air, and they had gladly returned to the warmth
of the hotel for lunch.
 
Now, with the
stack of newspapers John had brought to Stani's suite, they stretched on the
carpet in front of the fire and laughed over the number of lines and
photographs their days on the town had generated.

Emily was particularly amazed
at the use of words like mysterious and exotic.
 
One columnist hinted that Stani had met his companion on a brief trip
he'd made to Italy the past summer.
 
Another suggested that she was someone he had known years earlier, a
love affair from his first European tour.
 
She sat cross-legged on the floor, shuffling through the various papers
with a frown on her face.
 
“Where do they
get these ridiculous ideas?
 
Don't I look
like an American?
 
Why do you have to be
linked with some foreign mystery woman?”

“Because the truth would be
too simple.
 
And you are the one who
doesn't want anyone to know you dragged me out of that storm, remember.
 
Better let them think I lured you here from
someplace more exotic than your little valley.
 
It'll keep them off your trail.”
 
Stani pushed aside the disorderly pile and stretched on his back,
folding one arm behind his head.
 
“And
that won't be any small accomplishment.
 
Now that they're curious, they'll be wanting more.
 
I'll get questions at every interview, I can
guarantee.
 
How would you like to be
explained?
 
My long-lost cousin from
Wales or maybe some relative of Milo's from Budapest?
 
I know, you're that girl who assaulted me at
a party in Des Moines, come to blackmail me with compromising photographs.
 
I've been showing you a good time in hopes
you'll go away quietly.
 
See, there’s any
number of explanations for that adoring look on my face in every one of these
pictures.”

Emily stretched on her side
next to him.
 
“I guess we do look as if
we like each other.
 
The one of us in
Central Park, getting out of the carriage, is really quite romantic.
 
What will you say if you're asked?”

“I'd like to say that you're
the woman I love, the woman I'm going to marry.
 
But I'll probably say we're just friends.
 
Let them speculate a while longer.
 
Privacy is not something they respect, and I
can't protect you while I'm on tour.
 
I'll try to use some of Milo's methods, I guess.
 
Give a little but not too much.
 
Now let's talk about something pleasant, like
what we're going to do when I'm home again.”

With a sigh, she rested her
head on his chest.
 
“What
will
we
do when you're home again?”

“I think I'll take some time
off, maybe the month of June, and go to a little town somewhere in the
hills.
 
I hear they have a very pleasant
guesthouse there, the perfect retreat for a weary concert artist.
 
Then I’ll try to get work on a farm, maybe
find a nice lady who needs a good strong lad to help out about the place.
 
If I play my cards right, maybe she'll like
me well enough to keep me on in spite of my total ineptitude.
 
And then I'm going to sweep her off her feet
with my old-world charm, and carry her off into the sunset, slung across the
saddle of my charger.”

“Banners flying, trumpets
blaring?”

“Ah yes, that too.
 
How does that sound?”
 
He snugged her closer, nuzzling her hair.

“A whole month?
 
It's going to take a month for you to sweep
her off her feet?
 
She must be some tough
lady.”

“Tough, strong, single-minded
and utterly adorable.
 
It won't take a
month, but I intend to enjoy every minute of the sweeping and slinging across
my saddle process.
 
Plus, there are
people there I want to get to know, foreigner that I am.
 
If I intend to take up residence in that
little town, I'll need to ingratiate myself to the lady's friends and
neighbors.”
 
He felt her stiffen, her
head coming up to stare into his eyes.

“What are you saying?'

“I'm simply saying that if
that's where you live, that's where I'll live.
 
If you'll have me, of course.
 
We
certainly can't commute back and forth once we're married.
 
We need a home, and since you already have
one and we both love it so much, why not just stick with what we have?”

She sat up, braced on one arm,
her wide eyes searching.
 
Her hair fell
over one shoulder in a heavy curtain, and he lifted it away from her face as he
smiled up at her.

“Of course, after the children
come along, we'll need more than a hotel suite for the times when we come to
New York for their father to do a bit of work now and then.
 
I thought we might find a nice brownstone,
with a little patch of garden at the rear.
 
How does that sound?
 
Can you
manage two households?”

Her eyes sparkling now, she
smiled, that mystical upturn he loved.
 
“Children, Stani?'

“Children, Emily.
 
As many as you like.
 
All with dark hair like their mother.”
 
He sifted the soft lengths between his
fingers.