Page 11 of The Matchmaker's Melody
From the moment she had heard about him at the very first rehearsal of the season, she had found herself fascinated by him. Or, rather, by the idea of him. What it was that intrigued her about him she could not say; perhaps it was the mystery, the romance, of a stranger joining their ranks.
She could not rest until she had wheedled all the information she could from Randall, who laughed at her as he recounted what he could.
Jean-François was 31 years old, a baritone, and had sung with a rather good choir in Montreal since he was a student at a university there. He was to be in Toronto for six months for work, doing a secondment in the Toronto office of the company where he was employed, and was delighted to keep singing during his time away from home.
Randall could not tell Emma what he looked like, for he had only heard him on a sound clip, without video. But that did not stop her from building him up quite admirably in her mind. She imagined him to be tall, with dark hair and eyes, andtrès français, with a cute accent and a certainje ne sais quoiabout him. She was ready to fall him love with him at a moment’s notice.
Reality was even better than her imagination.
At exactly the right time, Jean-François strode into the rehearsal room and every female eye—and one or two male ones as well—turned in his direction, and more than one jaw dropped. He was very handsome indeed, with the dark hair Emma had expected, and an exceptional profile. His cheekbones were chiselled, and his dark hair was coiffed to perfection. But rather than the dark façade Emma had imagined, his eyes were a lovely blue, deep like a pristine mountain lake, and he was dressed beautifully, the model of a suave sophisticate who somehow gave off the impression that he’d put no effort at all into his elegance. The only thing that kept him from absolute perfection was that he was not tall.
Oh well. You can’t have everything.
But he was charming. Oh, so very charming. He greeted Randall with the traditional Gallic double cheek kiss, and was effusive in his appreciation for being invited to sing with the Eglinton Echoes for the rest of the season.
“I could not believe my luck,” he declaimed with just enough of an accent to quicken the heart rate, “when Laurent suggested I speak to you. And even more so, when you accepted my audition. I am most eager to meet new friends here, and make lovely music with everybody. Will you make me known to some people?”
Emma’s ears pricked up. She had been listening, of course, and she stepped forward at once. This was exactly the sort of thing she was so excellent at. He could not have found a better person to show him around.
Halli and Phil forgotten for the moment, she held out her hand for the newcomer and introduced herself.
“I’m Emma Massey. Soprano.Bienvenue. Randall, let me take Monsieur Gagnon around so he can meet whoever is here.”
“Mademoiselle Massey,enchanté. I would be delighted. And please, no formality. I’m Jean-François. We’re all modern people now.”
“Emma,” she replied in kind, and began to lead him around the room.
* * *
Over the next few weeks,Gordon watched this strange little play with a mixture of horror and fascination.
Emma, still trying to arrange a match between Halli and Phil, encouraged both to join her circle as much as possible, and almost from the get-go, Jean-François had joined their ranks. He did, so Gordon heard from Emma, go back to Montreal on most weekends, but if there was something arranged for a weeknight, he was sure to be included.
Now Halli was mooning over Phil, Phil was dogging Emma’s steps, Emma was flirting with Jean-François, and Jean-François seemed perfectly happy to be flirted with. It was a disaster-in-the-making of Shakespearean proportions, and from what Gordon could tell, none of the players realised what was happening.
Somebody was going to be hurt, and badly, and he hoped above all that it wouldn’t be Halli, who was really the only innocent one in the group.
Despite their nascent friendship, forged over apple pie at the cottage, Gordon was still a bit uncertain as to where he stood with Emma. They had never resolved their argument over her interference between Halli and Rob, and now that they had all returned to their usual roles in familiar circumstances, she had mostly gone back to her friendly and impersonal waves hello and polite greetings.
Perhaps the smiles were a bit warmer, and the words of greeting a little longer, but he missed the long conversations and the sense of ease he had felt with her while slicing apples or driving through the countryside.
Well, if Emma had decided to befriend Jean-François, perhaps he should as well, to find some common ground with this young woman he was just now getting to really know.
If Emma and Jean-François did end up dating, or whatever young people did these days, it would be to everyone’s benefit for them all to be friendly.
And so, Gordon made certain to say a cheerful bonjour before each rehearsal, and once or twice asked if Jean-François wanted to join him and a few others at The Fife and Fiddle afterwards. Everybody was invited to these post-rehearsal chat sessions at the pub, and most came along at one time or another, but there was a core cadre of hardy souls who kept the seats warm every Thursday night.
The pub was around the corner from the arts centre where the choir rehearsed, one of a number of popular spots on a busy street, lined with interesting boutiques, coffee shops, hair salons, and the like. Elise and Janet were two of the regulars and Randall often came along, now usually bringing Taylor with him. Gordon joined them often enough for it to be noteworthy, but he wasn’t one of ‘the usual gang’. He had never seen Emma there. Elise and Janet were terrific company, but too ordinary for Emma’s tastes, being neither dowdy or socially challenged enough to need her assistance, nor fashionable and chic enough to be what she considered her equals. She smiled at them and was friendly, but gave them little thought otherwise. And, Gordon considered with a wry grin, Emma was likely just a bit jealous of Janet’s stunning good looks.
On this night, Gordon dropped the suggestion of the pub into Jean-François’ ear before rehearsal began, and offered a definite invitation afterwards. When the baritone had finished flirting with Emma and she had gone home, he followed the pianist along with a small group of other singers to their usual spot.
The expected group had already claimed their spots. Elise, Janet, Masako, Ashleigh, Carlos, and Randall were huddled around the table, a variety of drinks and munchies before them. They all welcomed Gordon and Jean-François and shifted over to make space. Gordon ordered a stout, which he would sip slowly over the course of an hour, and sat back to absorb the conversation.
The others leaned forward, all eager to get to know the newcomer. Elise and Masako, it transpired, both spoke more than passable French, and the conversation flitted between the two languages as would so often happen in Montreal. For his part, Jean-François seemed more than pleased to be the centre of attention, but somehow managed to deflect all personal questions with ones of his own.
Gordon, for the most part, was happy to sit back with his beer and listen. He threw in the occasional comment to remain part of the conversation, but he learned more about people from what others said than by being part of the chat himself, and this suited him. He liked these people and enjoyed spending time with them, and considered himself now to be on friendly terms with the newcomer, and he was satisfied.
When the evening came to an end and everyone drifted back towards the bus stop or the parking lot at the arts centre, he felt his evening had been well spent.
