Page 25 of The Matchmaker's Melody
“You really think so?” Halli’s eyes were wide.
“I do indeed. You said it yourself. I understand these things.”
* * *
February was not going wellfor Gordon.
First, he was dealing with a difficult client at work, a developer who kept blowing hot and cold and changing his mind every five minutes about some detail or another. No matter what Gordon said or did, the guy was unhappy, and the stress was starting to wear on him.
Then, his brother, who had always watered their parents’ plants while they were away, announced he didn’t want to do it anymore and told Gordon it was his task now. Not a big issue, but having to go to their house a couple of times a week ate into his scarce free time. They lived very close to Emma, but she seemed to be busy on those nights when he was on plant-duty, and instead of being able to spend time with this woman who was becoming one of his closest friends, he just threw water on leaves and drove home
Third, there was this issue with the choir’s rehearsal space.
Things were, perhaps, not quite as smooth as he had made them out to be when he talked to Emma. Randall had called him up in early February with an invitation for dinner and a rather serious conversation. The first part sounded wonderful. He and Randall had been friends for years, and he liked Taylor a great deal as well. He knew from experience that both men were excellent cooks, and that dinner would be delicious. The second part worried him. He was fairly certain he knew what it was about, and things did not look good.
Gordon was correct on both counts. Taylor had prepared a fabulous Moroccan feast, complete with a fragrant tagine, perfectly cooked couscous, and a fresh orange-fennel salad that danced on the tongue. Randall’s contribution was a platter of ma’amoul, little date-filled pastries that went perfectly with the hot mint tea they served after the meal. Gordon needed the sweet dessert to counter the bitter taste of the accompanying conversation.
“You’ve heard about the problems with the Queen City Arts Centre.” Randall launched right into the matter as soon as the dinner dishes had been cleared. “It’s being kept quiet, since there are lots of questions, but the chair of the board wanted to give me a warning that we might have to find new rehearsal space.”
Gordon’s eyebrows rose. “Hmmm… I’d heard rumblings of problems, but nothing with actual information. What did they say?”
“Just that there are financial irregularities. Nothing more, nothing less.” Randall sighed and pushed a stray piece of hair off his face. Taylor slid into the chair beside him, a concerned frown on his face.
“I noticed that Elise wasn’t at rehearsal the other night,” Gordon said. “Is this related?” The pleasant alto ran the centre, where the choir rehearsed and where all sorts of programs and classes were held for less privileged kids. She couldn’t be the cause of the issues; she loved the place. “She must be devastated.”
But Randall just shook his head. “I’m not going to speculate on what’s going on, or why. I suspect there’s some funny business going on that has nothing to do with the folks running the place on a day-to-day basis. But the fact remains that we might have to shift, and I wanted your input.”
This was not good. Not the end of the world, but unwelcome news, nonetheless. They got down to business, discussing various options that came to mind.
“The church by St. Clair is big enough, but I think they’re booked every night,” Randall began. “Do you have any contacts there?”
Gordon knew the place well. “I can talk to Rosemary, but it’s going to be hard to find a place on Thursday nights. Every choir in the country rehearses then. What about getting a room at the university? They often have spaces available for community groups to rent. Taylor? Can you point us to someone there?”
Taylor, being on faculty, seemed the perfect person for this line of inquiry. But he shrugged his shoulders. “I can give you the email address of the right office, but I have no pull. We need a fairly large space, and student groups get first pick. This late in the year, too, most spots are taken.”
“What if we look at something less central?” Gordon asked. “It won’t be as easy for people who don’t drive, but I’m sure we can help people arrange for rides from some of the subway stations.”
Randall leaned forward, elbows planted on the table, the ma’amoul forgotten. “That is something we’ve considered. We do have a lead on some office space that we might be able to use, but it’s a bit north of the city, not close to transit at all. Still…” He breathed out heavily.
Gordon raised his eyebrows again. “What is this space? Have you seen it?”
Randall’s head bobbed a couple of times. “It’s not terrific, but it’s better than nothing, and I think the rent will be very reasonable. It’s in one of those small office buildings in suburbia. They have conference space and lots of parking. It’s not fancy enough for weddings or bar mitzvahs, so it’s usually empty at night. Just tables and desks and big screens. Lots of room for us to sing. But there’s no piano. We’d have to bring in an electronic keyboard.”
Ah. This was the issue. Gordon grimaced. “That’s not ideal. There’s nothing like a real instrument. But—” he hastened as Randall’s face fell, “not ideal doesn’t mean not possible. If it’s just for a couple of months, I can work with a keyboard. I don’t have a full-size keyboard, so we would have to hire one, unless one of our members has something suitable to offer. It needs to be fairly fancy, with touch-sensitive volume and a good action on the keys.”
“Will could probably help with that,” Taylor murmured.
Will? Oh, right. That might be Elise’s new partner. Gordon had chatted with him at the Christmas party, before everything went sideways. Decent guy. And he was a pianist as well, in his spare time. He might have an extra keyboard.
Randall relaxed a little at Gordon’s assuring smile. “If you’re okay with that, I’ll make further inquiries, then.”
Gordon gave a short nod. “It might be the best option, if we need to move rehearsal space. Who told you about this place?”
Now Taylor’s face lit up. “Oh, that’s where the new baritone works. Jean-François.”
And that was the fourth thing that was eating Gordon up inside. Jean-François himself.
Gordon did not like him. He couldn’t pinpoint, exactly, why, but try as he might, the Montrealer just rubbed him the wrong way. Perhaps it was how the man was so chary with information about himself, encouraging people to divulge all their own secrets, while never letting out the first hint about his own personal life.
