Page 33 of The Matchmaker's Melody
Sleep did not come easilythat night. Emma went straight home, not even bothering to see if anyone was going to the pub. She dropped her bag at the front door and stumbled to her bed, stopping only to brush her teeth and wash her face. (She had to look perfect on the outside, even if she was a wreck on the inside.) She slipped out of her clothes, turned off the light, and stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours.
Was Gordon right? The worm in her conscience agreed with him. She hated that worm.
Ash had been off, and badly. There was no denying that. And if this had happened during the audition or at the concert, it would not have been good. But…
Emma sighed. Introspection was not her strong suit.
Would it really have been the end of the world? Would nations have crumbled if Ash had sung the wrong notes? Would economies have been wiped out? Would people have lost their lives? Would she have lost followers?
A glimmer of a memory teased at Emma’s mind, slowly coalescing into a concrete recollection. Someone had once told her a saying, or something, about how embarrassing someone was tantamount to killing that person, because it destroyed their sense of self and could ruin their reputation. Had she really done that to Ashleigh?
Maybe Gordon was right, damn him. There might have been far better ways to deal with a couple of wrong notes than bringing everyone’s attention to the problem and belittling someone who was, most of the time, a huge asset to the choir.
The ceiling loomed dark and heavy over Emma’s head, and her words, those she had spouted and those she might have chosen instead, reeled about her like birds of prey, dark and silent, deadly like the raven-black wings of despair.
She had to make it right. She had screwed up, and she had to fix it.
She closed her eyes, thinking of what to do to atone for her horrible behaviour, until, at last, she knew what she should do. A letter, hand-written, with a bouquet of flowers, and a huge tub of chocolate. It wouldn’t fix what she had done, but it would be a start.
Perhaps now she would be able to sleep.
There was only one more thing, weighing on her mind, refusing to be swept away.
Gordon had chastised her before. He had taken her to task over so many things, and she had always brushed him off. Why, all of a sudden, was his opinion so incredibly important to her now?
CHAPTER17
CATHERINE BERG
Emma woke up early.She spent the morning working on a letter to Ashleigh, writing and rewriting, until she was satisfied, and then copied it out on the best paper she had in her neatest handwriting. When had she last written anything by hand, other than a shopping list? It was a humbling experience.
When she finished, she sealed the letter in an envelope, placed a sticker over the flap, and went out. Her first stop was to a speciality chocolate shop she’d heard good things about and bought a nice selection of goodies in a fancy box. Then she went to a florist and selected flowers for an arrangement in a pretty vase. Just no roses. She was allergic to roses, and couldn’t even have them in her car. Luckily there were so many other choices, like tulips and carnations and lilies and gerbera and daffodils. Light colours, oranges and pinks. She felt those were Ashleigh’s colours, although she couldn’t say why. Ash usually wore dark neutrals, rather than anything bright. Maybe Ash deserved some brightness. She went next door to have a cup of coffee while she waited for the flowers to be ready, and at last, with all her peace offerings in hand, she made the drive to Ashleigh’s home.
No one answered her knock. Did Ash work at home or out of an office? Emma didn’t even know. She was some kind of lawyer, wasn’t she? What kind of law did she practise? She didn’t know this either. She really should take Gordon’s admonitions to heart and make an attempt to befriend the other woman, rather than just going through the motions as she now realised she had done.
After another unanswered tap on the door, Emma placed the chocolates, flowers, and letter all behind the screen door, ready and waiting for whenever Ashleigh arrived, and drove home.
This was a strange feeling, and one which was quite foreign to her. It wasn’t sadness, it wasn’t shame. It was, perhaps, a touch of humility, and it was quite foreign. She, Emma Massey, had done something wrong, and had, for the first time in her life, really been affected by it. Deeply, in some sort of life-changing way, in her soul.
When she’d broken that ridiculous planned date between Halli and Rob the chair guy, she’d felt pleased. When Gordon had taken her to task, she’d laughed him off. And when Phil had snubbed Halli so horribly, she’d been upset, but at him and only at him.
Now she was upset at herself. That flush of introspection that had settled upon her last night, as she stared into the darkness, returned and settled upon her once more, not heavily but deeply. Is this how she had always seemed to others? Brash and careless? Even when she had thought she was acting with her friends’ best interests in mind, had she really just been blowing up her own importance?
She felt she had shrunk three inches.
Oh, this was chastening indeed.
She picked up her phone to send a message to Gordon. She could use his good advice right now. But there was a message from him, waiting for her. She must not have heard it arrive.
Sorry, Emma, can’t make our usual movie and dinner this Sunday. Work calls.
That’s all it said. No promises to make it up, no profound regrets, just a generic sorry. And even though she’d spend most of the weekends of her life without him, Emma knew she would miss him terribly.
* * *
The nightof the big rehearsal was here. It was scarcely a rehearsal, Gordon acknowledged. More of a performance, and more important than one, too. Catherine Berg from Pemberley Holdings’ new arts foundation was coming to listen to the choir, and so much would depend on what she thought.
Gordon had heard whispers and rumours about her, none of which reassured him. She was Will Pemberton’s aunt, and a woman not to be gainsaid. She had no musical training, as far as Gordon knew, but sat on the board of every professional musical group she could manage. Her tastes were said to be exacting, and her personality… abrupt.
