Page 35 of The Matchmaker's Melody
Thank God Gordon had spent all those long hours learning his notes, because his fingers found them now without any contribution whatsoever from his head. As the choir sang their closing notes, every expression under the sun playing on their faces, Gordon stared at Emma, who stared back, eyes still wide with shock. Her mouth opened and closed; it was clear she wasn’t even trying to sing. Perhaps she still couldn’t.
And then the song was over and Randall lowered his arms, and everyone took a collective breath, as Mrs Berg rose from her chair.
“I must say,” she announced, “that was rather nice. Not too bad at all. I was surprised, maestro, that you let your second soprano take the solo line for this session. I was expecting Miss Massey to sing. But if the second-best can perform so beautifully, I can only imagine the glories of your diva’s voice. Rather nice, indeed. I shall write my recommendation to the Foundation’s board.”
And, after shaking hands with Randall once more, she marched from the room, a conquering general.
Gordon hardly saw her leave. The moment she had left, everyone swarmed around Ashleigh, congratulating her on her solo, praising her for stepping forward so confidently, lauding her for saving the day. But his attention was elsewhere, and in two strides, he was at Emma’s side.
“Are you okay? What happened? Was it her perfume?” Then, seeing her red face, “Can you breathe? Where’s your inhaler?” She pointed across the room to her tote bag, and he ran over to grab it and bring it to her.
She groped around inside the canvas bag for the inhaler and took a long rescuing puff of the little blue apparatus, and then another, before turning her face to Gordon. She was still shaking and her breathing was tight; he could hear the slight wheeze when she tried to inhale. He expected her to look horrified, or devastated, or mortified. This was Emma, after all. Being perfect was her stock in trade, and this one important time, very publicly, she had not been perfect. It would take a lot to unruffle these feathers.
But what he saw surprised him. She was beaming. Her expression, despite her tight breaths and red eyes, was one of wonderment and pride.
As soon as she was able to speak, the words still more a rasp than anything else, the first thing she said was, “She did it!”
Gordon had never been so proud of her in his life.
CHAPTER18
HALLI AGAIN
Emma recovered quicklyfrom her allergy attack, and was prepared to sing at the concert the following weekend. Ashleigh shrugged off all the accolades and insisted Emma sing the solo, since it was her part, and there was nothing to do but accept.
She really had been mistaken in her appraisal of Ashleigh. The truth behind Gordon’s words of admiration were becoming increasingly clear, and once again, the delicate, relentless, probing tendrils of introspection were finding chinks in Emma’s armour of self-satisfaction. Not only had Ash stepped forward with the right notes, she had also presented a sensitive and musical performance, full of the depth and emotion Emma had been so certain she didn’t possess. There was, perhaps, a deeper sort of confidence and sensitivity than having everything displayed on the surface.
And, again, Gordon’s admonition to really engage her in conversation and learn about the woman beneath the reserved exterior rang true.
Emma had also learned more about herself, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. She was not perfect. Try as she might, sometimes circumstances would intervene, rendering her unable to be the image she tried so hard to project. Sometimes other people had what it took, when she didn’t. This new internal mirror didn’t always reflect the Emma she wanted to see, but maybe it reflected the Emma she needed to face.
She put extra time into preparing for the upcoming concert, mentally as well as physically. She did her vocal exercises, drank warm tea, was careful of her posture (although, really, it was always excellent), and followed every other piece of advice she’d heard. This wasn’t for her. This was for the choir.
When the night of the concert came, she arrived early at the church where they were performing. The risers were already set up, thanks to Rob, and the piano in place and in tune. She found a genuine smile for everyone, not the superior smirk of condescension she realised she sometimes wore, and settled herself into a corner to peruse the music once more before the group warm-up.
When she looked up a few minutes later, she saw many of the choir members had arrived. Ashleigh was changing her outside shoes for nicer inside ones, the better to match her black dress. She was—was there another word for it?—radiant. Emma gave her a wave, and Ash beamed back.
“We’re going to be amazing tonight,” Ashleigh spoke just loud enough to hear. “You’regoing to be amazing.”
Before she could do more than mouth ‘thanks’, Janet called her greetings, and Randall and Taylor bustled in with huge smiles.
“We’ve got the sponsorship!” he announced to everyone in earshot.
Emma waved to Jean-François, who strode in, suave and elegant in his concert blacks, and then found Gordon, who was chatting with Halli near the windows. This was going to be a great show.
And it was. Not a slip, not a missed entry, not a sour note marred the charming and creative selection of music. Ashleigh’s wink inspired Emma’s solo, and she sang better than she’d ever had before. Perhaps hearing Ashleigh’s rich tones just a few days prior had lent something extra to her voice, and she revelled in the new depths she was finding.
Then came the thunderous waves of applause, the gracious speech thanking the Pemberton Arts Foundation for their generous upcoming support, and finally, the release of the musicians into the green room, and then, to the church hall for an end-of-season party.
All the choir members were encouraged to attend, and family members were welcome. Spouses, partners, the occasional parent, and one or two small children all milled happily around the room, adding to the symphony of cheek kisses, high-fives, and calls of bravo.
“You sounded terrific.”
“What a great show.”
“Watch out, world, here we come.”
And then, Randall’s hand, first clapping her gently on the back, and then pulling her into a bear-hug. “Fabulous, Emma. I’ve never heard you sing like that. Really first-rate. Come, there’s coffee and tea at the table, and someone brought in a cake.”
