Page 4 of The Matchmaker's Melody
“Yeah, fine. But give me something to start with. Where is she from? I know she’s not from Toronto, but that’s hardly helpful. Please?”
With another reluctant sigh, Gordon told her what he knew. Halli, he had discovered in his short conversation with her, was from Peterborough, about 150 km away from Toronto, and was starting a degree in engineering at a large suburban university. Her sister was also a student there, and the two shared an apartment with another student near the campus.
“The poor thing. She isn’t even in residence, where she can make friends. It’s just her, her sister, and this other person? And she’s so shy. She’ll never step out of her comfort zone to meet people. Oh, she does need me!” Emma cried.
“Emma…” Gordon’s voice held a heavy note of warning.
“I’m only trying to help. It’s what I do.” If she were standing, she’d have planted her fists on her hips in defiance.
“Emma, she is a grown woman, and can take care of herself. She’s shy, but she’s very sweet, and people will find her. Let her make her own way. Don’t step in where you’re not wanted.”
She snorted. “She’s, what? Eighteen? Nineteen? A child. I can introduce her to the right sort of friends…”
“The right sort…? What does that mean? She’s not a project, Emma.” His voice was stern. “Don’t go interfering.”
Is this what it was like having a disapproving older brother? How annoying to have someone who thought he knew so much better passing judgement on everything you did, especially when youknewyou were right. After all, she’d been right about Randall and Taylor. She could read people, and she could make the connections people didn’t know they needed. It was her special talent. If only Gordon would just realise that.
Emma let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m just doing what I think best. If she tells me to stop and leave her alone, I’ll do that. No,” she held out a hand, palm forward, “don’t be all high and mighty about this. As you say, she’s a grown-up and she can take my excellent advice, that people seek out and give me sponsorships for, or not. It’s entirely up to her. I’d never stick my nose where it’s not wanted.”
* * *
What wasit about that young woman? Gordon threw himself onto his couch after Emma had left, not watching the game that was flickering across the small television screen in the corner. When had her busybody tendencies turned into outright interference?
Not for the first time, he wished Mr and Mrs Massey had taken a bit of time to tame her impulses. Not crush them. No, never that. Her exuberance and genuine interest in other people were part of what had made her tolerable and fun, even as a small child.
He remembered meeting her when she was five years old, all wispy blonde pigtails and sassy comebacks that only a little impish darling could get away with. He was fourteen then, and had no time for babies, but something about her had wormed its way past his sullen defences. Was it her vocabulary, far more advanced than he expected from a kid hardly old enough to feed herself? The flash of those eyes? Her heartbreak at seeing an abandoned baby rabbit in the park one spring? Or just her endless jabbering about everything and anything that crossed her impertinent little mind? He had played more games ofCandylandand checkers than he ever imagined, and eventually he had taught her chess while their parents had been busy being adults during the frequent family gatherings.
Their unlikely companionship had lasted only a few years. By the time she was really old enough to be interesting, he had gone off to university. He had joined the big gatherings—the command performances, so to speak—but that rapport was gone. By that point, he’d hovered around the adults rather than the kids, trying to find his new place within their microcosm of a society, while she had been the youngest of the lot, much happier with a new colouring book or the latest video game than with talk of profits and new advertising directions.
And then Emma had gone off to school as Gordon was establishing himself in his career, and again their paths had crossed only once or twice a year, until he’d suggested she audition for the choir where he was the rehearsal pianist. She was a psychology major, but she had kept studying with her voice teacher, and he thought she might enjoy being able to sing with other excellent musicians. She had auditioned, and had been welcomed to the choir, and swanned in like she owned the show. Now they smiled at each other and exchanged a few pleasant words, more from old habits than anything else.
Until this evening.
The game was still on, but Gordon couldn’t even recall who was playing. He got up and flicked the television set off, then went to the kitchen to wash up. This had probably been the first serious amount of time he and Emma had spent together, just the two of them, since he’d babysat her when they were children. And he wasn’t sure what he thought.
She was still a busybody, and too spoiled and cocksure for her own good, but she was also good company. She spoke about art and music with a depth of knowledge he hadn’t expected, and was surprisingly up-to-date on world affairs. And she was attractive, more so than he was comfortable admitting to himself. If she hadn’t been Emma, he might have found himself tempted. Something stirred in him that he tamed very quickly before he had a chance to think about it.
No, she was just Emma, and he decided he liked her.
He’d been dreading the upcoming Thanksgiving weekend family command performance, but perhaps, if Emma was coming, it wouldn’t be all that bad, after all.
CHAPTER3
PHIL
Emma arrived exactlytwelve minutes early for the next rehearsal. It was, she had long since worked out, the optimal time to get there. It was early enough to make her seem dedicated, and gave her a few minutes to chat with anyone who wanted a moment with her, without being so early as to seem desperate. Image, after all, was everything.
Quite a few people were already in the rehearsal space. Gordon was warming up at the piano, and Elise and Janet were talking with the new tenor and Ashleigh, a strong second soprano, by the far wall. Elise was usually one of the first to arrive, since she worked in the same building, so that was understandable. Ashleigh was always early as well. She was pleasant enough in her bland way, always willing to help where needed, but a bit too meek and mild for Emma’s tastes. Martina, an athletic young alto, was sitting on a chair in the corner, scanning her music. She was another early arriver, since she often came with her brother, Rob, who had the menial task of setting up the room and doing tech when it was needed.
Emma rolled her eyes. It was necessary, she supposed, to have a dog's body like that around, some poor schlub who couldn’t sing a note, but who desperately wanted to be involved anyway. Better him than her, at any rate. Her eyes darted around the room now, searching for Rob, wherever he was. She found him near the stack of chairs by the storage room, talking with someone she couldn’t see from her angle. Then that someone stepped out into view, and Emma almost gasped.
Halli.
Halli, with a wide smile on her sweet face, was talking to menial Rob, the chair guy, and by all accounts, enjoying the conversation. What on earth could they have in common? Halli was smart, an engineering student, with a lovely light soprano voice, and Rob couldn’t hold a note in a bucket. What did he do all day, anyway? Probably some sort of low-paying job, like a gas jerk. Why did they let him hang around the choir? At least he set out the chairs and put them away again after rehearsal.
No matter. This would never do. Someone like Halli deserved better than to hang out with the crew. It was time to get into action.
Gordon’s warning flitted through her mind, his serious brown eyes broadcasting his displeasure, but really, what was she supposed to do? She was Emma Massey, after all, and she had a solid track record of matching people with the right sort, whether it was friends or lovers.
