Page 23 of The Second Ending
“You’re selling yourself short,” Gordon replied to her concerns.
They were sitting in Victor’s kitchen after the first rehearsal, which Gordon had joined to supply the piano accompaniment. They had sung through the relevant parts of the mass, specifically working on sections where the soloists and choir interacted. Some of these passages were intuitive and easy tofollow; others required more focused attention, such as the Benedictus, with its abrupt tempo changes and alternations of solo voice and choir. There were challenges, of course, and there must still be a lot of work, but it was all a joy to rehearse with other trained vocalists.
Ashleigh made a comment to that effect, and mused again that she had her work cut out for her.
Gordon now traced a finger around the rim of the coffee cup before him. “Your voice,” he continued his previous point, “is every bit as good as the others. Better, really. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Randall wouldn’t have asked you to do this if he wasn’t positive you had what it takes.”
“It’s just rehearsal, though. All they need are the notes.” Ashleigh sipped at her tea, but hardly tasted it.
“Nonsense!” Gordon shot back. “They need the notes, but also the volume and the ensemble, and the musicality of it all. They need a singer who might take that moment’s breath before an important word, or who might let some notes soar for that extra half second, so they can be ready for whatever the professionals decide to do.” He dropped his voice now, so only Ashleigh could hear him. “If it had been my choice, I’d have you singing the soprano part. Oh, Emma is good, but as much as I love the girl, her voice can’t touch yours. And please, never let her know I said that!” He laughed, drawing everyone else’s attention.
“Is something funny?” Emma asked, her blue eyes wide. “It’s not polite not to share. What was it, Gordon?”
But Gordon just smiled. “Nothing,” he replied. “Oh, look at the time. I need to get going. I’ve got an early morning.”
Everyone rose to find their winter wear, and Ashleigh pulled out her phone to pull up the bus schedule. Gordon wandered over.
“Did you come by transit?” he asked.
She nodded. “There’s a stop not far from here. I’m looking to see when the next bus is due.”
His eyes flickered over to where Emma and Jean-François were huddled together near the coat rack, and a strange look passed across his face. But he turned back to Ashleigh with a smile. “Where do you live? I’ll give you a lift.”
It was late and dark, and the ground was covered with heavy wet snow. A lift in a warm car was much more appealing than the slog to a bus stop and a long and jerky ride home. “Thank you. I won’t refuse a ride.”
She thanked Victor again and followed Gordon out to his car.
This was the first time they’d really spoken, other than friendly small talk or exchanging expected pleasantries. He was nice. Really nice. He was friendly and concerned, and from the way the conversation often turned, more taken with Emma than he might admit.
He told her about his father’s company and his life-long friendship with Emma’s family, and she told him about her time in South America and her work with the music program in the schools there, and the ride ended rather too soon for her liking. It was a real pleasure to talk to someone who wanted nothing from her other than friendship, where no awkward history or muddied expectations got in the way.
“Thanks so much for the ride,” she said once more as he pulled up in front of her building. “I enjoyed our conversation.”
“As did I,” he replied. “It’s funny how much we don’t know about people we see so often. And one more thing, Ashleigh…”
“Yes?”
“You’re a fabulous singer. Don’t be shy about it. You could be on stage with the best.”
How to reply to that?
She gave an embarrassed thank you and waved him off as she walked into her building, music still running through her head,and a bit of something else running through her veins. Not pride. Not arrogance… Just, perhaps, confidence.
Something in Ashleigh has shifted.She couldn’t quite name it, or say when it had started, but it was undeniable. After too many years of self-deprecation and second-guessing every thought, she felt centred again.
Perhaps it was Sebastian’s charming flirtation, which he continued despite the odd detachment on both their parts. Perhaps it was the renewed confidence she felt in her singing, when her voice soared over the massed sounds of the choir and when she blushed at the inundation of compliments she received from her colleagues. Perhaps it was this new budding friendship with Gordon, begun in the car ride home from rehearsal and nourished before and after choir practice. It was good to have a friend. Liora was terrific, and would always be Ashleigh’s soul-sister, but her heart was big enough for many friendships and having someone who understood the musical side to her being was a boost she hadn’t known she needed, especially since there was no expectation of this becoming anything more than platonic.
Because Gordon, she quickly determined, was besotted with Emma (the one strike she could determine against his character), and she, heaven help her, was still in love with Marcus.
And that, perhaps, was the fourth foundation in her growing self-assurance, the wind that drove this sea-change in her life.
Marcus was there. Not as he had been before, as an intimate partner, the love of her life, but as a steady presence. After that first shock of seeing her again, he had warmed up and slowlytried to find a place in her life again, and that gave her the biggest boost of all. Because, she realised, it meant that despite everything that had happened between them, he still thought she was worth knowing.
Maybe, even, wanted more.
It was hard to tell with him. He was a quiet and reticent man at the best of times, playing his cards close to his chest. It might have come from a background where men didn’t show their emotions lightly; she never had quite worked that out.
When they’d been together, he had been open enough. Then she’d had no reason to doubt his feelings, or wonder what he was thinking. But he put on a stoic face for the outside world, and only a rare few were permitted inside.
