An Unexpected Song (11 page)

“I wonder if I could speak to you a moment, Miss Justine?”

Daisy turned to see Eric Hayes standing beside her. Jason’s brother, not Jason himself, she thought with a sudden jolt of pain followed immediately by a violent wave of anger. She didn’t want
Eric here with his polite murmurings of sympathy. She had gone through enough in these past few days without being reminded of both her naïveté and the hurt she had suffered because of it. “What a surprise to see you,” she said coolly. “I’m afraid I don’t really feel like conversation, Mr. Hayes.”

“Eric.” A flush reddened his pleasant features, and for an instant she felt a flicker of remorse. It wasn’t Eric’s fault that the sight of him brought back all the pain of her last evening with Jason.

“I know this is lousy timing,” Eric muttered. “And I wouldn’t have bothered you, but I promised Jason.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Jason sent me to help you. He couldn’t come himself.”

Of course he couldn’t come to Charlie’s funeral. He was busy with
Night Song.
Besides, he would be appalled if she misunderstood sympathy for something deeper. She accepted both those facts, but it didn’t keep her from feeling a smoldering resentment toward him. He may have crossed her off his A list, but, dammit, Charlie had been his friend and he should have been there to say good-bye. “I don’t need help.”

“Please.” Eric put his hand on her arm. “Jason doesn’t often ask favors of me. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me give him what he wants.”

“I don’t see—” She broke off as she saw his pleading expression. Why not? It didn’t make any difference. “All right, we can talk while you walk me to my car.”

Eric breathed a sigh of relief and fell into step with her. “Now, what can I do for you? I’m sorry you had to make all the funeral arrangements by
yourself. The manager of the theater didn’t notify Jason of your father’s death until day before yesterday.

Her eyes widened. “Why would he notify Jason?”

“Jason called him before he left Geneva and asked him to let him know if you—” He paused before adding awkwardly, “Experienced any problems.”

“I see. How kind.” She tried to keep the bitterness from her tone. Jason was a possessive man, and she supposed it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he could feel a certain responsibility toward her after taking her virginity. Perhaps, in his own way, he was even genuinely sorry about Charlie’s death. “I’m sorry you had to go to all this trouble. Before Charlie died I didn’t know how I was going to survive it. But I have.” She met his gaze. “I found out that if you reach down deep enough, you can handle almost anything. I don’t need any help.”

“Look, why don’t you use me?” he asked coaxingly. “I’m great at handling insurance companies and movers and stuff. I even enjoy it.”

“Movers?”

“Well, you won’t want to live in that cottage any longer.” He added matter-of-factly, “Memories are hell.” He hesitated. “Besides, we kinda hoped you’d come to New York now.”

Stunned, she turned to look at him.

“Desdemona. There’s really no reason why you can’t take the role now,” Eric said. “You’d be crazy not to do it. It will send your career soaring.”

“I’m afraid you’ve come for nothing. I still don’t want to be in your brother’s play.”

Eric was silent a moment. “It’s Jason, isn’t it?
He told me you might resent him.” He appeared faintly embarrassed as he continued. “I don’t know what’s between the two of you, and it’s none of my business. I’m just playing messenger boy. So let me do my job. Okay?”

His boyishness was appealing, and she found herself softening toward him. “I’m sorry, none of this is your fault. What’s the message?”

“He said to tell you that if you take Desdemona, you won’t see him until opening night unless there’s an emergency.” He grimaced. “Maybe not even then. He’s been known to miss his openings on occasion.”

She gazed at him uncertainly. “He wouldn’t be in New York?”

Eric shook his head. “He never leaves his estate in Connecticut unless there’s a glitch in the works.”

“That seems odd.”

“It’s crap,” Eric said flatly. He gestured impatiently. “But that’s beside the point. Jason would be out of your hair.”

Pain flashed briefly within her and then faded into a dull ache. “I don’t know.”

“Jason said you liked the music.”

“What I heard of it.”

“It’s all super.” Eric smiled coaxingly. “I know Jason can be difficult, but why give up a job that can put you up there where you belong just to spite him? Jason keeps his promises.”

“I know he does.”

“Then what’s the hold-up? I’d say it’s the medicine you need under the circumstances.” They had reached the car and he opened the driver’s door for her. “You should keep busy.” He grinned.
“And I’ve hired a director who’ll guarantee to work the socks off you.”

Work. The concept filled her with longing. To be able to work so hard she’d fall into bed at night and not lie awake thinking of either Jason or Charlie. Not only work but the gift of that enchanting, mesmerizing music.

“You’re tempted.” Eric sounded gleeful. “Why not give yourself what you want, what you need?”

She got into the car and sat there gazing at the wrought iron gates of the cemetery. “Because I’m not sure what I need right now.”

“I’ll drop by later this evening.” He frowned in concern. “Will you be okay? My wife, Peg, is back at the hotel. Should I bring her with me?”

She shook her head. “No strangers. I’m not up to it.”

“Peg’s not a stranger.” He grinned. “When you meet her, you’ll understand.” His smile faded. “But I’ll come alone. Eight?”

“If you like,” she said wearily. Lord knows she didn’t want to be alone tonight. It was going to be difficult enough going through Charlie’s possessions and deciding what she wanted to keep and what to give away. “Eight o’clock.”

She found the note in the middle drawer of the desk.

Just a careless scrawl that she instantly recognized as Charlie’s lying on top of a stack of bills and receipts. She supposed it was a will of sorts. Charlie had never wanted to think of death, and it came as a shock that he had made this attempt at setting matters straight.

Shock upon shock. He must have written this note sometime during those last days, perhaps even that very last day.

She slowly stood up and moved toward the covered painting on the easel. She hadn’t been able to bear touching any of Charlie’s paintings since his death. So much love and effort had gone into them that they were far more intimate than any clothing or other things.

She took off the drape cloth and looked at the portrait.

She stood there a long time, gazing at the canvas with tear-bright eyes as afternoon faded into dusk.

Love. Jason had said the portrait was filled with love and he had spoken truly. She knew she would never be able to look at this painting without remembering Charlie and their life together. This was a legacy far more precious than the worldly goods Charlie had mentioned in that pitiful scrap of a note.

The note. This painting belonged to Jason! Dammit, she didn’t want to give it up.

And she didn’t actually have to give it up, she thought fiercely. Surely that note wasn’t legal. Even the name in the bequest was wrong. If Charlie had known what the circumstances were, he would have—

How did she know what Charlie would have
done? She slowly put the drape cloth back on the painting and wearily turned away. She knew she couldn’t ignore Charlie’s last wishes. The painting would have to be packed up and shipped to Jason.

She glanced around the room and pain surged through her. She couldn’t stay here. There were too many memories and this part of her life was over forever. She had to move on. Why not make the move that would give her the most satisfaction? Jason had not let his feelings stand in the way of his music, so why should she? She wasn’t that same soft, quivering bird caught in the eagle’s spell any longer. She had met the tigers, endured their bites, and survived. She was tough enough to face Jason calmly even if she did run into him in New York.

Grab the brass ring.

The phrase Charlie had used came back to her. He hadn’t been speaking of her work but of love and commitment. Well, love had vanished but she still had her singing and there was more than one brass ring to capture in this world.

She moved quickly across the room to the phone on the desk.

“Daisy Justine just called to say she’d sign for Desdemona,” Eric said as soon as Jason answered his phone. “We leave for New York day after tomorrow.”

“That’s good.”

“Good? I thought you’d be happy as a lark.”

“How is she?”

“Shaken. Hurting.”

Jason’s hand tightened on the receiver. Lord, he wanted to be with her. “Get her out of the cottage.”

“Peg and I are going over to help her pack tonight.” Eric paused. “She’s changed from the first time I saw her. She’s stronger than I thought, and she’s showing a hell of a lot of guts.”

“Stay with her. Keep her busy. Don’t give her a chance to think.”

“We will.” Eric paused. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what’s between you two?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. I like her, Jason. She’s … she’s special.”

“Yes.”

“You’re certainly forthcoming,” Eric said caustically. “What a way with words. Remember the critic who said that if Shakespeare was a song writer, he’d be Jason Hayes?”

“Take care of her, Eric.”

Eric’s tone softened. “I will. You just take care of yourself.”

He hung up the phone.

Jason replaced the receiver and stood looking down at the phone. Giving Daisy the role was a risk, but only a minor one. He had exited the scene before he could be linked to her, and he would force himself to stay away from the rehearsals. Pain washed over him as he thought of never seeing Daisy onstage singing his words, never seeing Daisy again.…

But he had promised Charlie she would have everything she wanted and he knew this was the only way he could give it to her that she would accept.

In the meantime, thank God he had work to do. Work was forgetfulness. Work was salvation.

He turned, left his study, and went across the hall to the music room.

“It’s not working,” Joel Rickert said flatly as he strode up the steps onto the stage. “Dammit, Daisy, what’s wrong with you? I heard you played Fantine for two years, yet you do this scene as if you’ve never died before.”

Daisy heard Eric’s chuckle from his seat in the fourth row, but she wasn’t amused. She was too tired and discouraged and she knew the director was right. She was botching the scene that was the climax of the play, and she couldn’t seem to do anything about it.

“Fantine’s death scene was different. Her death was—” She broke off in self-disgust as she realized she was about to make a lame excuse. How unprofessional could she be? “You’re right, Joel. I stink in this scene.”

“Well put.” Joel Rickert grudgingly turned to Kevin Billings, who played Othello. “You’re doing a decent job, Kevin.” He shot a sour glance at Daisy. “He almost makes you look good.”

Daisy flinched. “I’ll try to do it better.”

“
Try?
” Joel asked caustically. “Two weeks until opening night and you’re going to try? Don’t you think it’s time you did more than try?”

“Take it easy, Joel,” Kevin said soothingly. “It’ll come. She’s terrific in the rest of the play.”

“Keep out of this, Kevin.” Joel turned on him. “And don’t be so damned stupid. If she blows this scene, she blows the entire play.”

Daisy felt a flicker of irritation toward Joel as she saw the flush that reddened the skin above Kevin’s beard. Kevin had only been trying to help, and Joel didn’t have to take his frustration out on him. In the past six weeks of rehearsals she had grown very fond of Kevin Billings. Though he had the acting range, powerful physique, and magnificent voice required for the role of Othello, offstage she had found him to be as friendly and unassuming as a puppy with none of the annoying ego usually displayed by stars of stage and screen. “Leave him alone, Joel. Don’t attack Kevin when I’m the one at fault.”

“You’re damn right you’re at fault,” Joel said grimly. “And if you’d put a little emotion into this scene, I wouldn’t have to attack anyone.” He threw up his hands. “Do you think I like being the bad guy?”

Maybe he didn’t like being the heavy, but he was utterly ruthless when he felt it was necessary. But that was part of good directing, and Joel Rickert was a very good director. “I don’t know why I’m having trouble with it. I’ll work on it.”

“Yes, you will.” Joel’s lips tightened grimly as he turned on his heel and ran down the steps to his seat in the fourth row, where Eric Hayes sat watching. “And you’ll get it if we have to stay here all night.”

He meant it. Daisy had learned in the past six weeks of rehearsals that Joel always meant exactly what he said. If she didn’t perform to his satisfaction, they’d be doing this scene until they all dropped from exhaustion.

Kevin’s hand squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. “You’ll get it next time.”

She forced a smile. “You say that every time I blow it. You must have the patience of an angel.”

“It’s worth a little patience when I know we’re creating something special,” Kevin said gravely. “The music … you and me … don’t you feel it?”

She did feel it. That’s why she had put up with Joel’s ranting and raving and his frenetic pace.
Night Song
had all the elements of being a blockbuster that might run for a decade. However, what was more important was the dual challenge of creating an unforgettable character and serving the music. “Yes, I feel it.
Night Song
is special.” She smiled at him. “And you’re right, it’s worth all the hassle.”

He nodded. “What do you say we go out and eat chili after we get through this? I know a great place, and a good meal always relaxes me.”

“Sure, why not?” She made a face. “If we ever do get through this.”