The Magic of Christmas Page 4

  Her smile slipped and she felt her lips flatten as she tried to sweep his observation away. ‘I haven’t seen the sheet music.’ Primarily because it wouldn’t have done her the slightest bit of good to have it. ‘I learned it by listening repeatedly to his performance until I could play the piece.’

  ‘That’s incredible. Why are you cleaning houses when you could be performing in concert halls or teaching music? Wouldn’t you enjoy a musical career more than your current work?’

  She smiled wistfully, finding it unbelievable Jack Mancini had tapped right into her most cherished fantasy. ‘I’d love it, but I couldn’t possibly have a musical career.’

  ‘Why not?’ The nonchalance in his posture was gone. Now, he leaned forward and looked at her intently.

  Gosh! He was serious. ‘I’ve only had a few months of informal lessons, so I couldn’t teach.’

  ‘No formal lessons—ever?’

  He sounded so surprised, but he didn’t know the half of it. ‘I can’t read music.’

  ‘Then how did you get to be so good?’

  ‘The same way as Nobuyuki. While I’m nowhere in his class, I learnt by listening to a piece of music and playing it. He can’t see the music or the keyboard. At least I can see the keys I’m playing.’

  ‘Surely, you’re both unique?’

  She laughed a little at the way he seemed so in awe of her. Nobody had ever looked at her so admiringly and it was fabulous—especially coming from him—but she couldn’t let him keep his false illusions. ‘A lot of people play by ear.’

  ‘I had no idea.’ He leant back again. ‘How old were you when you discovered you could do it?’

  ‘When I started high school, music was a mandatory subject in the first year. We had to prepare an assessment task and I discovered what I could do.’ It’d been magic! Like some unseen fairy had come along and waved her wand and given her this ability. It’d meant even more because—

  ‘Didn’t your music teacher recognise your talent and urge you to do something with it?’

  He seemed to be more intent on his questions than his coffee, but she sipped at hers and enjoyed the flavour of the frothy beverage. She replaced the cup on the table and wiped away a little of the froth from her upper lip. ‘She was impressed. She contacted my parents and asked if they’d let me have some informal lessons with her at lunch time.’

  ‘And?’

  The remembered thrill of discovering she could play the piano disintegrated because his questioning forced her to confront all the inadequacies she tried to forget she possessed. Grace hated the weakness of those deficits—hated the hard consequences of them and the shame and difficulties they’d wrought throughout her life. Clasping her hands together in her lap she reminded herself she’d gone a long way to overcoming the worst of those deficits. But still, she wanted to find a way to skirt around an admission she’d prefer not to make to this successful man.

  ‘Weren’t your parents supportive?’ he suggested when she remained silently locked in her own turmoil.

  Guilt stabbed through her. If only they hadn’t been so wonderful …

  She pushed aside the grief that began to crowd in on her. She couldn’t let him think badly of her parents when she’d been the failure. ‘I couldn’t have asked for more supportive parents. My teacher tried for some months to teach me to read music but I simply didn’t have any aptitude for it.’ She reached again for the coffee and cradled the cup in her hands, seeking the comforting warmth it provided.

  God, how she’d wanted to read music—how she’d yearned to develop her skills and be able to play like everyone else. More than anything she’d longed to succeed and be able to hold her head up in the face of all the taunts the other kids made.

  Every night when she’d gone to bed she’d prayed hard that she could do well in something. Oh, she’d tried. She’d persisted until her head had ached along with her heart. But, despite her efforts, those notes had never stayed still for long enough to allow her to make sense of them and the teacher had finally admitted defeat.

  ‘Eventually my teacher abandoned traditional teaching and helped me develop my skills by explaining basic things like chords and arpeggios. Then I was able to try my own arrangements. I played for a few years at lunch time at school, but then … then I had to move to London and I no longer had a piano to practice on.’

  ‘Until mine?’

  She nodded. Trying to end his barrage of questions she asked, ‘Have you ever played?’

  ‘No.’ There was no respite as he asked, ‘How long did you go without playing?’

  The ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall was suddenly horrendously loud.

  ‘Why are you so interested?’

  ‘You fascinate me, Grace.’ He shrugged casually. ‘I’ve been thinking of you on and off all weekend because I can’t reconcile how somebody with so much ability isn’t out there playing professionally.’

  Wow. Her head drew back a little, her eyes widened, and she placed the cup back on the table unsteadily.

  She could hardly credit she’d been on his mind and her heart skipped a beat at his frank admiration. It was a struggle to recall his last question.

  ‘I moved to London when I was sixteen, and I was twenty before I took over the cleaning of your house, so it was about a four year gap.’

  ‘I’m surprised your parents didn’t buy you a piano.’

  Her body jerked and set rigid because the comment possessed a hint of judgement and it sliced right through her heart. Gripping the edge of the table with white-knuckled fingers she responded automatically with the cold, hard truth. ‘My parents were murdered on their way to buy me a piano.’ She heard her words emerge with much more bitterness and defensiveness than she’d intended.

  ‘Pardon?’ He straightened.

  Oh God. Why had she blurted out that horrible truth?

  Staring at the froth on her cappuccino, she sought for a way to explain her bald statement. ‘We lived in Whitehaven.’ Her voice was mechanical as she walked him through the facts as she’d done with others, many times before. ‘Mum and Dad decided to surprise me for my birthday and buy me a piano.’

  Swallowing, she tried to detach herself again from the pain assailing her. Her normal strategy was to pretend she was a journalist delivering a report on the evening news—stating facts and pretending they had no emotional impact on her.

  ‘Witnesses said my parents had just parked and got out of their car in front of the music shop when a taxi driver pulled up on the other side of the road and called them over. Apparently, Mum and Dad only just got to the driver’s side of the car and there were two gunshots. He killed them both at point blank range.’

  Jack’s incredulous curse exploded into the room. ‘Why, Grace? Why did he kill them?’

  She’d asked herself the same question a million times.

  ‘They were in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ At the piano shop for her. ‘Mum and Dad weren’t his only victims. His killing spree was all over the news. He drove quite a way that morning, killing people he came across.’ Why had she relayed so many of the details to Jack when he was virtually a stranger?

  ‘I’m sorry. I remember the massacre—the horrific stories breaking on the news and the police trying to hunt the gunman down and prevent the killings. It was a senseless waste of life.’

  The tragedy continued to haunt her but she shook herself out of her misery. ‘My brother and I moved to London so my dad’s mum could look after us. My grandmother had established the cleaning business. She was ageing and, as I didn’t do very well at school, she thought it’d be good for me to take over the running of As Clean as a Whistle.’ It’d been guaranteed income when it was unlikely Grace could be employed in any other capacity.

  ‘She had no idea how gifted you were as a pianist?’

  ‘No idea at all.’ Oh, Gran had heard from her parents she could play, but Grace got the impression her grandmother thought her parents had exaggerated her skills. Gran had
probably gone to her grave thinking the sum total of Grace’s repertoire had been ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ and ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’. Still, it wasn’t Gran’s fault she hadn’t pursued her music.

  ‘When Mum and Dad were killed, all the music in me died too,’ she confessed. ‘I had no desire to sit and play—especially when I found out they were in the village to buy me a piano.’ Her lower lip trembled. ‘If only they hadn’t been …’

  His voice was expressionless as he surmised, ‘You feel guilty.’

  ‘If it hadn’t been for my desire to play the piano they’d still be alive today.’ Her gaze darted around the modern kitchen, focusing on the black granite bench tops and the stainless steel state-of-the-art refrigerator—anything to try to ground her in the present so she could control her grief.

  Jack sat silently.

  It struck her as strange that he wasn’t offering the usual platitudes other people offered, or delivering the normal advice that she wasn’t to blame. In fact, he looked as though he was lost in his own thoughts until he said, ‘You didn’t consider that pursuing a career in music may’ve been exactly what they wanted you to do—why they’d wanted to buy you a piano in the first place?’

  Why on earth had she embarked on this topic with Jack Mancini? How could such a clever, successful man ever understand the barriers she’d faced—the tormenting and bullying she’d lived through?

  ‘As I said—there was no more music in me at the time but, when I saw your piano, my fingers literally started to twinge with the desire to play.’ She stretched her fingers out, reliving that twinge. ‘I sat down to play and everything flowed through me again as if I’d never stopped playing.’

  ‘I’m glad my father insisted I keep the piano.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She tried to summon a bright smile. ‘I shouldn’t have dredged up the past.’

  ‘Don’t apologise. I’m here because I wanted to find out about your music, and about you.’ His forefinger traced absently around the edge of the coffee cup before he focused his attention back on her. ‘Would you perform if you had the opportunity?’

  This time the smile she sent him was probably filled with the melancholy she felt. ‘It was my dream for years—the only thing I could see myself doing and enjoying when I left school. I seriously didn’t have the aptitude for anything else.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be a dream.’

  ‘I’m afraid it does, Mr Mancini. My younger brother is studying Civil Law at Oxford, and my cleaning business keeps him there. I don’t have the luxury of going to university myself. In fact, I wouldn’t be given entry to uni because I can’t read music.’

  ‘But, you could perform.’

  ‘Even if I had the opportunity to perform somewhere every now and then, I need the guarantee of income from regular employment.’

  Daniel was nothing like Grace and he deserved the opportunity to complete his law degree. Where she’d struggled every single hour of every single day at school, Dan had excelled without having to exert much effort at all.

  ‘It’s commendable you’re helping your brother achieve his dreams, but what about your dreams?’

  ‘My dream is for him to get his degree and work towards bringing criminals to justice and making the world a safer place. If he can do his part in serving justice, I’ll be happy.’

  ‘You’re a remarkable woman, Grace Robertson.’

  ‘Not really.’ She shrugged off his compliment, but was still warmed by the genuine admiration she saw in his eyes. ‘Just doing what I need to do. Dan would do the same for me.’

  Again, he pinned her with his mesmerising steel-blue regard. ‘You’re a woman who likes to help others?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good, because I need your help.’

  ‘Really?’ Her head jerked as if pulled back by some unseen string. She couldn’t imagine how she could help him, unless he was about to request that she stay a little longer to do some extra job because he was expecting visitors.

  ‘Are you free this Friday night?’

  She tilted her head as she looked questioningly at him. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘My father’s become engaged over the weekend and they’re having a small party. It’ll be an intimate gathering and I believe having your music in the background would be perfect. Would you be willing to play?’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Hope started to well, and she crushed it down.

  How many times had the kids at school set her up for something like this—given her a taste of something exciting then revealed it was all a cruel joke?

  ‘Would you be free to come to Lisa’s birthday party next weekend?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Too bad. You’re not invited.’

  ‘I’m not kidding. You’d be the perfect entertainment.’

  Jack wasn’t some bitchy school kid who was trying to pull her down and make himself look funny or big by being nasty to and belittling her. He wasn’t trying to increase his popularity by making her the bunt of cruel jokes.

  Grace raised the tips of her fingers to each temple and cradled her head as she tried to digest the reality and enormity of his request. ‘But I’ve never performed officially. I’ve never had an audience.’

  ‘Then this’ll be your first paid gig.’

  His tone was so adamant it was as though she’d already agreed to his suggestion. In fact, she doubted anyone would ever challenge his suggestions.

  ‘You think I’m good enough?’

  ‘I know you’re good enough. Life’s about seizing opportunities as they present themselves. All you need to do is find the courage to say yes.’

  ‘I’d love to!’ Her eyes became moist and she had to press her lips together to stop them from trembling because she was overcome with gratitude and excitement. Her first performance! ‘What sort of music do your dad and his fiancée enjoy?’

  ‘Their favourite pastime is attending musicals. I believe their first date was to the musical Chess, but anything you can play from The Greatest Showman, Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals, Les Miserables, Miss Saigon—any of those huge hit productions—would be perfect.’

  Self-doubt set in. ‘I’d love to play at the function, but, I’d want to do a lot more practice between now and then. Would it be possible to come here every day this week and practise?’

  ‘Any time, Grace. It doesn’t matter whether I’m home or not—in fact, I’d enjoy being home when you practise.’

  She laughed happily. ‘This really is a dream come true! You don’t know just how much this means to me.’ Practicality struck. ‘But, Mr Mancini, you haven’t even heard me play properly.’

  ‘Don’t lose your courage, Grace.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I have to get back for a meeting. If you feel better about it can you audition for me if I get home a little earlier tonight?’

  ‘Well I suppose so. I’ll need to stay behind and start practising my repertoire anyway.’

  ‘Nobody to rush home to?’

  ‘No. Dan—my brother—lives at Oxford and my grandmother passed away two years ago, so I’m by myself.’

  ‘What? No man in your life who’s snapped up such talent?’ His tone was teasing, but there was a sharp edge to his gaze as he waited for her response.

  ‘No.’ She’d foolishly fallen into a relationship once and been burned badly. That man hadn’t snapped up talent, he’d dated her because he’d realised he could take advantage of her.

  ‘If you’re single, then all the men in London must be daft.’

  He’s not flirting with you, he’s just teasing you, Grace told herself. He doesn’t know how much you’d love him to be flirting with you and you mustn’t take him seriously. He’d never be interested in you. He doesn’t mean to raise your hopes.

  ‘I guess they must be,’ she said, even though she wanted to ask, ‘You’re not daft, are you? I’d happily be snapped up by you.’ Oh God, she’d adore being snapped up by him as much as any other single woman in London would yearn
to be his lover.

  ‘I’ll leave the office as soon as I can,’ he continued, pulling her out of her reverie. ‘I’ll probably make it by six. Is that too late for you?’

  ‘No.’ It was so unexpected—so thrilling—she could hardly take stock of his request. In fact, Grace frowned. ‘Why are you asking me when there are plenty of established pianists around?’

  ‘Because you have the talent and deserve a break.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s simple. I like helping people. I see your talent wasting, you tell me you’ve dreamt about performing for others and I know I can make it happen.’

  The man was a living saint.

  He drained the last of his coffee. ‘I’ll see you early this evening.’

  As suddenly as he’d breezed back into his home, he was gone, leaving her to sit in mute silence replaying every bit of their conversation. It was almost impossible to reconcile that he’d just handed her the possibility of fulfilling one of her most privately cherished dreams.

  He was so much more than a swoon-worthy hero of fantasies.

  Jack Mancini was a real flesh and blood hero and he was downright lovable.

  Grace needed to be careful so she didn’t start blurring the lines between fantasy and reality because Jack was showing her incredible kindness, but he was way beyond her reach.

  Chapter 7

  When he’d arrived back at the office, Jack had told Susan to phone Imogene and tell her he’d organised a pianist for the engagement party. He then discovered Susan had wasted no time telling the Christmas party committee he’d cancelled his skiing trip to Japan and would be in London for the annual event. They’d immediately requested a quick meeting with him and now he had to fit the committee in to the only remaining half hour he’d had free.

  ‘It’ll be fabulous, Jack. Every year is wonderful but it’ll be extra special this year knowing you’re there.’ The head of his human resources department was full of enthusiasm as the committee members filed in and seated themselves comfortably on the couches in the corner of his office.

  A minute into the meeting, the muscles across Jack’s shoulders tensed. Another few minutes later, at the mention of him wearing the Santa suit, he felt physically ill.