Fifty Words for Rain(81)

The other musicians were already set up, with the exception of the pianist. They were all men who looked to be at least twice her age. There was no sign of Hiromoto.

A maid came up to her to take her purse and her garment bag.

“I’ll put these in the closet. I’ll fetch them for you when it’s time. You can join the others, if you please, miss.”

Nori crept up to the others, half hiding behind her case.

“I . . . um . . . shitsurei shimasu . . .”

The conductor turned to face her. He was the youngest one in the bunch, with a bright smile and a head full of long, dark hair.

“Ah, here’s our soloist. Welcome.”

Nori nodded. “Thank you for having me.”

He gestured to a podium that was set up a little behind his.

“It was suggested that you have one too,” he explained. “Being as you’re so short.”

She flushed. “Thank you.”

“We should get started. We’ll do the Mendelssohn first, then you’ll do your Schubert, and we’re done. You and the pianist will finish with the . . . What is it?”

“Vitali. Chaconne.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I must say, that’s not an easy piece.”

Nori blinked.

“No, it’s really not.”

“Let’s begin.”

Akira had warned her about following the conductor’s baton. It wasn’t as difficult as she’d feared.

But the blending with the other instruments, well, that was . . .

They spent three hours on the Mendelssohn alone. It was two before they made it to the middle of the piece.

Nori could feel eyes burning into her back. Clearly, these were all professionals wondering whose daft relative she was to be playing here in the first place.

“All right,” the conductor said after a while. “We’ll take a rest. Why don’t you run through the Schubert? You’re playing it alone, right?”

Nori nodded and bit her lip so hard she could taste blood. “I’m . . . There won’t be many people here, right?”

He gave her a puzzled look. “Not too many. Only two hundred or so.”

She nearly fainted. “Oh, well, then. Only. All right.”

He gestured for her to begin.

This, at least, she could do. This song was burned deep into her muscle memory, and she went through it without a hitch. The whispering behind her told her that she had managed to redeem herself.

A little.

The conductor nodded at her. “Well done. You’re clearly a soloist.”

Nori had to restrain a snort. “I have more practice playing alone. But . . . where is the pianist?”

He frowned. “I haven’t seen him. I’ll go and see. We only have a few hours left.”

He put down his baton and disappeared into the next room.

“That’s his sister, isn’t it?” someone behind her whispered. “Funny-looking thing.”

“Half sister,” someone corrected him. “And don’t say that too loudly. Her family is . . .”

The conductor stalked back in with a scowl on his face. “He’s delayed,” he snapped. “Wonderful. Because there’s not enough that could go wrong tonight.”

Nori swallowed. “What do we do?”

“We keep practicing the concerto. It’s all we can do.” His face softened. “You play very well. Your brother would be proud.”

“You know Akira-san?”

The man laughed. “Indeed, I do. We used to go to the same conservatory. He called me a few days ago. He let me know not to expect you to be as good as he is.”

She choked down a snort. “Well, he’s right.”

The man smiled. “He’s a once-in-a-generation genius. A tensai, you know? There’s no competing with people like that.”

You don’t need to tell me this.

“You do, however,” he went on, “have something that he does not.”

She looked up, startled. “What?”

He winked. “Best let him tell you. Now, shall we try it again? From the top?”

And she did try, with more confidence this time. She let the others lift her up like a swelling tide. She was the soloist, yes, and she had to soar above them—but not too far. It was a delicate dance of cat and mouse.

Nori closed her eyes and tried to feel what she’d felt when she’d first heard Akira play. It was foreign and familiar, extraordinary yet simple, and even though it sent chills down her spine, it was always, always warm.

After three more hours, a maid came out to tell them the guests would be arriving within the hour and they all needed to get dressed.

Everyone else seemed to know where to go, and they drifted off, leaving Nori standing there alone.

“If you please, miss,” the maid said. “There’s a room for you to change in upstairs. I’ve laid your dress out.”

Nori nodded and followed her up the winding staircase. The upstairs floor had walls that were only half painted. Clearly, nobody ever really came up here. This house was more for entertaining than living in.

Nori put on her shimmering white gown, doing her very best not to rip the delicate fabric. It was too long for her, having originally belonged to Alice, and she had to be careful not to trip. She released her hair from the bun she’d wound it into and let it pool over her left shoulder, pinning the right side of it down with a long ivory clip.