full orchestra building into a crescendo in preparation for the piano’s entry. A stack of fourths. E, A, D, G. Blue, white, yellow, brown. He scribbled the notes and played them with his left hand.
Anticipation flared in his blood. Caution, too, for he didn’t quite dare to believe that a one-handed piano part would be any good, much less please an audience. His right hand had always been dominant, its dexterity concealing whatever imperfections lay within the composition. Focusing on his left hand required a perfection of musical balances and dynamic gradations, allowing no room for inadequacy.
He played the notes again. The dark orange bass of the orchestra resounded through his mind. Then the cadenza. He wrote another measure, trying to make his way a few more steps to the end, gritting his teeth when his hand faltered and the pencil dropped to the floor.
Before he could bend to retrieve it, Clara stepped forward. Sebastian straightened, not having known she was in the room. Apprehension tightened his spine.
“How long have you been here?” he asked.
“Just a few minutes.” Her gaze skimmed over the papers littering the piano surface. “I heard the music and thought you were here with Andrew.”
“He’s with Mrs. Danvers in the kitchen.” Sebastian reached for the pencil, but Clara moved away and took hold of the arms of a chair. She pulled the chair closer to the piano, then picked up the smudged sheet of paper.
For an instant, Sebastian didn’t understand. And then when it hit him, he felt his breath almost stop. He stared at his wife, gripped by an emotion he couldn’t name and had never experienced before. Her eyes soft with tenderness, she nodded toward the keys.
“I remember the basics of piano music,” she said. “But what I don’t know, you can show me.”
Sebastian swallowed hard and turned back to the piano. He played a chord with his left hand and showed Clara where it should be placed on the staff. Clara carefully transcribed the notes onto the paper, then looked up at Sebastian and waited.
Sebastian heard the double bass, the colors of a sunset. Then he listened for the echo and pointed out the structure of the notes so that Clara could write them down. Her penmanship was neat and precise, the notes marching like soldiers across the page. Together they worked for the next half hour, until several lines of music filled the paper.
When Sebastian finally lifted his hands from the keys, a deep satisfaction rose in him, a sense of fulfillment that he hadn’t experienced in longer than he cared to remember. He flexed his right hand. His third finger curled toward his palm, but no wrenching despair accompanied the reminder of his disability.
He felt Clara’s gaze on him and turned to face her. Warmth filled her eyes and curved her lips.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.
Sebastian stretched his left fingers. He still didn’t dare believe that the final composition would be good, but he did know that he would finish it. For the first time in months, he would finish a composition that he could actually perform.
Clara stacked the sheets on top of the piano and brushed her lips across his forehead. “I want to help you.”
He caught her arm. “We leave for Brixham at four o’clock. I’ve arranged for a cab to take us to the train station.”
She put her hand over his and tightened her fingers. “Thank you. For everything.”
Sebastian watched her leave the room, recalling her admission of love from the previous night. She was the one who reminded him that he was the same man he’d always been, that the loss of his hand didn’t diminish his talent. Certainly it couldn’t affect his love for music, though he’d tried hard to bury that love under layers of fear.
And what good had it done him? Clara had never allowed fear to hinder her desire to reclaim Andrew. Even though she was afraid, she plunged forward with inflexible resolve, determined to achieve her goal by whatever means necessary.
A noise turned him toward the doorway. Andrew entered the room and approached the piano.
“Is that one of Mrs. Danvers’s cream cakes?” Sebastian asked, nodding toward the pastry clutched in Andrew’s hand. “When I was a boy, I knew I was having a very good day when Mrs. Danvers offered me a cream cake.”
Andrew grinned. An idea occurred to Sebastian. He reached for the pencil and turned a sheet of paper over. Gripping the pencil in a tight fist, he quickly scribbled a