there were enough people so they could avoid each other, but these evenings of Caroline’s required Jan to spend too many hours with her face set in a fixed, muscle-cramping smile.
Ted Forrest felt the same way about Caroline’s events. He also felt a certain relief that Caroline took such an interest in civic and philanthropic causes, because he knew it reflected well on him and preserved the Forrest family’s visibility in the region. Since the family’s livelihood depended entirely on the continued favor-or at least tacit approval-of politicians, it was essential to keep projecting the impression of money, influence, and conditional benevolence.
He stood at the head of the giant table in the grand dining room, looked down it at the forty-two faces, and held up his wineglass. “As always, I drink first to our superb musicians, gathered to us from all over the world, to our brilliant and renowned music director, Aaron Mills, and to our tireless, dedicated staff.” He sipped the wine to a smattering of applause, but he did not sit down. “No, you’re applauding between movements, because I’m not finished. Tonight I also offer a toast to our many volunteers, led by our able president Dr. David Feiniger, and to the generous donors who have supported the orchestra throughout the year. May your enthusiasm never wane.” He drank again and the clapping was much louder and more prolonged, as he had known it would be, because they were applauding themselves.
As usual, Ted Forrest had brought glory to himself, with little effort. It was like giving a shake to a tree exploding with blossoms. The petals simply fell around him. The orchestra crowd was easy because they were self- trained never to allow critical thoughts about any praise connected with the institution. They were satisfied with the chamber orchestra because it was an expensive entertainment that gave its patrons the reputation for being high- minded, intelligent, and public-spirited.
White-coated waiters from the catering company that Caroline had selected scuttled around behind the guests at the long table, serving and pouring and then deftly shooting a hand in to withdraw an empty plate here and there. Ted Forrest had an elderly lady from Germany on his left. For the first part of the dinner he addressed to her a great many pleasant observations, but because he hadn’t attended any concerts this year, they were vague. He commented mainly about the new chamber-concert facility made by a remodeling of an historic stone mansion a few miles from here, and his approval of music in general. He repeated a couple of comments about the season that he had overheard Caroline make to friends and that for no known reason had stuck in his memory.
It was far too late to ask the lady’s name, and he couldn’t manage to get her to volunteer it, what her reason for being here could be, or how she felt about anything other than the food, which she ate with enthusiasm. Forrest judged that she was probably an appendage of somebody high in the organization, just as he was, and that she preferred to keep still.
For the second half of the dinner, he turned to his right to speak with the first violinist, Maria Chun. She was very pretty, with long straight black hair that swung when she moved, as though it were heavy. It might have been Forrest’s imagination, but he felt sure that she had read his mind, realized what he was thinking, and begun to despise him within the first few seconds of her arrival. Women did tend to make irrevocable judgments of that sort without letting much time elapse or wasting much thought reconsidering. He supposed it was possible that she had spent an entire life dividing her time between playing the violin and evading men over fifty. But Ted Forrest was the host, and he didn’t have the luxury of rejecting anyone or refusing to speak with them.
He said, “I’ve often wondered what you do in the off-season, when there are no concerts.”
“Oh, different things,” Maria Chun said. “Francisco, the other first violin, serves as a guest concertmaster for the symphony orchestra in Buenos Aires. Some of the others teach master classes in universities. Some go on tour.”
“I meant you, specifically. What do you do-give the Stradivarius a rest?”
“It’s a Guarnerius.” She didn’t take him seriously enough to be offended or surprised. “Rest isn’t good for it, or for me. I study, practice, and spend time with my husband and kids.”
“Oh?’ he said. “Tell me about them. How old are your children?”
“Ten and thirteen.”
“Are they musicians?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of? You mean we can’t expect a next generation of virtuosos?”
“My daughter Simone plays the cello. My son Anthony plays the electric guitar.”
“But you’re not satisfied. Parents can be pretty tough.” Ted Forrest was mystified by his own transgression, as he often was. She had mentioned the husband and kids to keep him from pursuing her. Why did these attempts to fend him off titillate him? He kept trying to learn more, to make his way into her personal life like a voyeur. He had a wife, and he had a girlfriend. He had no time for Maria Chun. What was he after?
“They’re great kids,” she said. “But neither of them really wants to be a professional musician. And it’s getting late to start. Most people who do this are pretty well launched into it by thirteen.”
“And what does your husband feel about this? I assume he’s a musician, too.”
“No.” She smiled with an unexpected amusement at the idea, and her smile made Ted Forrest jealous. “My husband is a professional hockey player.”
“Really?” Ted Forrest feigned amusement, mixed with a tiny bit of contempt. “What’s his name?”
“Gus Kopcynski. He plays for the Los Angeles Kings.”
Forrest was stung. He had heard of her husband, and it rankled. “I’ve heard of him.” Her husband was a star, a veteran who scored now and then, but was more famous for his assists and for the sort of body check that sent an opponent into the boards with bone-shaking impact. He was about thirty. He had the body of a fighter and a smile that was no less engaging when the gaps in his front teeth were showing. He was a man whom other men respected, a special man with toughness and world-class skill.
And suddenly Ted Forrest became nothing. He had, at times, attracted women with the very qualities Maria’s husband had, but he had never been the equal of her husband, and now he was well past his prime. He sometimes half-admitted to himself that to some women the compelling attraction was his money. Gus Kopcynski might not have the kind of money Ted Forrest had, but he had plenty by now, enough so Forrest’s had no attraction for this woman.
The next thing Forrest felt was a grip on his arm-hard, like a pinch. He kept himself from jumping, because he didn’t want Maria to see he was startled. Caroline’s face was no more than six inches from his ear, between him and Maria Chun. “I’m sorry, Maria, but I’ve got to borrow Ted for a moment. When I get back, I’d like to introduce you. Will that be okay?”
“Sure. Give me time to tune up, and I’ll be set.” She was up and walking before Ted could stand.
He smiled and said to the elderly lady on his left, “Excuse me, please,” but she didn’t seem to hear him.
He followed Caroline through the swinging door into the busy kitchen, past cooks and waiters and busboys and out the back door to the delivery entrance off the driveway. Caroline got a few yards from the house, where there were boxes of supplies piled, but no caterers were visible. She whirled and said, “You’ve been ignoring Monika Zellin, and she’s practically the guest of honor.”
“You mean the old lady?”
“Yes, Ted. I mean the old lady. I put her next to you on purpose because I thought I could count on you to be gracious.”
“I talked to her for an hour. Half the time she didn’t seem to hear me, and the other half she didn’t seem to understand English. Who is she, anyway?”
“She’s a famous composer, one of the few living women composers of the thirties. She was also a hero in the war.”
“Which side?”
“Very funny. When I put you there, I didn’t think you’d spend your time chatting with the help.”
“You mean Maria Chun?”
“You know I do. Maybe I’m underestimating her. You seemed positively dazzled. Don’t embarrass me, Ted. Just don’t.” She spun and hurried back through the kitchen, and was lost behind a sudden convergence of taller figures in white coats.
Ted Forrest took a step toward the kitchen door, then stopped. It was a perfect opportunity. He walked down the back lawn into the darkness, took out his cell phone, and dialed. He waited through five rings, then heard Hobart’s voice. “Yes.”
At the sound, Forrest felt an onset of dry-mouthed fear. He wished he hadn’t called, but now that the
