"Eskridge-Strings" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eskridge Kelly)

"I'm very sorry, Stradivarius," the Stage Manager said. She was a thickset woman
with a clipboard and a pinch-eyed look. She was also, Strad thought, worried and
not hiding it as well as she wished.

"I'm very sorry," the SM began again. "I'm afraid we can't rehearse the Viotti
this afternoon as planned."

Strad rubbed her left hand with her right. She wished for one improbable moment
that the SM would give her an excuse to fly into a rage so that she could howl
out all her fear and tension safely disguised as artist's pique. But she could
not: all other considerations aside, it reminded her too much of something G
might do.

She sighed. "What seems to be the problem? My schedule requests were quite
clear."

"Yes, Stradivarius. But our Piano isn't here."

"Then get someone over to the nearest bar or videohouse or wherever she or he .
. . he? . . . wherever he is and bring him along."

"It's not like that. He. . . . "The SM swallowed. "He's at a Conservatory
disciplinary hearing. We're not sure if he's coming back or not . . . but we
don't want to replace him until we're sure, because it's not fair." She stopped,
gripped the clipboard tighter against her breasts. "I beg your pardon," she said
formally. "I did not intend to question the decisions of the Conservatory. The
entire orchestra apologizes for the inconvenience caused by one of our members."

"Oh, put a sock in it," Strad said, surprising them both. "What's he done.?"

"He's been accused of improvising."

He was back the next day. Strad knew it the moment she walked into the hall for
the morning rehearsal. The room seemed brighter, as if there were more light and
air in it than the day before.

She saw him in the midst of a crowd of players, like a young sapling in the sun.
From habit, she noticed his hands first. They were thin and strong-looking, with
long, square-tipped fingers; expressive hands. Good, she thought, and looked
next at his face.

He's so young. His eyes and mouth moved with the same emotion as his hands, but
none of the control. Someone touched his shoulder, and as he turned, laughing,
he saw Strad watching him. His eyes widened, the laugh turned into a beautiful
smile; then, quite suddenly, he looked away. It jolted her, as if a string had
broken in mid-note.

She felt movement behind her. Guarnerius appeared at her left shoulder, with the
Conductor in tow.