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The English Assassin :: Silva Daniel
Страница: 166 из 209At that moment she was standing in the gallery behind the stage with Zaccaria Cordoni and Fiona Richardson. Fiona was conducting an animated conversation in German on her mobile telephone. Anna was smoking a much-deserved Gitane, trying to come down off the high of the performance. She was still holding the violin. The old Guarneri had been good to her tonight. She wanted it near her a little longer.
Gabriel was standing a few feet away, watching her carefully. Anna caught his eye briefly and smiled. She mouthed the words thank you and discreetly blew him a kiss. Fiona ended her conversation and slipped the telephone into her pocketbook.
“Word travels fast, my dear. You’re going to have a busy winter. Paris, Brussels, Stockholm, and Berlin. And that’s just the first week.”
“I’m not sure I’m really ready to get back on the merry-go-round again, Fiona.”
Zaccaria Cordoni laid a hand on her shoulder. “If I may be presumptuous, you are definitely ready. Your performance tonight was inspired. You played like a woman possessed.”
“Maybe I am possessed,” she said mischievously.
Fiona smiled and glanced toward Gabriel. “You want to tell us about your mysterious Frenchman-the handsome Monsieur Dumont?”
“Actually, what I’d like to do is spend a few minutes alone.”
She walked across the room and took Gabriel’s hand. Fiona and Cordoni watched them walk down the corridor to the dressing room. Fiona frowned.
“Whoever Monsieur Dumont is, I hope he doesn’t break her heart like the others. She’s like fine crystal: beautiful but easily broken. And if that bastard breaks her, I’ll kill him.”
ANNA closed the door of her dressing room and collapsed into Gabriel’s arms.
“You were amazing tonight.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I just watched over you to make sure nothing happened. You’re the one who made magic.”
“I wish we could celebrate.”
“You’re getting on a plane out of here. And I have a job to do.”
“Was he here tonight?”
“The assassin?”
She nodded, her head pressed against his chest.
“I don’t know, Anna.”
She sat down, suddenly exhausted. On the coffee table in front of her was the case for the Guarneri. She undid the latches and lifted the lid. Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded in half, with Anna written on it.
She looked up at Gabriel. “Did you leave this for me?”
“Leave what?”
“This note in my violin case. It wasn’t here when I left the room to go onstage.
Gabriel was standing a few feet away, watching her carefully. Anna caught his eye briefly and smiled. She mouthed the words thank you and discreetly blew him a kiss. Fiona ended her conversation and slipped the telephone into her pocketbook.
“Word travels fast, my dear. You’re going to have a busy winter. Paris, Brussels, Stockholm, and Berlin. And that’s just the first week.”
“I’m not sure I’m really ready to get back on the merry-go-round again, Fiona.”
Zaccaria Cordoni laid a hand on her shoulder. “If I may be presumptuous, you are definitely ready. Your performance tonight was inspired. You played like a woman possessed.”
“Maybe I am possessed,” she said mischievously.
Fiona smiled and glanced toward Gabriel. “You want to tell us about your mysterious Frenchman-the handsome Monsieur Dumont?”
“Actually, what I’d like to do is spend a few minutes alone.”
She walked across the room and took Gabriel’s hand. Fiona and Cordoni watched them walk down the corridor to the dressing room. Fiona frowned.
“Whoever Monsieur Dumont is, I hope he doesn’t break her heart like the others. She’s like fine crystal: beautiful but easily broken. And if that bastard breaks her, I’ll kill him.”
ANNA closed the door of her dressing room and collapsed into Gabriel’s arms.
“You were amazing tonight.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I just watched over you to make sure nothing happened. You’re the one who made magic.”
“I wish we could celebrate.”
“You’re getting on a plane out of here. And I have a job to do.”
“Was he here tonight?”
“The assassin?”
She nodded, her head pressed against his chest.
“I don’t know, Anna.”
She sat down, suddenly exhausted. On the coffee table in front of her was the case for the Guarneri. She undid the latches and lifted the lid. Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded in half, with Anna written on it.
She looked up at Gabriel. “Did you leave this for me?”
“Leave what?”
“This note in my violin case. It wasn’t here when I left the room to go onstage.