She was white, shaking all over. “Yes, fine, I just…” There wasn’t enough air! I’m going to faint. “A headache.”
“You’re hyperventilating. I think I’d better get you home.”
Home, she thought vaguely, trying to stop gulping for air now that Adrian had told her what was wrong. There was too much oxygen in her bloodstream already. Ah, Adrian, always so steady, so right. Her mother used to say the best cure for hyperventilation was a bag over the head. Oh, Mamma! Her mother would be strong now. She wouldn’t simply go home. She wouldn’t be tempted to lock herself in her rooms high above Park Avenue and never come out.
Catharina stretched herself and put a shaky hand to her mouth. My God, she thought, I’ve seen him too. Hendrik! She had sensed he would be here tonight. He had walked right past her, and she’d only caught a glimpse of him. It was enough. His face was seared in her memory.
She touched Adrian’s hand, letting his warmth anchor her in the present. She had to warn Rachel that Hendrik was here. That much she had to do, no matter her shock and fear. “I’m supposed to meet a friend,” she told her husband softly.
Adrian shook his head firmly, the stolid, practical banker. “You’re in no condition to meet anyone.”
Catharina looked down the aisle toward the seats where Rachel had sat with her senator. Rachel was gone already, and Senator Ryder—
“No!”
He was making his way backstage! Had Rachel misled her? Had she decided to involve Juliana after all? With a mad lunge, Catharina shot out into the aisle, but Adrian grabbed her by the waist, and she crumpled against him.
“Darling,” he said gently, “let me take you home.”
She was so grateful for her husband, for his goodness, but now she struggled against him, telling herself this time she had to fight, she had to go to her daughter and protect her from this. “Juliana—”
“She’ll understand, Catharina. You don’t have to congratulate her after every performance. She knows she has your undying support. Look, I’ll call her in the morning. Besides, Shuji’s here tonight.” Adrian gave her a small smile, maintaining a sense of false cheer, but there was no answering twinkle in his wife’s eyes. He was terrified. “They’ll have to have their postperformance fight. You wouldn’t want to interrupt.”
“You don’t understand…”
“I think I do. You’re not yourself tonight. Catharina, you can’t do everything. You can’t be all things to all people. You’re overtired. We’ll go up to Connecticut for a few days if you want.” They had an old farmhouse they were restoring themselves in Litchfield County. “The air will do you good.”
Catharina found herself unable to argue, and she nodded meekly, feeling foolish, a child again, the silly, innocent girl whom everyone had tried to protect. She went with Adrian into the lobby but still looked around madly for Rachel. What was happening? Rachel, my God, where are you? Was their meeting off? If not, what would she tell Adrian? If so, what would she do next? Go home and pretend none of this had ever happened?
But Rachel was gone, and Adrian, his arm tight around his wife, led Catharina toward the exit. When they were outside in the cold December night, she looked back toward the bright lights of the performing arts center and felt herself strangling with indecision.
Adrian opened a cab door, and she climbed inside.
Sam Ryder had gotten waylaid by an elderly gentleman and his fur-coated wife, and Stark was able to beat him backstage, where he knew Sam would be headed just as soon as he got rid of the old couple. Matthew had seen the senator’s reaction to Juliana Fall. He had to admit she’d nearly knocked him out of his seat when she’d walked on stage, but he could keep his perspective. An ex–chopper pilot, ex-author, ex-famous reporter and an internationally known concert pianist just weren’t going to make it. Fantasyland. Besides, she was probably just your basic airhead artistic type who would say, “Matthew Stark?” Which, he realized, more and more people were doing these days.
Sam Ryder, however, didn’t think like that. He’d never met a woman who didn’t want anything to do with him, and he assumed none existed. Maybe Matthew was wrong, and Juliana Fall would drop dead for him. But he didn’t think so.
He flashed his press credentials and approached her dressing room, ducking aside, within earshot but out of sight. He grinned to himself: hot-shot reporter that you are, snooping on a piano player. A good-looking Asian guy stalked past him and went in to see Ms. Pianist herself.
“Shuji—Jesus Christ, scare the shit out of me, why don’t you!”
Matthew felt the corners of his mouth twitch. Shit? Well, he thought, maybe Ryder hadn’t met any Dutchman and Weaze had sent him on a wild goose chase, but it seemed poor old Sammy Ryder just might need Stark’s help after all—to rescue him from one Juliana Fall.
Juliana guiltily shoved the black crepe dress behind her and manufactured a welcoming smile for Shuji. “Sorry,” she said, “but you startled me. How are you?”
Banalities, she thought. Shuji hated them, and he frowned at her because, of course, she should have known better. She had not asked the obvious questions. What did you think of my performance tonight, Shuji? Did I sound like I’m in a funk? She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answers, even if she had time, which she decidedly did not.
“Interesting performance,” Shuji said.
From long experience, Juliana realized that could mean anything. She dropped her dress, ever so casually, on a chair. Crumpled up, it looked like a normal black dress. A few months old instead of fifty years. Something Juliana Fall might wear to a postconcert dinner.
“You were on tonight,” Shuji continued, folding his arms across his chest. He was dressed entirely in black, as was his custom, and looked as fit and energetic as ever. His only vice was an occasional cigarette. “But still I heard something. I’m not sure I liked it, but I’m not sure, either, that what I heard is without possibilities. I’ve been thinking, Juliana, and—”
“Look, Shuji,” Juliana interrupted, a perilous act in and of itself, trying not to show she was in a tearing hurry, “whatever it is, I’ll listen for it, all right? But right now I’m tired.”
If possible, his frown deepened. “You don’t want to discuss this?”
“No.”
“All right.” He spoke tightly, gazing at her through narrowed eyes, and she knew it decidedly was not all right. “Are you still planning to go to Vermont?”
“For a few days, yes. I need some time out.”
“I thought we’d agreed you wouldn’t go.”
Oh, shit, she thought, will you just leave?
Shuji walked around, pacing angrily, and picked up her sequined turban, which she’d forgotten completely. “What the hell’s this?”
“A turban.”
“What for?”
“I don’t
