An Irresistible Temptation (23 page)

“Whatever I felt then is irrelevant. I want
you now.”

His words did nothing to soften her heart.
“Why aren’t you returning to Oxford? Tell me the truth now. I can
tell when you’re lying.”

He pursed his lips for a moment. “I am not
allowed to go back, but it’s not a pleasant story.”

“I don’t need a pleasant one. I’m not a
child.”

“Very well. I had a liaison with the don’s
wife.”

She gasped. “Your tutor’s wife?”

He grimaced. “She was a minx. Always hanging
around my dormitory. So wild and different.” He looked past Sophie
and she could tell he was far away. “She professed herself very
bored with her husband and admitted to being infatuated with me. I
kept putting her off, but, in the end, the temptation was too much
to overcome.”

Sophie understood a thing or two about
temptation. She could not blame Philip at all, except for his
extreme lack of judgment.

“She was looking for a way out of her
marriage,” Philip continued. “I thought we were falling in love,
but after we’d, well, after we’d met together a few times,” he
explained, “she made sure we were caught
in flagrante
delicto
, as it were.”

Sophie pictured Philip and his ladylove in a
dorm room and her husband walking in. It could as easily have been
a hotel room. She swallowed. “What happened?”

“Exactly what she wanted to have happen. He
sent her packing, back to Portugal, with a sum of money so that she
wouldn’t disgrace him any further amongst the academy. And he had
me swiftly expelled for the same reason.”

“Oh, Philip, I am sorry.” But in her heart of
hearts, she knew it was only then, after he returned to Boston,
that his thoughts had turned to her. She was safe and familiar, and
he assumed, most likely, that she would never, ever cheat on him.
She felt as though she already had.

“You and I can make a go of it, Sophie,” he
beseeched, casting her a desperate look.

“No,” she said firmly. “We can’t. I’m
leaving. I was wrong to come back with you.”

Philip stood up abruptly. “It’s because of
that Dalcourt fellow, isn’t it?”

“No,” she protested. “It isn’t.” She wished
it were. She wished he were waiting for her.

“Then, perhaps, Mr. Vern, your boss?”

“No, Philip. It isn’t anyone, except me. I
simply can’t see myself as your wife anymore.” No need to be brutal
and say how she could never love him with the passion she’d felt
for another. “I’m sorry.”

She rose to her feet, purposefully linking
her arm with his and walking him across the parquet floor of the
conservatory.

“Will I see you again?” he asked, on a
subdued note.

“Perhaps,” she began, and then admitted, “but
I don’t think so. I wish you every happiness at Harvard.”

He took her hand and brought it to his
lips.

She smiled. “And, Philip, dear, stay away
from other men’s wives.”

*****

She was still in a Mendelssohn mood. The next
day, it was her sister-in-law’s brisk footsteps that nearly
interrupted the concerto, though at first Sophie didn’t hear
Charlotte or her companion. She finished the piece then turned to
face the applause, surprised to see Charlotte with a middle-aged
man whom Sophie had never seen before.

“That was lovely.” Reed’s wife was the first
to speak, as Sophie rose to greet her with a hug. “When I think how
disgusted you must have been to see my old upright . . . ” she
trailed off.

“Oh, no. Far from it,” Sophie said. “Your
piano in the middle of nowhere was my salvation.” Then she brought
her hands up to her cheeks. “Oh, Charlotte, I didn’t mean that
Spring City was in the middle of nowhere.”

Charlotte grinned. “Yes, you did, and that’s
all right. It is.” She put her arm around Sophie’s waist and turned
her to the gentleman. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Hadley.”

He took her hand and kissed it, looking at
her benignly with intelligent eyes.

“Your playing surpassed my expectations, even
from what Mrs. Malloy told me,” he said, speaking matter-of-factly,
with no hint of vacant flattery.

Sophie inclined her head. “Thank you. Your
name is familiar, sir.”

“Well, it might be, young lady, I dare
say.”

Charlotte spoke up, “Mr. Hadley, Henry
Hadley, is visiting family in Somerville. But you probably know him
as a conductor and composer.”

“Oh,” said Sophie, looking at him now with
professional interest, “
that
Henry Hadley. You studied with
Eusebius Mandyczewski in Vienna.”

“I did.” He bowed his head modestly.

Sophie was delighted. She gestured to her
piano. “Would you care to play? It’s a fine instrument.”

“Yes, I heard.” He ran his hand over the
inlay. “Beautiful, too.” Then he looked at Sophie. “But I didn’t
come to play. I came to listen. Will you play something else for
me? Perhaps something from Lizst.”

She looked curiously at him, then at
Charlotte, who nodded.

“All right, I will.” Sophie sat down and
found her sheet music for
Liebestraum
, but after a few
notes, she played from memory. After many minutes, she stopped, and
as always when the last notes died out, she had the feeling she’d
been away and then returned.

Both her listeners clapped again and Mr.
Hadley said, “Bravo.”

“What’s this all about, Charlotte?” Sophie
asked, seeing the mischievous look on her sister-in-law’s face. But
it was Henry Hadley who answered.

“I’m going to conduct a symphony. I’ve a host
of musicians already and found more at Ada Clement’s Piano
School.”

“I’ve been there,” Sophie said. “In San
Francisco. I stopped in to practice the same day I auditioned for
the symphony.” She wrinkled her nose when she recalled her cold
reception.

“Ah, yes. For Herr Becker. How did that
go?”

“He seemed unimpressed,” Sophie said mildly,
remembering the German’s scowl and rude words in the middle of her
audition. She spoke a little German, enough to know he thought she
should not be trying to play “man’s music” and that she’d be better
off using her breasts to feed babies, but she kept that to
herself.

Henry sighed. “Becker’s a misogynist and a
fool. He wishes he were Bulow or Erdmannsdörfer, but they have more
talent each in their little finger.”

Sophie didn’t know what to say to this apt
assessment of the disagreeable conductor.

“In any case, it doesn’t matter,” Henry
continued. “He’s gone.”

“Gone? Where?” Sophie asked.

“Back to Germany, I believe.”

Sophie bit her lip thoughtfully as an idea
sparked. “Perhaps I should audition again for the San Francisco
Symphony.”

“You just did,” Hadley told her.

Charlotte clapped her hands, apparently
delighted by the surprised look Sophie was certain she was wearing.
“And how did my sister-in-law do?”

“Splendidly. You’re in,” he said. “That is,
if I can pry you away from Boston to come west with me. It’s hard
to leave your family, I know. Mine’s all here, too.”

“Oh my goodness, yes. When do we leave?”

*****

Thus Sophie found herself on another long
train trip heading west in the delightful company of Henry Hadley,
who was as eager as she to get to San Francisco, and his brother
Arthur, an accomplished cellist, among other musicians rounded up
by Henry. Sophie decided they were the merriest group of passengers
on the train.

When not discussing music, she spent every
waking moment reading
The Letters of Miska Hauser
, about all
his music-related travels in San Francisco and was determined to
look up all the places he mentioned. She kept track of the
rails—New York Central, Michigan Central, Rock Island—until
finally, they were back on the great Union Pacific railway. Then,
it seemed no time at all before she was stepping off the train in
Alameda, California, and boarding El Capitan ferry.

She had telegrammed Carling and, bless her
heart, she and Egbert met the ferry at the dock in San Francisco.
The girls squealed in delight and even Egbert threw his arms around
them both.

“Sophie, Sophie, Sophie,” Carling fairly sang
her name. “I’m so happy you’re back. Aren’t I, Egbert?”

“She is. And so am I.”

“Oh, smell it,” Sophie says. “It smells like
home to me now.”

Carling laughed. “It smells like fish, but
come on. Let’s get you settled. Oh,” she stopped short as a group
of men gathered behind Sophie.

“These are my fellow travelers and symphony
musicians,” Sophie proudly announced. “Henry Hadley, our conductor,
and Walter, Septimus, Samuel, Seifert, Brooks, Adolph, Jean,
Edourd, and Arthur, Henry’s brother.” She paused. “Who are we
missing?”

Another man wandered over carrying a trumpet
case. “And Otto. These are my good friends, Carling and
Egbert.”

“Are you all staying at The Palace?” Egbert
asked.

“No,” said Henry firmly, amongst groans.

“Some flea bag, then,” muttered Samuel.

“The directors of the San Francisco Symphony
are putting us all up in rooming houses near the hall.”

Egbert wrinkled his nose. “I’m sorry to hear
that. Maybe you can all come to The Palace for tea.”

“Oh, yes,” Sophie agreed. “We’ll meet up
again tomorrow. Perhaps 2 pm?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they all said in turn, except
Henry.

“Sophie, this isn’t all fun and games. We
have hard work to do and fast.”

“Oh, I know Henry. And I can’t wait.” They
started walking to the trams. “We will be the best symphony the
world has ever seen.”

The one named Seifert chuckled.

“What? You don’t think so?” Sophie asked
him.

“Mayhap, Miss Sophie, but let’s first try for
the best that California has ever seen.”

“Agreed.”

She was so happy to get her room back at The
Grand, at least for a short while. After gingerly hugging her in
the middle of the lobby in broad daylight, Freddie Vern smiled. “I
shouldn’t even let you have one free night, not after cutting out
on me the way you did.”

“Freddie,” Sophie protested. “I thought I was
getting married.”

“Well, don’t do it again,” he said and
laughed. But then he added, “You know, you’ll have to find a place
to rent. I can only let you have the room for a week, unless you
want to start paying or playing piano for me again,” he finished
with a teasing look.

“You know I can’t play in your bar anymore.”
She tried to sound sad but couldn’t contain the wide grin.

“I know, and I’m thrilled for you. I’ll be
there on opening night. Besides, I’ve found a replacement. From
that piano school you told me about. Lovely girl.”

“Really?” She raised her eyebrows at his
enthusiasm.

“Not as lovely as you, Sophie,” he amended,
“nor half as good on the piano. Still, Catherine has a nice way
about her, as you did. The customers are warming to her.”

Sophie had an inkling that the customers
weren’t the only ones warming to the lovely Catherine, by the look
on Freddie’s face.

“Well, I shall come downstairs tonight and
listen to her.”

“It’ll be my pleasure to sit with you,” he
said, leaving her at her door.

She hesitated, then turned the knob and
pushed the door open slowly. At the familiar smell of the room,
beeswax and lemon, and the vision of the small bed with its crisp
white spread, certain memories, never far from the surface, flooded
back. She caught her breath at their powerful hold on her. In an
instant, she was back in Riley’s arms, all fervent desire,
demanding to be satisfied. She could almost feel his touch, his
lips.

“Whew,” she breathed out. It had been
unforgettably wonderful, and she had to admit, she’d been beyond
happy, downright relieved, to give the man her virginity.

If only she hadn’t given him her heart!

“Oh, my God!” Riley jumped up from the dining
table, astonishing not just the other medical students with whom he
was eating but the other occupants of the restaurant, as well. He
didn’t even notice their stares. Clutching the latest edition of
the
San Francisco Chronicle
in his hand, he tore out of the
restaurant.

It was already 6:45 on Friday night. He
jumped on the next Market Street cable car heading for The
Embarcadero. Getting off just before The Grand, Riley paused to
glance at the building, thinking of his last time there, and
Sophie’s incredible gift of herself. He’d taken it selfishly, never
dreaming he’d get a chance to make it up to her.

Turning onto Kearney, he ran the next four
blocks until he stood in front of the Sherman Clay piano store. He
rattled the door. Locked. Of course it was locked! He’d wasted
precious time and was about to turn away when, seeing a light on in
the back, he rattled the door again more forcefully. A few moments
later, he saw an older gentleman with a moustache walking toward
him. Slowly, he undid the locks and even more slowly opened the
door.

“Sir, we are closed.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry,” Riley said, feeling
desperate, “but I need a ticket, no, a season pass for the
symphony, for tonight’s show. And all the rest.”

“You should have gone directly to the box
office at the hall.”

“Right,” Riley said, looking down at his
shoes, then he looked back up. “But in the
Chronicle
, it
said—”

“I know what it says in the
Chronicle
,
young man, but that refers to before closing time. Besides, it’s
opening night, sold out, you know.”

“But it can’t be. I’ll pay anything.” Then he
had an idea. “Wait, you must be going. I’ll buy
your
seat.
I’ll pay you double what it’s worth, triple, anything you
want.”

Riley marveled at his own rashness. After
all, he had a limit to his funds, but the thought of seeing Sophie
play at the concert hall. He still couldn’t believe she was here,
but it was printed right there in black and white. He opened the
paper again.