Maestro (20 page)

So much for hope. Despite making nice, Elena still hated Annasophia. No doubt she still wanted to do whatever she could to return Annasophia to her own time. The pleasant attitude she'd faked – what could be up with that? Maybe Elena wanted to try to catch her and Maestro off-guard. In a day or so. Two days. Maybe a week from now. There was no way to know.

Damn it
.

Of all the shots the journalist had taken of Annasophia and Maestro without Elena in the background, why in the world was the piece of paper now showing this photo? It could have been any one of the previous photos, but no, it had to be one the journalist took with Elena in the background. No wonder he had stopped taking pictures and had beat a retreat. He must have seen the hateful look on Elena's face.

Annasophia shuddered and threw the paper on the floor.

Maestro gathered her up in his arms. “What's the matter, dearest?”

“The picture. It's changed.”

“How so?”

She wasn't sure if she wanted him to see or not. It seemed a bad omen for him to look. From now on, though, they needed to work together as a united front to keep Annasophia in this timeline. She mustn't keep any secrets from him. Their future depended on it; Matt's future depended on it. She retrieved the piece of paper and handed it to Maestro. “Elena isn't supposed to be in that picture,” she said. “She wasn't before.”

The handwriting had changed, too. It was the same writing, only instead of
You and Wilhelm... It's Gotta Be,
it now read,
You and Wilhelm... It's Gotta Be... and a Rival?

Whoever had scanned and sent that picture seemed to know quite a bit about the situation. Again, she racked her mind, trying to figure out who could possibly have done such a thing, and again, she couldn't come up with anyone. Had she sent the picture to herself, in some currently unimaginable way? Or had Maestro somehow sent it? The latter seemed more likely. Maestro as an old man, keeping the picture for years, then sending it to her, hoping to get her to go back in time and fix whatever was wrong. But that would apply to the former timeline, not to the new future they were creating. Clearly, her actions in this timeline had already caused changes.

If something went wrong and she was returned to the altered 2010 timeline, would she still have wanted to go back in time to be with Maestro after seeing this version of the picture?

She thought perhaps not.

Remembering how she'd thought Elena was Matt's mother, she might not have gone back at all. After all, the date had read 1973, and she would have figured that if she'd gone back, she would have prevented Matt's birth. So things had already changed in such a way that even if she'd seen the picture, she might not have gone back. She would never have discovered the truth, that Matt was her and Maestro's son. That didn't seem right at all. She was here, yes, but with everything that had changed, she saw more and more that she absolutely must stay. If she returned to the altered 2010 timeline, she might never make it back here.

All kinds of possible implications of that picture. It might mean she would be returned to the future, no matter what she tried, and Elena's hateful, determined look might well be prophetic. She didn't want to think about possibilities anymore; it would make her crazy. At the very least, the photo meant she'd need to be more vigilant than she could ever have imagined.

Maestro studied the picture. “Isn't this one of the pictures that was just taken by the journalist in the restaurant? It can't be the same piece of paper. That was blank, and had nothing but handwriting on it. And the handwriting is different from what I saw before, too.”

As rational as he was, he would have a hard time making sense of this, even after processing her disappearing and reappearing from his life as many times as she already had. “This photo is what sent me back here in the first place. Somebody in my time sent it to me...” She started to say
via email
, but she didn't want to sidetrack the discussion by having to explain about email. And she didn't want to share her suspicion that he might have been the sender. If that was true, then he needed to make up his own mind to do the deed without influence from her. “But the photo is different now. It was a picture of just you and me. Now, Elena's in there. And the way she's looking at me gives me the creeps. I'm really worried that I won't get to stay here with you...”

“Back up a minute,” Maestro said. “You've lost me. What's this about the picture and the handwriting being different? It doesn't make any sense.”

She fixed him with a look. “My love, it makes as much sense as watching me disappear, doesn't it? Or watching me reappear from nowhere. That's exactly what the picture has done. It's done the same thing you've seen me do. Except now, it's a different picture.”

“Just you and me, to begin with?”

She nodded. “And now, Elena's in there. See how she's looking at me, even though she acted so nice and reasonable at the restaurant? I can't help but take that as a really bad sign. She acted so sweet in the restaurant, after she overheard that I'm pregnant. I guess I was really hoping that...” She couldn't go on. Her hope made her feel like a fool.

Maestro took the piece of paper from her, folded it back up, and put it on the nightstand. “Don't worry, darling,” he said, kissing her face all over. “You're here with me, and that's what matters, and that's how it will stay.”

He kissed her all over. When he parted her legs, kissed the inside of her thighs, then thrust himself deeply inside, making supernovas explode in her mind, her last rational thought before she surrendered utterly to her passion was,
I hope he's right
.

* * * ~~~ * * *

PART TWO: Cadenza

Chapter One

Over the next few months, Annasophia and Maestro saw neither hide nor hair of Elena. From anything they could tell, she was no longer following them. As Annasophia sat in Maestro's audiences during his performances, she scanned for Elena but never found her. Sometimes she thought Elena was there, though. Watching. Perhaps from backstage. Perhaps in disguise. Perhaps from the balcony, peeking from between two people's shoulders.

Paranoia would get her nowhere. She needed to just let it go. Indeed, Maestro had called Elena's backing off a blessing and had said that somehow, someway, she'd decided, after hearing Annasophia was pregnant, to let them be. Sure, Annasophia would entertain the possibility. Maestro was no fool. But she couldn't get the picture from her mind: Elena standing behind her and Maestro with a malevolent look on her face. Surely, Elena's leaving them alone was too good to be true.

In September, after the tour, Annasophia and Maestro settled into his home in Larchmont, New York. Though Maestro lived in a beautiful home, it wasn't a fancy Look-at-Me type. Instead, it was a renovated colonial home, which was fine by Annasophia since she loved old houses. When they had arrived, Annasophia asked if Elena had lived here with him, but he set her straight on that score: Maestro had bought this house after the divorce. Annasophia had instantly relaxed. She didn't like the idea of living somewhere that Elena had lived. With the hateful expression on Elena's face constantly in her mind, Annasophia figured she'd never get any sleep for the nightmares.

She tried not to let on to Maestro, though, that she still felt worried. She had picked up that at this point, after not having seen Elena in five months, he felt her concern was overblown. He had never said as much, but she didn't want him to worry that it was driving her crazy. He might be right; there might be nothing to worry about at all.

Annasophia had developed a baby bump; her small, slim frame couldn't keep a pregnancy secret for long. As much as she had enjoyed Maestro's tour, she was glad the touring was over for a while. She had a terrible time with morning sickness and suffered from frequent dizziness, headaches, and backaches. Though she was still thrilled to be pregnant, she wondered how she would deal with the back pain when she was nine months huge. With her little bones, she was already having a tough time. She went for regular checkups with a top-notch OB-GYN, who advised her to rest as much as possible. That was fine with her. She liked spending time in bed. Especially when Maestro was there with her.

The second week after they'd settled into Maestro's home, he brought back a purple envelope from the mailbox. There was no return address, just “Wilhelm and Annasophia Dahl,” which was odd because she and Maestro weren't married yet. They planned to get married, though. Maestro wanted them to marry as soon as possible, but Annasophia wanted to wait until after the baby was born. For some reason she couldn't quite articulate to herself, she didn't feel comfortable marrying Maestro until after she'd given birth to their son and named him Matthew. To her mind, that would seal the deal of her getting to stay in this timeline, Elena or no Elena.

“I wonder who this is from,” Maestro said as he examined the front of the envelope, then the back. He sat down next to Annasophia on the squishy love seat in the large, high-ceilinged living room. Annasophia loved the love seat. It was nearly as comfortable as the bed. She wondered if there was any piece of furniture in this house on which she and Maestro hadn't made love. Nope, there wasn't. Not the piano bench, which accompanied his Steinway baby grand. Not even the bathtub, if that could be called a piece of furniture.

She smiled, thinking about them making love in the bathtub. Pregnancy was making her physically uncomfortable, yes, but it was also making her tremendously amorous. Her hand crept toward Maestro, headed not for the envelope but for what he had between his legs.

He must have thought she wanted the envelope, because he handed it to her. She couldn't care less who it was from. She didn't know anyone here. It had to be from someone who knew Maestro. But to humor him, she took the envelope and looked at the handwriting. Round and curvy. The handwriting reminded her of someone... who? She couldn't call anyone to mind, though. All she could think about was sinking back into this loveseat, her legs high and spread wide, with Maestro moving powerfully between them.

“Mmm,” she said, caressing him between his legs and giving him a sidelong glance.

He grinned at her, then took the envelope back and opened it. “Again? You know,
Schätzchen
, I think you're going to wear me out.”

“I fully intend to.” She started unbuttoning her jeans.

Maestro pulled a card from the envelope and started reading it. A slight frown creased his rugged features. The smell of jasmine hit Annasophia, and she knew. Elena.

Oh, no
.

She buttoned her jeans back. “What does she want?”

He kept looking at the card.

Funny, she used to like the smell of jasmine. Not anymore.

Instead of answering, Maestro handed her the card. Colored lavender, it featured a picture of a baby in a basket amid a lush flower garden. Inside, the card read “Congratulations.” Somebody had written, in the same round, curvy handwriting that was on the envelope, “I'm so happy for you both.”

The sender hadn't signed the card, but the scent of jasmine might as well be Elena's fingerprint.

“Why do you suppose she didn't sign it?” Annasophia asked.

Maestro glanced over at her and shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe she figured we'd know it was from her.”

Maybe, but it felt like a game of cat and mouse. Or perhaps cat and
Mäuschen.
Another thought occurred to Annasophia, and she took the envelope back from Maestro. It was postmarked New York City. “Where does Elena live?”

“New York City,” he said, confirming the postmark. So Elena wasn't stalking them. Annasophia let out her breath. Not quite relief yet, but close. Perhaps, indeed, she just wanted to be friendly. Sure, she would have to know that Maestro's tour was over by now, but that wasn't stalking. Or was it? With Elena, it was so hard not to attribute dodgy motives, especially after seeing her expression in that photo. A few months ago, it had creeped Annasophia out to the point where she had ripped the paper into shreds. Immediately, she had regretted it. Tearing up the picture hadn't erased from her mind the creep factor of Elena's expression.

Someone knocked on the door. Annasophia gave a little shriek and nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Dearest, it's okay,” Maestro said, and kissed her cheek. Then he kissed her lips. She pulled him closer, and they kissed deeply. Damn whoever it was at the door. Annasophia needed Maestro inside her. Only he could soothe her ache; only he could soothe her fears.

The knock came again.

Maestro gave her one more lingering kiss on her lips, then he got up and went into the hall. Annasophia heard the door open, and her heart sank as Elena's voice reached her ears.

“Hello, Will. I was in the neighborhood, and I thought I'd stop by and say hello. See how everyone's doing.”

Oh, how cutesy.
Everyone
. Meaning Maestro, Annasophia, and the baby. Annasophia thought she might throw up. In her mind loomed the hateful expression Elena had worn while glaring at the back of her head in that picture. No matter what, she wasn't going to let Elena stand beside her or behind her. The mere thought of it gave her the heebie jeebies.

If Elena had stopped stalking them, then what the hell was she doing here now? Sure, it could just be a friendly visit. Annasophia wished she could convince the knot tightening in her stomach.

###

Maestro came back into the living room, followed by Elena, who was wearing an elegant, dark-blue pants suit. She'd put her hair up in a French twist. Annasophia wondered if the woman had ever looked mussed a single day in her life, then she remembered Maestro telling her that Elena had come from a poor family, from parents who had pretty much ignored her.