31. The Pianist
The Pianist
“Let’s talk, Miss Doyle.”
It’s not the first time one, or now both, of the Beauchenes showed up after my lesson with Henri. Marianne’s perfectly trained mask is cracked, just enough, to reveal her irritation. Leo’s lips threaten a smile.
“Okay. Sure.”
They stand between me and the door, close enough I’m forced to stand awkwardly next to the piano.
“It’s been almost three weeks now, since you’ve come to stay with us, and your progress with Henri is… behind.”
“Behind?” I glance between them. There’s no way. “He’s ahead according to the curriculum.”
The corner of her eye twitches. “Regardless of the curriculum, he is not where we want him to be.”
“And where is that?”
Maybe I should think before speaking. Her painted lips press into a thin line.
“L—my husband has informed you of the New Year’s party, yes? We want Henri to be able to show off what he’s learned. There will be some very important people attending. We’d like to put his musicianship front and center in their minds, for his future. You understand, don’t you?”
“Mrs Beauchene, we've been working very hard the last—”
“Work harder.” The words ring through the space between us.
“We know Henri can do better and we know he is capable of improving at a greater pace. We want you to push him harder. This party is a chance for him to potentially secure his future. It could be the beginning of him establishing his name. It’s good to start early. ”
I nod, but I know they likely have no real understanding of his skill level, and how truly impressive it is for his age.
He’s eight years old, tackling etudes that I struggled with only a few years ago, and switching between scales like they are second nature. Picking up new tunes with only his ear.
“Unless you think it’s not possible to get him there,” Leo says.
Our eyes meet and instantly my stomach twists.
“That is what we hired you for.”
“We can do it.” I nod again, looking anywhere but him. He unnerves me. “I… I will adjust our lessons.”
“Good.” Mrs. Beauchene widens that fake smile. “I knew it’d be no problem. You’ve done so well with him this far.”
Despite the overarching threat, my face heats at the compliment. “Is there anything you specifically want him to showcase? Any particular song?”
It’s meant as an offering.
I don’t like the way Mariane smiles at me.
“Chopin has a prelude. One our family has fond memories of. I don’t remember which—”
“C minor,” Leo says. In the yellow light of the lamps, his teeth are shadowed, his skin taking on a sallow tone.
Time stops for a fraction of a second. My heart thuds in my chest.
Breathe, Mallary.
“Yes, that’s it. Maybe start with that song. You can choose whatever else you’d like…” She keeps talking, rambling on about the importance of setting Henri up for future success. That if I fail, I’ll only be holding him back, and isn’t that the opposite of what I want?
I can get Henri up to speed. He’s smart. He’s a good student.
“I—I can do better.”
They’re both smiling saccharine smiles, hiding behind faked politeness when really they want me scared enough to do their bidding.
I suddenly feel like an idiot, thinking I would come here and that the Beauchenes would welcome me with open arms. People like them can’t fake happiness. Nothing is enough.
An eight-year-old son who can already play Chopin is not enough.
Mariane turns and leaves, but Leo lingers.
“Don’t disappoint us, Miss Doyle.” He steps closer. “It would be a shame to have to find a new tutor for Henri again.”
He stands in front of me, using his size for intimidation. Taller than me, but not as imposing as Bastien. His son.
They’re scared of him. Bastien told me not to worry. Because they’re scared of him.
“You won’t have to,” I say.
Leo’s haughty smile widens. “Time will tell. I look forward to seeing what you can do.”