Darcy wriggled through the crowd of students pouring out of the Adam Ferguson building onto the steps surrounding it. One o’clock on the dot, they all dashed out of the classrooms – as regular as the one o’clock gun firing from the castle. Nothing irritated him more than the gaggle of smokers who’d light up the first second they stepped outside, desperate for that first hit of nicotine after a two hour long lecture, then hang around fouling the air around them as others tried to move past.
“Elizabeth!” he called out, hoping to stop her before she disappeared from his sight.
She stopped and looked around for the person who called her. Darcy broke through the crowd and came up to her. She looked lovely in the cold gusty breeze despite the suspicious look she eyed him with.
“What do you want?” she asked when he approached her.
“Can you look at this for me?” he said, handing her a thin book.
She looked up at him, trying in vain to understand his motives. “Why?”
“It’s something I’d like to try, and I thought you would be up to the challenge.”
She glowered, tucking away a piece of stray hair that had blown across her face. She couldn’t turn down a challenge. Especially from him. (He knew that.) Insufferable man. Taking the music, she glanced through it briefly, then took a closer look.
“This is impossible to play.”
“No, it isn’t.”
She glared at him. “It’s physically impossible to play. Look! This is fifteen notes right here. Last I checked I only have ten digits.”
“Look closer.”
She huffed in frustration. “I really don’t have time for your games, Darcy. I’m late for practice.”
“The piano isn’t going anywhere. Just look closer at it. I’m serious about this.”
She stopped turning away from him, then sighed, resolving to humour him. She studied the front of it. The music was by Ravel. She liked impressionism. (He knew that, too.) It was called Ma Mère L’Oye, or the Mother Goose Suite. They were five small pieces of different children’s stories. Then she caught the clue. It was for two people. A duet. On one piano. She’d done pieces with two pianos before and loved them. Twice the power and emotion. But she’d never done this before. Share the piano with someone?
She looked up at him warily. “Okay. I’ve looked at it.”
“What do you say?”
“What do I say to what?” she replied impatiently, turning her attention out to evangelist who liked to hang out in front of the library trying to convince students God exists.
“Will you learn it?”
“And play it with who?” she retorted, looking at her watch.
He seemed a little embarrassed when he said, “Me, of course.”
Elizabeth’s head snapped up to look at him in disbelief.
Darcy had been admiring his fellow student Elizabeth for months now, but she seemed to continue to hold a grudge against him for some foolish things he’d said during Fresher’s Week. Who the hell is at their best during Fresher’s Week??
Now he was desperate to win her. Or at least get back in her favour. Not that he’d even been in her favour, but he wanted to gain it. He’d tried talking nicely to her (not his forte). He’d practiced hours and hours and hours to become better, to impress her with his abilities. If anything, it made things worse. He was at his wits end. The only time they seemed to connect was through music, usually when they attended the concerts they were required to attend as music students. They shared similar tastes. Both loved organ recitals, early choral music, and cello concerts. Both disliked solo violins. Elizabeth seemed to lose herself during those concerts – forget that he was her mortal enemy. A couple of times he’d caught her glance and she couldn’t wipe the seraphic smile off her face. So… technically she was smiling at him! It was at those moments when his heart would soar, beating faster. So he’d decided to try the last idea he had. If it was music that connected them, then he’d get her to play with him. As pianists, there wasn’t much opportunity for them to play together. But he’d found some music for two people on the same piano. It was the most intimate two people could possibly be. If only Elizabeth didn’t see that right away. If he could just hoodwink her into believing his only interest was scholarly.
He held his breath now, waiting for her answer.
Her brow wrinkled in a wary expression. “Why me? Why don’t you get Charlotte or Colin to do this with you?”
“You’re the best,” he replied simply, hoping flattery would help sway her.
One eyebrow lifted. “My, aren’t you fickle in your opinions.”
“You’re still angry at me for something I said during Fresher’s Week? Isn’t someone allowed to change their mind? And I can’t believe you still buy into the crap Wickham said about me. He’s shown his true colours already and you still won’t give me a little credit for decency?” He held in his anger and frustration, merely making his case to her, pleading to her sense of reason.
She didn’t reply to this. Instead she said, “I’ll take a look at this.”
“Thanks!” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager.
“Can I go now?” she said archly.
“Sorry to keep you. See you later.” He turned and walked off, trying to keep the skip out of his step. He avoided the evangelist and slipped into the warm, stale air of the library.
Elizabeth didn’t mention the Ravel for a couple weeks. Darcy hadn’t wanted to approach her again, feeling like the ball was in her court and not wanting to push her too hard. He’d almost resolved to say something when she caught up with him eating lunch on a park bench in George Square.
“Hey,” she said, sitting beside him.
Darcy was thankful he didn’t choke in surprise to see her suddenly appear before him. He swallowed with difficulty, his mouth having gone dry upon her arrival.
“Hi.”
“When did you want to get together?”
Surely she couldn’t mean what he hoped. That was too unexpected, too easy. “Excuse me?”
“The Ravel? The duet? When did you want to practice together?”
“Oh!” He hid his disappointment. No, it hadn’t meant what he’d hoped. But this was almost as good. “Um, it’s up to you. Pick a time.”
“
Is this afternoon at 3 good? I’ll try and grab a grand in one of the larger rooms.”
“Sure, that’s fine.”
“Great. Oh, and you have tuna salad on your face.”
Flushing red, he wiped his mouth.
“No, right here,” she touched her left cheek.
Turning a deeper red, he wiped it off.
Darcy expected her to take off as suddenly as she’d arrived, her business now concluded. Instead, she just shifted, dropped her satchel on the grass beside the bench, and slouched down so her legs stretched out in front of her and her head rested on the back of the bench. She heaved a huge sigh and closed her eyes as if exhausted.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she sighed. “Just tired. DeBourgh is getting on my ass again.”
“ ‘Again’?”
“Sure. Doesn’t she get on yours?”
“No.”
“Great. So it’s just me,” she muttered in a dark voice.
“About what?”
“I’m not doing enough to further my career. I’m not dedicated enough to my music. I’m never going to be good enough to make it to the top so why bother continuing. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera,” she finished grandly, waving her arm around dramatically, then flopped back down. “I’m sick of it. I know she’s full of it, but … after a while it still begins to wear me down, yeah?”
Darcy was shocked. “I can’t believe she’s going on at you like that. You’re an amazing player.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she mumbled sarcastically.
“Even if you weren’t, she still doesn’t have the right to say that!” he was getting agitated, appalled that anyone could consider his Elizabeth anything less than perfect.
She turned her head up to study him. “You’re really worked up about this,” she said, surprised.
“Well… yeah! I mean, who wouldn’t be? That any professor would say that….”
She relaxed again, turning to look out on the beautiful willow trees that wafted gently in the omnipresent breeze. They stood in a circle surrounded by thick groundcover, then a circular footpath that divided to go to the four sides of the small park in the centre of the square of university buildings.
“No need to get worked up on my account,” she said derisively.
Darcy was familiar with her self-deprecating humour – dry, sardonic, and dark. It was one of the things he loved about her.
“Have you eaten lunch?” he asked.
She waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll pick up something later.”
“Well I have a tutorial to run to.”
“Yep. I’ll see you at 3.”
“Get something to eat,” he said.
She eyed him. “Thanks. I think I can take care of myself.”
“I didn’t mean to imply –” he gave up. “Never mind. See you later.”
He slung his backpack over his shoulder and strode off towards the hideous David Hume Tower – a monument to 1960s architecture.
Darcy saw that she’d already signed into a practice room when he walked into Alison House at 3. He went downstairs, trying to contain his excitement at beginning to play with her. He didn’t know how it would work out, to be honest. It could be a total disaster. He’d practiced his part hard the last two weeks, hoping to be perfect for when he joined up with her.
He knocked on the door and waited until she opened it. He stepped in. “Hi,” he said, dropping his bag in the corner and shedding his overcoat.
He turned and stood looking at her. She returned his look, both waiting for the other to make the first move. “Ready?” he said finally.
“Sure.”
She sat down on the bench, moving it slightly to the left so he could pull his chair up at the upper octaves.
Uh oh.
“Um… that’s my seat.”
“Excuse me?” She turned around to give him a surprised look.
“That’s my seat.”
“Fine!” she said in a snappish voice. She moved the piano bench back and moved the chair over so she could sit down.
That wasn’t what he’d meant.
“No, I meant, I’m at the lower octaves.”
She turned round slowly. “You thought you were secondo?”
“Yeah.”
“Why did you assume you would take secondo?”
He hadn’t thought about it. Just… assumed. He couldn’t do anything but shrug.
She turned back to the piano, shaking her head and laughing a little. “I just knew it was too good. You just wanted someone to play second fiddle to you. Wanted someone to sit by your side, turn your pages, augment your own playing.”
“No, I didn’t.”
She didn’t listen.
“Whatever, Darcy. Find someone else to be your second fiddle.”
She grabbed her other music books and her satchel, then walked out of the practice room, slamming the door behind her.
Gone. Just like that. Darcy was a bit dazed. So fast. Well, she always was a bundle of energy. Whatever she did, she never did it by halves. He sat down on the bench, leaning his elbows on his knees and burying his hands deep into his hair.
He’d screwed that up badly. They should have discussed who would play which part. It was stupid that neither of them had thought about it. Both assumed the other would play primo. It wasn’t a decision to make lightly, either. If they established a partnership playing duets together, there would be no switching. One got into the habits of playing a particular part.
The idea of playing primo irritated him. To give up control of the pedals, to play the upper octaves, the decorative parts. He shook his head. He couldn’t do it. Deep down inside, he knew his masculinity felt a little wounded at having to play the ‘girly’, higher parts.
Then he thought of Elizabeth. If he could cede control to anyone, it would be her. She would be beside him, foot on the pedals, hands in the lower octaves, sometimes crossing over with his, even entwined amongst the keys together. He couldn’t give that up.
Turning, he looked at the music. Maybe he could try it. See what it was like. Shifting the bench to the right and settling in front of the piano, he glanced over the music, then began to sight-read it.
Half an hour later, he concluded it wasn’t too bad. For Elizabeth, he would do this.
Darcy spent three days practicing the primo part for the Ravel, then on the fourth day, he hung around Alison House waiting for her to come in and practice. He didn’t want to ask her for a time to meet. He suspected she would refuse, having wasted enough time on him.
She came in at 2, signing in and taking the key to the room off the hook. He waited until she’d gone, then noted which key she’d taken. He waited for fifteen minutes before going down to the room, not wanting to seem like he’d been stalking her.
He knocked on the door. She was in the middle of a Brahms concerto. He knocked again, louder. She stopped and opened the door, slight irritation on her face at being interrupted. The irritation increased when she saw him.
“What do you want?”
“To practice the Ravel.”
“I’ve done with that.”
“Try it with me, please,” he said, a slight pleading in his voice. He slid past her and moved the bench to the left so he could pull his chair up next to it and sit down, putting the book up on the stand in front of her Brahms.
He turned to look at her still standing by the open door, sounds of other students practicing filling the hallway. She was looking at him guardedly.
“You’re doing primo?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’ll take a stab at it.”
She seemed surprised, but closed the door, sat down and shifted the bench back a little so she could put her foot up on the damper pedal. She gracefully put her hands on the keyboard, he followed suit, watched her as she slightly nodded the downbeat and as one, they began to play the soft, slow piece.
It was incredible. There was no friction, no discord, nothing but the impressions of Sleeping Beauty through the music of the piano. Without explicitly setting it, they maintained a steady, slow rhythm. Sometimes she would lead; sometimes he would begin a phrase and she would follow. It flowed evenly.
Of course they made mistakes, notes went wrong, dynamics were missed, and a couple times she forgot to pedal for him. But at first, they just played through the whole movement without stopping. They would go back and clear up the errors later.
When they came to the ending – a gentle, soft chord played together – neither spoke for several moments.
“Wow,” she breathed in awe.
For Darcy, it was everything he’d wanted. Playing with her was amazing. Like connecting to her on a much deeper level than any conversation or shared activity could. To make music with her, produce these rich sounds that without her he couldn’t produce, was incredible.
“Do you want to try the second one? Go through them all and then come back?”
She nodded and prepared to do the second movement. This one was slightly more active and faster. Tom Thumb is anxious and disturbed, the sounds of a little boy lost in the wood because the birds have eaten his trail of breadcrumbs leading him home. The third movement was more involved and was rapid in pace, representing the Laideronette taking her bath with tiny magical music instruments. They couldn’t take it at speed, but got an idea for it. Elizabeth occasionally had to lean over him and play higher.
He leaned over to play in between her hands, and this so startled her that she backed away in surprise, pulling her hands from the keyboard. He stopped too. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t see that coming.”
“No,” she laughed shakily. “Neither did I. Sorry. You just surprised me. Okay, start again from measure 32?”
“Can we just do these three measures slowly so I see… well just physically how this is going to work?”
“Sure. I’m playing here.”
“And I need to be here,” he placed one of his hands over hers, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart and hoping his hands weren’t too sweaty from nervousness. His fingers rested on the F sharp, C sharp and F natural, while hers played the B and G beneath him. His other hand played a chord in between her two hands, so he was leaning toward her.
“One, two, three, four,” she counted off and they slowly played through the three measures before she was back below and him up high.
“From the top of the page?” he said.
They picked back up and continued to the end.
“That’ll need a lot of work to get up to tempo.”
Darcy nodded.
The fourth one was more interesting in a ¾ time signature. While Beauty had a softer, gentler waltz, the Beast’s voice was in gauche triplets played by Elizabeth in the lower range, until the end, where a glissando represents the transformation of the Beast into a prince. Elizabeth laughed delightedly as they finished. Darcy allowed a smile to creep onto his face.
“Last one,” she said, turning the page.
This was a more generic impression of an enchanted garden of a similar style to the first one. Andante in tempo, mostly piano in dynamics. When the last resonating chord died away, neither spoke. Darcy didn’t want to break the spell. If he spoke, he’d screw it up and ruin this.
Then Elizabeth turned back to the beginning. “Shall we just try this one and stop where we come to problems?”
“Sure.”
“Are you okay as primo?” she said, eyeing him slightly doubtfully.
“Yeah. I like it actually. It’s harder than playing secondo.”
One eyebrow lifted.
Hurriedly he said, “But that doesn’t matter since I’ll take whatever you don’t want.”
“I’m fine here,” she said. “I can’t not be in control of the pedal.”
“I know, but I trust you.”
She studied him again, trying to figure him out. Turning back to the music, she put her hands on the keys and with a nod, they began to play the piece through once more.
They spent the next two hours working together. His plan had succeeded. Working so closely together, Elizabeth couldn’t hold onto her grudge. She couldn’t help developing a warm working relationship with him.
They worked on the piece for several days before he casually asked her to go with him to dinner after finishing one evening. It seemed only natural for them to continue talking about their work together and music in general as they went to a newly opened restaurant right on the corner of the block. Settling into comfortable leather arm chairs, they chatted long after they had eaten their food and drunk their tea.
Finally, she glanced at her watch and said she had to go and begin her homework.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he said.
“Yep. Four thirty.”
After several evenings of grabbing a meal together, it was easier for Darcy to ask her out to a concert.
“Did you want to go with me to the Renaissance Singers concert this Thursday?” he asked one evening after they had finished practicing for the day, trying to make it seem a casual thing rather than him asking her out.
She hesitated a little. “Sure,” she replied with a pleasant smile as she put her music in her satchel. “I’d intended to go. The group is particularly good this year.”
“Shall I swing by your flat around seven so we can get there early enough for good seats?”
“It’s in Canongate Kirk near Holyrood Palace, right?”
Darcy nodded.
“That’s fine, then.”
That Thursday evening, Darcy nervously rang the buzzer to her flat and waited for her to come down. She skipped down the steps energetically. “Let’s go,” she said, repressed excitement in her voice. They both loved attending these concerts.
Together they walked up Grassmarket and down the Royal Mile to the kirk and sat through an excellent performance. Elizabeth was relaxed and content, occasionally sharing delighted grins at certain parts that thrilled her. Darcy revelled in sitting close to her during intermission, debating the finer points of homorhythmic textures.
When the concert finally ended, they stepped outside to a steady rainshower.
“Bugger,” Darcy muttered, unprepared for this to ruin his evening.
“Hang on, I have an umbrella in my bag.” They stepped to the side of the porch of the kirk, allowing other attendees to pass them. Elizabeth pulled out her compact umbrella from her purse, and opened it.
“Would you like to share?”
Would I?? Darcy thought.
“Sure,” he said in his best nonchalant voice.
“Here, it’d be better if you take it. You’re a bit too tall for me to hold it.”
He flashed her a wry smile as he took the umbrella, and, huddled together beneath its meagre shelter, they walked out into the rain and back up the Royal Mile.
After reaching the High Street section of the Royal Mile, Darcy said, “You’re still getting wet. Here,” he draped his free arm around her shoulders and pulled her in closer to him.
She didn’t resist, and in tandem walked on. She began talking animatedly about the concert, arguing with his choice of favourites, and debating him on the value of appearance, discipline and decorum in a choir.
“I don’t care how good they sound, if their outfits are mismatched, if their eyes are not fixed on the conductor, and if they chatter between pieces, then I think less of them. Music, if it has to be used, should be kept in black folders. And it irritated me to no end that the choir members were merely milling around and socializing with the audience before the performance. They should have been together, secluded and preparing.”
“Preparing how, though? This just shows how confident and well-prepared they were.”
“Come on, Darcy, don’t tell me you don’t sit off to the side in some quiet place before performing. You can’t seriously tell me you’re chatting casually with your friends before going on stage!”
“No, but that’s a bit different – a soloist, rather than one member out of twenty-five.”
“It’s not different!” she argued. Darcy loved it when she got riled up. “The principle is the same! It’s unprofessional.”
“But they’re not professionals.”
“I know, but that’s why I think less of the group. They didn’t act professionally. It doesn’t take much. Like I said, discipline and decorum. Walk in together, file into your rows, wait until the conductor has taken his place and given the signal, bring up the music, and do your job. It makes such a difference.”
Darcy fully agreed with her, but didn’t say so. He merely relished the feeling of holding her tightly to him. He apologized to the rain for cursing at it earlier. Without the rain, he wouldn’t have been able to hold her.
When they reached the door to her building, she stopped, turned to him, and said, “It was nice walking with you. It’s a good thing I brought an umbrella.”
He realized she still didn’t see him anything like potential romantic material. She thought he was just walking with her to this concert, not taking her as his date. Knowing he only screwed things up with her when he spoke, he decided he would act instead.
“I’m glad you came with me,” he said, then leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips, lingering slightly before pulling away and saying, “See you at 3 tomorrow,” and putting the umbrella in her hand, walked off into the rainy night leaving her stunned and silent.
Elizabeth seemed uneasy at practice the next day, making more mistakes than usual, and reacting to his touch oddly.
“You okay?” he asked finally, when she’d made yet another bad chord after he’d brushed against her shoulder.
“Fine.”
He decided to end rehearsal early since they were getting nowhere. “Come on. Let’s grab some hot chocolate to go and walk in the Meadows.”
“Uh, I think I have to go to the library,” she said hesitantly.
“No, you don’t. Come on.”
He didn’t say anything until they’d collected their cups of hot chocolate and were walking through the Meadows – an open park behind the University crisscrossed with footpaths. Teams of football players were kicking a ball around, using cones or backpacks as the goal markers.
Finally she seemed to have had enough delaying, and asked point blank, “What was last night about?”
He studied her carefully for a few moments. “I like you. A lot.”
Despite the indication he’d given her the previous evening, she still seemed taken aback. “I’ve… but you….”
“I know you’ve never seen me that way, but I’m doing my best to change that. I thought I had a little. But if you’re still repulsed by me, I’ll not say another word about it.”
“No. I hadn’t… I mean.” He’d never seen her flustered and flushed before. He took her ‘No’ to be a good sign. Her first reaction hadn’t been a negative.
He stepped closer to her, put his free hand on her cheek and made her look up at him. She seemed to hold her breath, looking at him with wide eyes. “I like you,” he repeated in a soft voice. “A lot. I have for a long time.”
Her eyebrows twitched in confusion at this, but he didn’t acknowledge, just leaned down slowly and caught her lips again. This time he didn’t pull away, he just brushed her lips softly with his until she began to respond – hesitantly, shyly, but it was enough to send his emotions up to cloud nine. He pressed more firmly, her lips opening slightly to allow him closer access. He felt her tremble slightly, then felt her free hand come up to his chest, sliding up to his shoulder, then along his shoulder to the nape of his neck. When he broke the kiss, he didn’t move away. His lips brushed ever so softly along the side of her mouth to her cheek, his breath warming the soft freckled skin. He felt her cheeks and mouth lift slightly in a smile. He pulled away enough to look down at her smiling, then returned to kiss her again. She was much more of an active participant now.
When they parted, he said, “Do you want to go to dinner and a movie with me this weekend?”
She nodded.
They first performed Ma Mère L’Oye at a Friday night concert after the debut of a newly composed cello suite. After the cellist walked off the stage to enthusiastic applause, Darcy turned to Elizabeth and took both hands in hers. They were cold and clammy. The shadow of a smile flickered at him, but nervousness dominated her features. Then she looked slightly annoyed at his relaxed demeanour, snapping, “How can you not be nervous?”
He pulled her closely to him, hugging her warm body. He murmured to her, “Because I don’t care if we screw up out there. We won’t, but I don’t care if we do. Do you want to know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve already succeeded in getting what I wanted from this project. I wasn’t doing it to perform new music to a bored audience of musicians who’ve heard the same piano pieces over and over. The only reason I came to you with this piece was so that I could play with you. So that I got you to stop hating me. So that I could get closer to you. So that I could win you.”
She stared up at him in bewilderment. She never seemed to get it, did she? She always reacted with disbelief when he said he’d wanted to be with her.
“Having gained my heart’s desire, how could I be bothered with an audience of bored musicians? You’re all that matters to me. All that I will be thinking out there is how much I love playing with you, and how much I love you.”
He could see the amazement in her face. He kissed her.
“Ready?” the music warden said, standing at the door of the concert hall.
Darcy released her and took her hand to lead her to the door. He nodded at the warden who opened the door. Darcy led them onto the stage and the audience began clapping.
Waiting ‘til she’d sat down, he then sat beside her on the other piano stool. He looked at her with confidence. As one, they put their hands on the keys, and began the soft opening movement.
The piece went by quickly. It wasn’t that long, but it seemed even shorter than usual. He was so involved and concentrated on making music with her, that he forgot the audience watching them. Then it was over, and she was grinning at him. They stood and she moved around to come by his side as they bowed to vigorous applause. They bowed again, then walked off the stage and out the side door the warden was holding.
Elizabeth sighed a huge sigh of relief and hugged Darcy tightly around the neck.
“Better go out again,” the warden said.
The audience was still clapping. Darcy grinned at her and took her hand, leading her out again. They stood in the centre of the stage and bowed. Darcy pulled her closer to his side and kissed her lightly on the lips. She looked at him stunned. Their relationship, until that point, had been a secret. Not actively kept, just not something they were open about to the University community, preferring the privacy and lack of speculation or snide comments about musicians matching up for careers’ sake. Not anymore, apparently. He smiled at her; they bowed one more time, then moved off the stage.
When they were in the side room once more, he pulled her to him and kissed her before her scolding words could leave her mouth. Taking advantage of the quiet after his kiss, he murmured, “I love playing with you.”
“I love playing with you, too,” she replied softly. “I love you.”
He gazed down at her, now his turn to disbelieve. But she appeared in earnest. She pulled him down to kiss him.
As a husband and wife partnership, Darcy and Elizabeth played duets all over the world, leading to a renaissance of superb, but rarely-heard, works for two pianists on one piano. Demand was wide-ranging, from concerts to conferences and master classes to lecture-recitals in which their imaginative teaching and enthusiastic demonstration have stimulated a desire in the otherwise solitary pianist to experience and develop chamber music possibilities. But most of all, they got supreme enjoyment from playing together, an expression of their love and partnership.
The End