"You play now, Daddy." Freddie tilted her head toward his. Her hair wisped around her face where it had escaped from its clips. "Play something pretty."
"Fur Elise." Natasha recognized it instantly, that soft, romantic, somehow lonely music. It went straight to her heart as she watched his fingers stroke, caress, seduce the keys.
What was he thinking? She could see that his thoughts had turned inward—to the music, to himself. There was an effortlessness in the way his fingers flowed over the keys, and yet she knew that kind of beauty was never achieved without the greatest effort.
The song swelled, note after note, unbearably sad, impossibly beautiful, like the vase of waxy calla lilies that rested on the glossy surface of the piano.
Too much emotion, Natasha thought. Too much pain, though the sun was still shining through the gauzy curtains and the child on his lap continued to smile. The urge to go to him, to put a comforting hand onto his shoulder, to hold them both against her heart, was so strong that she had to curl her fingers into her palms.
Then the music drifted away, the last note lingering like a sigh.
"I like that one," Freddie told him. "Did you make it up?"
"No." He looked at his fingers, spreading them, flexing them, then letting them rest on hers. "Beethoven did." Then he was smiling again, pressing his lips to the soft curve of his daughter's neck. "Had enough for today, funny face?"
"Can I play outside until dinner?"
"Well… What'll you give me?"
It was an old game and a favorite one. Giggling, she swiveled on his lap and gave him a hard, smacking kiss. Still squealing from the bear hug, she spotted Natasha. "Hi!"
"Miss Stanislaski would like to see you, Dr. Kimball." At his nod, Vera walked back to the kitchen.
"Hello." Natasha managed to smile, even when Spence lifted his daughter and turned. She wasn't over the music yet. It was still pouring through her like tears. "I hope I haven't come at a bad time."
"No." After a last squeeze, he set Freddie down, and she immediately bounded to Natasha.
"We're all finished with my lesson. Did you come to play?"
"No, not this time." Unable to resist, Natasha bent to stroke Freddie's cheek. "Actually I came to talk to your father." But she was a coward, Natasha thought in disgust. Rather than look at him, she continued to address Freddie. "How do you like school? You have Mrs. Patterson, don't you?"
"She's nice. She didn't even yell when Mikey Towers's icky bug collection got loose in the classroom. And I can read all of Go, Dog, Go."
Natasha crouched so that they were eye to eye. "Do you like my hat?'
Freddie laughed, recognizing the line from the Dr. Seuss classic. "I like the dog party part the best."
"So do I." Automatically she tied Freddie's loose laces. "Will you come to the store and visit me soon?"
"Okay." Delighted with herself, Freddie raced for the door. "Bye Miss Stanof—Stanif—"
"Tash." She sent Freddie a wink. "All the kids call me Tash."
"Tash." Freddie grinned at the sound of the name, then streaked away.
She listened to Freddie's sneakers squeak down the hall, then took a long breath. "I'm sorry to disturb you at home, but I felt it would be more…" What was the word? Appropriate, comfortable? "It would be better."
"All right." His eyes were very cool, not like those of the man who had played such sad and passionate music. "Would you like to sit down?"
"No." She said it too quickly, then reminded herself that it was better if they were both stiffly polite. "It won't take long. I only want to apologize."
"Oh? For something specific?"
Fire blazed in her eyes. He enjoyed seeing it, particularly since he'd spent most of the night cursing her. "When I make a mistake, I make a point of admitting it. But since you behaved so—' Oh, why did she always lose her English when she was angry?#p#分页标题#e#
"Unconscionably?" he suggested.
Her brow shot up into her fall of hair. "So you admit it."
"I thought you were the one who was here to admit something." Enjoying himself, he sat on the arm of a wing chair in pale blue damask. "Don't let me interrupt."
She was tempted, very tempted, to turn on her heel and stalk out. Pride was equally as strong as temper. She would do what she had come to do, then forget it.
"What I said about you—about you and your daughter was unfair and untrue. Even when I was… mistaken about other things, I knew it was untrue. And I'm very sorry I said it."