Page 29 of Singing For His Kiss

CHAPTER ELEVEN

James rested back in his chair and looked out the office window. A superb view of the winter ocean met him. Steel-grey clouds hung low over darker water. Sharp white peaks slapped the grey here and there. Sheets of grey slashed over the horizon. Another storm raced towards them and soon would hit the window with a thumping force. If it was possible, the weather was even worse than it was yesterday.

Hanna loved the view from his window, almost as much from her conservatory. From the third floor, you could see right out to the horizon. She would sit opposite his desk, looking at the view, nursing Madeline while he worked. Those were peaceful times. Before the nightmare began.

His throat constricted. It seemed with the appearance of Elizabeth, his mind was disappearing more and more into the past, going over things he’d thought long buried.

Only now, some of the memories were blurred and he couldn’t work out if it was his imagination making false memories of things he wished would have happened or he truly was forgetting Hanna. He rubbed his eyes. He simply couldn’t forget his wife. She was the light of his life, his reason for doing the things he did, for reaching as high as he had. The mother of his daughter.

Maybe she wouldn’t have died if he’d found a doctor clever enough to save her. If only he could have worked harder, had the contacts he had now. The money to pay for more extensive treatments. Maybe now she would be alive and Madeline would have her mother.

A whisper of laughing drifted from downstairs, one a high-pitched giggle and the other a mature, feminine tone. The sounds of the piano being played. Hanna’s piano. Not a note had been played on it since she’d died.

He’d forbidden it.

Heart stuttering, he lurched from the chair and down the stairs before he could even contemplate what he was doing, the sound greeting him the sweetest torture.

Elizabeth was singing. Madeline laughed when she forgot the words. His gut wrenched. Elizabeth played the chorus again, but slower, teaching Madeline a song. What was it? Despite himself, he listened. An upbeat old rock and roll song. Da Do Run Run. Madeline fluffed another word, and both of them laughed.

He stopped mid-step, one foot on a different step, refusing to take him any closer. His body seemed to have locked in place. Frozen halfway down the stairs. Indecision weighed on his mind. Should he storm into the room, stop them playing the piano, stop them having fun? Protect Hanna’s memory? Or should he try and ignore the pain that speared his heart?

He never wanted that piano played again. If Hanna couldn’t play it, then no one would. But hearing it now, the sound that brought back so much, mixed with Madeline’s joyous laughter, added a bittersweet layer that froze him in place. Indecision weighed a heaviness in his gut.

He couldn’t see them from here, but he imagined them sitting at the piano. Madeline’s small body next to Elizabeth’s taller, slender form. Just like he’d thought Hanna would do when Madeline was old enough.

Hanna’s pieces were far removed from the song being bashed out now. His wife had played complicated, long pieces of classical work. Her favourite composer was Rachmaninoff. Her style was polished. Sophisticated. Complex and light. Before her illness, her concerts were sold out weeks in advance, people waiting for months for one of her concerts. He’d been to every single one of them. Had the luck to listen to her practise every day, go over each piece again and again until it was perfected. Even when Hanna learned a new piece, she played beautifully.

James clung to the banister and closed his eyes, listening to his daughter singing. It was full of life. Innocent. She was having fun. So was Elizabeth. He heard the amusement in her voice. Elizabeth’s voice wove through him, nailing him in place. Music was in her blood. Raw and busting to come out any way it could, different from Hanna, but no less rich and completing. And God, did it tear him apart.

Listening to the fun Madeline was having, he realized he hadn’t done his job. Hadn’t honoured Hanna’s memory. It was his fault. He should have made sure he’d hired a piano teacher for Madeline so she could learn in her mother’s footsteps.

He should have made sure Madeline still had her mother.

Anger. Guilt. Frustration pushed him back upstairs and into his office when he only wanted to seek the comfort of his daughter and object of his desire. He sat at his desk to lose himself in hours of brain-numbing tasks, trying with miserable failure to block out the temptation of Elizabeth’s presence and the oppressive guilt of trying his best to raise his daughter but failing despite that.

He had to set it aside. Ignore what he felt. Ignore what he really wanted to do. Lose himself in Highland Hotels and the never-ending list of tasks. He had to survive.

Finally, after struggling for hours, long after the sound of music and laughing had faded from the depths of the house, James rubbed tired eyes with the tips of his fingers.

It was silent now. Just as it always was. And also empty. Strange how he hadn’t noticed that until it was filled with new life. He waited for long moments, hoping to hear movements in the house. He wondered what they’d done after playing the piano. What they’d spoken about. The fun they’d had while he’d been neck deep in calculations. The yearning inside that he’d joined in.

Then the faint strains of Elizabeth’s voice floated to him. Singing again. Always singing with her. His chest eased, and he found he could breathe again. He paused, catching the tune, and hummed along, everything else faded into the background. Somehow she’d made a top forty hit by an artist he didn’t know into a lullaby. Only she could do that successfully. She’d done the same thing – was it only last night? – and it had soothed Madeline. Maybe he should give her a book of lullabies to learn so she could sing those as well.

“It’s beautiful, is it not?”

James startled, opening his eyes to see Maria at the door with a tray of food for his dinner. “You didn’t have to bring that up, Mrs. D’llessio.”

The housekeeper made a noise. “Nonsense. As if I’m not used to it. You, up here more often than not.”

His mouth twisted in a grimace. She set the tray on the desk. “You should go.”

“Go?” There was no way out of town yet. The roads were still blocked. The weather still wild.

“Say goodnight. She want you,” Mrs. D’llessio said.

James nodded. How many nights had he left bed time to Maria? Too many, that’s how many. “Yes. That’s a good idea. I’ve neglected my daughter.”

Mrs. D’llessio paused at the door and pierced him with a look only an Italian grandmother could give. “I no talk about Madeline.”

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