Page 71 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
Oliver echoed the sentiment.
“I have never seen such a woman!” she said. “I do not believe she’s mortal!”
The crowd began to disperse.
“Well,” said Oliver, “where next? Shall we stroll some more?”
“Please, I need some calm before my heart explodes from my chest like one of those fireworks.”
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Madeline’s heart quickened as they approached the orchestral building. The magnificently round edifice stood two storeys high, with both storeys faceless, open towards the viewing public. The Greco-Roman construction forecasted fine art and refined entertainment in seamless union.
“It’s Bach!” said Madeline, as the huge, gleaming pipes sent their rich tones into the crowd, surrounding every soul in a blanket of melody.
“Your ear is exquisite,” said Oliver.
“Oh, one does not need an exquisite ear to recognise the master. This is his Sinfonia from Cantata Number Twenty-nine. Oh, isn’t it something out of heaven itself?”
When she looked to him for confirmation, she found him staring at her, a loving gleam in his eye.
“If Papa could see me now,” she said mischievously.
He smiled. “Is he so worried about you in my charge? Even with chaperones?”
“Oh, no. But I like to think you are somewhat forbidden, and therefore I find you most attractive.”
His smile faded a little. “Does my attractiveness waver according to your father’s approval or disapproval?”
“Let us not be obtuse, My Lord,” she said. “Papa may be a generous soul, but only with his money. His good graces are another thing entirely.”
“And because he has not had a full heart towards me ...?”
“Well, that makes you all the more attractive, My Lord.”
His smile was completely faded now, and he turned towards the organ building. “So, I had thought you were turning cold to me. This is sufficient evidence for a confirmation of that intuition.”
Nerves stirred her stomach like one who has exposed too much unintentionally. “Whatever made you think I was turning cold to you? What action have I shown you?”
“None. But there is more to love than that which meets the eye, Madeline. You seem halved. It is as if a part of you resides elsewhere.”
She moved in front of him to meet his gaze. “If I may, Oliver, you have not been entirely yourself around me.”
“It is only because I sense the same in you. Ever since you were returned to us, you have been distant. Oh, I thought it was the brain fever you’d suffered as a result of your terrible ordeal. But now I see it as the ravages of time on your inclination towards me.”
She stared at him, anger welling up in her heart. “Well then, perhaps I should trouble you no more with myinclination. Would that suit you?”
“I have not said that.”
“But that is what you mean.”
“Do not suppose that you can read my thoughts, Madeline.”
She took a breath through her nose, feeling her anger give birth to resentment. “Where were you, Oliver?”
“Where was I?”
“Yes, when I was held like a slave in that dreadful place. Where were you?”
