A Bewitching Compulsion Read online

  'Mr Deverenko,' she said severely, to counteract the dimple's effect, 'I—'

  'David—please call me David. We can't have a proper argument unless we're on insultingly easy terms.'

  'Mr Deverenko—'

  'I stand corrected,' he murmured ruefully, and at her frigid look put a finger to his lips. His hands were the only thing about him that looked refined—strong, yet with a delicate flexibility that indicated their sensitivity, their skill.

  'I don't intend to argue with you. Tim is too young for the kind of intensive musical training that you have in mind for him…'

  'Since you wouldn't listen to me, you don't have any idea what I have in mind for him.'

  'Virginia—'

  'With respect, nor does your mother-in-law. Mrs Malcolm, I am not an evil Fagin come to steal your child away from your loving arms and turn him into a freak. I'm here to ask.. .to find out what your plans for the boy are, and to offer you my advice.'

  'Your unbiased advice?'

  He hid his satisfaction at this indication that she might consider it. 'Yes.'

  'Your opinion?'

  'Yes.'

  'An opinion which, of course, is open to my influence.'

  He hesitated, conscious of the trap his arrogance had led him into. He was capable of colouring the truth with emotion and enthusiasm, but the cold lie was beyond him.

  'Because if it wasn't… if you had come here with one fixed idea—to persuade me that my opinion is without worth—why, then, you'd be guilty of inflexibility, wouldn't you, Mr Deverenko? Which, according to you, is a crime.'

  He was no longer lounging. He sat forward, muscular thighs splayed, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers interlocking as his fierce jaw tightened. Clare felt a sense of achievement at the banishment of his former supreme self-confidence.

  'I am not without honour in my field—' he began slowly.

  'Come now, maestro, let's not be absurdly modest. Please feel free to intimidate me with your undoubted greatness.'

  'Dammit, woman!' The bearish growl burst out before he could control himself. He got to his feet, took two stiff strides away, then whirled around, eyes narrowing on her bland expression. 'You're enjoying this, aren't you?' he accused.

  'Did you expect me not to? Did you think I'd bow and scrape and accept your sacred word as gospel? Didn't. Virginia warn you, Mr Deverenko?'

  'Yes, but I didn't believe that anyone could be that blind or that stupid!' He made an expressive sound in a rush of air and looked away from her, uttering what had to be a curse in a language other than English. 'I apologise, Mrs Malcolm,' he said with such stiff revulsion that she knew he was unaccustomed to begging for anything. 'I suppose I've completely blown any. chance of getting you to listen to me now. But believe me, I came here out of the best of motives. Arrogant and opinionated as you might think I am, I came here for Timothy's sake, not to exercise my ego.'

  He looked at her then, and Claire felt the full impact of the black eyes at close quarters. She became aware of the power inside him, the controlled vitality, the musician's unique ability to communicate without words. Tim had that ability. Clare didn't. She had no musical ability whatsoever.

  'Do you play an instrument?' he asked suddenly, and she had the unsettling feeling that he had read her mind.

  'No,' she said proudly, refusing to apologise for it.

  'But you've studied ballet.'

  'Why, yes…did Virginia tell you?' She wondered uneasily just what Virginia had told him.

  He shook his head. 'It's in the way you move. You move to music… you compose with your walk.'

  Clare could feel her skin heating, the simplicity of his statement attesting to its sincerity. It was a musician's compliment. 'I always wanted to be a ballerina, but I got too tall and…'

  'Shapely?' he murmured helpfully, a glimmer of humour easing his dark expression. 'But you are in very good shape. You still dance?'

  'For exercise.'

  'And enjoyment?'

  She allowed herself a smile, forgetting the effect of the dimple. 'That, too.'

  'Then you know how music can move the emotions, can demand the best from us. Clare—Mrs Malcolm—'

  'Clare.'

  'Clare.' Not a flicker of smugness that he had finally got his own way. 'Music is my life. I have been playing the violin since I was very young, and it has given me more pleasure, more success, demanded more of me than I ever dreamed of in my childish fantasies. I knew that what I had was special, and I knew that there was some inner compulsion in me to play that would direct my life rather than accept any lesser compromise. Natural ability with a musical instrument can be a trap. It's very easy to drift, to 'cheat', if you like, when you're so much better than anyone else your age. Many children who are called 'gifted' musically when they are small children don't fulfil the promise in later years. It is discipline that makes a true musician, as much as talent and instinct… the day to day grind of practice. I was pushed relentlessly by my parents as a child, and although there were times when I resented it quite fiercely, I can attribute the musician I am today to their care and attention. The early years are so important in forming the habits that sustain one through a lifetime of playing, particularly on the violin, which involves specific muscular co-ordination and development. Genius may be born, but its development to its fullest potential is slow and gradual… otherwise we'd all be burnt out by the time we're twenty.'

  'You see it strictly from a musician's point of view,' Clare said quietly. 'You're not telling me anything I don't already know. But Tim isn't just a musically gifted child, he's also a six-year-old boy who's interested in mathematics and science. I want him to grow up as a whole person, not an incomplete one, obsessed with just one aspect of himself. There are some educationalists who think that a child shouldn't be expected to specialise until he's in his teens—'

  'Ordinarily, yes… for the average child, but Timothy is not average. He has music inside him that needs to be given form and expression. He told me that he's been playing the violin since he was four…'

  'Yes. Lee—my husband—gave him a quarter-sized one for his birthday after he'd been fascinated by a busker in the street. It was a kind of a joke…'

  'But he's having lessons—obviously you yourself feel that there is a seriousness about him that demands respect rather than mere humouring. Perhaps you are even a little afraid of it, no?' It was the first indication that his thoughts might not be formulated entirely in English. Clare remembered reading somewhere that until he'd gone to school Russian had been his language. Then had come the visits to America and Europe in search of a teacher for the young Deverenko, culminating in his early acceptance at Juilliard. He now spoke five or six languages fluently.

  'Afraid, no. Wary, yes. Just because I don't fully understand his gift it doesn't mean I don't fully appreciate it. Tim will have his chance, but not yet. He and his father were very close, and he was severely affected by Lee's death. He withdrew into himself and even now is slow to trust himself to others. I don't think he needs any extra pressures right now.'

  'But nor should he be left in isolation—'

  Clare stiffened. 'Not everyone has your resources, David. I took this job at the lodge because I needed to work and also be close at hand for Tim.' And she hadn't wanted to take up Virginia's offer to 'help', knowing the tussles of will that her assistance would involve.

  'I wasn't necessarily meaning geographical isolation, Clare,' David was quick to reassure her, reassured himself by her automatic use of his Christian name. 'I meant from the company of like-minded children.'

  'Tim has enough friends—'

  'Ones who share his deep interest in music? With whom he can play and interact without being made to feel self-conscious and 'different'? Are you sure you're aware of his changing needs? I'm sure that the teacher he's with is very competent, but already I can see flaws in Tim's technique which, if not corrected now, will dog his playing for the rest of his life. For example, does he
practise on his own, or does his teacher supervise his practice?'

  'Naturally Miss Tyson can't give him time every day—'

  'Quite. Of course she can't. Tim is no doubt the best of her pupils, but the others still deserve the attention that their parents are paying for. One person can only do so much. At the music school the numbers are small. All the children have revealed a natural musical ability. We have many teachers, and the children receive individual lessons as well as lessons in ensemble playing, and their daily practice is supervised so that they're not just perfecting their faults. As to Timothy's personal insecurities—as I said, our numbers are small and the atmosphere is very much a family one. I don't think Timothy would find it at all frightening or intimidating. In fact, he seemed to me a very assured individual.'

  'About his music, he is. But I don't want him to feel that he is valued only for his musical talent.'

  'Ah.' The dark eyes were enlightened. The absent pacing stopped and he came to sit down opposite her again. 'You have been reading psychology of child development, about gifted children, no?'

  'I like to be informed. I don't like to rush into things.'

  'I don't think there's any danger of that.' He gave her a smile that revealed the charm which had been almost swamped by his emotional intensity. Clare wondered whether he was as intense about everything he did, or whether it was just music that evoked this enthusiasm. 'And I applaud your caution. But there is a point at which caution may become mere stubbornness. Do not discount what I have said merely because you don't like what I have to say. My school does not produce one-dimensional human beings. Music is only a part of the syllabus, although it is naturally a large part. We meet Educational Department standards in all our subjects. Our children range in age from eight to fifteen, and, although we've only been running for ten years, many of our graduates so far have found successful careers in varying fields of music.'

  'In a sense, though, it's still rather in the nature of an educational experiment. I mean, how many children have gone the full stretch with you? Surely most of them are admitted at intermediate school level?'

  'I wouldn't call it an experiment. I'm not using these children as guinea pigs. We've had withdrawals, but not because of any complaints about our standards or our results—merely children who no longer respond to the musical curriculum.' Antagonism crackled in the air again. David Deverenko didn't take too kindly to any hint of criticism, Clare realised.

  'And why eight years old? Why not admit children from the age of five?'

  'Because they're not capable o—' He stopped on hearing his own words.

  'Quite. I don't see any harm in allowing Tim another year of just being an ordinary boy.'

  He was on his feet again. 'You haven't been listening to a word I've been saying, have you?'

  Clare rose, too, glad that he was not taller than she. 'Yes, I have, and I see the validity of your arguments. It's you who won't see the validity of mine. You don't know Timothy, you don't know me. I thank you for your advice and I'll consider it—'

  'But you'll do nothing about it. Don't offer me such an insult to my intelligence. Why don't you just say what you mean? You have no intention of taking my advice.'

  'Don't put words into my mouth.'

  'Why not? They seem to be more truthful than the mealy-mouthed prevarications you put there. Perhaps you are jealous of your son, and this is why you deny him the chance of fulfilment. Because your expectations for an artistic career-remain unfulfilled, so must his.'

  'How dare you? Who do you think you are?'

  'David Deverenko. I am somebody, Clare Malcolm, I have made this of myself. I am allowed to be as I am. I was not held back by an anxious mama, I was not made to pay for her…inadequacies. She was a musician—not of great talent—but she valued mine because it was of me, in me, indivisible from what I am. Ach!' He threw up the strong, slender, square-tipped hands. 'I have the tenses wrong, but the sentiment, the sentiment you cannot mistake. You have no heart, Clare Malcolm, if you can deny the boy his rightful inheritance. What would your husband have wanted for him? The best? Or the mediocrity of 'wait and see'? How dare you? And who are you to decide?'

  'I'm somebody, too,' she threw at him fiercely, her nose shiny from the perspiration of her small temper, her hands clammy with the enormity of what she was doing—offending a man who had every right to believe that his advice would be treated with the utmost respect. But she couldn't let him overwhelm her with his force of will and personality; she owed it to Tim to fight for what she believed was right, even though it might cost her an agony of embarrassment in the process. 'I may not be famous, or a wild success at a brilliant career, but I am something that you can never aspire to be, Mr Deverenko—a mother. I have bonds with Tim that you can't possibly understand. I bore him in my body and I know him as intimately as it's possible to know another human being. He knows that I shall love him whatever he is—or isn't—and right now what he needs most is the undemanding reassurance of that love. People like you, Mr Deverenko, so eager to get their hands on him, would crush him with unreasonable expectations. Tim is gifted in other ways, too, but you would ignore that in favour of your bias, music. You didn't come here to ask, you came here to tell. Well, now you've told me, I'd like you to go.'

  'Clare—' The fiery Russian temper was reined back sharply as her criticisms stung.

  Clare walked to the door and held it open, just as Virginia came through with her best china laid on a tray.

  'Oh, were you coming to get me? Are you ready for your tea?'

  'Mr Deverenko is just leaving.'

  'But…surely you can't have finished?' Virginia looked from one to the other, her heart sinking at Clare's paleness and the violinist's glower.

  'Mr Deverenko's time is too valuable to allow him to fritter it away on anxious mamas,' said Clare coldly.

  'I don't—'

  'Besides, he would never dream of outstaying his welcome.' She opened the outer door and stood, ignoring Virginia's fluttering, her wintry expression a silent challenge to his pride. David Deverenko grovel for an audience? Never!

  David stormed across the footpath to his car, a sleek grey Jaguar parked at the kerb. He slammed his hands against the roof and swore. He stood there a moment, stiff with outrage, then he swore again, more softly, and began to laugh. So much for his aggressive charm! She had routed him far more completely than his fiercest teacher! They had both lost their tempers, but it was she who had triumphed with her damned Cupid's mouth and dimples! How Efrem would laugh. Laugh? He would want to hire her. Anyone who could finesse David Deverenko out of the door when he didn't want to go was worth having on the payroll! His fingers tapped impatiently on the sunwarmed car roof. Dammit, since when did he give up so easily?

  Clare was still leaning against the closed door, her legs weak with reaction. She had done it. She had actually outfaced the man… stood up for herself! Pride was mixed with the faintly nauseous feeling that always rushed over her after a row.

  'You're a fool, Clare,' Virginia told her angrily, the teacups on the tray rattling their disapproval. 'How could you insult him like that? Jeopardise Tim's whole future! The day might come when you need that man's help—'

  'He's not the only violinist in the world.'

  'But he's the only one with such strong links with New Zealand. He's committed to helping young New Zealand musicians. Music is a very enclosed little world, you know. A recommendation from him or his school would be more than, a foot in the door; it would be the best seat in the house!'

  'Well, if he's so committed, he won't turn his back on promise just because of a personal difference of opinion.'

  'Difference of opinion? Clare, you were downright hostile!'

  'You didn't hear what he said to me,' began Clare defensively, niggled by guilt… another unwelcome regular which attended her rows. She hated hurting or upsetting people, even when it was necessary. Her own sensitivity was a definite handicap.

  Her confidence was
interrupted by a series of sharp raps that vibrated her head against the wooden door. The two women stared at each other for a frozen moment, and then Virginia jerked her head commandingly.

  Clare swallowed. She knew very well who was on the other end of those demanding blows, and she didn't know if she had the strength to go through it all again. Reluctantly she opened the door, tempted to use the security chain but for Virginians hovering presence. Sure enough, David Deverenko stood on the doorstep.

  'I forgot to give you these,' he said, holding out an envelope. Clare stared at it mistrustfully, and his dark, musical voice acquired a silky provocation. 'The tickets for my concert. Three of them. I promised Timothy… and I never go back on my word.'

  Virginia reached past Clare, the tray hurriedly discarded on the hall table, to take the proffered envelope. 'Oh, thank you, David, we do so appreciate it.' She gave Clare a sharp nudge.

  'Yes, thank you,' she said slowly, unwillingly.

  'My pleasure, Clare,' he replied smoothly. 'I know you'd hate to disappoint Tim. There's a small supper after the performance which you might like to bring him to as well.' And before she could open her mouth he switched his attention to Virginia. 'I'm sure you'd enjoy meeting some of the orchestra members and patrons. You might like to become a patron yourself, Virginia. The Symphony is always on the lookout for sympathetic support, artistic as well as financial.'

  Virginia's eyes lit up, and she flushed under his warm regard. 'I'll look forward to it,' she said breathlessly. 'I'm so glad you're doing the Bruch Concerto—it's one of my favourites. I have you on record, as a matter of fact, and Tim listens to it endlessly…'

  Clare could have kicked them both. They were acting as if she weren't even there, as if the last half-hour hadn't happened. All that nervous energy expended for nothing.

  'Goodbye, Mr Deverenko,' she said pointedly. The last thing she wanted was for Tim to come home and find his hero on the doorstep; he would never let him go. He was going to have a blue fit as it was, to hear that the maestro had visited while he was out.