Chapter 14: The Gala

Hazel's POV

On the night of the Marchand Foundation gala, Delphine played the nocturne perfectly.

She played it from the first bar to the last with no gap in bar nine.

I sat beside her on the bench in a green gown, turning pages she did not need, and I heard every note go where it should.

It was a beautiful performance.

It was also missing the one gap I knew best.

The ballroom of Ashford Hall was full.

Three hundred donors sat at round tables under the chandeliers, and the cameras stood along the back wall.

Etienne's grandmother had the centre table, upright in black lace.

Clarissa Rutherford sat two tables away from her son, and she had not looked at him once.

Colin sat in the front row, and he had his eyes closed.

When the last chord faded, he opened them and they were wet.

The room rose to its feet.

Delphine stood and curtsied, pale and glowing, and held out her scarred hand for me to kiss her cheek.

"Thank you, sister," she whispered in my ear. "You were a perfect page-turner."

I smiled at her.

"You played it beautifully," I said.

I meant that it was beautiful, and she heard what she wanted.

Colin was already walking to the microphone.

He took a glass from a waiter on the way and turned to the room.

"Nine years ago," he said, "I lay in a hospital bed in the dark, and a woman played this piece for me every night."

He looked straight at Delphine.

"She gave me back my life. Tonight she gave it to me again. To my first love."

The room cheered.

Delphine pressed her hand to her heart, and a tear slid down her cheek on schedule.

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