A SYMOHONY OF SECRETS

My fingers glide across the piano keys, playing each note of Debussy’s “Claire de Lune”. The atmosphere was heavy with silence, a pin drop could have been heard from a mile away. I finish the final notes and in that moment, the world holds its breath.

I watch the crowd for a moment. Then, as if the heavens themselves have granted permission the audience explodes into waves of applause. Every note I played tonight, each filled with my soul has led to this moment. Their Applause brings joy to my ears. My heart swells in gratitude for the love they shower upon me. I rise from my piano bench and exit with a graceful bow.

The applause still echoed as I descended the stairs. My fingers still vibrating from the memories of the keys beneath them. The Performance had gone very well.

A familiar face emerges from the shadows-Sarah, my diligent secretary, her eyes shining with admiration. Her clipboard is held tightly to her chest as she walks briskly to meet me. She has been with me since my abrupt move from New York. A hardworking girl just trying to work her way through college.

“Evelyn, that was beautiful!” her voice emits genuine awe. I can’t help but smile.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off you” she continues as we walk towards my dressing room “It is like you get better with each performance”

I chuckle at her praise. “Thank you, Sarah. But enough about me. When is the interview scheduled? am sure the critics and press are ready to have a go at me?”

Sarah hesitates “Your schedule has been cleared,” she replies

I stop in my tracks, my hand resting on the door to my dressing room. In my five years of performing, I have never had a performance without an interview afterward. The press is always hungry for more details about my next show, my return to New York.

A sigh escapes my lips, and I turn to face Sarah. “What do you mean my schedule is cleared”

There must be a good reason. Sarah is not one to make impulsive decisions without consulting me.

“Your Mother met me before your performance and told me to clear it” she replies.

My heart skips a beat. My mother is in London. This could mean only trouble. Sarah can see the color drain from my face and concern sweeps her face.

“Did I do something wrong?” she stammers. “She told me you would be returning to NewYork tomorrow so I-”

“Tomorrow” I interrupt. My legs tremble, threatening to give way. It’s too soon. I won’t turn 25 for at least five months. Why is she here now?

“Where is she?” I ask, anguish dripping from my voice.

“she is-is inside” Sarah stutters, pointing to the door, her brain probably trying to decipher the type of relationship I have with my mother.

I quickly let myself into the room, and there she is- Margret Hartfield. She wears a midnight blue gown made of luxurious silk chiffon. The dress falls softly around her figure. Her strawberry blonde hair falls to her waist like mine. In that moment as she sat in the dimly lit room, I understand why my father married her.

“Evelyn darling!” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up as she approaches me. She envelops me in a tight hug. I am still too stunned to respond.

“It is too long, darling,” she finally releases me.

“Mother, you should have called to let me know you were coming. I would have sent someone to pick you up,” I say as we settle on the couch.

“Oh, I wanted to surprise you,” She says, taking a sip of her champagne. She then turns her critical gaze on me “Evelyn, your skin looks dull. Have you been keeping up with your facial appointments?”

Just like that, my mother has already begun putting me under a microscope.

I sigh “It is just my period, Mother”

“Oh, please,” she dismisses with a wave. “You are not taking care of yourself. Are you sure you’ve been eating right?”

“I eat properly Mother, ” I reply, but I am certain she doesn’t believe me.

“You girls can’t do anything without me.” she mutters under her breath “I told your father he shouldn’t let you go halfway across the world on your own.”

“Mother, what brings you to London besides visiting your hopeless daughter?”

“Goodness, you're not hopeless” she playfully taps my shoulder. “I am here to talk about your engagement, silly.”

I knew it. “Mother isn't it too soon? I won't turn 25 for at least another five months.”

“The marriage must happen by 25, dear. You have to get engaged, honey” she insists

I stare absentmindedly at the wall, my mind unprepared for the encounter that awaits. My heart can’t face him right now. I simply can’t do it.

Quietly, almost to myself, I ask my Mother “Must we go tomorrow?”

“Evelyn Hartfield, stand up” She commands pulling me to my feet. We’re almost the same height.

She takes her time to adjust my dress and jewelry, her hands surprisingly gentle. I begin to wonder if she is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, perhaps from hearing the doubt in my voice.

“Mother-” I begin, but she interrupts.

“Evelyn, as women, we have a duty to perform. I married your Father immediately after I turned 18. It was a match made at birth, just like yours. I know it is not easy, but you will overcome it. Why?” Her hands rest on my shoulder, her gaze unwavering “ Because you’re a Hartfield.”

With that, she picks up her bag and heads for the door.

“Remember, the flight is at 6 tomorrow. Don’t be late,” she calls out before closing the door behind her. Just as she is about to close the door, she pauses, as if remembering something “And darling, that was a marvelous performance.”

With those words, she exits the room, leaving me to my thoughts. Will I survive this? Mother’s advice may be right, but Father didn’t loathe her when they married. My future Fiance, on the other hand, despises me, and to make matters worse, I am in love with him.