Prompt: future
A/N: I'm way behind on the July prompts—this was meant to be for July 4! But being late means I can submit this for Andith Fest on tumblr! When I conceived this ficlet, I was looking at the prompt and listening to Harry James, and this is what came out. The title actually comes from a hit song by rival trombone and trumpeter Tommy Dorsey. Enjoy!
The Music Goes Round and Round
"I thought we were going to the café," Edith quizzed.
"Well, there's this new joint I thought you'd like. Thomas told me about it," Michael responded.
"Is it a gay bar?" She laughed.
"No, it's not a gay bar," he rolled his eyes over a fond grin. "But it has a great vintage vibe. They are going to meet us there."
Edith smiled and submitted. The taxi cruised out of the fashionable part of town and large windowed facades gave way to simple brick buildings.
"Are you sure this place is safe?"
"It's a bit of a dive, I'll admit, but sometimes you have to go off the beaten path to find a diamond in the rough."
"I think you're mixing your metaphors there. I suppose I'll just have to trust your—and Thomas's judgment. Which is a scary thought," she added with an exaggerated grimace.
He gave a small chuckle and his eyes lingered on her affectionately as she turned to continue looking out the window. The taxi began to slow down and Edith could see lights ahead. As they stopped, she could see they were coming from a sign which in curling letters read: Alfred's. The taxi stopped and they got out, climbing down a cracked set of stairs until they reached a heavy studded door.
Michael turned over his shoulder and gave her a crooked grin. "Well, here goes." And with that he pushed open the door and they walked inside.
Though it had a dubious exterior, the interior of Alfred's was utterly charming, if humble. Soft lighting glimmered through a haze of smoke, and glinted off the battered, mirrored bar. Small tables and tall palms were crammed into every corner, and the brick walls featured black and white photos of jazz musicians long dead. On a small raised bandstand a jazz combo played, and around this in an even smaller clearing half a dozen couples danced. It had very clearly been quite an elegant bar at its height in the 1930's or '40's and though not as stunning as it was then, it retained its vintage grace. Edith smiled to herself as she imagined Humphrey Bogart coming around a corner, or Lauren Bacall leaning against the piano and crooning.
She followed Michael through a crush of patrons of all styles and salaries, scanning to find an empty table. But there seemed to be none.
"Oh, Bollocks," she saw Michael say over the noise of the music and chatter. He gave her a resigned look and took a step to two towards the door, when a voice flagged them down.
"Oy! Michael!"
They followed the summons and navigated to a table where the speaker, a lanky handsome young man smirked good-naturedly at them.
"I told you to get here early, didn't I? Come on, you can share our table."
Michael allowed Edith to pass to a seat and took the one next to her. Greetings were exchanged, Edith leaning in to kiss their host and reaching a hand over to squeeze that of his companion, who returned the squeeze and inclined his head in her direction, grinning broadly.
"I'm so glad you made it. Thomas said you might come," he said warmly.
Edith couldn't help but beam back at him. She was terribly fond of Edward, whose blindness not only heightened his perception but also his understanding. He was infinitely kind and compassionate, and truly loved life. He had, over the two years he had been dating Thomas, mellowed and softened him, taking off most of the biting edge that he'd had in college.
Michael went to the bar to get drinks, and Edith chatted contentedly with her friends.
"This band is very good," Edith commented.
"Their trumpeter is to die for," Edward said earnestly.
"Careful, you're going to make me jealous," Thomas interjected, planting a kiss on his boyfriend's cheek. Then he turned his attention back to Edith. "But Edward's right. Thankfully for me, the man is also ancient."
"What are you all talking about?" Michael said, returning and setting several glasses on the table.
"Old men," Edith quipped, giving him a pointed grin.
"Yes, irresistible aren't we?" he teased back, running a hand past his greying temples.
Edith laughed, as the music changed from a syncopated fox trot to a slow, silky tune. A xylophone chimed out the introduction and then the trumpet took the melody. Edith quieted, feeling the breath go out of her. Sterling notes curled and soared from the instrument, rising clear and full high above the audience, each imbued with such emotion, as if it were the player's very soul singing out to her. She turned in her seat, craning to try to spy the source of such beauty, but it seemed that Thomas had chosen a seat perfectly calculated to conceal the man from view. Edith settled for listening, rapt, until the song ended with one final, quivering note. She sat silent for a moment, before joining in the hearty applause.
As conversation recommenced, Edith couldn't quite concentrate. She was still hearing those silver notes, still feeling the thrill of the tender melody. The player had called out to her, and her heart was urging her to answer.
"Earth to Edith!" Thomas broke into her thoughts.
"Hmm? I'm sorry what were you saying?"
"Only trying to tell you that I'm getting married," Thomas grinned at her, tightening the arm he had around Edward.
"Oh that's wonderful!" Edith chirruped, "I'm so very very pleased for you both!"
Toasts were made and all the proper accolades pronounced, and the evening passed away in a haze of drinks, jazz and wedding talk.
"Oh Edward, I knew you would do him good the first time I met you. I hope you'll be very happy," Edith gushed into his ear as she kissed him goodnight for the fourth time.
"Thanks, Edith. I'll strive not to disappoint you," he replied with a wide smile, before Thomas caught his arm and dragged him towards the door.
"Come on you, we'll be here all night if we don't get going," Thomas grumbled jovially, turning to give Michael and Edith a final wave before they pushed through the door and were out of sight.
Edith sighed happily, and sat down again.
"I'm so pleased for those two. After everything that Thomas has been through—all those assholes at college and then Jimmy…and now to have found that happiness that he always deserved, to find someone who wants to make a life with him…" her voice trailed off, and Michael did not fail to catch the note of wistfulness in her voice.
He reached a hand across the table to hers. "You know, I always thought I'd be rather good at that job," he said softly.
Edith looked into his wide, affectionate gaze and smiled sadly. "I know," she replied, placing her other hand on his and giving him a look of sympathetic apology.
"Ah, well," he sighed good-naturedly. "You can't blame me for trying."
"Every chance you get," Edith joked, before becoming serious once more. "But if anything changes, you'll be the first to know."
"Well," he said, standing once more. "I think it's time to return Cinderella to her scullery. Milady?"
"Actually, would you mind letting me get a taxi? I wanted to talk to the trumpeter once they've finished playing."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Or at least I'll catch him between sets."
"Alright. See you Monday."
XXX
A half an hour later, the band played their finale and began packing up for the night. Edith hurried over to the stage and watched as a lean figure bent over the trumpet case and carefully tucked the instrument into the velvet folds, long fingers tweaking the clasps closed, and tucking a shock of greying blonde hair out of his face, tossing his jacket over his arm and turning to face her.
He was slightly startled, and his instant of hesitation gave Edith time to take him in, and to decide she liked what she saw. He so perfectly suited his music. He had a sincere sympathetic countenance, with clear blue open attentive eyes, a wide mouth, and a long nose—and the way he was now looking at her, with a slight puzzlement, gave his features a delightfully boyish quality that brought an involuntary smile to her lips. Just as automatically he mirrored the expression, which was even more enchanting.
"Hello. I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your playing tonight," she said.
"Oh, thank you. It's always nice to know one's work is appreciated."
He stepped down off the bandstand and started moving towards an empty table. Edith followed him.
"Oh yes, very much. I've rarely heard playing to rival that. How long have you been playing?"
"Since I was eight. I was terribly fond of Harry James, and so when it came time to choose instruments for the school band, I chose the trumpet. Of course, I learned quickly that I was not the Young Man with the Horn."
Edith laughed. "But now you are! Good thing you never gave it up."
"Well, I'm certainly not a young man, but I'm flattered by the comparison," he said, smiling.
At this point he had reached a table and sat down. Edith stood looking down at him, knowing she ought to go, knowing she was being a pest, but she couldn't make herself leave. To her great relief, he said kindly:
"After the last set I usually have a bite to eat. If you're going to continue giving me the third degree, I suppose I'd better buy you a drink. Won't you join me?"
"Are you sure? I'd love to, but you're sure I'm not bothering you? I can leave, if you want."
He looked up into her large brown eyes, which moments before had been warm and confident, but in an instant flooded with insecurity. He saw in them a kindred self-doubt, a familiar loneliness, and he couldn't help but reach out to her.
"I would be very glad if you would stay," he said gravely. "But first, I should be obliged if you'd tell me your name."
"It's Edith. Edith Crawley."
She put out a hand. He took it and shook it.
"Anthony Strallan."
And so Edith sat, and stayed, and talked. What had begun as a politeness, quickly turned into a pleasure, and Anthony felt the exhaustion of three sets melt away in the thrill of exploring a new mind, of plumbing the depths of this beautiful and fascinating young woman.
The staff, who all liked Anthony very much, watched in contentment as they began to clean up for the night. Sir Anthony Strallan, the baronet who deigned to come and play in their lowly club, and who usually ended his night with a plate alone before leaving for his solitary flat, was sharing a convivial drink with a glamorous young woman, who, despite the age difference, seemed to be quite at home in his company.
At long last the head waiter had to politely inform them that the club was closed. The pair strolled outside, and then stayed chatting on the sidewalk, unwilling to say goodbye.
"Well, I guess I'd better go," Edith sighed.
"Are you parked around here? Let me walk you to your car. This is not the best neighborhood," he offered.
"Actually, I sent my ride home," she blushed a little in the lamplight. "I was hoping to get a cab home."
"Not at this hour, you won't," he asserted. "I'd be happy to give you a lift."
"That's very kind of you. Thank you," she accepted.
"So, when will you be playing at Alfred's again? I'd like to come see you," she said once they were underway.
"Well, I'm there most nights, formally or informally. During the week it's more like a jam session of whoever turns up than a formal band," he replied.
"So, are you employed by the club or is it just a hobby?"
"They pay us a percentage of the profits Thursday through Sunday. The rest of the week, it's just for fun."
"That seems awfully time consuming. What about your job?"
He hesistated. "I haven't got one, at the moment," he admitted, but Edith sensed his concealment.
"I see," she said courteously, not wanting to hurt his feelings by asking how he had come to lose his job.
She fell silent, examining him as he drove. His car was a modest one, and at least seven years old. His three piece suit was equally well used, but of sturdy quality and good cut. Clearly his former job had been able to support a comfortable lifestyle for him, but now, she wondered about his financial stability.
They reached town and conversation ceased as Edith had to give more specific directions to her flat. When they arrived, they sat chatting at the curb for at least ten more minutes before Edith finally climbed out, bidding a warm farewell. He watched to make sure she was safely inside and then with a grin, pulled away down the street.
Edith returned to Alfred's the next night, and every night that week, and the next, staying through the last set, sharing a coffee with Anthony, and letting him drive her home. On the third night she began to press gas money onto him, and on the sixteenth she said,
"Anthony, you are really too good to be stuck playing here. My father has plenty of contacts in the record industry; he could pull some strings, maybe get you a record deal."
He gave a silent chuckle. "I'm touched that you are so concerned for my welfare. I thank you for the offer, but I'm fine where I am."
"Anthony, when I say you're the best I've heard I mean it. And this is nice for fun, but…" she sighed, "there's no future in it."
He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Isn't there?" he said teasingly.
"I'm not kidding. Seriously, you owe it to yourself—to your playing-to try for something better," she urged.
He took her hand in his, gazing deeply into her eyes. This anxiety for his fate led him to hope that what he had been sensing between them over the past few days was not false, that impossible at it was, she returned the regard that had taken root in his heart, growing stronger every day.
"I'll tell you what," he said in a low voice, "how about you have dinner with me tomorrow night and maybe you'll talk me into it."
"I'd like nothing better," she replied, and she meant it.
XXX
The next evening Edith dressed carefully, but casually, as she felt certain that Anthony could not afford to take her anywhere fancy. She even brought along enough cash to be able to cover her plate if she needed to. At exactly five-thirty his silver sedan pulled up in front of her flat. Edith skipped down the stairs and took her place in the passenger's seat.
"Lead on, Macduff!" she commanded playfully, and the car pulled forward.
Once again, Edith watched the fashionable London streets give way, but this time to rolling hills and quaint cottages.
"Where exactly are we going?" Edith couldn't help asking.
"Ah-ah," he scolded playfully. "That would ruin the surprise."
It didn't take long for Edith to find out. They turned down a lane and onto a drive to be greeted by a view that made Edith gasp. Cradled amid lush trees and lit by the setting sun, was a stately Georgian mansion, with a pedimented colonnade and even a small belltower. She turned to her companion, agape.
"Anthony, how…?"
He grinned conspiratorially. "Let's just say the owner is an old friend."
"Well, thank him for giving up his home to us for the evening," Edith exclaimed.
He laughed and helped her out.
Later, after exploring the first floor rooms and dining on a fine dinner amid majestic portraits, they settled themselves on the back lawn, enjoying the mild summer evening. A gentle breeze shushed through the trees and the glow of a full moon cast a bright silver light upon them. Edith's perfect contentment was broken only by her worry for Anthony. Despite his many assurances over the course of the evening, she was certain he had paid far too much to rent the venue for the evening; she couldn't let him sacrifice his already tenuous financial security for her.
"Anthony," she started for the dozenth time, "you've really got to let me pitch in for this. I'm having a lovely time, perhaps the best night of my life, but I don't want the cost to be…detrimental to you," she said as tactfully as she could.
"Do you really mean that?" He asked, beaming merrily at her.
"What?"
"That this is the best night of your life?"
"Yes," she said, her voice and gaze deepening with affection.
A few breathless moments passed between them. Then he stood.
"Come with me," he whispered, putting out a hand. "I wrote something for you."
She took his hand and followed him inside, where he gathered up his trumpet and led her up a steep staircase to a terrace which extended off the back of the house. He bade her sit, and she watched in silence as he assembled his trumpet, and trilled a few notes to warm up. Then, looking nervously at her, he put the instrument to his lips and began to play, closing his eyes and losing himself in his ardent composition.
As always, Edith was transported as the music swelled and washed over her, filling her heart with the sweet ecstasy of it. It was made more beautiful because she now knew the heart behind the horn; his compassion and courteousness, his calm wisdom and gentle strength, his loneliness and longing. She heard all that now, as if each crystal note were comprised of silent harmonies, harmonies only her soul could decipher. She heard, too, the unspoken declarations he'd composed into every measure, every beat, every note.
She stood and stepped forward, placing her hands on his where they clutched the valves, stopping the bliss of his playing only for one sweeter. The instrument fell and two sets of fingers twined around the glinting brass as two sets of lips made music of their own, a generous duet in which hearts were exchanged and entwined.
At length, lips parted.
Edith nuzzled into his neck, humming kisses into him.
"Oh Anthony," she sighed. But her happiness was broken by concern, made all the more poignant by the fact that she now knew she was in love with this sweet, but foolish man. "My darling, you are so wonderful to have done all this for me, but really, let me help…"
She broke off as he started laughing, full deep chuckles of utter happiness.
"Anthony, this is no laughing matter. I daresay this cost a great deal," she insisted.
"I daresay it did, my sweet one. But never fear. I assure you it is well within my grasp."
"But, you said you didn't have a job…"
"Well, that's not entirely true," he said, breaking from her to stow his trumpet, "I don't have a job that requires my attention all the time. I can indulge in my hobbies as I choose. The truth is I own several companies."
Edith shook her head, her mind processing his words. "And…this house?"
"It's mine. Do you like it?"
"I do, yes…" she uttered, still in shock.
He once again closed the distance between them, pulling her close and pressing a few fervid kisses into her temples.
"I'm a baronet, my dearest darling, and should you marry me, you would become Lady Edith," he breathed, turning to gaze deep into her eyes.
"Lady Edith?" Edith repeated only half comprehending, entranced by the nearness of his lips.
"Yes," he whispered huskily between quick, hungry kisses, "it's not quite playing the trumpet…but…I assure you…there is...a brilliant future…in it."
All speaking ceased as the two lovers could no longer bridle their passion and so gave themselves up to it, a symphony of mutual adoration and passionate exultation thrumming between them, a serenade of two hearts singing the sweetest song of all.
XXX
