Chapter 9
A stage
hand entered the corridor where Marianne, disguised with a cloak and
a wig, waited nervously to be heard. The last few weeks had had a
dreamlike quality about them which confused her. The gentle voice of
the composer she had met with that night on the stage had seemed to
follow her. What had once been her late night ballet rehearsals had
become instructions in vocal technique. Although she remembered
little of her encounters with her tutor, what she did remember filled
her with joy. He had made her sing as she never thought she could. He
has turned her voice from simply beautiful into one beyond belief.
She had become increasingly certain that this teacher; this composer
was no ordinary man, if indeed he was a man at all. He had a presence
so certain, so dominating, that he could be no ghost, and yet no man
could possibly reach into her soul as he had done. She knew not what
he was, but she knew that only he could make her song ascend to the
heights she had experienced under his guidance.
"Is it time
for me?" she asked, jumping out of her seat, thoughts of men and
angels unwillingly dispelled.
"No" he replied shortly,
hardly bothering to look at her. "The position has been filled.
Please leave."