We meet Cora when she is thirty-one. She has moved to London, to get her writing career started. One day she hears beautiful piano music coming true her window which inspires her to write. Will she ever meet the one who plays that piano?
Frustrated Cora put her pen down. She had been staring at the white paper for ages now, but words did not come. It was incredibly frustrating, her deadline was coming close, how was she supposed to write without inspiration? Angrily she pushed her chair back and brushed a curl from her forehead. It was too hot in this apartment.
She looked at the thermometer and it showed a scorching hot 41 degrees. When she looked out of her window, the street was dancing from the heat. People were desperately trying to hide away from the sun.
This was the fourth sweltering day in a row and the weather reports did not predict any cooler weather for the coming days. Cora sighed and brushed sweat from her forehead. She turned around and stood in front of the fan. The wind gave her some relief.
She looked at her desk, where the white paper was almost smirking at her. She turned her back to it. It would not help one bit if she kept looking at it. She only got more frustrated.
Why did she move to this country, where it felt like air-conditioning was non-existent? As if having a cool home was sacrilege. She decided to go to the supermarket, the one place where it was always cool.
Cora spent as much time as possible in the supermarket. The cool air was as if she was finally able to breathe for the first time that day. She looked at her basket, it was filled with tomatoes, cucumber, lettuce, and other ingredients to make a nice salad. It was the only thing that felt edible in this heat. She saw people putting pasta and potatoes in their baskets, she could not imagine they would enjoy those dinners. Just the idea of cooking something, made her break out in a sweat.
When she felt she could no longer linger around, she went to the self-checkout. Next to her was a young man, around her age. His hair was slightly curly on his neck, especially where it was wet from his sweat. Cora chuckled, knowing she was not the only one who was sweating.
The man felt her staring and looked at her, quickly she turned back towards the scanner. His blue eyes made her shiver, they were like the sea so blue. Although not the sea she saw here in England, she chuckled again.
"I hope you will enjoy your salad." A warm and deep voice sounded close to her.
When Cora looked up that young man stood next to her. His groceries were in a bag on his shoulder. She stared at him; his blue eyes went over her face. It made her uncomfortable and warm inside at the same time.
"Thank you." She answered when she found her voice back.
He walked on and left the store. She needed a minute to recuperate. What a handsome man he was, it was the first time since she was in London, that she was this struck by a man's appearance. Quickly she finished her payment and followed him out the store. She hoped to see where he was going, but by the time she got outside he was gone.
It felt like she walked into a wall, it was this hot outside. She contemplated going back into the store, but she did not and walked back home. She felt her shirt sticking to her back when she searched for her keys. She would love to take a cold shower, but it was useless, once she stepped out of the shower, she would be drenched in sweat again.
She glanced at her desk, where the white paper was still laughing at her. She would not try to write today again. The heat was unbearable, and her lack of inspiration was depressing.
She moved the fan towards the sofa, poured herself a big glass filled with ice cubes and iced tea and sat down with a book. Her soundbar produced some calm but sunny music. She took a sip of her drink and chuckled. Her British friends always said that she was weird for wanting so many ice cubes in her drinks. But she could not stand the lukewarm drinks here in the UK.
About a year ago she moved to London. It was a very hasty decision. She had read about this city and had fallen in love, just by the description of it. It had felt as if she would be more inspired to draft her stories than she was in New York. Although you would say that enough happened in that big city, she missed the romantic feel that London had.
As soon as she started looking for houses, she quickly discovered that not all areas were as romantic as she had imagined. But she found the lovely area of Richmond, where she found a nice, although small, apartment. Close to her house were Syon house and the Kew Gardens. Places where she loved wandering around, imagining how it must have been back in the days.
If it were not that searing hot outside, she would have taken her notebook and sat down in the gardens. But with this heat, it would be impossible to even reach them without fainting.
She focused on her book and lost herself in the story. The breeze that the fan, produced was simply perfect and for the first time today, she did not feel like she was overheating.
Once her stomach started to growl, she looked up and saw that it was already after six o'clock. Time to make her dinner. Quickly she threw eggs in the water and started cutting the lettuce and tomatoes. Outside it started to rain, and in the hope that it would cool off she opened the window. The heat hit her in the face, with a deep sigh she reached to close the window again when the sounds of a piano danced inside her kitchen.
She recognised the song, but it took her a minute to remember who the composer was. This was music from Einaudi. Nuvole Bianche was a very calming, beautiful piece. And the one who played it right now knew exactly how to produce the right emotions with the music.
She walked past the piano at Richmond Riverside quite regularly, but not everyone was able to produce music with the right emotions. A lot of people just played the notes without telling the story that was inside those notes.
The one who was playing right now was different. It tickled something in her brain, and she was drawn to her desk. Cora picked up her pen and started writing. The words flew out of her pen and once the sounds of Nuvole Bianche were silenced, she had written a full page. She smiled, it took her days to get this out and now with this beautiful music coming through her window, it was easy to write.
A new piece was started, she did not recognise the song, but it did not matter. The story that was told was clear and she started writing again. The music was like a calm river flowing inside her home and it erupted a volcano of words inside of her.
When her stomach began to growl and hurt, she put her pen down. Two hours had gone by, and the music had stopped. She did not know how long the piano player had stopped playing. But it did not matter, she had finished two new chapters and was very content with the result.
She pulled on the back of her shirt; it was sticking against her body again. When she got up and walked past the mirror, she saw how her curls were sticking to her face. She had been totally in the zone and did not notice the still present heat.
The eggs had turned cold in the meantime and some of the lettuce turned brown. She threw out what did not look appealing anymore and put the rest in a bowl. She turned on her television and started eating. Still smiling about what had happened.
The eyes of the man in the supermarket popped up in her mind. The way he had looked at her, gave her chills again, just thinking about it. And then not long after somebody had started playing the most beautiful notes on that piano. This was exactly why she moved to London. This was the inspiration she was looking for.
The program that was on, showed beautiful houses in the countryside. England had stunning architecture and it was a dream to one day live in a bigger house. She did not need to move to the countryside. Better not, because she needed the inspiration of this city. But she had seen bigger houses in this area too. Very romantic-looking houses with bay windows and wisteria growing on the porch. One day she would be able to buy a house like that.
It was an adjustment to live in such a small apartment, but her mother had refused to help her pay for a bigger one. Her mother had sent her mixed signals as always. Once she mentioned she wanted to move to the UK, she had seen her mother's eyes light up.
'Maybe you can meet a nice Lord and marry into the British nobility.'
'Mama, I am not moving to London to marry.'
'You should rethink that decision. Living in a city like London on your own as an American is not something to aspire to. You can make your father proud by marrying into the nobility.'
'Papa would not have been bothered by the idea of me marrying into Nobility. He always encouraged me to follow my dreams and not only live to find a suitable man. Papa said on the day he died, that he wanted me to be independent. And that is exactly what I am going to do. I am going to be independent.'
'Well Miss Independent, I wish you good luck at being independent, but know that I will not pay anything for you, once you move.'
'I will have my allowance that Papa set up for me. And I will work for the rest, do not worry Mama. I will not hold up my hand."
Her mother had indeed not given her anything, and she ended up in this smaller flat. She was still lucky, to have a separate bedroom, kitchen en living room. Houses were sometimes even smaller. But she was used to the mansion back at home. If she worked hard enough, one day she would be able to buy one of those bigger houses. For now, this place was all right.