Janice Lee - The Piano Teacher

She wanted to be generous, she wanted to understand. The queen, being crowned in England on this very day, surely would expect it of her. She wanted so badly to be merciful and kind, and to touch Melody gently on the shoulder and tell her it would be all right, that things would work out, that she herself would make sure of it.

Claire was thinking of all of these things, feeling the warm glow of benevolence.

But then, Melody’s face twitched.

It was quick, and then it was over, but Claire saw it nonetheless. This woman, Melody was thinking, is my daughter’s piano teacher! She is someone I hired to teach Locket how to strike some black and white keys on a musical instrument. She is simple, English, not anyone I need to ask a favor of.

And then it was gone, erased by the woman’s innate practicality. But it was too late. Claire had seen it already. The heat rose from her chest to her head. She was the one who didn’t need anything of anyone. She turned to her lover.

“Will,” she said, emboldened. “I know you don’t…”

“This doesn’t concern you, Claire,” he interrupted. He barely saw her.

But she knew him well now.

“I know,” she said. “But Melody has a point.” She knew this would inflame him further.

“Don’t be absurd. You have no idea what’s going on.”

“But…”

“Out,” he said, pointing to the door.

Part of her thrilled to Will’s command of the situation. He was owning her, finally. She heard a faint “I say” that sounded like it came from her husband. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t see Martin now, couldn’t see his bewildered, humiliated face, and have to sort out how that made her feel. So she closed her eyes and felt the dull throb of the blood coursing through her head and the weight of all those eyes on her and she opened her own, looked around at the blurry sea of faces, and then she thought about what she should do and everything seemed to be going in slow motion, as if she were under water. She blinked, and everything was still blurry. A maid cried out from the kitchen, unaware of the drama going on at the party, she heard glasses clink as they were assembled on a tray by another unsuspecting servant, a fly buzzed terribly near her ear, and she saw a redheaded woman slowly, slowly sweep her hand through her hair, all the while looking at her. All this happened as if it were in a room far away from her, enclosed in glass. In the end, she stood up a little straighter, took a deep breath, and then she did the only thing she could think of doing at that moment, that particular instant: she just walked away. It was cowardly and messy and left much to be dealt with later but her heart felt full and tender and she didn’t see that she had any choice. She walked away from the gaping women and the perplexed men, and went directly to the door and put her hand on the knob. She hesitated, she didn’t know why, and then she turned the door handle-she remembered always the cool metal in her palm-and she walked out. She didn’t look at Martin. She couldn’t. She didn’t even look at Will. She walked outside, to a new and unknown life.

LATER, SHE HEARD what had happened. Women who had never acknowledged her presence called her or stopped her in town, ostensibly to ask her how she was doing or tell her what had happened after she left, but really to find out her connection to the situation.

“They said he went out on the tennis court and put the gun in his mouth. Very messy. And you know, he only had the one hand. The hook, of course. Quite tricky. The amah found him. Had to be hospitalized herself with the shock. The servants always want to be a part of it, don’t they?”

“Poor Regina,” said Claire. She remembered the party she had been to, the one where she had met Will, with the Pimm’s and the boy and his father hitting the ball back and forth in their tennis whites. She tried to imagine Reggie Arbogast sprawled out on the grass, blood running out of his mouth. “Does anyone know why? Other than what was said…”

“He’d not been himself,” they would say. “Blamed himself for letting the collection disappear. And couldn’t stand to see all the fuss around the coronation, and all the patriotism. Made him feel awful. And I think he felt he was in some way responsible for the death of Trudy Liang.” A pause. “And did you know Trudy? Or Dominick?”

“No,” she would say. “They were gone before I even arrived. I just found out who they were recently.”

“Dominick was just terrible. He went through women like they were used handkerchiefs, although they say he liked both sides, if you know what I mean…”

Claire would wait patiently.

“And the Chens? They were just livid about how Will came in and ruined their party. I can’t believe you just left, darling, it was so dramatic! Melody was in hysterics, Victor tried to be cool, and Will, well, he controlled himself and left not long after you, leaving all of us gaping like fools. I’ve never seen anything like it. What a scandal! Were you close?”

“I don’t know much about that,” Claire would say. “You see, I was teaching Locket but didn’t have much contact with the Chens so I didn’t know them very well. They’d always been very kind to me.”

“Oh…” A sigh, down the telephone line, disappointed. “Well, they are really something.” A pause. “And are you… all right?”

“As well as can be expected,” she would say, or something of the sort.

“And…” And only a few of them could bring themselves to say it. “And Martin?”

And she would not answer, and the deepening silence would embarrass them into hurriedly filling it with small talk and fervent wishes to see her soon, to have tea, or to go for a walk.

They rang off shortly afterward and never called again. She wondered at their transparency.

The government wrapped up its investigation into the disappearance of the Crown Collection. Reggie Arbogast was posthumously honored with a commendation from the queen for his services to the English empire. Regina Arbogast sold the big house on the Peak to a Shanghainese merchant looking to relocate to Hong Kong and set sail for England. Victor Chen was not officially mentioned.

FROM A DISTANCE she saw him approaching, a spindly figure with a cane. Hard to imagine this man was the enigma who had ignited such desire in her a mere two weeks ago.

But then he came close, his pale, narrow face, his untidy hair, and he spoke, and she felt his pull all over again.

“Claire,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “Sit down.” Almost avuncular. She felt rebuffed. He always set the tone of their meetings.

They sat on a bench looking over the harbor. They were on the Peak, where they had arranged to meet, thinking they would not run into anyone they knew, for different reasons than before, and they had been right. They were alone in the twilight hour. The warm wind blew, not unpleasantly.

“I came here with Trudy sometimes,” he said. “That is the same iron rail that was here when I was here with her. I touched it then and I can touch it now, but the circumstances are so different. I’m so different. Do you ever think about that?”

He was a different man, as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. She could feel his lightness.

“Will,” she started.

“And what will you do?” he said as if she had not said anything.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve been in touch with my parents but they don’t seem too eager to take me back in. Something about the cost and his pension. I don’t have a job, or any means of getting one, I think. So I don’t know.” She said this simply, without meaning to cause obligation.