My Name Is Rose (19 page)

They passed the remainder of the afternoon resting in their hotel. When the time came to leave for the theatre, Rose wondered how she'd be able to string two notes together, and was sure Mrs Luca would struggle to move her fingers across the piano keys. Poor Mrs Luca. Rose doubted she would ever get it right where Victoria – or her husband – were concerned. She tried to free her mind of the events of the day as they walked along the street. She wanted to focus on how she might escape from this family that had ensnared her and heaped its torments upon her.

Rose hadn't found an answer by the time they reached the theatre door. She was beginning to doubt there was an answer. People blustered around them from the moment they entered the auditorium and nerves began to interfere with her thoughts. Was she really going to step out on to the stage and play in front of all the people who would soon be filling the seats? She thought about Nicu and Esme and how they had embraced every performance, but they were adults and had practised for years. She looked at the clock at the rear of the theatre, its hands ticking inexorably onward, and wished she could climb up and turn them back.

She was ushered to her dressing room, where a woman, under Mrs Luca's instructions, helped her to change into a severe black dress and tied back her hair. Nadia, as she was called, chattered continuously while she applied some colour to Rose's cheeks and lips.

‘The lights will drain all your natural colour even though you're quite dark,' she explained. ‘We don't want you looking like a ghost, do we? You're very brave at your age to go out and play to all those people. I'd be scared! My knees would be knocking together so hard they'd be black and blue. Your mum looks even more terrified than you do, poor thing. I hear she used to be very good when she was younger. I expect she wants to show she still has it in her. I played the violin once. My dad said it sounded like a cat having its tail run over. He was right too. We can't all be talented, though, can we? Not in the same way, at least. That's your bell going. Means you've got five minutes. Good luck then, my lovely. Hope it goes well for you.'

Mrs Luca collected Rose from the dressing room, saying breathlessly, ‘I know you're not joining me until halfway through, but you can listen from the wings.'

Nadia's right
, Rose thought.
She is shaking
.

Mrs Luca took Rose's hand and whispered, ‘Good luck.'

Rose squeezed her hand back and watched as she took to the stage amid rapturous applause.

Mrs Luca was good – very good – but cold. Rose sat in the wings and tried to feel the music she was hearing. However, there was no passion in Mrs Luca's performance, no individual voice telling the world, ‘This is me. I'm baring my soul to you. I demand that you listen.'

Has her music always been that way?
Rose wondered.
Have all the bad things that have happened in her life made it impossible for her to express hersel
f
? Was she happy and free once, and did her music reflect that? Was that why she had been so praised in the past?

All too soon it was Rose's turn to join her. Rose was petrified. Mr Luca pushed her in the back, and she found herself stranded on the stage like a startled rabbit. A glare of lights blinded her at first, then, as her eyes grew accustomed to them, she noticed a shadowland of heads all turned towards her, watching and waiting.

‘Come forward,' Mrs Luca hissed at her.

Rose edged her way towards the piano. As she did, Mrs Luca stood up and turned to the audience.

‘I want to introduce you to my daughter, Anna, who I'm proud to say has inherited my musical talent and is making her debut this evening.' Mrs Luca paused. ‘As you will have heard, Anna is unable to speak. She has never been able to speak. She was born mute, poor child. But she lets her music speak for her. I hope you'll love what she has to say . . .'

Mrs Luca sat down again at the piano.

Rose couldn't move. She was stunned by what she had just heard.

‘Ready?' Mrs Luca whispered.

Rose grimaced. She was there on stage for all to see and had no option but to go through with it. She offered a slight curtsy to the audience as she had been told to do, while they clapped encouragingly.

Mrs Luca played the opening bar of a piece they had practised over and over again. Rose closed her eyes and tried to picture herself in a big open field, playing for no one except the birds in the air. She held the bow in place, took a deep breath and, when her moment came, she began.

The first few bars were shaky, Rose knew, and she battled to keep the bow from quivering. She could feel the tension in the audience as they willed her to get it right and exceed their expectations. She fought to hold herself together, to allow the music to take over. At last, she gained control and was able to move the bow without it juddering against the strings.

Mrs Luca hit a wrong note and glared at her, but Rose knew she wasn't at fault. And then, as she caught sight of Mr Luca, now sitting in the front row of the audience with Victoria, a picture of Nicu filled her head. Nicu playing the violin; Nicu whipping the crowd into a frenzy, then stroking them into tranquillity; Nicu weaving spells with his music and making the world a happy place.

There was a break in the music between the first and second movements. Before Mrs Luca could lay her fingers back down on the piano keys, Rose took a step forward on the stage, stamped her feet, shook her head so that her hair fell loose, then struck her bow violently downward against the strings of her violin.

This is for you, Papa
.

She began to play, not the music Mr and Mrs Luca had demanded, but the music of her father,
of her family, of her people. Somewhere behind her, Mrs Luca told her to stop, but in that moment she had no power over her. Rose was like a sorcerer with a magic wand. Nothing could touch her any more. She was doing what Nicu wanted and he would have been proud of her, just as she was of him the day before two monsters of people destroyed her family.

She played the final heartbreaking note, and slowly lowered the violin.

There was silence.

At last, someone clapped, then someone else cheered.

The whole audience followed, rising to their feet as though linked by some magical cord. Rose caught Mrs Luca's eye. The woman whose project she had been looked utterly defeated. In front of Rose, Mr Luca and Victoria were the only people still sitting.

Gradually, the ovation came to an end and nobody knew what to do. Except for Rose. Somewhere deep inside her, something was struggling to get out. She opened her mouth and whispered something which nobody could hear.

She tried again, louder this time, fighting to control her breathing and find her voice. ‘My name is Rose.'

Then louder still, and bold. ‘My name is Rose. Not Anna. I want to go home to my people. These are not my people. Please let me go home.'

She watched as Mrs Luca fled from the stage, and said again, ‘My name is Rose.'

Also by Sally Grindley

 

Bitter Chocolate

Torn Pages

Broken Glass

Spilled Water

Saving Finnegan

Hurricane Wills

Feather Wars

This electronic edition published in 2011 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

 

Bloomsbury Publishing, London, Berlin, New York and Sydney

 

First published in Great Britain in June 2011 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

36 Soho Square, London, W1D 3QY

 

Text copyright © Sally Grindley 2011

The moral right of the author has been asserted

 

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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

 

ISBN 9781408814031

 

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