by Tanya Stowe
“Where will the dormitories be?”
The question came out of the crowd, but Lara recognized Alex’s deep, unmistakable voice.
“Excuse me?” Brett hesitated.
“I asked if we would be touring the dormitories.”
“There are no dormitories.”
Alex folded his arms. “Forgive me. You said the school would accept many younger students, those in the first, developing stages of their endeavors.”
“Correct.”
“So they will come from far away. They and their families will live here in Sedona during the course of their studies, and they will be expected to provide their own accommodations.”
“Yes, that is the expectation.”
Alex nodded. “I see. Then it is also to be expected your students will not be the most talented and promising of youthful artists.”
Brett’s features tightened. “What do you mean?”
Alex gave a shrug of his shoulders. “Students must first provide a very substantial tuition to attend the school. Then they must provide for their own food, clothing, living expenses. Your students will need to be among the very wealthy to attend the Fallon School of Art, Mr. Fraser.”
After a small, stilted pause, Brett said, “We hope many of our students will find sponsors.”
A wry smile twisted Alex’s lips. “It’s very difficult to find a patron at such a young age. Most sponsors prefer to wait until the artist gains consistency and a certain maturity.”
“You’re speaking from experience.”
Brett was referring to Alex’s patroness, the Comtessa de la Guerra.
Other people knew the story as well and heads turned sharply.
Lara heard the intake of breath as the group waited for Alex’s reaction.
“If you wish to think so, Mr. Fraser, that’s certainly your choice.”
Anger flashed between the two men.
Lara and the crowd were silenced by the brewing storm.
Then Brett remembered where he was. Turning from a confrontation, he led the way down the hall. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the rest of the workrooms. We’re very proud of this portion of the school.” He sounded stilted and uncomfortable as he walked them through workrooms designed to accommodate metal workers, sculptors, painters, and potters. Blow torches, pottery wheels. State-of-the art equipment. Everywhere Lara looked, she saw money, vast amounts of money.
She should have been inspired.
It had all been bought with the best of intentions. But after Alex’s comment, it seemed ostentatious. An air of discord had shadowed the tour and no one was more aware of it than Brett. He stumbled over his carefully prepared speech.
At last, they came to a hallway that led to the administrative offices.
Brett paused, and then launched into a tutorial on the curriculum Troy and Lara’s mother had developed years ago. He seemed on comfortable footing at last.
Lara relaxed and turned to see how Brett’s adversary was handling his return to control.
Alex stood with his arms folded, a frown creasing his brow. His brooding look deepened and even before he spoke, Lara understood he meant to challenge Brett again.
“Mr. Fraser,” he said. “Did I hear you correctly? Students will be subjected to four hours daily of standard academic studies?”
Brett’s jaw tightened but he managed to maintain control. “Yes. Our students will need to continue their formal education.”
“Without a doubt. But recent studies suggest some artistically gifted youngsters tend to be poor students. Their classroom performance usually does not match their intelligence…which indicates, Mr. Fraser, they learn differently. Their minds operate in unusual ways, which often accounts for their incredible artistic abilities. Given this information, I would think placing them in a standard classroom environment would not be conducive to a successful learning atmosphere.”
Lara was surprised. These observances were not born from pleasing charm and banter. They had substance and depth. There was more to Alex than she’d first believed.
“They need to pass all the standardized tests,” Brett replied, his tone short, terse.
“But they need not receive their information in the usual manner. To create this specialized environment for their artistic endeavors, and then to subject them to a method of teaching hundreds of years old seems fruitless to me. Frankly, I expected more.”
“I wasn’t aware you knew so much about education. Nor did I expect you’d take such a proprietary interest in the activities of the school. Are you intending to invest, Mr. Summers?”
Lara groaned inwardly. Brett was baiting Alex. Such behavior was so out of character for him, she didn’t know what to think. At the same time, she couldn’t help anticipating Alex’s response.
He shrugged. “I am an educator, Mr. Fraser, a professor of history and music and, as you mentioned, a youthful musician. I was hoping to find a more relevant curriculum. Painting based on chemistry. Sculpting from mathematics. It would seem the most logical approach with these students.”
Brett cleared his throat. “I’m sorry we’ve disappointed you, Mr. Summers, but with every new venture there are starts and stops. We’re no exception, especially since we lost the genius and driving force behind our school.” Brett cleared his throat again, and gestured to a connecting hall. “If you’ll continue down this hall you’ll find a door leading to the grounds where you’ll discover unusual rock formations, picnic tables and a champagne brunch, compliments of Mr. Daniel Fallon. Thank you all for joining us here on this special day.”
The crowd murmured its pleasure and dispersed.
Lara caught Brett’s gaze over the crowd. When the last straggler had disappeared down the hall, Lara and Brett stood across from each other.
He ran a hand through his hair in a short abrupt movement. “Well,” he said after the door had closed behind the crowd. “I couldn’t have screwed that up better if I’d planned it.”
Lara took a deep breath. “Brett, I’ve never seen you like this. Please, tell me what’s going on.”
A false, half-hearted smile brushed over his features. “I’m just stressed. Don’t worry. Everything will be all right in a few days.”
“Stop it,” she said in a low, tight tone. “It’s obvious something is wrong. If you expect me not to notice, then you must think I’m a child.”
Raw honesty filled his expression as he met her gaze. “I think that’s the point, Lara. The woman I know is hardly more than a child.”
Something heavy dropped into the pit of her stomach. “What are you talking about?”
Brett gave a shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t know you anymore, Lara. When I left, you were still recovering from years of trauma. There was vulnerability about you, a softness. When you stepped off the plane yesterday and walked toward me, it was as if I was looking at a different person.”
“I’m healthier, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s not all, and you know it, Lara. I could read it in your emails and hear it in our phone conversations…you’re not the person I left in New York.”
“And…you don’t like the person I’ve become?”
“I don’t know how to take you. You’re…different.”
“Well, you’re not the man who left New York. The Brett I know would never have compromised a business prospect by allowing his emotions to rule him.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I’m well aware of the mistakes I’m making. And this conversation is a classic example of what I’m talking about. You would never have spoken to me like this before.”
“It’s the truth. Are you upset because you don’t want to hear the truth?”
“I’m upset because I’m not used to hearing it from you.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, Brett.”
He ran a hand through his hair again. “I told you, I’m making lots of mistakes. Things are piling up on me and I’m not sure what to do.”
“What kinds of things?”
He hesitated, as if preparing to tell her, and then shook his head. “This isn’t the time or place to talk about it, Lara.”
“When is the time? I’ve been here almost twenty-four hours and we’ve hardly even been together.”
“I know, I know.” He ruffled his hair for the third time. “I told you, things are piling up and I can’t explain it all, but I want you to understand this is my problem, my fault. It’s going to take me a while to sort it all out.”
His words didn’t comfort her. “Brett—”
A noise at the end of the hall interrupted her.
They turned to see Troy leading his tour in their direction.
With an apologetic smile, Brett kissed her cheek and headed toward the group.
Disappointed, Lara stalked toward the exit.
Outside, long tables had been set up on the gravel grounds and draped with white linen cloths. Crystal and silver sparkled. Large baskets of breads and pastries lured Lara forward. She moved blindly, smarting from her fight with Brett…smarting even more because it proved Alex right. Who did he think he was, intruding into her life in this way? And how dare he be so close to the truth?
She took a glass of orange juice and a small pastry and strode to the edge of the grounds. Her gaze roamed over the desert. The slight breeze was cool, but gentle. It brushed over her face, wafting the scent of pine and mesquite. She took a deep breath, and then let it out in a long, slow sigh.
The open space was a balm to her senses. The vast stretches of red-colored land, the endless blue skies soothed.
She’d traveled the world with her parents. By the age of ten, she’d visited every country in Europe and many parts of Asia. She’d spent her teen years in a Swiss finishing school, but nothing had impacted her as much as the last twenty-four hours.
The limitless sky made her feel as if she were soaring. If she just started walking, she would eventually step off the edge of the world and fly through the air like an eagle. Nothing would stop her. She would crest mountains, skim over stretches of endless land and see the distant cities. When she looked at the horizon, she felt invincible. She glanced back at the sparkling tables and the people milling about and wondered how they could stand there and not feel the same way, not feel the power racing through this incredible, majestic land.
But they stood in clusters, facing each other, and sipping champagne.
One other person faced the land. Across the grounds Alex stood, his arms folded, his gaze focused on the crag directly behind the school. His focus was so intent, so fierce, it made Lara wonder what he saw. She glanced at the mountain. Nothing was out of the ordinary.
She wanted to cross the space, to confront him, to find out what business he had interfering in her private life and why he’d attempted to sabotage their efforts with the school. She remembered how Milly Johansen had expressed doubts about the school and becoming a donor. Lara was certain everyone in the tour had come away doubting Brett and Troy’s efforts, questioning their direction, focus and skills.
Why was Alex trying to destroy a worthy cause?
She wanted to have it out with him, but she didn’t want to create a scene. The gossips already had enough to talk about. She looked toward the building, hoping to see Brett.
The last tour exited, made their way across the wooden deck and down the stairs.
She didn’t see Brett or Troy.
Eliza chatted with a group of people, laughing, probably charming them out of more donations.
Lara didn’t want to distract her so she stayed put.
Carlos Bertoleo broke away from a small group and walked toward her. Smiling, he extended his hand. “Miss Fallon? Mr. Townsend said I should introduce myself. He said you are great fan of Flamenco.” Unlike Alex, Carlos had a heavy Spanish accent.
It took Lara a moment to adjust her hearing. When she did, she almost choked on her orange juice. She’d never given Flamenco music more than a passing notice until last night. What was Rupert Townsend trying to do?
“I enjoyed what I heard last night,” she said after a moment’s pause. “It was very distinct.”
“I am glad. Much of what we played is traditional, but some is original. The last pieces were written by Alejandro and myself.” Even Carlos called him Alejandro.
Why had he told her to call him Alex? The thought puzzled her until she realized she’d taken too long to reply. “Those were my favorites. Especially the last two. They were so…moving.”
Carlos beamed. “I am delighted to hear it. I have a CD I will give to you.”
Lara strove to maintain her polite mien. “I’d like that very much. How many CDs do you have?” she asked, trying to make conversation.
“Several. We would have more but Alejandro does not work year around. He has other pursuits.” There was an edge in his voice. Was it bitterness? Or scorn? He turned away to study Alex across the grounds.
“You performed well together,” she offered.
A small sound escaped him before he turned back to her. “I did well. Alejandro is a master.” He said nothing more, and his gaze drifted back.
“Well, perhaps La Guitarra is the secret to his success.” Lara attempted to lighten the atmosphere with the joking comment. It didn’t work.
Carlos gave an abrupt shake of his head. “La Guitarra is difficult to play. It does not hold a tone and the strings break over and over. But, still, he plays it like a master.”
“Of course. It’s magic.” Lara tried to infuse laughter in her voice.
With a wry smile, Carlos lifted his hands. “The only magic, senorita, is in these. A player is limited by how fast they can move. Believe me, if there were magic in La Guitarra, I would steal it for myself.”
This time, Lara could not mistake the yearning in his voice. She didn’t understand Carlos, but his relationship with Alex intrigued her.
With another rueful smile, he tucked his hands away and said, “It is time I returned. We will play tonight, and I must practice. If you’ll excuse me, I will see if Alejandro is ready to leave.”
They said their good-byes.
Lara followed him, searching for an excuse. “Carlos, if he’s not ready to leave, perhaps I can take you back.”
He smiled. “Then I could give you the CDs. Are you sure it would not be an imposition?”
“No, I’m ready to leave.”
“Bueno. Let us talk with Alejandro.”
At the moment, there was nothing Lara wanted more in the world.
4
Carlos and Lara approached Alex.
His gaze settled on Lara, and her stomach jumped.
Carlos spoke to him in Spanish, and Alex replied.
Lara didn’t understand the words, but Carlos was obviously displeased.
Alex gave an abrupt shrug of his shoulders and spoke in English. “Very well, if you wish. But if you insist on leaving now, take the car. I’ll ride back with Ms. Fallon.”
Carlos hesitated, waiting to see if Lara would object. When she didn’t, he mumbled his good-bye and left.
“He seems upset,” Lara said as he disappeared around the corner. “What did you say to him?”
“I suggested that he had practiced enough, but he insisted on returning to rehearse.”
Lara shook her head. “Do you always say the unexpected? I’ve always heard practice makes the musician.”
“Music is a reflection of life. If you have no life, you have no music.”
“That sounds like something Juan Miguel would say.”
He smiled. “You listened to my music last night? What do you think?”
She took a slow, deep breath. “I think I heard a sunset, if that’s even possible, and a stream bubbling through the middle of Eliza’s house. It was beautiful.”
“It was life. Carlos believes music will give him life when it’s life that will give him music. Since he doesn’t allow himself to live, he’ll never achieve the recognition he covets.”
“C
ovet is a strong word.”
He turned to face her, fixing her with his dark gaze. “I don’t have time for weak words.”
His intense stare made Lara uncomfortable. She tried to divert his attention. “Speaking of words, why don’t you have an accent?”
“Dual citizenship. I was born in New York to an American father and a Spanish mother. When my parents separated, I returned to Spain with my mother, but I still have a home in New York.”
“I see.” Lara finally found the courage to meet his gaze. “Everyone calls you Alejandro. Why did you ask me to call you Alex?”
He smiled a slow, enigmatic smile. “Alexander Summers is my birth name. When I began to perform, it seemed inappropriate for Flamenco so I took my mother’s version of my name as a stage name.”
“That explains how you’ve managed to disappear from the public eye. You have another life and a name to go with it.”
“It seems they are gossiping about me as well. Who told you I disappear from public life?”
Lara shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“Not to me. It suits me not to meet other people’s expectations. I prefer the intrigue.”
“Is that why you asked me to call you Alex? To intrigue me?”
“I wanted to do away with intrigue. I wanted you to know who I am, not the image I’ve created.”
He made Lara’s heart pound. “If you wanted to impress me, the image would have worked very well,” she said in a low voice.
“If I wanted to impress you, I would have left the image intact. I want nothing false between us, just the reality of who we are.”
Lara found it hard to breathe. “We don’t even know each other. How can you talk about reality?”
“I know you, Lara. That’s what makes you afraid. I know you better than you know yourself.”
Once again his words rang true, but she wasn’t about to let him know. “But I know nothing about you. Like, for instance, why you’re so determined to see the Fallon School of Art fail?”
He turned from his intense study of her to focus on the mountain. “If the school fails, it will be due to the judgment errors of its creators.”
“If the school fails? You all but signed its death warrant with your speech a few minutes ago.”
