Elements of Chance

There was nothing from Vicki, though.

Lady Anne sat pensively in a wing chair in the drawing room. “I remember the first day you walked into this room. You were so pretty, as delicate as a little fawn.” She held her teacup with both hands as she smiled at Valerie, who sat in the matching chair across from her. “And oh so very frightened,” she continued. “My heart went out to you, dear. That’s why I told you I wanted you to think of me as your aunt, and to think of yourself as my little American niece. I wanted you to feel secure, loved.”

Valerie felt tears in her eyes.

“And, of course, I’ve been thinking about your dreadful predicament almost as much as you have.” Lady Anne put her teacup on the little Chippendale table next to her, and reached out her arms. “Come here, dear,” she said as she stood.

As Valerie moved into the circle of Lady Anne’s arms, she felt the older woman’s body trembling. “I’m going to make an appointment with my solicitor to see about becoming your legal guardian. This is our home now,” Lady Anne said, her voice husky with tears. “The two of us.”

She cares for me, Valerie realized. She really does. “Oh thank you, Lady Anne,” she whispered, tears of relief welling in her eyes. And then the anger, the bitterness again.

“How could they do this to me?” Valerie whispered, her own arms tentative around Lady Anne’s waist. “How could they leave me like this?”

“But we don’t know that, do we?” Lady Anne said. “We don’t know that they left you, dear. Something may have happened to them, something they couldn’t control.”

“Well, I don’t care,” said Valerie stubbornly. “I’ll never forgive them. Never.”

“You mustn’t say that,” Lady Anne admonished.

“But they’re my parents,” she sobbed, realizing she could never trust anyone, not even Lady Anne, to be there when she needed them.

13 (#ulink_8398c980-a9e7-5f39-a5a5-3a39d9724792)

When Valerie got back to the conservatory after the Christmas break, there was an announcement on the bulletin board about Julian’s upcoming appearance with the London Philharmonic Orchestra. She was bursting with excitement as she walked into the drawing room that afternoon to tell Lady Anne about it.

“That’s a bad night for me, dear,” said Lady Anne, looking through her reading glasses at her date book. “I have dinner at Lady Dartmouth’s. We’re only ten, and she would never forgive me if I canceled.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Valerie said. “I’ll just go with some of the other kids.” She paused for a moment, savoring the thought. “Julian’s going to perform the Mendelssohn E-Minor Concerto,” she bubbled. “And Andre Previn’s conducting.”

“It’s out of the question,” Lady Anne murmured.

“But all of the other kids are going.” Valerie’s voice wavered as she fought to keep back the tears.

“I’m sorry, dear,” said Lady Anne.

“Why not?” asked Valerie. “It’s not as if I’ll be alone or anything. I’m sure somebody’s parents would come and pick me up, and bring me home.”

“That will do,” Lady Anne said, her voice sharp.

Suddenly, Valerie’s aching loneliness for a friend her own age made her break into sobs, and she fled from the room.

The next day Valerie told Julian that Lady Anne wouldn’t let her go to the concert.

“Everybody comes, you know,” he said, sounding hurt. “It’s a family kind of thing. Scream for the team, and all.”

“I know,” Valerie sighed. “I know.”

On the night of the concert two weeks later, Valerie stood, her ear against her bedroom door, until she heard Lady Anne’s footsteps as she hurried down the stairway. The front door clicked shut.

A few minutes later, it was Valerie who was standing in the entry hall, fumbling with the buttons on her rabbit coat. “You have a good time, miss,” Janet said. “I’ll be waiting to let you in at nine o’clock.” Her glance fell on Valerie, and she added, “You look very pretty tonight, miss. You always do when you put on a little rouge and lipstick. Perks you right up.”

Valerie’s steps were cautious as she picked her way down the front steps of the Green Street house. The street was empty, and lights dotted the windows of the houses across the way. She broke into a run, feeling the exquisite pain of the icy London air filling her lungs, exhilarated with the sheer joy of being out on her own. The taxi she caught dropped her a few minutes later in front of the Royal Albert Hall, where the concert was to take place.

Her seat was in a row with the other conservatory students. The boys were all in dark suits, shirts, and ties, the girls in party dresses. Valerie slipped off the rabbit coat. She wore her green calf-length taffeta dress, and around her neck was a pearl necklace on loan from Lady Anne. Her pale hair was pulled up in a ballerina’s bun, and in her newly pierced ears she wore the pearl earrings Lady Anne had given her for Christmas.

She looked up at the boxes, hoping none of Lady Anne’s friends had a pair of opera glasses trained on her. Behind the red velvet curtain, Valerie could hear the cellos, the violins tuning up. A French horn played a fragment of a melody.

The house lights dimmed, and those in the audience were still, anticipating. To the swell of applause, Andre Previn strode purposefully onstage in front of the eighty-piece orchestra. There was more applause, then cheers, especially from the rows around her, when the maestro introduced Julian Unwin.

Valerie caught her breath.

Julian looked so handsome, so impossibly romantic in his tails, his white tie, with his shiny brown hair cascading to his shoulders. His eyes met hers as he made his bow to the audience. His eyes were closed as he addressed his bow to his violin. The first bars of the Mendelssohn E-Minor Concerto sang through the jammed hall as Julian’s bow danced across his instrument, his body swaying to the music. The bow went faster, faster, as Valerie watched it fly, hypnotized. His playing was seamless, soaring, as the concerto came to an end. There was an instant of silence, and then wild applause, cheers, and cries of “Bravo” as Julian made a deep bow to the audience.

If only she could have stayed for the second half, she thought, still dazed by Julian’s playing as she scurried through the crowd that had broken for the intermission. But no. She had to get home.

Promptly at nine o’clock, Valerie’s taxi pulled up in front of the Green Street house. The front door was opened by Janet the moment Valerie tapped on it with the knocker.

“Did you have a nice time, miss?” asked Janet, closing the door behind her and helping her off with her coat.

“Oh, it was wonderful,” Valerie breathed, thinking again how handsome Julian had looked, how rapturously he had played. “He was wonderful.”

“Shall I bring a snack up to your room, miss?” Janet asked. “How about a nice cup of cocoa? It’s a cold night, that’s for sure.”

“That would be wonderful,” Valerie said. Everything was wonderful, she added to herself. Julian, and his masterful performance. The Albert Hall itself. Just being out alone, riding in a taxi.

“I’m happy you had a nice time, miss,” said Janet, moving off in the direction of the kitchen. “A young girl like you, well, you should be able to see your friends. All work and no play makes Jill a dull girl.”

So, she had done it. Valerie smiled to herself as she snuggled in her new robe, sipping the cocoa that Janet had brought her on a silver tray. She had gotten out of the house, heard Julian play, and gotten home with Lady Anne none the wiser.

All of the reviews in the London papers the next day were ecstatic raves. Julian was waiting with the papers at the front door of the conservatory when Valerie arrived. She had already seen the one in the Times, of course.

“We’ve got to go out and celebrate,” he pressed.

She looked up at him, recalling how handsome he had looked on the stage of the Albert Hall the night before. Then she remembered Lady Anne’s icy voice.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said. “There’s a lot going on at home.”

“The next time your aunt goes somewhere without you,” he said. “That’s when we’ll have our celebration.”

“Well, I guess I can let you know,” she said hesitantly.

14 (#ulink_b95ef8de-4664-5864-907b-79543abd9185)

Julian and Valerie celebrated a few nights later when they went to a film in the West End. Another night, when Lady Anne was at a dinner party, there was only time for a walk on Carnaby Street and a cup of coffee. The next time, Julian picked Valerie up in his father’s Rover a couple of blocks from Lady Anne’s house. He drove to the embankment on the Thames at the foot of the Albert Bridge, which was illuminated against the murky gray evening. A sliver of pale moon hung over the Houses of Parliament across the river as the minute hand on the big round face of Big Ben jerked forward. In the back seat of the car, Valerie, in a panic, realized that it was tolling nine o’clock.

Julian’s body was heavy on top of hers. His hands were everywhere, under her rabbit coat, as he tried to fondle her breasts, her thighs. Valerie, struggling under his weight, averted her tightly closed mouth from his wet kisses.

“Why not, Val?” Julian whispered in her ear. “I love you. You love me. We’ll be married. I’m going to take care of you. Forever.” He was panting, and his breath was hot. The insides of the car windows were steamily opaque. “Nothing will happen,” he pleaded. “You don’t have to worry. I’ve got something with me.”