David squeezed her hand. “You mean a lot to me.”
The house was an orange brick town house in a style Ella couldn’t properly name—an arched entryway, a dark-paneled door resembling a chocolate bar, and a sloping roof. Its facade was attractive and evidenced its good maintenance. When David opened the door, Ella was a little taken aback by what she saw.
The living room was beautiful, with old rugs on the floor, a high wall full of books, and heavy mahogany furniture from his family. Paintings that looked like Wyeths hung on the walls.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked, and she said no. “Hungry?” He offered to order dinner from a pizzeria down the street. “I usually have cereal for dinner or a sandwich.”
Ella shook her head no again. “I want to see the rest of the house,” she said. “It’s lovely.”
“Okay.” David was famished. Or at least he had been at the concert. Now, all he could think about was how to touch Ella, but he was afraid. Under normal circumstances, not that this had happened to him so many times, but if another woman had asked to come over to his house, he might have said no unless he was ready to sleep with her; but when Ella asked, he didn’t think it was because she wanted to have sex. There might have been something else, but he didn’t know what exactly. But now that she was here, he wanted to touch her, to be close to her.
“I have a record of his.”
“Who?” Ella glanced at the sofa. She’d been brazen enough to ask to see his house but felt that she needed his permission to sit down.
“Radu Lupu,” he said. “The pianist. From tonight.”
“Where’s he from?”
“Romania, I think.”
Ella shifted her weight slightly from one foot to the other. Feeling increasingly awkward, she finally sat down.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “It hadn’t occurred to me to invite you—”
“I’m sorry.” She interrupted him, feeling even more self-conscious. “It was rude. I think I wanted to know how you lived. What you’re like outside of where we usually are. I wanted to see your house. I thought—I don’t know what I thought.” Ella opened her eyes wide, then closed them for a few moments. “Oh, good grief.”
“No, no,” he protested, smiling at her. It was a good sign, wasn’t it? She wanted to know him better. Ever since his confession the day she’d returned from the lawyer’s office, he’d been thinking about how things would be between them. He’d hesitated to bring it up. “You don’t understand. I’m so glad you’re here. Do you want to listen?” he asked.
“Hmm?”
“The record.”
“Oh, sure. Yes. I’d love that.”
David put the compact disc in the player. It felt good to have something to keep his hands busy.
“Okay, now I’ll give you the rest of the tour,” he said after adjusting the volume. They went downstairs, and David showed her the kitchen and dining room on the ground floor. There was a small garden outside that needed tending.
He pointed to the staircase and gestured for her to climb ahead of him. On the second floor, there were two large rooms: a guest room and the other, a kind of music room with a large piano and a cello. Two music stands faced each other as if in conversation. Ella sat on the piano bench and placed her hands on the keys. The song she remembered was “Clair de Lune” by Debussy. It had been a difficult piece for her, requiring a lot of practice. She began to play, stumbling in places, but she kept at it, and even in her awkward playing, she felt moved by its sentiment and loveliness. She remembered having to miss The Brady Bunch in order to practice her lessons, and her favorite had been Jan, the middle girl with the straight blond hair. She had wanted five siblings, too. Why hadn’t her father remarried? She might have had a family, something beyond the life she had tried so hard to create for her father by herself.
“When did you learn that?” he asked.
“A long time ago. I’m full of surprises today.” Ella stopped playing and touched her brow. “If I’d known that I’d be playing for you today, I would have practiced more as a girl.”
“You play very well,” he said. Ella had more feeling in her piano playing than in her words, he thought. She was more careful with the way she said things.
“No, I’m not good. But you know, I enjoyed that. Maybe I’ll try to learn again. Irene and I’ll take lessons together.”