Free Intermezzo by Delphine Dryden Page B

be the last time they spoke. But two
hours later, waking from a fitful nap, she saw one of the flight attendants
walking far too quickly down the aisle with an improbably large first-aid kit
in hand, and through the muffled murmur of the plane she heard clear noises of
distress.
    Nothing in that first-aid kit, however, was any use to a
sweet, seventy-nine-year-old man who had suffered a swift and fatal stroke.
Dmitri had complained of a headache earlier but had appeared to be sleeping
peacefully for over an hour when one of his seatmates, trying to squeeze by to
get to the aisle, had discovered the conductor’s condition. In all likelihood,
Dmitri was already dead by the time the flight attendants started trying to
revive him.
    The plane stayed on course to Paris.
    * * * * *
    Things were grim, that first evening in Paris. The company
members sat around the handful of cafés near the hotel, telling somber
anecdotes and looking shell-shocked.
    David Russo, the ballet’s director, had gone from the
airport to the hospital and back again. Because Lily was the dance captain—and
David knew she would deal with the information responsibly—she got the phone
updates. David relayed it all to Lily to relay on to the company—the reports he
had filled out on poor Dmitri’s behalf, the preliminary findings about the
cause of death. The phone calls made to family back in the States. Arrangements
to fly the body back home.
    “And one more thing, but you have to keep this one between
us for now.”
    “Okay, shoot.” She sipped at the wine in front of her,
barely tasting the decent cabernet.
    “I think I may be able to get a backup conductor.”
    “Really? Who and how?”
    David sighed. “Promise you’ll keep it quiet until I know for
sure. He hasn’t agreed to do it yet, and he didn’t sound very happy about it,
but Aidan Byrne is in Paris right now. A complete coincidence. If anybody could
step in and conduct this without much rehearsal, it would obviously be him.”
    Aidan Byrne. The dynamic, world-famous composer of the music
that had inspired the ballet they were performing. He was a brilliant man, a
star in his own musical circles, but not one known for his even and magnanimous
temper.
    He was nobody Lily had ever expected to see again.
    “I guess he would have a stake in seeing that this tour
wasn’t cancelled,” Lily replied in a neutral tone while her stomach performed
an unpleasant pirouette. “It’s the European premier for the music, right? Even
if it’s only us.”
    “That may be part of the problem,” David admitted. Lily
could almost see him over the phone, tugging on his shaggy beard as he muddled
over the issue at hand. “Byrne has never really been a big fan of this
production. The ballet was great publicity for him, and in theory he’s a fan of
collaboration. But I gather he sort of regretted giving permission for it after
he saw the opening in San Francisco two years ago.”
    The first troupe to perform the new ballet had been plagued
by everything from injuries and personnel issues to set production difficulties
caused by a seasonal lumber shortage. The premier had been so disastrous that
the show ran only a few performances before shutting down. Lily’s company had
essentially staged a new premiere, to great critical success, but Aidan Byrne
had never seen their production of “his” ballet.
    “David, this doesn’t sound all that promising, if he’s that
hostile to the whole project.” Had she sounded too hopeful for a second there?
    “I know, I know, but I’ve known Aidan since college. I think
he might do it if I can appeal to his better nature. It’s not like we’re the
same company that screwed it up when he saw it before. Besides, this is such a
weird situation. Who could resist being part of a story like this one’s going
to be?”
    Lily was skeptical but kept it to herself, along with her
private reasons for half hoping David’s appeal failed.
    Later, when David called back