Meg & Leo: Chapter 7
Meg & Leo: Chapter 7
An Evening of Mozart with Leo Blake
Hey friends, if you’ve been patiently and eagerly awaiting the next instalment of Meg and Leo’s story, here it is - thank you, and I hope you enjoy it, things are beginning to heat up between our pair…
If you’ve missed any previous chapters, here’s a quick rundown:
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
With only 48 hours’ notice, it’s a good job I’d treated myself to a new dress in the sales (and with employee discount on top – can’t knock that!) that I’ve been dying to wear, and that my best friend is an incredible make-up artist because I’m far too excited-nervous to be able to draw eyeliner on straight.
Jas and I both had today off work – a miracle really, when Saturdays off in retail are rarer than unicorns – and she spent the whole day (or it feels like it) helping me get ready for the concert tonight.
Honestly, I’m not sure she wasn’t as worked up about it as me by the time I left the house.
Though I have to say, I do look and feel pretty amazing tonight. The dress is a curve-skimming wrap in a peacockish swirl of teal, cobalt and violet that I’ve paired with my black knee-length boots, but currently have covered by my coat as I walk the mile or so from our house through Greenwich.
Jas has somehow managed to tame my red riot of hair into an elegant but relaxed half-up do that leaves some curls framing my face, and the look she’s applied to my eyes makes them look enormous and really pops the green. Sometimes I wish my eyes weren’t such a striking colour because they do tend to make people stare, but tonight I’m a little bit mesmerised by my own reflection too.
The concert is taking place in the Queen’s House, part of the Royal Museums complex facing the river, and it’s one of my favourite buildings. With the rows of chairs set out for the audience on top of the exquisitely tiled black and white marble floor, and a small stage area home to a gleaming grand piano, the polish reflecting the glittering chandeliers above, it surely must be one of the classiest spaces for a concert anywhere in London.
As the time nears for the concert to start, the crowd of people milling around begin to take their seats, and the chatter of voices dulls to a hum. I take a seat about halfway back on the aisle where I have a good view of the piano.
As a clock somewhere in the cavernous space chimes the hour, there’s no preamble or introduction, just Leo emerging from a side door, leaping up onto the stage, bowing once, and then taking his seat at the instrument.
My breath catches as I take in how handsome he looks in eveningwear. No classical tailcoat for this modern virtuoso, instead he’s wearing an immaculately cut tuxedo, the black velvet ribbons down the trouser seams emphasising the length of his legs, shoes buffed to a mirror shine, and he unbuttons the jacket for ease of movement as he takes his place on the piano stool. The white dress shirt is open at the neck, another nod to modern style that notches the formality down a tiny bit and shows off the line of his throat and the warmth of his skin. I swallow and try not to pant too eagerly at how delicious he looks.
And then he starts to play.
His fingers fly across the keys in a blur, the slightest furrow of concentration between his brows, and his entire body shifting with the rhythm and mood of the music.
The acoustic in the hall is exceptional, but it’s Leo’s playing that has me captivated.
The skill, technique, the nuanced details of volume and tone, the way he draws out the melodies and harmonies of each piece as if they’re simply flowing from him.
I let it all wash over me, hearing the music, yes, but also feeling it through the vibration of the floor and the sound moving through the room.
As much as I want to watch Leo every single second, because he’s clearly in his element, at one with the music and his instrument, I have to close my eyes at some points so that I can immerse myself fully in the emotional resonance of what he’s playing.
Piece after piece, Leo’s repertoire, his interpretation of Mozart’s compositions, seems to lead us through the entire spectrum of human feeling, quite possibly with a hint of divine intervention too. It’s too beautiful for words.
By the time Leo finishes his final piece with a rousing crescendo and a flourish of hands, the last notes ringing out into the room, I’m one big ball of…of something. Feelings. Emotions. Trembling hands and tingling spine. Almost gasping for breath myself, as I watch Leo’s chest heave from the exertion. I can’t decide if I want to cry or laugh or scream or run up on that stage and grab Leo by the lapels in a searing kiss.
I’d probably get thrown out if I did that though.
……
She’s here.
Meg’s here watching me play.
I tried not to consciously look for her when I came out at the beginning because I knew she’d distract me, but once I’m sat at the piano my eyes are inexorably drawn to the flaming hair and the gorgeous woman beneath it halfway down the hall on the centre aisle.
She looks incredible.
Stunning.
The colouring of the dress she’s wearing suits her perfectly, and the way her hair is pulled back makes me want to stroke the soft skin of her neck where that single curl is falling.
I’m not going to lie, knowing that she’s there makes me want to show off a little bit. To play the best I’ve ever played in my life.
So I take a deep breath, give my fingers one last stretch, cracking the knuckles quietly, and begin.
It’s a good thing I’ve practised these pieces so much that my hands can play them from muscle memory, because I keep getting distracted glancing up to watch her.
To see the smile that plays across her face, the way her body sways with the music, emotions I can sense moving through her as the mood of each piece shifts. It’s entrancing.
And then when she closes her eyes and tilts her head back slightly, the look of utter bliss she offers the ceiling almost has me groaning out loud because I have an instantly clear vision of her looking exactly like that with her glorious hair spread across my pillow, in my bed.
Luckily for my sanity the next piece requires my full concentration to get through some of Mozart’s trickiest work, and I’m able to let out some of the tension building in my body through my playing.
Finally reaching the end of the programme and taking my bow to rapturous but well-behaved applause (no whooping or cheering for classical concert goers), I retreat to the room they set aside as a dressing area for me, grab my coat and head out as quickly as I can.
The crowd is still dispersing down the steps as I leave the building, people offering me congratulations and thanks as I pass them, though tonight I don’t stop to sign autographs or take photos. There’s a woman I need to find.
Meg had texted me this morning to wish me luck and let me know how much she was looking forward to the concert, and we’d arranged to meet under the colonnade to the right of the building. Which turned out to be a really good choice because as the rest of the audience make their way down the drive towards the road, I’m able to duck away from view, quickly spotting her waiting by one of the columns.
Just seeing her makes me smile again.
My footsteps on the gravel alert her to my approach and she turns, a beaming smile on her own face as she sees me.
Something in the centre of my chest tightens and then loosens again.
And then suddenly my arms are full of warm woman as she launches herself at me, her arms going round my neck and her voice close in my ear.
“Oh my god Leo, that was incredible, thank you so much for inviting me!”
My own arms wrap around her middle as I brace myself with a half step back so that we don’t immediately tumble to the ground, and my senses are overwhelmed by the feel, the breathy sound, and the scent of her.
It feels like her whole body is trembling with energy, and I can’t say my own isn’t doing the same.
She pulls back a little to look at me, but I don’t let go of my grip of her waist, the curves soft under my hands.
I nearly drown in the emerald pools of her eyes, wide and shining in the darkness, and she must have bewitched me somehow because the only word that makes it out of my mouth is her name, hungry with need.
“Meg.”
My brain is definitely not in charge anymore. The emotions of the last couple of hours, coupled with the visceral desire I feel at holding her, mean my body has taken over as I lift one hand to cradle the back of her head, fingers spearing through the silk of her hair at last.
I hear her surprised gasp as my lips crash down on hers.