Saving Mr. Bell

Epilogue

Arlo

I shifted in my seat, nerves getting the better of me as I stared at the lone piano in the center of the stage. I checked my watch. Ten more minutes before Rudolf was due to come on. I’d offered to stay backstage with him, but he’d insisted on going it alone. Now, with nerves eating away at me and ten minutes feeling like a lifetime, I wished I’d kept badgering him until he’d given in. At least then, I could have spoken to him and confirmed whether he still wanted to do this.

Shifting my gaze from the piano, I tried to concentrate on something else, the enormous Christmas tree at the side of the stage decked out in blue and silver, providing an adequate distraction. It had never been the plan for Rudolf’s break to last the best part of a year; that was just the way things had turned out. I’d reaped the benefits of it, though, Rudolf accompanying me to Mexico when I’d made a documentary on drug crime on its streets, and to the USA later in the year for the far more lighthearted topic of wrestling.

The media had taken news of my divorce about as well as they ever took anything, and despite Rudolf and I being careful not to be seen together for at least a month after the announcement, they still added two and two together and came up with five to paint him as the other man, something I couldn’t apologize enough for. Rudolf had taken it in his stride, pointing out that he’d had far worse things said about him, and that it made a change from being portrayed as a drug-addled sex addict. But it had felt like another thing he had to endure.

I checked my watch again, only a minute having passed. I prayed he came on stage on time or I wasn’t sure I’d cope. Both Sophie and I had tried to dissuade him from having his first concert at the Barenboim-Said Academy in Germany, but Rudolf had refused to budge. To him, it made perfect sense to exorcize his demons by reappearing on the same stage he’d once walked off halfway through performing. I hoped he would exorcize those demons, but there was no guarantee. He’d played the piano since, often putting in long hours, but I’d been his only audience. There weren’t many people who got to wake up to a Rudolf Bell concert right outside their bedroom door, and I cherished every one of those moments.

Five minutes to go. A woman and her husband took their seats at the end of the row and I offered a nod when she looked my way. I’d never seen her before, but I knew those were the seats Rudolf had earmarked—as promised—to the couple he’d bought the cabin from. Our cabin. We’d spent three weeks in summer there, the break a completely different experience without the snow, but no less enjoyable for it. And at the end of next week, once Rudolf’s series of concerts was complete, we’d go there again for our second Christmas. I couldn’t wait for it to be just me and him. First though, I had to share him with an auditorium of a thousand people, the sense of expectation that permeated the air as they waited for his arrival on stage almost palpable.

The media were here, because of course they were. They were probably hoping he’d mess up again because that was far better fodder for their newspapers than him doing well. Rudolf’s father hadn’t been able to make it because of bad weather in London grounding flights. As if I’d summoned him by thought alone, my phone vibrated and I pulled it out of my pocket to find a text.

Jeremiah: How’s it going? Is he nervous?

Given Jeremiah had once thrown me out of his house and terminated a project because he was concerned I might corrupt his son, it was nothing short of amazing that the two of us got on so well now. And if anything, things were the other way round these days, Rudolf far more of a corrupting influence than I could ever be.

Arlo: He’s not on stage yet. Soon.

Jeremiah: Get him to call me later. I don’t care how late it is.

Arlo: Will do.

When the lights dimmed, my heart lodged somewhere in my throat, a hush falling across the auditorium. Rudolf never had anyone introduce him, my lover deeming it as unnecessary admin, and pointing out that the audience knew who they were here to see, and that if they needed a compère to remind them, they perhaps shouldn’t be out on their own.

It was another two minutes before Rudolf appeared on stage. He might have been naked in my bed only that morning, but even I wasn’t immune to the striking picture he made dressed in black jeans that molded to him like a second skin, and a sleeveless white T-shirt that showed off his muscular arms. His feet were bare. Because new start or no new start, there would have been uproar if he’d dared to wear shoes. His hair was styled to look like it hadn’t been styled at all. The media described it as “his just got out of bed” look. Well, I was an expert on what Rudolf Bell looked like first thing in a morning, post fucking, and any other hour of the day you cared to mention, and at no point did it look like that without help.

The crowd surged to their feet to applaud his entrance, and I went with them. If any of them had attended his aborted concert—and it would surprise me if they hadn’t—they’d obviously forgiven him. To them, he probably oozed confidence. I knew him well enough to see the signs of strain: the tightness around the eyes, the shoulders an inch higher than they should have been, and the fingers curled into his palms hard enough for his nails to leave marks.

When he bounded over to the piano and took his seat on the stool, the audience sank into their chairs like they were so attuned to him, they wanted to synchronize their movements to his. We’d discussed at length whether he should say something, Rudolf seeming to think he should at least acknowledge his long absence. It was Sophie who’d pointed out in that calm manner of hers that Rudolf always let his music do the talking, so why would he change that?

Rudolf took a moment to get comfortable before turning his head and looking straight at me. I gave him an encouraging smile, one that hopefully said I had every faith that this would go perfectly, and if it didn’t, it wouldn’t matter a jot to me and I’d love him regardless, because I’d never fallen for Rudolf Bell, public figure. I’d fallen for the sometimes sweet, sometimes acerbic, but always sexy as hell, man who lay behind all that.

Rudolf lowered his hands to the keys, and I held my breath. If there was one thing that had caused disagreements in the past few months, it was what Rudolf’s opening piece should be. He’d been all for facing his demons straight off and playing Allegro Sonata, the piece that had caused him so many problems, with Sophie and I standing our ground and insisting it was far too complex and that he needed to work up to it.

Or—and this had been Sophie’s suggestion—leave it out of his set list altogether. I’d known Rudolf wouldn’t go for that because one thing he wasn’t was a quitter, but it had been entertaining to watch Sophie come up with reasons. How Jade had ridden roughshod over Rudolf for so long when he had no problems standing up to Sophie, I had no idea.

Rudolf had eventually agreed to start with something simpler, but in those expectant seconds, before he pressed down on the first key, I didn’t know whether he’d stick to the agreement or do what he wanted. His unpredictability, as infuriating as it might be, was what made life with Rudolf so interesting and would continue to do so for years to come.

I reached into my pocket and fingered the small box I’d been carrying around with me for the past month. I was unsure of the reception my proposal would get when I finally found the right moment to make it. It could be a yes. It could be a no. Or it could be a quip about Arlo Thomas striking again and a question about whether the ring came with a ticket to Vegas?

As the first strains of Chopin’s Nocturne in E flat major filled the auditorium, I relaxed back in my seat. Rudolf had stuck to what we’d agreed. He played it perfectly, emotion leaching out of every note. Twenty minutes passed in the same vein, Rudolf holding the audience—including me—in the palm of his hand. He reached the end of his current piece and, knowing what was next, I said a quick prayer.

Rudolf paused, tension creeping into his shoulders. His mouth moved over to the mic and the audience leaned forward expectantly. “The last time I played this,” he admitted, his voice loud in the otherwise silent auditorium, “I did things to it I’m sure would have horrified Mozart if he were still alive. So I’ve got to tell you I’m a bit nervous about playing it again.”

“Just do your best,” a woman with a heavy Germanic accent shouted. “Nobody can be perfect a hundred percent of the time.” If she’d been closer, I might have kissed her for choosing the right words at the right time.

“Yeah,” a man shouted from farther back. “We’ll all still love you regardless.” Him, I wouldn’t have kissed because other men telling my boyfriend they loved him was a step too far.

“Thank you,” Rudolf said into the mic. “I just don’t want to let you down. Again.”

The audience surged to their feet to clap and cheer. Once they’d settled down, Rudolf started to play. By the time he was halfway through the piece, it was clear he had nothing to worry about, that lightning wouldn’t be striking twice.

The rest of the concert passed in something of a blur, my judgment that the first half had been perfect sorely tested when Rudolf played even better, and I had to admit that perhaps he’d been right in wanting to get Mozart out of the way so he could relax.

The lights came on as the audience rose to their third standing ovation of the night. Was that some sort of record? And then Rudolf was bowing and going off stage and the audience was chattering excitedly, most of it in German. I waited to go backstage until most people had already filed out, security checking my pass before letting me through.

The corridor bustled with people, some of whom I recognized from Rudolf’s team, while others were unfamiliar to me, likely staff members of the Barenboim-Said Academy. It took a lot of “excuse me’s and sorry’s” before I got close to Rudolf’s dressing room.

I heard him before I saw him. “Where’s Arlo? Security has been told to let him through, right?”

“He’s got a pass,” the familiar voice of Sophie said. “It gives him backstage access.”

“So where is he?”

I increased my pace, Sophie looking relieved when I rounded the corner. “I’m here.” I gathered Rudolf into my arms and held him tight, aware of other people being present, but not caring enough about anyone except Rudolf to lift my head and find out who they were. “You were incredible out there,” I whispered into his ear.

“Yeah? I thought they’d resent me for being away so long.”

“There wasn’t one person in that audience who gave a damn about that. They were just glad to have you back playing again.”

“It’s like I told you,” Sophie said, immune to moments she perhaps shouldn’t involve herself in. “People appreciate things more when they have less of them.”

We both ignored her.

I brought the car to a stop in front of the hotel and lowered the window so I could shout out of it. “Hey, sexy man. Jump in my car and I’ll give you the ride of your life.”

Rudolf shook his head wearily as he stowed his case in the boot before climbing into the passenger seat. “If you’d said that the night outside the nightclub—”

I interrupted him before he could finish. “You’d have been in there like a shot and we wouldn’t have had all the drama of you pretending you didn’t want to be there.”

He rolled his eyes. “Actually, I was going to say I’d be single now, that I’d have run so far and so fast that I’d have probably crossed the Austrian border on foot.”

I laughed. “Likely story. Keep telling yourself that.”

During the drive to the cabin, I pondered the ring still burning a hole in my pocket, that perfect moment still not having arrived. What if I waited forever? What if a moment wasn’t perfect until you made it that way? I slowed the car before bringing it to a stop, nothing but trees on either side of us and the road empty of any other traffic.

A furrow appeared on Rudolf’s brow. “Don’t tell me we’ve broken down.” He lifted a hip and maneuvered his phone out of his pocket, releasing a breath as he studied the screen. “Thank God, we’ve still got reception. Who do I need to call?”

I snatched the phone out of his hand and threw it in the back seat. “We haven’t broken down. I just needed to talk to you. Well, to ask you something, really.”

“Yes,” Rudolf said.

I frowned at him. “You can’t say yes when you don’t know what it is.”

“I already did.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What if I was going to ask you to be the star of my next documentary?”

He shrugged. “Then, yes.”

“Really?”

“Why not? Things are going well for me again and if there’s one person I could trust to portray me accurately, it’s you.”

I tamped down on the warm feeling in my chest and focused on my aim. “What if I was going to ask to you to join me in the search for undiscovered tribes in the Amazon rainforest, and then when we find them, live with them?”

“Wherever you go, I go. It might be tricky to get a piano there, though. I might have to take up the xylophone.”

“What if I was going to ask you to marry me?”

“Then definitely yes.”

“Just like that?”

Rudolf shrugged. “You’re divorced and we’ve been together for almost a year, and I kind of love you.”

“Kind of?”

He grinned. “Just keeping you on your toes. You know I love you to the moon and the back. What were you going to ask?”

I maneuvered the box out of my pocket and passed it across, Rudolf’s mouth forming into an “o” of surprise when he opened it. “Oh, you really were going to ask that?”

As proposals went, it wouldn’t go down in the annals of romance, but I still felt better for it being out there, like a weight had lifted off my chest. “Does that change your answer?”

“Ask me properly.”

I took my seatbelt off and twisted round to face him. It wasn’t a bent knee, but it would have to do. “Rudolf Wenceslas Bell, will you marry me?”

“I would have done if you hadn’t used my middle name.”

“Expunge that from the record,” I announced to no one.

“In that case, yes,” Rudolf said.

It was the sweetest yes I’d ever heard, Rudolf yelping as I tried to pull him into my arms, both of us forgetting that I might have taken my seatbelt off, but that he still wore his. We both fumbled for the catch, one of us eventually releasing him from it.

And it was the perfect moment. Because it was us, and because we worked. I was still smiling from ear to ear when I started the engine and flicked the radio on, Carol of the Bells playing on cue like some sort of cosmic sign.

The End