“You said Claire would not be at home,” he articulated thickly.
“And so she isn’t!” Mme. Petrovskey plumped herself into a large tapestry chair and motioned him to do likewise.
“She and Dr. Elliott have gone out on one of their little sprees.”
Her sprightly manner irritated Alexis unbearably, and he was silent.
“I thought it would be nice for us to be alone. Don’t you think so?”
“I have no desire to see Claire, as you know.”
“So I imagine, dear boy. But don’t let us speak of that now. First I want to congratulate you upon your success. It simply delights me. You’re twice as good as ever. More assured, more mature. Your rendering of the Brahm’s Concerto was perfection. Lauer was transported by it. He said you were the best pupil he had ever had.”
Alexis’s eyes lighted momentarily at the mention of his old master.
“He came around to see me afterwards and was—very kind,” he said almost eagerly.
“He ought to be pleased! Even Sascha doesn’t do him more credit!” she exclaimed with complacence.