The Ghost Sonata by JENNIFER ALLISON Page A

doesn’t look gormless.”
    â€œExcuse me.” Wendy peered over her shoulder at Gilda. “Do the two of you mind not talking about me when I’m sitting right next to you?”
    â€œI’m Julian.” Julian extended a hand to Wendy.
    As Wendy shook Julian’s hand, they heard a rush of polite applause from the concert hall following the conclusion of Gary’s performance.
    â€œThank you, performer number seven,” a man’s voice projected over the diminishing clapping.
    â€œThat must be Professor Waldgrave,” Wendy whispered.
    â€œIt was a technically adept performance,” Professor Waldgrave continued from the performance hall, “but you must keep a steadier tempo and maintain more control. It was as if you were riding a horse that got away from you and you had no sense of where the music was going to end up. And speaking of music—let’s play some next time, shall we?”
    A murmur of surprised, sympathetic laughter welled from the audience. Gilda couldn’t help but feel sorry for Gary.
    â€œOuch,” Julian whispered.
    â€œOmigod, I’m toast,” Wendy muttered.
    â€œWendy, you play better than Gary,” said Gilda. “Professor Waldgrave has a point; Gary’s performance was kind of boring.”
    â€œWhat I meant about that comment,” Professor Waldgrave continued from the performance hall, “is that you must think about color. It was as if your entire performance was colored in shades of brown. I felt as if I were watching a young child scribbling with a single brown crayon. And if the performance had a scent, it would be smelly.”
    â€œBollocks!” a woman’s voice piped up.
    Julian snorted with amusement.
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œYour comments are far too harsh, Nigel.”
    â€œThat must be the bizarre Professor Maddox,” Julian whispered.
    From the backstage room, Gilda, Julian, Wendy, and Ming Fong sensed a tense silence descending over the audience in the concert hall; it was surprising to hear the two judges voicing such blunt and public disagreement with each other.
    â€œWe have to keep in mind the difficulty of this piece. There were some quite lovely moments, and he played with great confidence. Fine job, performer number seven. Just try to find that little spark that really gets your audience excited.”
    A jolt of adrenaline surged through the backstage room as Professor Heslop hurried through the door and gestured to Ming Fong that it was time for her performance. Ming Fong removed her mittens, placed her music on her seat, and stood with her thin arms folded across her chest and hands wedged in her armpits. In her feminine dress she looked even more diminutive than usual, like a fragile doll.
    Gary emerged from the concert hall. His round face looked flushed.
    â€œGood job, Gary,” said Gilda and Wendy politely.
    â€œSounded like old Waldgrave gave you the verbals, mate,” said Julian.
    Gary looked confused. “He said I didn’t play music.”
    â€œMaybe add more dynamics next time,” Wendy suggested.
    â€œIf there is a next time.” Gary looked dejected.
    â€œHow’s the piano out there?” Wendy asked. One of the things she dreaded about piano competitions was walking onstage to play on a completely unfamiliar instrument.
    â€œKind of stiff. It’s cold in the room. The acoustics seem great, though.”
    Gilda had intended to ask Gary if he knew anything about the tarot card that had turned up in Wendy’s room, but the topic seemed impossible to broach right after Gary had been humiliated onstage.
    â€œGood luck, Ming Fong,” said Gary glumly.
    Ming Fong nodded but didn’t look at Gary. She was already in another world—the world of her own performance.
    â€œGood luck, Wendy,” Gary added, even more forlornly.
    â€œThanks, I’ll need it.”
    â€œI’d stay and watch you, but I