bench. “If you could let me know when you're going to practice, I can work around you.”
“No.” Aimée stuck her nose in the air. “I will work when I want to. I do not
owe you a schedule. I am the professional. You're only a guest. My need is greater than yours.”
“I'm not disagreeing with you,” Katerina said, forcing her voice to calmness,
“but, Madame St. Jean, you don't practice all day. Mightn't I be here when you're
not?”
“No.” The blond crossed her arms over her ample bosom and glared.
"So, you're not willing to make even a token attempt to be reasonable?" A thread of anger sparked above Katerina's nervousness. “Why not?”
“Because I don't have to be. I will have exclusive rights to this pianoforte, and your grandfather will let me. There's nothing he would deny me.” Aimée smirked.
“No doubt that's true,” Katerina said sarcastically, “but you're not the only musician in the house.”
“Yes, I am,” Aimée sneered. “You're nothing but a dilettante. Go away.”
“I won't. I have as much right to be here as you do.” She surprised herself by
saying it, and she drew in a startled breath.
Her rival blinked, rosebud lip drooping, but she recovered quickly. “You'd better tend to your own business, Mrs. Bennett. If you're occupied at the pianoforte, I might just decide to amuse myself by spending time with your husband. He's very handsome.”
“Aren't you a bit old for him?” Katerina shot back.
Aimée's eyes narrowed at the unkind comment. “It makes no difference.
Besides, you're such a mouse, I could take him from you in an instant. He would
be glad to go.”
Katerina struggled to maintain her confident manner, but the threat hit her in
a weak place. “Unlikely. He doesn't believe in adultery.”
“Maybe, but I could make him wish he did.”
Does she have to say that? What if she's right? Katerina rose from the bench, for once taking advantage of her height to try to look intimidating. “You stay away from my husband.”
Aimée refused to back down. “Nervous, are you? You should be. Choose
wisely, Mrs. Bennett. Your husband or the pianoforte.”
Katerina's fear disappeared under a wave of pure anger. “My God, you're
disgusting. What's wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” the woman crowed. “I know what I want, and I take it. I don't hide in the shadows, mouse.”
“Oh, be quiet,” Katerina said with a flamboyant hand gesture.
“Non,” the singer sneered.
“Madame St. Jean,” Katerina said, struggling to remain calm, “I haven't done
a thing to you. I'm not asking anything from you. All I want is to play my grandfather's piano when you are not using it. What problem could that possibly pose you? What do you want?”
“I want you to go away. I don't like you,” Aimée said brutally.
Katerina shrugged. “You don't have to like me. You have Grandfather. Isn't
that enough?”
A flash of something… softer appeared for a moment behind the singer's
eyes.
She does care for him, in her way, Katerina realized, though she didn't quite understand how to integrate that knowledge with Mme St. Jean's threats towards
Christopher.
Aimée's expression hardened. “I don't want you in my space. This room is mine. I belong here. You're intruding. You're not a real musician.”
“I disagree.” Katerina met Aimée's eyes with a squinty glare.
