Ensnared in Her Symphony

Ensnared in her Symphony Jolie Dvorak Copyright This is a work of fiction. All names, places and events are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real names, places or events are purely coincidental and should not be construed as being real. Enthralled in her Design Copyright © Jolie Dvorak 2023 http://www.joliedvorak.com All Rights Reserved The right of Jolie Dvorak to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000. This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author. Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty One Chapter Twenty Two Chapter Twenty Three Chapter Twenty Four Chapter Twenty Five Chapter Twenty Six Chapter Twenty Seven Chapter Twenty Eight Epilogue A Note from the Author About the Author Overture Opening Themes Berlin and London ~ Andante ~ Chapter One “Excuse me, Maestro. This is your ten minute call.” Virve didn’t look up. There was a small cough. “And your brother is here.” Virve dragged her eyes from the music score she was reading and turned them on the young woman hovering at her dressing room door. The woman flushed. Katrin Bauer, Virve remembered. New assistant stage manager. Young. Blonde. Keen. Fangirl. Last Friday evening. She’d been something quick and easy to take the edge off before the Prokoviev last week. Right here in her dressing room with Ms Bauer up against the door. She was quite the moaner. They hadn’t spoken since, other than for poor Katrin to announce Virve’s calls and arrange for her score to be placed on the podium for her before she walked on stage. Katrin would whisper ‘toi toi toi’ before she opened the door to allow Virve to stride onto the stage and always blushed as she did it. Virve sighed. It was fairly clear that Katrin was nervous around her – most people were – but also that Katrin hoped for a repeat performance. Not this week. Not with the utterly delectable Aylin Tilki in the dressing room next door. Aylin Tilki who’d already given it up for Virve every evening this week – in more ways than one. The world-famous violinist surrendered to Virve’s baton onstage as Virve took her through the Sibelius Violin Concerto and later, surrendered everything else as Virve shagged her silly back in Aylin’s hotel room. Virve and Aylin played the same game every time they collaborated. Tonight was Aylin’s final concert with the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. Virve fully intended to celebrate that triumph with Aylin very thoroughly. Katrin would wait. She waved the woman in. “You can take this now,” she told her. Virve closed her music score and handed it to Katrin. It was her own copy – a beaten and battered partitur that had followed her around the world ever since she’d first conducted the work fifteen years ago. She didn’t even need it. The music had long since been committed to memory. But much of what they did was for show. Everyone had roles to play. Part of Katrin’s job was to ensure the maestro’s music made it to the podium. Virve didn’t want to deny her. Not that, at least. Their fingers brushed as Katrin took the score. It made the woman flush again. Virve barely managed to conceal an eye roll. “Send my brother in,” she ordered. “It’s alright, I’m here. Hey, Katrin.” Gassamu Gbondo barged into her dressing room behind a ludicrously large bouquet of pink and yellow roses. He dumped them on the small coffee table in the middle of the room and strode immediately to the piano. Gassamu plonked himself down on the stool but faced the room. For Gass, simply being near a piano was spiritual sustenance. He knew better than to play it, though. Not right now, just as Virve was preparing for a concerto. Katrin blinked at them both for one more star-struck moment, then left and closed the door behind her. Virve knew what she saw. Virve and Gassamu were two of the most famous names in the classical music world. Virve Vintinen, Principal Conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. Gassamu Gbondo, a distinguished classical piano soloist who gave up a dazzling career to work for his sister. Their parents were music royalty – their father one of the world’s most famous tenors, their mother arguably humanity’s most accomplished pianist. Mortals like Katrin swooned in their wake. But despite being brother and sister, Virve and Gassamu couldn’t be more different. They were almost literally black and white – like keys on a piano. In fact, it had been that very concept that had amused their parents and encouraged them to adopt in the first place. Both Virve and Gassamu had been experiments. Virve’s heritage was Finnish. She was pale to the point of being colourless – white hair, grey eyes, alabaster skin that rarely saw the sun. Cold, many people said. Ice. Gassamu’s original family had been from Sierra Leone. He was all the warmth that Virve was not, with friendliness and humour in his deep, brown eyes. He had rich black skin, and hair cropped close to his head that was just beginning to pepper with grey. He said his white hairs and her black moods were a sign they were finally discovering a commonality as siblings. Virve told him to fuck off. “Who are they from?” Virve nodded at the flowers, not particularly interested. The Principal Conductor of the Berliner Philharmoniker was generally presented with flowers at the opening and closing of a season, or at a premier, or