Candace gave a little squeak when she saw Hugh Pratt descend from the train like a royal prince. He was wearing a black leather jacket, baggy black trousers and shiny dark shoes. His hair was mussed in the kind of way that you just know takes a lot of careful planning, and he had a slightly stubbled chin, as if he had forgotten to shave that morning. He had a square, chiselled jaw and large, dark eyes.
“He looks like a model,” Josée said to the others.
“Oh wow, he is even more amazing in person than he is in his pictures,” Candace said. Her voice had gone all breathy. Alan risked a look at her, although he was determined not to make any more mean comments. He had seen this happen before, when his sister had said she was in love with Leonardo di Caprio. Alan was sure that his remarks then had helped get her over it. Now she was doing the same thing again over this musician, and it would be hard not to bug her about it.
A rail attendant handed down two large suitcases out of the passenger car onto the platform, and Mr. Pratt himself carried a black leather briefcase on a strap over his shoulder, and in his left hand, his violin case.
“Welcome to Laingford, Mr. Pratt,” said Mrs. Nearing, and held out her hand.
“Thank God that’s over,” he said, touching her hand briefly like a guy on the winning team in a post-game handshake. Alan felt a stab of dislike as he saw his mother’s welcoming smile get brittle, suddenly, like glass. “The train journey was a total drag, and I was stuck next to this incredibly boring old woman who talked the whole way about her stupid grandchildren.” His voice was a slow, drawled-out whine, like a long bow on an untuned string.
“He doesn’t sound near as classy as he looks,” Ziggy muttered. Alan and Josée nodded in agreement.
“You’re the reception party, I take it?” Mr. Pratt went on. “I was expecting a limo. Can you smaller kids handle these bags? They’re kind of heavy.” Alan and his friends picked up the cases without comment. They were heavy, but after a remark like that, they weren’t going to let it show. Then the musician turned to Candace, who immediately turned bright red. Alan thought she might be holding her breath. “And if you wouldn’t mind taking this, sweetheart, that would be great,” he said. Her face was practically glowing, a huge smile plastered on so wide, it looked like it would crack her face in half. The musician was going to let her carry the famous violin for him.
“I knew it,” Alan said quietly to the others.
Candace stretched out her arms to receive the precious case, her fingers just touching the corner of it, when Mr. Pratt snatched it away with a look of horror on his face. “Not that,” he snapped. “God, I wouldn’t let a kid carry the Stradder. No, I meant this,” and he handed her his leather briefcase. She looked like she’d been slapped.
“Ouch,” Ziggy muttered.
In the van, Mr. Pratt sat in the front with Mrs. Nearing, drawling a long list of complaints about his train journey—from the lousy food in the dining car to the hardness of the seats. Alan reached over and gave his sister a sympathetic punch on the shoulder. It was just a tap—no big deal, and luckily she knew exactly what he meant and gave him a twisted and slightly misty-eyed smile. That should make up for the remark he’d made earlier, he thought. Sisters. Unpredictable people.
In the back seat, they all kept a kind of stony silence, while Mr. Pratt talked on and on. Alan’s mother didn’t seem to have noticed that anything was wrong with Candace, and she seemed to have forgotten Mr. Pratt’s snobby handshake. She was chatting quite pleasantly to him, asking him about the upcoming concert, and whether he was looking forward to working with the Society orchestra. Maybe mothers don’t notice the same things kids do, Alan thought. She didn’t seem to have any problem with this man at all.
When they got to the Weems’ place, which was a huge glass and wood home on the shores of Steamboat Lake, Mr. Pratt seemed to get bigger, somehow. His voice changed, and he started purring, like a large, sleek cat.
“This is my kind of place,” he said.
“Yes, it’s lovely, isn’t it?” Mrs. Nearing said, in a friendly voice. “I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable here, Mr. Pratt. They have a beautiful guest room.” A couple of women, standing in the driveway, pointed at the Nearing’s vehicle and waved to Mrs. Nearing. “Got him, then?” one of the women called out.
“Safe and sound,” Mrs. Nearing called back. “Come on over and meet him before anybody else does.” The women began to stroll over in their direction. Alan watched as Mr. Pratt, who was still doing his contented cat imitation, checked out his reflection in the side view mirror before getting out of the van.
Candace, who had been sitting behind the drivers’ seat, the furthest from the door, got out last, after the boys. Somehow, she got her foot wrapped around one of the seat belts, which was dragging on the floor, and she fell sideways suddenly, missed her footing and landed in a heap on the asphalt driveway, crying out in pain as she landed. Mr. Pratt moved right in on her.
“Oh, angel, are you all right?” he said, all the whine gone from his voice and replaced by a honey-sweet tone that seemed to make Candace forget her pain.
“I—my foot,” she said. He crouched down next to her, all concern and hands. Mrs. Nearing had missed the fall, having walked over to meet the advancing women, and all three arrived back at the van just as Pratt was helping Candace to her feet.
“What on earth happened, Candace?” Mrs. Nearing said. “Have you hurt yourself?”
“I tripped on something in the van and fell and twisted my foot or ankle or something,” Candace said, “but Mr. Pratt helped me. I’m fine.” And truly, she looked better than she had in a while, Alan thought. She had her Leonardo di Caprio smile on again.
“Call me Hugh, please,” Mr. Pratt said to her, all the time seeming to keep half an eye on the ladies who had come over, as if he wanted them to see how nice he was being. Is it only me who is noticing this stuff? Alan thought. He felt like a superhero all of a sudden, with special powers that nobody else had. Great. Other guys get bitten by a radioactive spiders and end up being able to climb buildings. Alan Nearing gets buzzed by a bunch of bullies on jet skis, and all he ends up with is a hyperactive sensitive-o-meter.
“Thanks, Hugh,” Candace said. “I think I can walk on it if I go really slowly.” She leaned on his arm and began walking with him towards the door, surrounded by Mrs. Nearing and the other women. Mr. Pratt had left his briefcase and the violin case on the ground beside Alan and his friends. They unloaded the rest of the bags from the back of the van and prepared to carry it all in.
“Excuse me, Mr. Pratt,” Alan called out to the musician, who had his arm wrapped around his sister’s waist. The musician turned his head and raised an eyebrow at him.
“Yes, er, Al?” All four of them had been introduced to him at the train station. Alan hated “Al”, but this wasn’t the time to say so.
“What about your ‘Stradder’? You want to carry it yourself, or is it okay for one of us kids to bring it in?”
Mrs. Nearing frowned at Alan and gave her head a little shake, but Mr. Pratt just smiled.
“Er, that will be fine, buddy,” he said. “Just be very, very careful with it, okay? And bring it straight on in, okay?”
Alan picked up the violin case carefully, like it might explode, and cradled it in his arms. “As if I was going to run away with it or something,” he said to Ziggy and Josée. “It’s not me that has a crush on his stupid violin, it’s Candace. And Mr. Pratt looks like he’s suddenly got a crush on her.”
“Maybe he’ll let her play it, then,” Josée said.
“Yeah,