Allegro For Four Hands.

By Liubov Tumanovska

“Allegro for four hands” is a most sensual, soulful and extraordinary love story about feelings similar to insanity, life on the edge of reality and illusion....
Is it easy to ruin someone’s life? Why does no one but those nearest to us take responsibility to make important decisions for us? What will be the consequences of such actions and is it possible to escape the fate imposed by force? Is there anything that can compel a person to reappraise old values, to overcome fears and to find the way to one’s sanity? Victoria will be faced with many obstacles and she will have to develop her personality in order to become happy after all.
It’s a hurricane of emotions, a journey through the psychological state of a person, increased by deep internal conflict and a struggle with proper principals, a real world of music, glamour, backstage stardom and an incredible transformation conditioned by extremely strong feeling of love.
The book is written in the form of a diary of a young woman; her whole life appears before us on its pages: lost childhood, vain hope of realization of her wishes, secret dreams of ordinary human gladness... and later, a protest against her fixed routine, a meeting with true love full of tension and as a consequence—a radical change of her entire life.
These events are developing in various corners of the earth: Kiev, the French Alps, Grenoble, Paris, Venice, Istanbul, Jerusalem, and Miami....
The unexpected ending gives one something to think about and poses new questions to the readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liubov Tumanovska
• Release date: Jan 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310120411

Liubov Tumanovska

Lyubov Tumanovskaya is an Ukrainian author, who writes in the genre of "Romance". Lyuba graduated from Chernivtsi National University (Faculty of Foreign Languages) and Kiev International University (Department of Journalism). In 2014 she was nominated for the award - "Best Writer of the Year" in the category of "Romance" in Moscow. Ukrainian readers loved her novel "Allegro For Four Hands" for its interesting, unpredictable plot, beautiful descriptions and vivid characters. Passion, described in the novel has no equal and really amazes... This is something new and extremely exciting! Fans were eagerly awaiting the second part of the novel, which recently became available. The novel "Allegro For Four Hands" is published in English and Russian languages. Lyubov is thirty-four years old. She lives in Kiev with her family: her husband Valerii, nine-years old son Andrew and three-years old daughter Elizabeth. P.S. A song on the video was written and performed by Lyubov Tumanovskaya. Любовь Тумановская - украинский автор, который пишет в жанре "Современный женский роман". Вместе с тем, её книги не являются традиционными любовными романами - они интересны тем, что содержат в себе элементы триллера, фантастики, мистики и других популярных направлений. Люба окончила Черновицкий Национальный университет (факультет иностранных языков) и Киевский международный университет (факультет журналистики). В 2014 году она была номинирована на премию - "Лучший писатель года" в категории «Романтика» в Москве. Читателям особенно полюбился ее роман "Allegro в четыре руки", который интригует неординарным и непредсказуемым сюжетом, великолепными описаниями и яркими персонажами. Страсть, описанная в романе вызвала у читателей бурю эмоций... Поклонники с нетерпением ждали выхода второй книги, которая обещала быть ещё более интересной и захватывающей! На днях вторая книга романа "Allegro в четыре руки" уже появилась в продаже. "Аллегро в четыре руки" издан на английском и русском языках. Любе тридцать четыре года. Она живет в Киеве со своей семьей: мужем Валерием, сыном Андреем и дочерью Елизаветой. P.S. Песня "Милый мой", которая звучит на видео - написана и исполнена Любовью Тумановской.

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Acknowledgements

I express my deep gratitude to my editor Larisa Khomich, my painter Raisa Ryazanova, my translator Elena Balanovskaya, photographer Ludovic Lac Mudryfan, the first readers and also to my dear parents and my beloved husband! Thanks for your support!

Chapter 1

August, 2008, Kiev

It was October 1997. The autumn was surprisingly warm and especially beautiful that year. I still remember it now. A wonderful, lovely day was lightening the small cosy town that could easily be called the best place on earth. A light rain washed the streets, leaving a pleasant fresh smell. Sunrays were passing through the clouds and falling on the wet pavement, joining the sky and the earth by golden threads. A golden-haired autumn was smiling to the passers-by, who were preoccupied by their everyday cares, and was breathing out light skin-caressing freshness to their faces.

Victoria was on her way home. She had enjoyed coming through the old park, situated across the road. Every day, while walking through it, she felt grateful for the pleasure of the short but pleasant stroll. Moreover, it was the only chance for her to have a walk.

As the girl observed the thick crown of trees, the soft rustle of leaves felt like a friend’s greeting, and she admired the birds singing. Her eyes twinkled while she watched the games of her carefree peers. They had thrown down their bags and were running between the dark maple trunks, showering each other with motley leaves. Their loud, happy laugher brought cheers to the passers-by, its sincerity full of charm. Victoria so wanted to join them, but she could not allow herself; she was in a hurry to get home.

The road from school took her fifteen minutes. Eventually, she reached her five-storey apartment block, painted in dull green, and disappeared through the big double doors. She entered her apartment, took off her shoes, quickly changed out of her dull green uniform, washed up, ran into the kitchen and quickly ate a cookie, washing it down with a sip of morning breakfast tea. Then she snatched a red folder, her music book and pencil case and hurried to the music school for her lesson.

She came back home at twenty minutes past four, but she had her daily music lesson with her father at five o’clock. He was teaching piano playing in a local music college and he had a reputation as a good teacher. Victoria got only forty minutes to do all of her home tasks, so she ran into her room; she got all of the necessary manuals and exercise books and sat down at the table. She had her music in front of her. She put it away and took her pen.

No wonder the music was on her table because it was everywhere in her room, wherever one looked.… It wasn’t an ordinary room. It didn’t look like the room of an eleven-year-old girl.

There was a coffee table near the instrument and there were three huge carefully stacked piles of music books. The desk was near the table and a bed, a cupboard and stacks, mostly taken up by music too, were situated on the opposite side of the room. There were no dolls, no some other toys, no posters with favourite stars as in the majority of rooms of the girls her age. It seemed like the walls of this room were breathing symphonies.

Not only was Victoria’s room full of music books. The entire three-room apartment was thick with them. They were everywhere—on the bookshelves, on the windowsills, on the table in the living room and even on the bedside tables of her parents’ bedroom.…

Her concentration was disturbed by the sound of a key turning in the lock. It was her mother who came home.

Are you ready, Vika? Your father will be back soon! Sit down at the instrument and warm up your fingers by playing scales!

But I have to write my composition, Mom.… she said gingerly.

That’s it, Victoria! It’s not important! Get up and do what I said! the woman ordered strictly.

The girl closed the manual obediently and came up to the old piano. She sat down, opened the instrument’s cover and closed her eyes. The next moment, the even sound of scales performed by her quick fingers could be heard everywhere.

Give more energy, Vika! You’re like a sleepy fly! an old thin man muttered discontentedly; he’d just entered the flat and took his cloak off. His memorable deep voice sounded quite cross, his bushy knitted eyebrows touched with barely perceptible grey.

In two or three minutes, he was sitting near his daughter and controlling her playing.

Be more attentive! It’s C flat! Can’t you see that? he shouted loudly in her ear and struck her fingers badly with the wooden pointer that he always had right at hand exactly for that abominable purpose. The girl removed her hands and put them to her knees without uttering a word. A sharp excruciating pain permeated her fingers: they became blood red and began to tremble unwittingly.

Don’t cry, she thought, but the tears welled up already in her green eyes and began to stream down her pale cheeks.

Don’t dare whine! Play again! he yelled, and Victoria immediately obeyed in order to avoid another painful blow. She was playing, peering tensely at the music through her tears, which remained in her long, entangled, disorderly eyelashes. She had no possibility to wipe them. She was too angry with herself at the moment for not restraining herself once more and bursting into tears. Pain, offense and anger mixed into a bitter blend of despair, and a feeling of absolute helplessness and doom flavoured with a special incomparable tinge.

Yet, she had been ignorant of the fact that the suspicious, whining, irresolute girl would vanish into thin air. She would be replaced by a strong, firm restrained person who would learn to keep her temper and would never dissipate her energy for unnecessary emotions. She was ignorant of the fact that one day that insignificant pointer’s blow would no longer make her cry and there wouldn’t be many things that could draw tears from her.

The lesson lasted till nine o’clock. After that, she pushed off toward the kitchen, tired and exhausted, and she had dinner, as usual, meat dumplings from the shop boiled in haste by her mom, and then she took up her composition. She had a backache and she was seeing double. But she couldn’t afford to give up her job and go to bed. She fell asleep at the desk around eleven o’clock, putting her head on the papers of the exercise book covered with her copybook hand.

She woke up drowsy in the middle of the night and she retreated to her bed. The next morning, another hard and infinitely long day would wait for her.

Chapter 2

August, 2008, Kiev

Is it morning already? My inner voice whined lamentably. Why does it come so fast? I would like to stay in bed for a while.…

Muffled in the expensive bed linen, I was slumbering, burying my head in the pillow like a child. I didn’t want to let my dreams go. I tossed and turned a little and finally I opened my eyes and began to think; last night’s memories flashed across my mind. One minute later, I looked at the small cupboard at the bedside of the forged double bed: a thick notebook with a leather binding was on it. I stretched myself idly and took the notebook and a pen; I made myself comfortable and started to write.

I had such a rich day yesterday: exhausting sports in the morning with a personal trainer in the fitness club, a two-hour workout in the studio, a rehearsal with the show ballet and an afternoon meeting with my hairdresser and makeup artist. And I had the performance in the music hall Sky Castle at the corporate party organized by one of the biggest jewellery store chains in the evening.

There are always many guest stars and invitees at those events; that’s why every artist tries to arrive shortly before his performance. However, it’s the same thing when it comes to hours-long concerts and television festivals with the participation of a slew of stars when everybody is informed before the show about the approximate time of their entrance and all the singers are guided by this time. But that event was really serious. It was high priced and we came in advance to secure ourselves.

We had two separate make-up rooms—for me and for my ballet show. We settled there and began to prepare ourselves for our performance and Klinkovskii, my dear producer, went to see the audio operator to give him a sound record and test the waters, so to speak.

I was in a good mood and I felt positive as usual before performing because a stage is an element where I can be myself. I don’t need to depict something or pretend to be someone. I fill all the space by myself. I open the door of my inner world to the audience; I invite them all to live some minutes of my life. The audience rewards me with a colossal return for my sincerity. This invisible but so important connection is always felt. If it exists, it means that you do the right thing and if not, you have to ask yourself if you chose the right career.

Our performance was successful. Everything was great and really well organized, but it wasn’t mechanical. The most important thing for the artist is to put his whole soul into the performance that he’s doing for his audience. No matter what it is, a song, a dance or a recitation, everything must be executed as if it’s the first and the last time at once! I always live my songs over again while singing and I give them real vivid emotion because the public can identify falsity like no one else.

Just imagine, I am on the stage alight by the floodlight projector, dressed in my favourite white chiffon gown, adorned by a hand painted tender rosy orchid. The chiffon comes uncurled coquettishly creating a feeling of ease and lightness. My silhouette is enveloped by the waves of the transparent haze playing with all nuances of colours possible and the marvellous magic flowers bloom out at my feet with the laser beams, and the flowers turn into a flock of proud birds flying away behind my back the next moment. I sing. A hundred eyes are riveted on me. I feel an energy flux between the audience and myself; we exchange the magic fluids—emotions.

A boundless bliss fills me to the very brim. I feel so happy! Nothing else can give me that pleasure! I would never change that state of euphoria for anything else. I am ready to work hard day and night and come through all the troubles of being on the stage in front of the admiring eyes of the audience and singing for them. After all, it is something really worth living for!

The thing is, there is a difference between the audiences. That night, there was a separate, foreign immoral world, an opposite of my beautiful perfect music world. A rich uninhibited public, basically the clientele of the mentioned store, were sitting at smart tables loaded with various dishes. A subtle scent of expensive French wine and Canadian whiskey mixed with rough notes of chic female perfume, refined delicacies and surprisingly male sweat soared into the air…. The big bosses with their young escorts, elected representatives of people, society lionesses, cinema show business and sport stars, oligarchs and fat cats— in short all the cream of society was present at that party.…

Our performance was over. Now I could relax and not worry.

The dancers of the ballet show, went to the make-up room to change and Klinkovskii and myself followed a quite polite manager keeping a trademark grin, into the hall where there were tables covered for the artists too. Honestly, I didn’t want to go there. I would prefer a refreshing shower and my fragrant herbal tea at home… but we couldn’t leave immediately after the performance because Dmitrii Gordenko, the owner of that jewellery store, enjoyed authority over my lovely producer, even if Mister Gordenko was treating him with less enthusiasm and rather lightly.

In general, I just wanted to put in an appearance, to stay a while and to leave without being noticed. I saw many faces familiar to me and we had to stop all the time while walking to our table in order to greet someone kindly and exchange a few words with them. Here we were; finally, we took a seat. Instantly, I felt relief in my feet, tired of spiked heel and being in need of relaxing, however briefly.

A table was set for six persons. We were four at the moment. Our colleagues, a duet Shamanski, a couple working in the genre of chanson, were sitting in front of us. We met frequently at the other events and they always gave me a very good impression. They seemed to be openhearted and well-wishing people without any star mess, which was a rarity in an enormous ocean named show business because everybody comes out like he can and if not, he is overwhelmed.… But still, we weren’t so close to that couple.

We started a common conversation, but it didn’t last long because the words were muffled by the loud sound of the loudspeakers. The presenters announced a fifteen-minute pause and the guests became more excited. Some of them made their way to the exit of the large hall. They could find a private place to stay at the nice round tables, to smoke or just to have a little chat. The others remained seated in their places. However, the majority of the guests crowded in the passages between the tables and they returned to talking about their painfully similar, boring stuff.

One minute later, Klinkovskii, who was watching everything and everyone closely, fixed his eye on the imposing well-groomed old man with noble grey hair who has just entered the hall in the company of two young ladies and a tall stately brunette. They stopped in the middle of the hall having a lovely talk. The old man was none other than Dmitrii Gordenko. The face of the elegant man seemed familiar to me, but I couldn’t remember who he was.

We must go and greet Mister Gordenko now! It may be the only possibility for us! Stas said decidedly, holding out his hand to me.

We got up from the table and made our way to them.

Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, he started nicely while they made a pause in their conversation. Good night, Dmitrii! Let me express my thanks for having the honour to attend this magnificent event and to offer to you and your guests our creative work! We are so happy to see you!

His speech was so smooth-spoken that I nearly vomited.

Good evening, Stas. Good evening, sweet Keira, the old man responded quietly and kissed my hand civilly. Afterwards, he turned to his friends and introduced me to them, Ladies and gentleman, I beg you to be kind and gracious to know a rising star, the brilliant and talented singer and really fascinating young woman—Keira Lebedeva!

The young man and the ladies standing next to him, smiled nicely to me and Dmitrii kept talking:

Pretty Keira, you look amazing as usual and you sing great! I admire you!

Thank you, Mister Gordenko! It’s a pleasure to hear these words from you! I responded, blushing to the roots of my hair.

Meet Irina and Victoria, charming members of the Golden Lion company Gordenko said smiling lovingly. The wrinkles on his face looked strongly nobly and didn’t spoil his looks; they gave him a special thrill. And of course, you know well our well-liked Alexey Demin—the star of our country’s sport!"

Now it dawned upon me! He’s a famous swimmer, a repeated Olympic champion, world and Europe champion… I admit I don’t know much about those matters… but now I understood why his face was familiar to me; he’s a favourite of the press, especially when it comes to the yellow press, which has already forgotten all of his achievements. It talks tirelessly about his money, about how rich he is, and also how he is incredibly handsome and still single.…

It’s like my dream in the gold cover! I thought sarcastically, examining the quiet celebrity.

Come on, Dmitrii; it’s in the past…. the young man said. He had on a fascinating black suit and he looked so damn perfect!

The past is an integral part of the present, Dmitrii pointed out and continued, That’s true. Alexey is not in the sport anymore but he’s got a business. I think you know that he’s a successful founder and manager of the foremost building holding company, famous Europe-wide, the building empire I would say! Alexey is like my son; he’s my godson besides!

At that very moment, Dmitrii Gordenko’s phone rang; he excused himself and stepped aside.

Well, let’s see.… You really sing great! Alexey said, and gave me a straight and unconstrained glance. It was the look of a person who knew his own worth.

Thank you. It’s the most important reward for me—the recognition from my audience, I said modestly. I was sure that he flattered me without flicking an eyelid. He probably didn’t hear me singing and I doubt whether he’s interested in this kind of music.

I brought back the memory of the glossy magazines’ pages and Internet publications of the pictures of Alexey in the company of multiple flames and high-flown talk of the articles’ titles such as: Alexey Demin and his beloved spent their holidays on Crete! or A good catch and one of the richest men of our country is finally getting married!

Yeeeep… he’s despairing! Kind of a spoiled jerk and completely corrupted by the luxury! I thought. I can’t stand this type of narcissistic and overbearing men! I wish I could get out of here as soon as possible!

As long as I was there estimating this person, the female members of the company were dancing in attendance to him, coquettishly making eyes at him. Their bodies were screaming Take me, not her! It looked awfully vulgar and disgusting.

There are too many meetings at those parties. You always meet some people and you’re always introduced—it’s an infinite stream of names, last names, faces.… I don’t remember anyone of them the next morning. As for my producer, Stas, he is such a fan of making acquaintances; he’s kind of collecting them. He has a whole lot of business cards and especially a VIP list of the right people.

However, Alexey Demin stuck in my memory; I don’t know why. The first thing that came to my mind that morning was his face. It had an expression of self-reliance and a sort of unshakable calm. The languishing look of his hypnotizing brown eyes only lacked one thing—emotions….

I turned on my back and closed my eyes. I lie awake peacefully for some minutes, listening to my breath. My fingers involuntarily stroked the smooth pages of the diary. The phone rang at that moment.

Morning, Keira! Are you awake?I heard my producer’s voice.

Sure, Stas, good morning to you too, I responded, stiffly.

Do you remember that we’re going to keep working in the studio today? I hope you had enough sleep last night.

I’m fine.

That’s good. My person will pick you up at your place in an hour. I’m waiting for you in the studio.

All right! See you.

I hung up the phone, got up, replaced my diary in the cupboard and headed for the bathroom.

Chapter 3

August, 2008, Kiev

July 2003. It’s still the city that could be called the best place on Earth.

A massive antique clock inherited from my grandmother, now decorating the wall in the living room, struck midnight. Victoria was lying in her bed in her room alight by the dim light of the night lamp and was listening to the chime, but her thoughts were far away from here. An endless sequence of different feelings filled the girl, and the strongest of them were nervousness and fear.

Soon! She thought. Everything happens soon! All these years of hard work, a hundred hours of self-perfection, all the victories at the concourses of the pianists, and, more important, a sacrificed childhood, a lost youth will certainly bear fruits! And my parents are going to be so happy when I enter the conservatory! It’s everything they need in their life!

Victoria paged her past mentally.

The time flew by so quickly! She didn’t notice how she grew up while having all of those endless music classes. It’s a pity that her childhood and her youth passed by.… It seems like it was the very moment when the most wonderful period of her life was about to wave to her and to leave her forever, closing the door quietly.… And her whole adult life was ahead of her.

Victoria felt a growing lump in her throat.

She wanted to share her feelings with somebody. But whom could she talk to?

She had no friends, no girlfriends and she could only imagine what was behind the simple promising word friendship.…On the other hand, she knew solitude perfectly; as music, it was her invariable concomitant. That’s why her necessity to have a really good friend she could talk to, cry and even take pity on herself in his eyes, wasn’t only the barest problem, but a tragedy at the same time…

No. I still have one friend! And he’s worth more than a thousand friends because he’s the closest, loyalist and dearest thing for me. It’s a part of me,…she thought, and looked at her instrument. It was an ordinary dark piano, Ukraine.

As I remember myself—we have always been inseparable… I’m sure that it knows me better than anyone else! I have grown up with it; I became an adult and I haven’t lived any day or any night of my life without it.… It was a witness to my happiness and my sadness, she thought, understanding that there was not much happiness, as a matter of fact.…

Victoria had a long look at her piano without blinking, examining every bend of it and then she began thinking about her parents.

Her mother used to say that she knew perfectly how Victoria’s life was going to be. Even when Vika was a little child, her mom told her every night the stories about her successful future instead of telling tales. The woman kept telling her daughter that she was the most talented, the most intelligent and the best of the best and neither Vika nor anyone else had a right to doubt it. She said that once grown up, Victoria would become a famous pianist all over the world and her name would be in everyone’s mouth. Her mother was talking to her with admiration about all the interesting places and countries that she would see while on tour, about all the people who she would meet, about all the musical compositions that she would play.…

Moreover, she was telling her the stories of the remarkable composer’s’ lives, as all of them were working hard to reach those heights. She was sure that the music of the big compositors such as Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, Haydn and the others was written with the participation of God who circulated information into the brain of those geniuses and was taking them under his wing. She believed that these people were chosen, blessed by the sky.

The woman was trying to teach her daughter to understand the classics and to admire them. She was really upset when something was going wrong for her girl and she was starting to cry quietly. As for Vika, a mother’s tears were the worst punishment for her. Her rare failures made her mother live a real tragedy. The girl, trying to avoid it, was exerting herself not one hundred but one thousand percent. She loved her mother. Even if she was a cold, distant, strict woman desperately looped on her idea and not the slightest bit motherly—Victoria loved her.…

Her mother was really strict with her. Being the solfeggio teacher in the music school, she often organized an unplanned test concerning music, literature or solfeggio in an unexpected moment. She always needed to make sure that Vika remembered and knew everything.

Early in her term of pregnancy, she started to train her child to the classics in her womb, spending all day long at the pianoforte. For some reason, she was sure that she would bear a girl and she planned her destiny before her birth.

If the sky endowed you with a talent, you have no right to neglect it! It’s a great sin! Because this talent could be given to someone else who would certainly not fail God! She was used to saying it over and over again. The girl believed her and she believed in her talent.…

When it comes to her dad, he was industriously and diligently teaching Victoria to play the piano for years and he was doing it in cold blood. The discipline during his lessons was above all.

One day he said:

"Your mother and I have no such luck in our life, as you have! Neither she nor I had parents as you… That’s probably why we couldn’t reach everything that we wanted. But you will achieve progress! We do our best for it! And one day you’ll thank us!

Soon, Vika started to live out her parents’ dreams. It was no surprise that she has never seen anything but her piano and the endless music papers. Scales, pieces, sonatas, etudes—it went on like that for weeks and then