Marriage Named Hatred Chapter 14
The orchestra was the Orchestre de Paris, which had earned a certain reputation internationally.
Annelise had been signed on as the concertmaster.
Her credentials back home had been dazzling enough—the concertmaster of a symphony orchestra, personal solo recitals, and exceptionally high professional acclaim.
The orchestra had sent her an offer because they had valued her professional ability.
But the contract had stated it clearly: a three-month probation period.
During those three months, she had to rehearse and find her footing with the orchestra.
In the end, the music director and the full membership had voted on whether she could stay officially.
On her first day reporting in, she had arrived at the rehearsal hall half an hour early.
Not everyone had arrived yet; a few musicians had clustered together chatting, and when they saw her come in, their eyes had swept over her and then shifted away.
No one had greeted her.
She had not cared at all; she had found a seat in a corner, opened her case, and started rubbing rosin onto her bow.
When rehearsal began, the music director was a man with graying hair; he had spoken little, but every sentence had been blunt and severe.
He had glanced at her without any special introduction, only pointing toward the second violin section.
“Begin.”
Annelise had raised her violin and followed the tempo.
But she had quickly realized she could not keep up at all.
It had not been a matter of technique; it had been a matter of rapport.
The orchestra had its own rhythm, its own breathing—those subtle understandings that could not be described in words.
Yet she had none of it; she had been like someone barging into another person’s home, misstepping at every turn.
Halfway through the first piece, the director had suddenly set down his baton, his gaze passing over the entire orchestra before landing on her.
“The new one.” His tone had held no rise or fall; he had not even used her name. “You were dragging everyone down.”
The whole rehearsal hall had gone quiet, and everyone’s eyes had settled on her.
Someone had lowered their head to the score, someone had exchanged a look, someone had gently shaken their head.
Annelise had stood there gripping her bow, her nails pressing faintly into her palm.
“I was the concertmaster.” She heard her own voice, light and hoarse.
The director had looked at her and nodded. “Yes, you were the concertmaster. But the sound you were producing now did not deserve that seat.”
He had turned to face the orchestra. “Continue. From the beginning of the third movement.”
Annelise had sat down and kept playing the violin in her hands mechanically.
After rehearsal ended that day, she had sat alone in the hall for a long time without moving.
It had not been that she did not want to leave; she could not stand up.
Her legs had been weak, her hands had been trembling, and it had felt as if a stone were pressing on her chest, leaving her unable to breathe.
A man carrying a cello had passed by and casually asked something; she had lifted her head and forced a strained smile.
The man had not asked anything else and had walked on.
She had sat there alone for a long while longer, until a cleaner came in and looked at her with a strange expression.
She had stood up, packed up her instrument, and left with the case on her back.
That night she had not eaten, and she had not been able to sleep.
She had simply lain on the bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
The words “did not deserve that seat” had kept circling in her ears.
She had thought of five years earlier, the first time she had played at the Ryland residence.
It had been not long after the wedding; there had been a piano in the living room of the Ryland residence, and she had not been able to resist sitting down and playing a short passage.
Her mother-in-law had happened to pass by, stood in the doorway watching for a few seconds, and then said, “A violinist, and you were touching the piano too? Weren’t you ashamed?”
After that, she had never touched that piano again.
But that had been different; that had been not being allowed.
Here, it had been that she did not deserve it.
She had closed her eyes.