CWMBR 11

Chapter 11

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*The past 

The man's demeanor was not the least bit serious. He seemed to be half-joking.

No, not half, all of it.

Seeing Bridget's expression visibly stiffen, Finn interrupted.

"The owners of the Glynford Grand Theater are the citizens of Glynford. You've seen the publicity in the past."

"It's an emotional appeal. It's a tacky, outdated tactic."

Patrick scowled.

Bridget knew what they'd seen, because she was the one who'd written it.

She had been posting them in several high-traffic areas, hoping to attract a diverse audience and revitalize the Grand Theater. Even though she couldn't get a prominent spot, she had paid for it.

Bridget didn't know whether to be happy that it had been noticed, or saddened that it had been treated as an outdated plea for help. She had to take a breath to keep from getting carried away.

Yes, there was no point in telling them who owned the Grand Theater. Bridget quickly dismissed the idea.

She had only shown them the theater because of Finn Emerson, in the hopes that he would use Glynford's if he were ever in the city to present his work. But apparently, Finn Emerson was not interested in the theater in the slightest.

"Let's go to ......."

Bridget turned to go. Finn Emerson followed her out the door.

Patrick, however, remained standing. In fact, he raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"We came all this way, and you're not going to show us the inside?"

"You want to see if any of the gears are rotten or rusty?"

Her reflexive rebuttal was a pointed retort, perhaps from some lingering ill will.

Bridget bit her lower lip, regretting that her response was so sharp and emotional when she was supposed to be a  tour guide. Her body tensed as she realized that her attitude could be criticized at any moment.

But it was a relief. Patrick didn't call her out on her behavior. His hands in his pockets, he stared impassively out at the theater.

"Your proud demeanor makes me wonder if there's a golden statue on display inside."

Bridget let out a short gasp at his indifference, as if he hadn't even heard her. Perhaps, to him, her sharp retort was noise not worth listening to in the first place. She was the only one who found this short conversation meaningful and tiring.

"There's no such thing," she said, thinking that the Patrick from earlier, who was reluctantly following along with a bored expression on his face, was much better.

"There is no such thing, so let’s................”

"Of course, you have reason to be proud, given its history. There was a time when artists of all stripes flocked to Glynford with the dream of having their work displayed in the Grand Theater."

Bridget was about to turn away, when her eyes widened and she looked at Patrick, who was still staring at the Great Hall.

Finn interrupted her momentary speechlessness, looking intrigued.

"So, this place is more historic than I thought?"

"Well, if you want to know the history of Glynford, it's a must-see, although everyone seems to think it's lost its historical value now.................."

He glanced over at Bridget, who was still standing there in a daze, suddenly realizing that the man's eyes were very strange.

She thought they were just blue, but they were a very deep, vivid blue. It was like looking into the depths of the ocean, and it gave her a strange feeling of mystery and a strange sense of vertigo.

When he locked eyes with Bridget, he stared at her without blinking. It was as if he, too, found her vivid green eyes mysterious.

He, who had been staring blankly into my eyes, smiled faintly with the corners of his mouth twisted

"At least one person didn't think so."

Patrick Sherman.

Bridget thought he was a very strange and rude man, which was a pretty strong first impression.

Patrick Sherman and Finn Emerson.

The next time Bridget saw them together was at a concert at the Grand Theater.

It was a concert by an amateur quartet of locals who had gotten together as a hobby. It was Bridget's opinion that it was better to have such a small performance than to leave the stage empty. Her uncle Ronan didn't like the idea, but when it came down to a few pennies, he relented.

Ronan was the one who had made the fuss about offering

 the venue, despite the office's objections.

It wasn't the first time this had happened. Ronan tended to handle most of the company's public affairs, believing that a young woman would only be ignored if she spoke up. So even though Bridget's name was on the paperwork, everyone assumed Ronan had taken over his brother's business.

Bridget never held it against him. Without Ronan, the theater might have been taken over by a stranger while Bridget was lost and desperate.

But Bridget tried to keep her hands on everything that went on in the theater. Even if it was menial labor. Ronan didn't like the idea of Bridget showing her face in the Grand Theater, but he couldn't resist the benefit of having her work for one less man's wages.

That day was one of those days.

While Ronan listened to the director’s gratitude for the relatively inexpensive rental of the venue, Bridget checked the stage equipment and surveyed the audience.

At every concert, the only people in the audience were acquaintances of the orchestra members, and even that had dwindled after a few repetitions.

This made the two newcomers to the audience stand out. They were Patrick and Finn, Bridget's guests.

She was surprised they were still in Glynford, as she had assumed they'd left town. Even more surprising was the fact that their sightseeing itinerary included a trip to the theater. She didn’t know, but Bridget had expected the orchestra to be out of their league.

The musicians all had day jobs, and this was just a self-indulgent event for them. Clearly out of step with professional orchestras.

But to her surprise, the two men didn't leave until the performance was over. As Bridget walked back and forth between the stage and her office, she would occasionally check the audience, and each time she would see them sitting there, looking bored.

By the looks of them, they were itching to get up and leave.

She couldn't help but wonder what was making them sit there.

That didn't mean Bridget went up to them and pretended to know them; there was no reason to, nor was there a relationship. A relationship that only lasted a day of showing them around the city would be worthless, something that would be forgotten in a few days.

Instead, Bridget found her way to the dancers' dressing room after the show and greeted each one as she usually did.

"You've gotten better, Magella."

"Uh, no, I'm not. I've been overwhelmed with work this month, so I haven't practiced as much as I usually do, and I can't tell you how many times I've been scolded by the director for not leaving the practice room."

At Bridget's words, the middle-aged woman with the trumpet clapped her hands. Magella, who ran a tailor shop on the street in front of the theater.

She had been in business for as long as Bridget's parents had been alive, and she was also one of the leading members of the group that organized the amateur orchestra.

She was especially close to Bridget because her parents had inspired her interest in playing an instrument.

"Actually, I played a wrong note earlier."

"Really? I had no idea."

"Oh, I don't trust you because you always say nice things."

"Really."

Magella chuckled, seemingly cheered by Bridget's sincerity.

"If only our daughter were half as good as you."

"How is Kathleen?"

"Ugh, she's all grown up now....................."

The chattering gradually subsided. A wide-eyed Magella was staring off into the distance, and Bridget, who had followed her gaze, stopped in her tracks.

"Oh, I see a familiar face here."

The hustle and bustle of the waiting room fell silent for a moment. As they organized their instruments, their gazes focused on the newcomer.

The unannounced arrivals were two men who had turned heads in the audience earlier. Patrick Sherman and Finn Emerson.

"Good show."

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*FYI: Patrick Sherman is Ain. He used to use a different name when he’s out.

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