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    The Violinist and the Ballerina
    The Violinist and the Ballerina
    The Violinist and the Ballerina
    Ebook125 pages1 hour

    The Violinist and the Ballerina

    By Angelin Sydney

    ()

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    About this ebook

    This story begins the moment their eyes meet.

    Instantly, Cathy's well-constructed world almost fell apart when she recognises Jonah. Her mind revisits the past: How long has it been? Eight years? How is it that after so many years I still feel the pain?

    Involuntarily, her blue eyes moisten, but he is oblivious to her inner turmoil. Instead, he is attracted to her misty blue eyes; they glisten as they catch the reflection of neon lights making them appear like sapphires on fire. 

    Miss Cathy, he later realises, is the same Cathy Goodes he had taunted, tormented, and relentlessly bullied for two years until she moved to a different school. 

    Those years of being high and mighty, and cruel, has haunted him for years. Now the reality of it has come back to ratchet up the guilt one more notch.

    Given the circumstances of their past, is there a chance for love to blossom? Is forgiveness possible?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMassachusetts Books
    Release dateApr 18, 2017
    ISBN9781386099574
    The Violinist and the Ballerina
    Author

    Angelin Sydney

    Before becoming a full-time author, Angelin Sydney was one of the most prolific contributors to fanfiction and fictionpress where her compelling style of story-telling had strong followings. She was a journalist for a daily business paper in the Philippines. Since moving to Australia many years ago, she has had numerous incarnations. She was a banker, insurance seller, housing loan broker, home-stay mother to hundreds of international students, small business operator, casual kitchen hand and a nanny. She’s really been around. Her most consistent role, however, is being a mother to four wonderful people. Sadly, one of them has gone ahead, leaving her to write stories to help others to heal, laugh, hope, and continue to dream. In all honesty, the only thing active about her is her imagination. It is as fertile as the rice fields of the Philippines where she was born. About Her Stories They are original, funny, swoon-worthy, and thrilling to the core. She’s the self-styled queen of romantic comedy and romantic thriller. Follow her on Twitter: @Angelin_Sydney and Instagram: writingangel

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      Book preview

      The Violinist and the Ballerina - Angelin Sydney

      Publisher’s Note

      WE WRITE AND PUBLISH our e-books using the Queen’s English, with colloquial and Australian slang thrown in for good measure.

      Although we are different, we hope that you would enjoy our stories and the style by which we have chosen to chronicle them.

      Happy reading.

      Timothy Isaiah Gabriel Tan-Miller

      (5 January 1996 – 19 Mar 2011)

      You were taken before you knew what romantic love was,

      but I know

      you are in Heaven dancing with Angels

      1: Instant Recognition

      JONAH PUT ON A WHITE VALENTINO chemise shirt and stone-washed blue Levi jeans and teamed them with a pair of tan-coloured Hugo boss loafers. A black leather jacket and a Ray-ban wraparound sunshade completed the ensemble. After checking himself in the mirror, he reckoned, he looked fine.

      The classy and expensive outfit was from his previous life as a scion of multi-millionaires, before his incarnation as an independent-living music student on a limited budget. He had contemplated donating his whole wardrobe to a charity shop as he felt ridiculously overdressed in them now. The appeal of high fashion had waned, probably because he had grown up or grown out of them; probably both. In the end, he kept them and wore them occasionally as he saw fit but with genuine disinterest.

      The change in him had not just been skin-deep.

      Recently, a had server tripped and accidentally spilt coffee on him while dressed in his Armani suit. The terrified look on her face was not so much horrified that she might have scalded him, no! In a state of hysteria, she kept repeating that she couldn’t possibly afford the laundry bill. Or, God forbid, have the suit replaced.

      He, on the other hand, merely shrugged his shoulders, removed the stained jacket, and told the mortified girl not to worry about it. In his younger days, he would have gone ballistic and asked, sarcastically, ‘Do you know how much this cost, stupid?’

      The changes in him came when he left the mansion he grew up in, in Sydney’s exclusive suburb of Mosman, to pursue his passion for music against the wishes of his parents, William and Jolene Chua. 

      His parents were born in China and were studying in Australia when the Tian An Men protests of 1989 erupted. The Hawke Government granted them the right to stay in the country due to the unrest. They had been young and idealistic back then. From the vantage point of someone on the outside looking in, they were non-traditionalists. They learned English and conducted themselves as Australians, so it didn’t take long before they were making a name for themselves in their chosen field of real estate development.

      Unfortunately for Jonah, it turned out that William and Jolene were only non-traditionalists in conducting business, but when it came to family matters, they were as steeped in tradition as their relatives back in China. As far as they were concerned, he, being their only son and therefore the principal beneficiary of their wealth, was obligated to pursue an education in business.

      Jonah, however, had other ideas.

      In the beginning, they tried gentle persuasion; when that didn’t work, bribery. When that, too, failed, they threatened to cut off his generous allowance.

      It came to a head when instead of enrolling at the University of New South Wales for a business degree, he took up an offer to study violin at the Sydney Conservatorium of Music.

      It had been an easy decision to make. He could not persuade himself to study business and accounting. He was so depressed by the mere thought of working on numbers that it had driven him to thoughts of suicide. Dead Poet’s Society was an iconic film he could relate to.

      All he had ever wanted to pursue was music; playing the violin was his passion. So, when he was offered part-scholarship by the Conservatorium his resolve was strengthened.

      In retaliation, his parents made good with their threat. They cut off his allowance. As the arguments became more frequent and intense—and the verbal barrage of angry words became too much to bear and vases became missiles—he was forced to leave.

      RIGHT NOW, HE WAS ON his merry way to meet his baby sister for a date. It had been a while since he had taken her to a film. Money was tight. Even a simple movie date could cost a hundred dollars easy. Fifty, if they limited themselves to small bags of popcorn and regular-sized drinks.

      He was locking up his studio apartment when Sophie, his next-door neighbour, saw him and commented how nicely he cleaned up.

      ‘Goin’ on a date?’ she inquired. The widowed long-term resident of the building had always been forward with her questions. She followed this up with, ‘Knock her off her feet.’

      He flashed her a grin and said, ‘It’s a date with my baby sister. She’ll knock me off my feet.’ He waved goodbye to her before she could carry on with one of those one-sided conversations that centred mostly on her designer lapdog.

      Instead of catching the elevator to the lobby, he ran down the stairs from the top floor. It wasn’t too much of an effort since the 1930’s art deco Potts Point apartment building on St. Neot Avenue only had three storeys and sixteen apartments in total.

      He checked the time; he was running a little late. Lucky for him he didn’t have to commute. His red Mazda Coupe was handily parked in a lock-up garage just behind the building. The two-year-old car was a high school graduation gift, back when he was the adored son of Australian-Chinese tycoons. He could not afford to buy one now, not even second-hand, not on his meagre salary as a café assistant manager while he honed his craft as a violinist; thankfully, he was able to supplement his income with occasional paid gigs playing at engagement and wedding parties.

      Even his apartment was an eighteenth-year gift. Without it, he would have had to bunk down with friends in a tiny one-bedroom flat, taking turns to sleep on a bed.

      HIS DESTINATION WAS his former neck of the woods, the leafy enclave of Mosman in Sydney’s lower North Shore where Joanna was, at that precise moment, attending ballet training.

      While crossing the Sydney Harbour Bridge, going northbound, he couldn’t help but reminisce. He spent his boyhood in Mosman. It had been a pleasant childhood except for the constant pressure to achieve academic perfection.

      He once heard a joke about a Chinese boy, it went like this: Mum, I got 97% in maths.

      The mother’s response was, What happened to the other three?

      Except, in his case, it wasn’t a joke.

      The last year of high school was a particularly painful time in his life. The pressure to achieve an outstanding score for his Higher School Certificate was intense. The way he handled it was to play the violin to take his mind off the academic burden. His Paganini violin saved his sanity and his life. Every time he

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