In the following days, Mary continued to attend classes at the music academy punctually. Under Mrs. Samarov's watchful and demanding guidance, she practiced with an intensity that seemed to gather strength in her fingertips.
The once-intimidating E-flat modulation, the thorn in her side, was no longer insurmountable—thanks to Barbara's patient guidance and Mary's tireless repetition.
Her fingertips now glided smoothly across the piano keys, each note flowing forward like a tamed stream.
Occasionally, when sunlight streamed through the tall classroom windows, Mary recalled the playful dappled light in Practice Room 7, Barbara's precise demonstrations, and the delicate scent of lily of the valley. A quiet warmth and strength swelled within her.
Saturday, October 13th, 1928
Mary awoke earlier than usual. Autumn sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, casting soft, patterned shadows across the floor. She walked barefoot to the walnut wardrobe and opened it.
Most of her clothing consisted of comfortable pieces, suitable for easy movement, but her fingers lingered over a single lake-blue wool dress, hanging quietly and alone.
It had been a gift from Shane last Thanksgiving—elegant, warm, and perfectly tailored. The serene blue of the dress seemed to capture the very essence of the autumn sky.
Mary carefully tried it on in front of the dressing mirror. It fit perfectly, accentuating her slender waist and the gentle curves of early adolescence.
Linda, bringing in breakfast, smiled knowingly. "Are you going to Miss Barbara's gathering today?"
Mary nodded, adjusting the sapphire bracelet Shane had given her for her birthday. The deep blue of the stone glimmered in the morning light, harmonizing beautifully with her dress.
Linda placed a reassuring hand on Mary's shoulder. "Remember, darling, just be yourself. Sincerity matters more than anything."
At 2:30 p.m., Vic's Cadillac arrived promptly. Mary settled into the backseat, sheet music tucked neatly under her arm, as the car glided through Brooklyn streets toward Manhattan's Fifth Avenue.
As the familiar streets of Brooklyn receded, the austere elegance of Manhattan rose, buildings steeped in history and wealth, a stark contrast to her neighborhood.
Finally, the car stopped in front of a stately neoclassical mansion, its grandeur defined by massive stone pillars and meticulous brickwork.
Vic opened the door, lowering his voice. "Miss, we're here. I'll remain nearby until it's over."
Mary stepped onto the marble stairs. A butler in a sharp uniform greeted her with a bow, guiding her inside with precise courtesy.
Inside the salon, crystal chandeliers scattered light like flowing liquid gold, refracting through champagne glasses held by guests.
Barbara Hutton was seated gracefully on a velvet armchair beside a grand piano, her fingers tracing the edge of a Debussy manuscript in her lap.
Her cousins chatted lightly, adorned in pearls, commenting on new autumn fashions, while bankers debated Renoir paintings along the walls. The air was rich with perfume, cigar smoke, and the subtle frivolity of high society. Yet Mary noticed how carefully Barbara had placed a Chopin manuscript on the piano, its pages slightly curled—a quiet declaration that music mattered more than appearances.
A flicker of recognition sparked in Mary's heart as she approached. The fiery red of her hair seemed to carve through the aloof atmosphere like a flame.
"It's from Mrs. Samarov's private collection!" Mary exclaimed, spreading out the sheet music. "Look here—her notes on fingering!"
Barbara's gaze was drawn to the deep blue of Mary's sapphire bracelet. She touched it delicately. "This is fine Bond Street craftsmanship… similar to a necklace my aunt Marjorie bought last year."
Mary's smile faltered. "It's a birthday present from my brother… but his birthday is tomorrow. I have no idea what to give him."
Barbara leaned in, interest piqued. "Your brother? What does he enjoy? Collections, sports, hobbies?"
Mary hesitated. "He's always busy… traveling… completely focused on work. Sometimes I see him late at night in his study, but when I ask, he always says, 'Anything is fine.'"
Barbara thought for a moment, stroking a platinum watch on her wrist. "Then… a watch. Practical, meaningful, and unique. My aunt knows Swiss watchmakers who craft one-of-a-kind pieces."
Mary's eyes lit up. "A watch! That's perfect! But… I know nothing about watches—movements, craftsmanship—I'm clueless."
Barbara smiled warmly. "That's fine. Tomorrow, after practice, I'll accompany you. You'll see everything you need to know."
Mary's worries melted away, replaced by excitement. "Really? Thank you, Barbara! Now let's try the Bechstein!"