The Silver Swan: A Novel - Softcover

Elena Delbanco has recently retired after teaching for twenty-seven years at the University of Michigan’s Gerald R. Ford School of Public Policy. Before moving to Ann Arbor, she worked at Bennington College in Vermont, where she and her husband, the writer Nicholas Delbanco, together with the late John Gardner, founded the Bennington Writing Workshops. Delbanco has long been engaged in the world of classical music. Her father was the renowned cellist Bernard Greenhouse (of the Beaux Arts Trio), who owned the Countess of Stainlein ex-Paganini Stradivarius violoncello of 1707. The imagined fate of that instrument, upon her father’s death, inspired The Silver Swan, her first novel.

Claude and Francine separated to greet the other guests. They knew William Rossen, of course, and Claude’s concert manager. People were drinking, talking, and plucking hors d’oeuvres off trays passed by the catering staff. As he circulated, Claude looked for Mariana. He caught a glimpse of her in shadow at the far end of the room. Leaning against the window with a drink in her hand, staring down at the glittering city, she seemed very much alone. Her rigid posture, turned away from other guests, did not invite conversation. Relieved to know she had, after all, come, Claude had to shift his attention to a man at his elbow, who introduced himself as a board member of Lincoln Center.
           
[ . . . ]

As soon as he was able to disengage himself, Claude walked toward Mariana, coming up behind her and looking over her shoulder at the view. His face reflected back in the window, as did hers. He could smell the delicate fragrance she wore.

She was silent as she took a step forward and turned her face toward his. Their eyes met for several moments before Claude moved back and smiled at her. “You are as lovely as your father always said you were.” Still, she said nothing. “Tell me, Mariana, did you approve of my playing tonight? I felt I was playing in your father’s memory, to honor him. And I was also playing for you, knowing you were there. It matters very much to me what you thought.”

“Yes, my father would have approved,” she said coolly. “Apparently, he was immensely proud of you.” Now she dropped her eyes and took a sip of her drink.

“Ah, do you say that because he spoke of me?”

“My father spoke almost exclusively about himself.”