That next Monday evening, I had a meeting with the Philharmonic trustees.
“I’ve discussed with Shelby what we talked about in our last meeting on the phone,” Jim started, “so I guess the ball is in her court.” He looked over at me. “Do you want to stay for the next five years?”
I looked around. “I’ve thought about it. Until the last concert I was considering leaving here this summer and going home to Boston for a while.”
“Oh, no!” Cynthia Reynolds gasped. The entire board was now sitting up in consternation. “You can’t leave here.”
“You can’t leave us now!” someone else exclaimed.
There were noes around the room.
I smiled. “But since then, I have to tell you about some other plans that have come up.”
“You’re marrying Dr. St. Clare!” They all sat back as though that was the answer.
