It was Ana, in Drake’s final year as Bonvissuto’s student, who revealed to Drake another side of their teacher.

“Can’t you see how much he envies you?” she said, as they sat one afternoon poring over a marked-up score of Carmina Burana.

“Who?”

“Bony. Who else?”

“Me?” Drake put down the score. “Why on earth do you think he would envy me? He knows ten times as much about music as I’ll ever know.”

“He does. But just the same he envies you — for the same reason as /envy you. He teaches music. I perform music. But you create music. Neither of us is able to do that. Can’t you see the look in his eyes, whenever you bring him a beautiful original melody? He’s delighted, yet sad. It must kill him inside, to be so gifted and yet be missing that one essential spark.”

Ana’s insight led Drake to a final opinion of his teacher. The professor could be sarcastic and short-tempered. He was certainly vain, and a dedicated womanizer. But he loved music, with a passion and a strength and a devotion far beyond anything else in life.

And again it was Ana who stated it best. When a discussion of Haydn’s “English” songs was interrupted by a telephone call from Bonvissuto’s current flame, she said to Drake, quietly and with real affection for their teacher, “Listen to him. He tells Rita — and Charlene and Mary and Leah and Judy — that he loves them, and I think he really does. But he’d trade the lot in for one new Haydn symphony.”

Or one new original work by Drake Merlin? Drake wasn’t sure, then or ever. But two months after Ana had been placed in the cryowomb, he appeared in Bonvissuto’s office one morning without warning. The teacher gave him one startled look, then turned his eyes away. “I know, I know,” he said. “I’m terribly sorry.”