“Karl—”
“I should tell you I’ve already mentioned your name informally,” he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. “To a colleague on the search committee.”
I stared at him. “You did what?”
“They were very interested.”
“Karl.”
“Yes?”
“You can’t just?—”
“I can,” he said calmly. “And I did.”
I dragged a hand through my hair. “But… you didn’t even ask me.”
Karl arched his eyebrows. “Would you have said no?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Because I didn’t know.
He smiled. “You would be an excellent candidate. Your work in Manchester, your performances, your research—particularly your Beethoven—this ispreciselywhat they are looking for.”
I exhaled slowly. “And the practicalities? Visas. Language. Brexit making everything complicated?—”
Karl waved a hand. “The university is well accustomed to international appointments. They will handle the necessary formalities.” He paused. “But yes, your German will need improvement.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
Karl’s mouth twitched. “We can find you a tutor.” A beat. “Not Hans.”
I laughed despite myself. “Thank God.”
Karl inclined his head. “The deadline is a few weeks away,” he continued. “There is time to prepare, should you decide to apply.”
I looked away from the screen for a moment, my gaze drifting to the window, to the familiar, unchanged view beyond it.
“I only just got my job back,” I said quietly.
“Yes.”
“And now you’re suggesting I leave it.”
“I am suggesting,” Karl said carefully, “that you consider whether it is still the right place for you.”
I didn’t answer. That question had already been forming long before his call.
Karl leaned forwards. “Forgive an old teacher for speaking frankly,” he began.
That wasnevera good sign.
“But I suspect Berlin may have more to offer you than a short visit.”
I felt the weight of his words. The possibility.
I looked back at him. “And if I apply?”
Karl smiled. “Then I suspect things may become very interesting. And not merely professionally.”