‘ ‘ ‘  Some are just lucky I guess, Angela thought to herself as she threw the briefest of glances at her image to make sure her dress and auburn hair were in order. She shied of her reflection, just as her two sisters spent so much time before theirs, preening for this or for that date.’ ‘ 
‘ ‘ ‘  True, her sisters were older and she not yet at an age to go ‘steady’ but what would be when the time came?’  Angela’  longed for a friend with whom she could share her experiences yet the image she had of herself kept her from making friends. Although Angela was often told that she was pretty she could not see herself as anything but plain. No persuasion could convince her to see herself as she really was.
‘ ‘ ‘  The one consolation she had was her music. She, took after her mother ‘“ a beautiful woman famous for her virtuosity with the violin.
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œThe view you have off yourself Angela is only in your own mind,’ her father would say. ‘œWhen playing an expressive passage you become even more lovely than you are -‘  truly beautiful.’
‘ ‘ ‘  True, Angela often while playing was transported from a mundane world to wonderful places and scenes of her imagination.’  There life and colour combined with music to forms that were ethereal ‘“ all earthly things forgotten.
‘ ‘ ‘  In spite even of whispered remarks that while’  playing her face radiated a spiritual light, to her she would always be an ugly duck.
‘ ‘ ‘  Music had come to Angela as naturally as birds take to the air and her violin became not only Angela’™s one real love but also her true friend. She would talk to it just as it spoke to her, confiding to it her secret hopes and longings.
‘ ‘ ‘  “Are you ready, Ducks?”‘ ‘  Her father called brightly from the next room.’  Out of love for him, she did not wish her father to change the name he affectionately called her although, secretly, his use of it reminded her of her own feelings.
‘ ‘ ‘  “We really must hurry, Angela.” Her mother’™s voice added’  to the urgency. “It will never do to come late.”
‘ ‘ ‘  It was the first time she was to be at a harp contest. She always had a keen love for the harp, but in orchestral works it inevitably had such small parts. Nevertheless, its sound had always held a special fascination for her ‘“ captivating her imagination. But in all her ten years, she had never heard its versatility.
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‘ ‘ ‘  The sounds that Angela heard at the competition carried her to places she never dreamed existed. She found herself floating with imaginings she never knew. She wished never to return from such an enchanted world and her tears flowed unchecked upon her wondering face.
‘ ‘ ‘  From that day Angela’™s life was changed. She pleaded – she had to have a change. As much as she loved her violin and would always cherish it, here was another world. Places she never thought existed.’  Of course her violin had been a steadfast friend but the harp was something else.
‘ ‘ ‘  Her pleas did not fall on deaf ears.’  As much as her mother wanted her daughter’™s talent directed to the violin, she well knew’  that her daughter had found in the harp an even greater love.
‘ ‘ ‘  It was for the young girl a red letter day, the most exciting she had ever known, when her reduced- size harp arrived. Of course it was not her first acquaintance with it. She had fallen instantly in love with it at the harp specialist’s studio. Its rich mahogany finish gleamed. In Angela’™s mind it seemed to be speaking to her, ‘œPlay me!’  Play me!’ Her fingers trembled to begin plucking upon the strings.
‘ ‘ ‘  Love lent wings to her fingers as she learned.’  She intuitively overcame problems. Her teacher expressed amazement saying that Angela had an extraordinary gift for the harp and the young girl’™s face shone with a happiness she had never before known.
‘ ‘ ‘  Six years later Angela had become an acknowledged master of the instrument. After her first competition, it became only natural to her enthralled followers that she would win any competition. Her name had become synonymous with the harp.
‘ ‘ ‘  Many sought her company – many a girl turned a jealous eye. Her eyes sparkled with an intensity that captivated any onlooker.’  But she still shied away from people ‘“ still thought of herself as ugly.
‘ ‘ ‘  Before an audience, she was in a world of her own. Her hands and fingers flew and the notes came as if caressed. Her harp was still her only real companion. For her it had come to be a prince. Brave and strong yet could be as soft as eider down. Dazzling, sword flashing he was invincible.
‘ ‘ ‘  And as the audience roared in applause she would often be still in some reverie, taking their excitement with humble serenity. A few more years and her fame spread.’  To her father she had become Nightingale and her mother as proud of her daughter as one could be.
‘ ‘ ‘  Angela’™s twenty second birthday arrived and, by co-incidence, with it a letter bearing the Royal seal. It was an invitation for her to join other virtuosi in a Royal Command Performance with The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra.’ 
‘ ‘ ‘  At that concert, Angela, excited but as ever confident, played her piece faultlessly. The notes flowed and ebbed as waves on the shore ‘“ naturally and beautifully. She felt that her playing had never been better. Of course the audience was entranced. Smiles and tears were plentiful as she acknowledged the applause.
‘ ‘ ‘  In the wings a man’™s voice startled her a little: “Angela.”‘ 
‘ ‘ ‘  She turned – then caught her breath. The stranger no stranger.’  He was not handsome but manly. His eyes bright.’  To her he might well have been the champion she envisioned when she played come to life.
‘ ‘ ‘  “Yes?”‘  The single word contained a world of hope.
‘ ‘ ‘  He took her hand kissing it softly.
‘ ‘ ‘  “Forgive me, please, Angela.’  I feel I just had to meet you. Your playing is so very wonderful, it reflects your sincerity – your art. You are so very beautiful.’  Allow me, please, to introduce myself.’  My name is Andrew.’  Andrew Peterson.”
‘ ‘ ‘  Angela knew the name well; a rising- star in musical circles ‘“ a young already well known conductor. Her head swimming she found herself answering as if somebody else was uttering the words, “I am so pleased to meet you, Mr. Peterson.”‘ 
‘ ‘ ‘  But the joy that flooded her was real and she found herself blushing uncontrollably when he responded with just the slightest tightening of his hand on hers.