The Darkness Within Him: The Untwisted series Read Free

short journey to Oxford Circus. Tugging self-consciously at my jacket, I was glad that in my dressed-up attire – high heels, black trousers, and a silk camisole – I didn’t stand out among the assortment of outfits being worn around me. This was London in all its impersonal glory: you could wear whatever you wanted and people would simply look the other way and ignore you as if you weren’t even there. Ah, the joy of big-city living.
    Emerging from the station, I traversed through the bustle of commuters and early-evening shoppers on the rain-slicked pavement of Oxford Street, before turning off and heading down a side street toward the impressive frontage of the London Palladium. The stretch of pavement outside had become a waiting area and was full of similarly dressed people loitering around and talking excitedly about the performance they were about to watch.
    Two hours later, after what had possibly been the best night of live jazz music I had ever heard, I found myself waiting to be escorted to the backstage area. Still flushed from the heat in the theatre itself, I knew my face was also red from excitement because in about two minutes I would get to meet the trio I had inadvertently made famous by blogging about them on the internet – Anthony Gurage, Isla Burren, and Nicholas Jackson.
    Tonight’s performance was the opening night of a new musical called Keys, set around the development of jazz piano playing over the years. Nicholas had agreed to perform at the première, with all proceeds to charity, before another skilled pianist would set off with the orchestra and tour the country with the show. Apparently, he was too in demand to do full tours these days. If I were big-headed, I’d take the credit for that too, but luckily, my ego was well in check so I merely let the though flit through my mind with a small, indulgent smile.
    As planned, Greggor Marks met me at my seat immediately after the performance. He was exactly what I had expected of a super-successful producer: sharp suit, immaculate hair, and a rushed, impatient air about everything he did. He was like the living personification of a tornado and put my already frayed nerves even further on edge.
    He led me speedily down a maze of corridors backstage. I tried to follow him as a shrill and rather unpleasant ring erupted from his suit and had him reaching into his jacket pocket. Arriving at a dressing room door, he excused himself with an apologetic gesture to his ringing phone before ushering me inside with a flustered wave of his hand.
    Great, I had to go in alone. Confidence was usually a strong point of mine, but this was different: these were real live famous people I was about to meet. Huffing a huge breath to calm my nerves, I pushed open the door.
    And there they were.
    Well, not all of them, but Anthony Gurage and Isla Burren stood about ten feet in front of me, involved in what looked like a deep conversation. I couldn’t see Nicholas Jackson anywhere, although the dressing room was surprisingly large and appeared to go round a corner at the back.
    Standing nervously in the doorway, I pushed my long, blonde hair behind my ear and watched as Isla frowned at Anthony before suddenly turning her attention on me with a smile. God, I wished I felt half as confident as she looked. I knew that Isla was a decade older than me at 35, and was one of the most skilled female saxophone players around. She was also far prettier up close than her publicity shots showed.
    ‘Rebecca, how lovely to meet you at last, we really should have got together to thank you years ago.’ Isla blushed in embarrassment. Anthony, a trumpet player and six years her senior, came to shake my hand too. It was odd, knowing so much about these people who I’d never met before, but my review had been quite thorough and it’s amazing what you can dredge up on the internet these days.
    ‘Yes, it really was rather amiss of us to leave it so long. Unfortunately, Isla has