and a smile that is more mischief than apology. She pulls away her arm, surprised at the sudden rush of anger. He moderates his smile. “Look, I’m sorry for that. You just seemed to assume I was a salesman so I, er, carried on the role play.” It isn’t much of an explanation. She moves toward the darkness behind the doors where umbrellas are hurrying past. “But then I heard you play and, well, I just had to take the piano. I wasn’t that serious about buying, but what you did in there… it was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard.”
A smile is worming its way through the seal of her lips. She tries to check it. “Thank you. It’s an amazing piano. I hope you enjoy it.”
A muscle twitches on his barely stubbled cheek. “I shall certainly enjoy listening to it. I don’t play myself, never taken the trouble to learn.”
Words are sucked from her mouth. He’s buying a £70,000 piano and doesn’t play? “Well, I hope others enjoy it then.” She means to be cutting but it comes out wobbly, tear-tinged. “I’ve got to go.”
Once again a hand on her arm. “Don’t go yet. Come back into the warm and give me a chance to explain. I just need to finish the paperwork upstairs but why don’t you let me buy you a coffee afterwards? There’s a great little place round the corner.”
And that was the first time you met Seth Gardner?
Yes. Sorry, I know I’ve probably given you more detail than you need. It’s just… I remember everything like it was a film.
Could you speak up, Miss Jarret?
Sorry, it’s nothing. I just miss him, that’s all. I – sorry…
Do you need to take a break?
No. No, I’ll be fine. I know this is important. I’ll try again.
Scene 3
Can you tell us about the rest of the evening, Miss Laurence?
Now, there’s a question. It would be nice if she could. It was certainly a night to remember, she’s sure of that, but remembering is the problem. The shape of it was there, later, to admire, but the little details, whole hours in fact, were smudged and indecipherable. There was another round of tequilas, almost certainly. Then Seth’s suggestion of taking a taxi to his club in Soho, which had made her laugh as she pictured leather armchairs and cigars. Of course, she’d got into the taxi anyhow, which made her laugh again as she imagined the disapproving tug of Jason’s eyebrows. He never got cabs, insisting on consulting his A to Z at every opportunity to work out a walking route, even when her shoes were killing her.
One street blurring into the other, no idea where they were. It didn’t matter. Seth was talking to the cabbie about which roads were best at this time of night and she leaned back into the seat, content to let the men blabber on about one-way streets and no left turns. His voice rose and fell like a babbling brook of her childhood. Mellifluous . The word surprises her. She tries it out in her mouth, savouring the effect on her tongue. At some point after that she may have drifted off.
“… are you?”
She judders, comes to, and looks across, reaching for an expression of alertness. The taxi has stopped. Seth’s eyebrows are raised.
“Sorry?”
“I said, you’re not going to bail on me, are you?”
She sits up. “Not me! Are we here?”
He grins and jumps out, appearing at her side like a magician to open her door and bowing as she makes a less-than-dignified exit.
“And put that away, please.” It’s a good job. She doesn’t have more than a tenner on her. He offers her his arm, this man she’s just met, and she takes it, regretting the tequila and her shoes, cursing the cobbles. She inches forwards like a geriatric.
“Lucky we don’t have far to walk, eh?” He leads her to a black door with a gold knob. No number. No sign. He knocks twice, heavily. “ Now why are you laughing?”
She bites her lip. “Because we’re knocking on a random door in the middle of Soho. Part of me expects a mad hatter to open it.”
“Ah,
A smile is worming its way through the seal of her lips. She tries to check it. “Thank you. It’s an amazing piano. I hope you enjoy it.”
A muscle twitches on his barely stubbled cheek. “I shall certainly enjoy listening to it. I don’t play myself, never taken the trouble to learn.”
Words are sucked from her mouth. He’s buying a £70,000 piano and doesn’t play? “Well, I hope others enjoy it then.” She means to be cutting but it comes out wobbly, tear-tinged. “I’ve got to go.”
Once again a hand on her arm. “Don’t go yet. Come back into the warm and give me a chance to explain. I just need to finish the paperwork upstairs but why don’t you let me buy you a coffee afterwards? There’s a great little place round the corner.”
And that was the first time you met Seth Gardner?
Yes. Sorry, I know I’ve probably given you more detail than you need. It’s just… I remember everything like it was a film.
Could you speak up, Miss Jarret?
Sorry, it’s nothing. I just miss him, that’s all. I – sorry…
Do you need to take a break?
No. No, I’ll be fine. I know this is important. I’ll try again.
Scene 3
Can you tell us about the rest of the evening, Miss Laurence?
Now, there’s a question. It would be nice if she could. It was certainly a night to remember, she’s sure of that, but remembering is the problem. The shape of it was there, later, to admire, but the little details, whole hours in fact, were smudged and indecipherable. There was another round of tequilas, almost certainly. Then Seth’s suggestion of taking a taxi to his club in Soho, which had made her laugh as she pictured leather armchairs and cigars. Of course, she’d got into the taxi anyhow, which made her laugh again as she imagined the disapproving tug of Jason’s eyebrows. He never got cabs, insisting on consulting his A to Z at every opportunity to work out a walking route, even when her shoes were killing her.
One street blurring into the other, no idea where they were. It didn’t matter. Seth was talking to the cabbie about which roads were best at this time of night and she leaned back into the seat, content to let the men blabber on about one-way streets and no left turns. His voice rose and fell like a babbling brook of her childhood. Mellifluous . The word surprises her. She tries it out in her mouth, savouring the effect on her tongue. At some point after that she may have drifted off.
“… are you?”
She judders, comes to, and looks across, reaching for an expression of alertness. The taxi has stopped. Seth’s eyebrows are raised.
“Sorry?”
“I said, you’re not going to bail on me, are you?”
She sits up. “Not me! Are we here?”
He grins and jumps out, appearing at her side like a magician to open her door and bowing as she makes a less-than-dignified exit.
“And put that away, please.” It’s a good job. She doesn’t have more than a tenner on her. He offers her his arm, this man she’s just met, and she takes it, regretting the tequila and her shoes, cursing the cobbles. She inches forwards like a geriatric.
“Lucky we don’t have far to walk, eh?” He leads her to a black door with a gold knob. No number. No sign. He knocks twice, heavily. “ Now why are you laughing?”
She bites her lip. “Because we’re knocking on a random door in the middle of Soho. Part of me expects a mad hatter to open it.”
“Ah,
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