I must have been partly in denial. But it really is over between us, time to believe it. It’s the last time I’m going to let myself think about Lessa and Malinara.
I dump the papers in the bin outside the Albert Hall as I walk in through the stage door.
We’re playing Vivaldi’s D minor for two oboes followed by Mozart’s Symphony No 25. I would play with my eyes closed if I didn’t have to watch the conductor. Only the music can blot out the thoughts in my head.
Afterwards, a few musicians suggest going out for drinks in Notting Hill. After a tiny hesitation, I agree because anything is better than going back to an empty room.
But British pubs close at 11 pm, so we barely have time to order one drink before we’re slung out and have to go back to our hotel. As we’re walking down the corridor to our various bedrooms, someone offers. “I have a bottle in my room, why don’t you all come here, and we can order room service?” His eyes go to Janey.
“Maybe later.” She simpers then takes my arm. “Brandon and I need a quick word in private first.” She stops outside her own door.
It’s as awkward as a five-legged dog, but I can hardly refuse in front of everyone.
I know what a ‘private word’ means in this situation. It means sex, practically on the doorstep. Saying no in front of the others would be a humiliating public rejection, so I square my shoulders and follow her in.
“Give me a sec, I have something of yours.” She says as we go into her room and she disappears into the bathroom. Five minutes later, she comes back wearing a man’s shirt over bare legs.
“It’s your shirt, you left it at my place long ago.” She twirls so the unbuttoned shirt flies open to reveal lacy underwear in a colour almost indistinguishable from her skin, it makes her look naked. “Remember?”
Does her question refer to the shirt or what’s under it?
I do remember both, as it happens.
Her eyes scan down my body to my groin and a surprised, slightly hurt look comes into her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Any chance of coffee?”
“I have wine.” She takes a bottle from the minibar and pours two glasses before handing me one.
I move towards an armchair at the other end of the room, it’s the only piece of furniture that isn’t a bed. I have two more weeks of my celibacy to finish. But even without the vow, Janey will always be a reminder of the fight Lessa and I had; the reason we are not together, the reason I couldn’t be sure of myself.
“You looked so sexy tonight.” She walks slowly towards me. “I had trouble focussing on the rest of the conversation,” she purrs, coming to sit on my lap. “I don’t think I can wait.”
The glass in my hand tips too far as I shift to stop her kissing me. Wine spills on us both. “Janey, stop please.”
She has already jumped away looking aghast.
“What’s wrong?” She stands there, one side of the shirt slipping over her arm, and her eyes go again unerringly to the effect, or rather, the lack of effect, of having her on my lap.
“I can’t do this. I’m sorry, I should leave.”
“Yes, you should.” She pivots away from me.
I get up and walk to the door. Then, with my fingers on the handle, I turn to look at her. “It’s not you, it’s–"
“Just go.” She says.
I open the door and walk out.
As soon as the door closes behind me, the memory hits me.
That night in Amsterdam, last April, when she snuggled up to me, my own response had been minimal. I’d been so used to giving in to temptation that I never doubted my body’s answer. I never even thought about it, but I hadn’t ‘risen to the challenge’ then either.
Chapter Forty-nine
Brandon
November
