“The South East of England. Maybe you should write this down?”
“Huh,” he says, his amusement again drawing out a little dimple on his cheek, but he does reach into his coat and pull out a scrap of paper. There are a couple of awkward moments before he finds a pen in the breast pocket of his coat.
“Is Kent with aK?”
“Yes,” I reply; then I wait in silence as he writes downKent.
“And Broadgate?”
“Yes. You will find her there. In the summer—the last Friday in August.”
“This seems rather unusual,” he says. I feel relieved to see a flash of skepticism, and yet, I need him to believe. I can’t stop now. I just need a venue, and in Broadgate there is only really one.
“A pub, down by the water. The Star and Anchor. Seven p.m. She will be there at the bar. Mara.”
“Mara?” he asks.
“Mara,” I repeat, as I close my eyes, slightly ashamed. “That is her name.”
And then I hear someone knocking on the glass window. And then a shout. “Josef?” My eyes fly open. He is looking directly at me, and once again I am so thankful for the veil.
“Josef? Are you done?” the man’s voice says again.
“That’s the first violin,” he says, “so now I have to go.”
He stands, stretching both legs out in front of him as he does, and then shaking out his wrist. “How much?”
I tell him ten thousand forint, feeling my heart beating hard in my chest. As he fishes through his expensive, buttery leather wallet, I find myself desperately wanting him to stay.
“Can I take a picture?” I ask suddenly as he places the money on the table, my fake accent long forgotten. Perhaps he hasn’t noticed since English isn’t his first language. “A picture with the cello. For my friend. She likes the cello.”
He looks perplexed but sort of shrugs, so I stand, my legs a little weak at first, and reach for my handbag. I hesitate before sliding up next to him. I try to ignore the stupid bright yellow Minions bumper case that Charlie gave me for Christmas, feeling utterly juvenile, and take a quick snap of the two of us together.
He stands perfectly tall and still and I move my head toward his shoulder, standing on tiptoes to bring our heads both in frame. The smell of whisky mixes with some kind of expensive cologne. It’s intoxicating. Delicious.
I step back and look at him again. He must be around my age, and yet, I feel like a child.
“You’re not going to take off the veil?” he asks, looking for my eyes behind the purple netting. And then I feel them almost connect. His eyes and mine. Everything falls away for a moment as I feel completely seen. It’s like a punch to the stomach, as if I’ve been set on fire. My heart races. This was meant to happen.
“I want to see your face,” he says.
“Oh no,” I say, sliding my phone away. “It is better to have the barrier.”
He smiles, defeated.
“Are you in town long?” I ask.
“We go tomorrow,” he replies. Then he stops looking at me, and his body stiffens again. He lifts up his coat and slips it on. “This was... charming.”
“Broadgate. August,” I say, feeling desperate as he turns to leave. I wonder if I should rip the veil off. Tell him everything.
“Broadgate. August,” he says, as that right dimple appears alongside his smile. “You never know, I might just be crazy enough to show up.”
I drop my head and murmur, “I don’t want to encourage you either way, but I would definitely go...” My voice trails off.
“Well. Thanks,” he says, and then there is a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “It was fun. I hope you have a nice evening.” And with that, he picks up his cello and slips out between the red velvet curtains and then out the front door. My heart lurches.No! This cannot be it.
It is no coincidence that he walked in. It is no coincidence that I was here doing something I would never normally do. This is exactly what she predicted.Whoshe predicted. We were supposed to meet.
