‘Sort of,’ he admits. ‘Francesca. She was a cellist. I thought dating someone from within the industry, who understood the lifestyle, would give us a better chance of success.’
‘What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘It was great, when we were together.’
I wait for him to elaborate, but I can see he’s losing himself in the memories, so I don’t prod him for more information this time. We’re in incredibly personal territory now, and I’ve already got much more out of him than I’d hoped. He glances in the rear-view mirror as he brakes for a traffic light, and then turns to me with a sigh.
‘The problem was that we weren’t together often enough. She was on the road performing, and so was I, so we only saw each other on the rare occasions our schedules aligned. When we did see each other, it was lovely, but that wasn’t enough, ultimately.’
‘Who ended it?’
‘It was kind of mutual. I think we both knew we didn’t have a future.’ The light turns green and he returns his concentration to the road.
‘How long ago?’
‘Six and a half months. I don’t miss her. I wish her all the best, but we could never have worked. That’s actually the bit that hurts, because it made me realise that I’m probably always going to be alone.’
‘Why?’
‘Francesca kind of proved that this life is incompatible with relationships even when you’re both in the same line of work. How would you juggle something as mundane as childcare when both of you have international careers?’
I smile. ‘I think a lot of people in that position hire nannies.’
‘Yes, but what’s the point of having children if you’re never around when they’re growing up? Dad may have been a big shot, work wise, but he always made time for us. Hard to do that when you’re in Japan and your children are in London.’
‘OK, then you marry someone outside the industry. Someone who’s happy to provide that stability while you’re addingplaudits to your Wikipedia page and opening Last Night of the Proms for the seventieth time.’
‘Do you know anyone like that? Who’d be prepared to put up with an absentee husband who locks himself away to practise for hours each day on the occasions that he was home?’
I ponder his question for a while, trying to imagine domestic life with someone like him. ‘I think,’ I say eventually, ‘it’s nothing to do with someone being inside or outside the industry. It’s about the personality of your partner.’
He pulls into the side of the road again and switches off the engine. I can tell we’ve arrived at our destination because the building we’re outside has ‘Church of God’ written on it in large red letters. Gabriel makes no move to get out of the car, however.
‘Go on,’ he says instead.
‘This is going to come as a shock to you, but I don’t think your situation is that different from a lot of the people I work with. Yes, you travel a lot, but plenty of people have to do that. Finance people, consultants, company directors, CEOs and so on. Most of them have wives and families. You just need to meet someone who’s happy to keep the ship afloat while you’re off doing your thing.’
‘I don’t want a Stepford wife.’
‘I’m not suggesting a Stepford wife. I’m suggesting the opposite, actually. Someone independent, who loves you but has their own life and doesn’t have a problem getting on with things in your absence.’
He laughs. ‘Do you know who I think you’re describing?’
‘No. Who?’
‘You.’
‘Me?’ I can feel a blush starting to spread across my cheeks. If he thinks this whole conversation was me making a play for him, that’s deeply embarrassing. Although…
‘Yes, you,’ Gabriel says firmly. ‘And, before you start trying to deny it, look at the way you’ve handled this holiday so far. Pretty much everything that could ruin it has happened. Your room share went wrong; you seem to be locked in a permanent battle with awful Amy, and you can’t even get a proper drink at the bar to make it better. A lot of people would just sit around moaning about it, but not you. You’ve embarked on a quest to try to get your roommate rehabilitated with his girlfriend, stood up to Amy and become a regular at Raphael’s bar.’
‘Technically, that last one was down to you, not me.’
‘OK. You befriended an itinerant pianist who showed you the best bar in the area. Still you being independent and getting on with things, to use your phrase.’
‘An itinerant pianist who turns out to be some bigwig with a Wikipedia page.’
‘Again the obsession. But I have a challenge for you.’
