‘No. She’s lived in London, remember. “No wonder the English are so depressed,” she used to say. “They don’t get no sunshine and their food has no flavour.”’
‘I think that’s a little unfair.’
‘Like I told you, Mum didn’t really get on with London. Anyway, we’d better think about getting up and dressed. I’ve been preparing another little mashup for your friend Martin. What did he think of the first one?’
‘I had to send it via Priya because I don’t have his number, but she said he didn’t know whether to be appalled at you vandalising Liszt like that, or blown away by the virtuosity of the way you did it.’
He grins. ‘And Priya? What did she think?’
‘Priya was less interested in the music than the fact that you kissed me at the end,’ I admit.
‘What did you tell her?’
‘I just said things had moved on and I was happy.’ To my surprise, his face turns serious. ‘What?’ I ask nervously. ‘Have I said the wrong thing?’
‘Not at all,’ he reassures me. ‘It’s just that my real world is about to come crashing back in and I’m nervous about what effect it might have on you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know I’m heading to the USA for a couple of weeks after this?’
‘The concerts in New York and Boston,’ I reply. ‘I have been listening to you.’
‘Yeah, but my manager has thrown in an extra one here, before I leave.’
‘When?’
‘Tuesday, at the Shell Bandstand.’
I can feel my face falling. ‘That’s my last night here.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry. I tried to change his mind, but he’s already started the publicity drive. He wants to use it as a warm-up before I head to the States. I’d love you to come, but there’s no pressure.’
‘Of course I’ll come.’
‘Really? I know you’re not completely sold on classical music.’
I smile at him before placing a gentle kiss on his lips. ‘I’ve heard the pianist is amazing, and at least it’s not jazz.’
‘I can safely guarantee no jazz,’ he replies with a grin. ‘Do you want to come to the party afterwards? There will be lots of boring pressing of flesh, but it will be a lot better if you’re there.’
‘Yes.’
He sighs happily and pulls me close. OK, so it’s not ideal because I’d been hoping our last night together would involve just the two of us, rather than a whole concert audience, but at least I’ll get the opportunity to see him in his other life. After a while, he sits up again.
‘What?’ I ask him.
‘Can I see you when I get back to London?’
‘What is this, a Jane Austen novel? If you don’t see me when you get back, I’ll find out where you are and send the boys round.’
His expression changes to one of relief. ‘I wasn’t sure if this was just a holiday thing for you. I didn’t want to assume.’
‘Let me ask you a question,’ I tell him. ‘What kind of woman would go to Jamaica, meet an incredible man like you who just happens to live in the same city as her, and think “no, I definitely wouldn’t want to meet up with him when I get home”?’
‘What if this doesn’t translate to the UK?’
‘Why wouldn’t it? I mean, the weather isn’t as nice, but what better way to spend a drizzly February afternoon than doing exactly what we’re doing now?’
