There then followed, amidst much exuberant laughter, a round of enthusiastic introductions to the rest of the musicians, culminating in a toast. ‘To an evening of fine music,’ Tony said, holding his glass aloft.
‘Or something close to it!’ joked Guy Lance. Seconds later, and in a skilled manoeuvre that a sheep dog would have been proud of, he somehow managed to separate Romily from the group.
He offered her a cigarette from the packet he’d pulled from his jacket pocket. She declined and eyed him speculatively as he lit the cigarette and blew an ostentatious ribbon of smoke into the air, air that was already thick and hazy blue.
‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘just how the devil does Tony know you? And are you the reason I can never find him at the airfield when we have time off?’
‘I bumped into him in the snow earlier in the year,’ Romily replied, ‘and as to how he spends his time off, you’ll have to ask Tony about that.’
He grinned. ‘Are you sure he didn’t bump into you on purpose? I suspect I might have done if I had chanced upon such a beautiful woman.’
A tremor of anger stirring within her, Romily gave him a cool look. ‘Are you always this brazen?’
‘Lord, no, I’m on my very best behaviour and restraining myself with great effort.’
‘Then may I suggest you try a little harder. This brash act might work with girls your own age, but not with me, I can assure you.’
‘Goodness,’ he said lightly, ‘I do believe you mean it.’
‘I do. Now I really should talk to Tony, since I’m here as his guest.’ She turned abruptly and, quietly seething, moved over to where Tony was talking to Hope.
‘What an arrogant pig that man is,’ she muttered.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Tony. ‘I didn’t get a chance to warn you about old Guy. He has a certain reputation when it comes to the ladies.’
‘I have no idea why any woman with any sense would find him in the least bit attractive.’
‘My word,’ said Hope with a smile, ‘he’s really rattled you, hasn’t he?’
Romily drained her glass of whisky and soda. ‘Not in the slightest,’ she said tersely.
The concert in the cathedral, which had attracted a large crowd, began with a frantically fast-paced rendition of Rimsky-Korsakov’s ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’ played by a trio of tuba players who had everyone smiling and applauding enthusiastically when they took their bow.
Next up was a cellist bravely taking on the first movement of Elgar’s cello concerto. He also received an enthusiastic round of applause and took his bow with an enormous look of relief, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he did so. When he’d carried his cello away, Tony appeared and sat at the piano. After a bit of fidgeting on the stool, he placed his hands above the keys, then began with the opening bars of a Chopin nocturne. He played well. Better than well. He had a sure but sensitive touch.
Romily responded to his playing by closing her eyes and letting the music wash over her. It was like a soothing balm, a warm blanket of comfort that made her realise how tense she had been, and how, quite out of character, she had allowed a few words from a stranger to upset her equilibrium. Motionless, she sat spellbound, her head lowered as if in prayer, giving herself up to the exquisite melody as it wrapped itself around her.
She stayed that way right until the very last notes died away. But when she did look up to join in with the applause, she found herself fighting off tears. She blinked hard, but the tears spilled over, and as she dashed them away with a hand, yet more flowed. To her very great consternation, she could do nothing to stop them. It was as if a tap had been turned on and there was no way to turn it off. She tried to swallow back the painful lump that had unaccountably formed in her throat, but that wouldn’t work either. More than anything she wanted to flee, to be alone outside to compose herself.
No, that was a lie! She wanted to be back at Island House with Jack. She wanted her life to be how it was before she’d gone to Europe, before Jack had had his stroke. She wanted to wake up in the morning lying beside her darling husband, knowing the day would be full of fun and laughter, and above all, full of their love for each other.
‘Are you all right?’ whispered Hope beside her.
Unable to speak, she nodded and dug about clumsily in her handbag for a handkerchief. Was this some kind of delayed grief? she thought. Had Tony’s beautiful playing unearthed a further layer of grief she had hitherto suppressed?
She dabbed her eyes and caught him looking at her with concern while taking another well-deserved bow as the audience continued to applaud him. With a frown on his face, he resumed his seat at the piano and was joined by Guy Lance, who, with a showy flourish, tucked his violin under his chin before throwing himself into a spirited rendition of Brahms’s Hungarian Dance No. 5, with Tony accompanying him. He played far from perfectly, but it was easy to see why he had chosen this crowd-pleasing piece of music; it was showy and full of energy, a lot like Guy himself, Romily thought wryly.
The change of tempo helped her to pull herself together, and with her tears now checked, she slipped the screwed-up handkerchief back into her bag. Guy Lance was, she was forced to admit, the type of man to whom, in another life, she had once been attracted. But that other life now seemed as though it had been lived by someone else. Loving Jack had changed her forever. And for the better.
At the end of the concert, after a rousing and patriotic refrain of ‘Land of Hope and Glory’, which had everybody on their feet and singing along, refreshments were served. While Hope went over to join the queue for the fruit punch, Tony appeared at Romily’s side.
‘Now why,’ she said, hoping he wouldn’t ask about her earlier display of tears, ‘did you never let on to us that you were such a talented pianist?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m hardly that.’
‘I beg to differ. You must have studied extremely hard to be that good.’
‘Let’s just say I had an encouraging teacher. But I have to say, you seemed upset by my playing. Or was it the music? Did the piece remind you of something, of … of your husband perhaps?’
