As I played, the music seemed to swirl inside me, oiling my rusty joints, bringing grace and fluidity to my movements. Next, I picked a faster piece, one that was full of joy and soaring sounds. A small smile curved my lips, and I began to tap one foot.
Clink, clink, clink.The coins started to arrive more frequently. I still wasn’t brave enough to open my eyes and look at anyone, so I just kept playing, one melody merging into the next.
I ended up playing my favourite piece, one I thought I’d never play again, after the mess I made of it the last time I’d tried in public. It wasn’t very well-known if you weren’t a violin player, but it was both difficult and gorgeously haunting at the same time. When I finished, I felt as if something had been released from inside of me, something hard and heavy that had been weighing me down for months.
I opened my eyes to put Octavia down and discovered, much to my surprise, that a crowd of more than twenty people were standing around me, all looking expectant. I almost left my case sitting on the pavement and bolted right there and then,but instead I swallowed, nodded my gratitude as they began a soft round of applause.
‘Play it again, love,’ one older man in a high-vis vest and work boots said. ‘That was lovely.’
I smiled weakly back at him and, instead of taking the break I’d planned, I launched back into the piece. This time, I kept my eyes open.
I was halfway through when the heavens opened. The first drop of rain hit like a tiny cannon ball, splashing onto my scalp and running through my hair. It was followed by another and yet another, and soon the crowd was scattering, running this way and that as the temperamental February rain sought them out with its tiny missiles. All except one guy …
He’d been standing at the edge of the crowd, and I hadn’t really noticed him until that point. He was lean but not skinny, with the kind of face that could have put him anywhere from early thirties to early forties. He wore a wool coat and smart leather shoes. I just knew that if I ever got close enough to catch a scent of his aftershave, it would be the expensive kind, not the stuff my mum gets in Superdrug to put in my dad’s Christmas stocking. I faltered, my bow slowing.
‘Don’t stop,’ he said, looking into my eyes with an intensity that made me feel both uncomfortable and exhilarated. ‘Your playing is exquisite.’ And then he stepped forward, unfurling a large black umbrella with a curved wooden handle, and held it over me.
He nodded in encouragement, and I began to play again as he stood outside the safety of the umbrella, shielding me and my violin from the thundering raindrops.
Hedidsmell good, I realised, and it almost put me off my stride during a particularly difficult section of the piece. When I finished, I cradled my instrument to my torso to protect her from the rain. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered.
‘Do you know Pachelbel’s “Canon in D Major”?’ he asked. ‘I’d love to hear you play that.’
‘But you’re getting wet.’
‘I don’t care.’ He held my gaze as I lifted my violin and began the piece he’d mentioned. The rain was still falling, but it had used up its stamina, and had shifted down a few gears to a drizzle.
Still, he held the umbrella over me. Still, he looked right at me, smile gone but the echo of it hovering around his mouth. I met his eyes, surprising myself with my boldness, given that he was older, definitely wealthier, and way,wayout of my league. I probably would have looked away if I hadn’t been able to see in his face that the music affected him the same way it affected me.
By the time my strings vibrated with the last notes, I was praying it would rain for the rest of the afternoon.
Chapter Eight
Now.
WHEN BEN ENTERED the kitchen back at the B&B, he found his aunt rinsing some crockery off before putting it in the dishwasher. ‘Shona was on the phone again just now,’ she said as she scrubbed vigorously at a plate. ‘Now they’re doing weddings at the castle, she’s keen for someone local to do the photos so they can offer it as part of the package to prospective couples. You know, someone who knows the area, who can get the best shots …’
Ben sighed. He’d already told his aunt where he stood on this. ‘One, I’ve retired, and, two, travel photography is very different from wedding photography. But I’ve got something I—’
‘Och, it can’t bethatdifferent! I mean, there’s a mountain right behind the castle, for goodness’ sake! All you’ve got to do is frame it up and then shove a few people in front of it. How different can it be?’
‘It just is,’ he said, ‘and besides, I have the cottages to focus on. We need the money they’re going to bring in. Maybe next year …’ Norina didn’t look pleased, but she dropped the subject. Ben was glad because he really didn’t want to delve into further reasons why his camera was gathering dust at the bottom of his wardrobe.‘Anyway, the reason I came looking for you is that I have a … um … situation.’
He launched into the whole story about the woman he’d met outside the café. ‘It was starting to rain, and she was still looking pretty shaky … I couldn’t abandon her, could I? So I brought her back here and put her in the sitting room since it’s empty of guests for the moment. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘No,’ Norina said, looking thoughtful. ‘You couldn’t have left her alone out there without a proper coat or a phone. You did the right thing, Ben.’
He’d kept thinking about his sister – another person he’d let down – and how, if it was her in that state, he’d have wanted someone to help her. Whether this woman was Lili or not really didn’t matter at that present moment. She needed help. That’s all there was to it.
‘I’m just trying to work out what to do next. I was going to call the police but …’
Norina sighed and glanced in the direction of the sitting room. ‘The police can wait. The first thing you need to do is get that young woman to a doctor.’
Who am I?
The words circuited her head over and over as the tall man drove her down the side of the loch in his aunt’s car. However, her brain didn’t seem at all inclined to share the answer to that question, which seemed most unfair.
Who…? Who…? Who…?
