“He does. Some old woman he’s been visiting at Sydney Flower Market for years and years. Every week without fail I get a bouquet sent to me, even now, when he’s off living his not-quite-best life in Singapore.”
“That’s nice,” Bo commented, and she heard Lisa sigh.
“I’d rather have him home than a bouquet of flowers. I told you; I miss you both. I bought two tickets for a concert the other day, and I have no idea why. One would’ve done. A hundred dollars wasted on a seat for my bag.”
“I miss you too,” Bo admitted. “What’s the concert?”
“Why, think you can make it?”
Bo laughed. “For the right act I might.”
Lisa laughed too. “I won’t get my hopes up then. It’s a classical concert. Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto.”
Beethoven.Once more, Bo was reminded of Max’s smile and Max’s smell and the look that had been in his eyes as he’d bent to kiss her.
“Beethoven was a deaf virgin,” Bo remarked blankly, and she heard Lisa laugh.
“Who told you that?”
“Hey, I like classical music,” Bo argued, and she heard her sister scoff.
“Since when?”
Since Max showed me how sexy and magical it can be,she silently thought. She didn’t dare tell Lisa that though.
“I don’t know, but I like it. I’ll come with you,” Bo offered on a whim. “To your concert. Keep the ticket for me.”
There was a beat of a pause from Lisa. “Okay,” her sister conceded. “I’ll keep the ticket for you. Just in case.”
Chapter Nine
She busied herself in the garden later that day. It was one of those sweet and sunny June afternoons, where the sky above London was a startling blue with wispy white clouds dotted here and there. The sun was warm but not hot, and Bo stripped off her jacket to work in a vest and her gardening trousers. She tied her hair back in a simple ponytail and removed her make-up from the morning before deciding to tackle the blanketweed in the pond. It was starting to strangle her waterlilies, and the resident newts would suffer if the weed reduced oxygen levels in the water.
She studiously ignored the house and avoided thinking about Max and his fingers. She ignored the drifting sounds of piano washing over the garden just as she ignored her urge to run back to her summer house and the sweet relief her vibrator offered. Instead, she pulled on her gloves and dipped her hands again and again into the pond, pulling up mounds of blanketweed and leaving them to dry in the sun for burning later. She worked until a layer of sweat sat on her skin and the sky turned pink and orange above her. It was only when the first stars began to dot the sky and she ran out of sunlight completely that she stopped, standing and stretching out her body.
Her body.Shit,Bo thought.I need to shower.
Her plan to avoid Max was suddenly in disarray. She was quite literally up to her armpits in pondweed. Her hands were dirty, her hair was a mess and she smelled like the breeding ground of the great crested newt. For a moment, Bo wished she’d joined the local gym, if only to use their showers. That had always been an expense she’d never had the money for though. Why run at the gym when she could run at the park? Why shower at the gym when she could shower at Geoffrey’s?
But it wasn’t Geoffrey’s shower now though, was it? It was Max’s.
Bo inhaled deeply, thinking her predicament through. She could still hear Max’s piano playing, so knew he was busy. She could sneak in through the kitchen door, race past the study and head upstairs into the bathroom. He’d never even know she was there. Not that it mattered, Bo thought petulantly, as Max told her quite clearly she could shower whenever she wanted. She wasn’t breaking any rules or agreements, was she? Avoiding Max didn’t mean avoiding basic self-hygiene. She would be quick and quiet, and Max wouldn’t even know she’d been in his house until after she was gone.
Before she could think better of it, Bo went and grabbed her towel and bathrobe. She tiptoed through the garden — her own garden, she realized with a degree of ridiculousness — before stopping at the hedge that separated her property from Max’s and steadying herself.
You’re being absurd. It’s not like you’re breaking in or anything. It’s not like you’re going to go in there and take anything, and even if you did, he said you could. The only things in that house you’re not allowed to touch are the piano, and Max. Definitely not Max.
With her bravery somewhat restored, Bo went up to the sliding doors and into the house. She could hear Max playing piano from here, an angry-sounding refrain, the same notes played again and again, as though he were unhappy with the music he was producing. She stopped for one moment to listen. Even when angry, even when the music sounded as sharp and jaded as it did to her untrained ears, there was still a beauty to it which took her breath away. She listened for a few heartbeats more before dashing past the open door to the study, keeping her head steadfastly down. She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the bathroom, making sure to lock the door just in case.
She trusted Max. She didn’t know if she trusted herself.
After the briefest of washes, Bo dried her body and wrapped her towel around her wet hair. She slipped on her bathrobe, unlocking the door and peeping around it carefully. She listened out for Max’s piano playing, but the music had stopped.
Damn.
She hoped he’d still be at his piano, lost in his music. If he wasn’t, he could be anywhere in the house. Abruptly, Bo wondered which of the bedrooms Max had claimed for himself. Somehow, she didn’t think the room Geoffrey had died in would be Max’s first choice. That still left four rooms, with four closed doors to sneak past.
Gathering her clothes in her hands, Bo crept into the hallway, padding quietly to the stairs, every creak of the old wooden flooring beneath her feet making her wince. She tiptoed down the stairs, peeking left and right, but the house was still and silent.
