Anita chuckles. ‘Well, good luck, and don’t forget to file me a full report tomorrow.’
An hour later, at 8.30 p.m., Kerry is wearing a simple blue shift dress and ballet pumps, with minimal make-up and a huge smile on her face as she welcomes in James. He has also, she notes, taken the casual route in dark jeans and pale linen shirt, and looks all the lovelier for it.
*
‘That was delicious, Kerry,’ James says, placing his cutlery on his plate. ‘I don’t want to sound pathetic but there’s something so nice about being cooked for.’
She laughs. ‘I know what you mean. Doesn’t Luke ever cook for you, after all the help you give him at the shop?’
‘You’ve got to be joking,’ he retorts. ‘Anyway, I’m starting to think it’s time he got his own place. We really need our own space.’
‘Driving you mad, is he?’
James smirks. ‘God. I don’t know if I should tell you this. He’s just got back with his girlfriend, Charlotte, and let’s just say they were a bit … vocal last night.’
‘Really?’ Kerry sniggers, refilling their glasses.
‘I’m actually surprised you didn’t hear them.’
‘No, well, I sleep like a log – out cold, like a dead person.’ She takes another sip of wine. ‘Did you mention it this morning?’
‘No chance. Charlotte was still there, wafting around in Luke’s T-shirt …’
‘Bet that was awkward …’
James nods. ‘And we’ve been busy all day so the moment’s kind of gone, you know?’
‘And I suppose he is a proper grown man,’ Kerry offers.
‘Yes, well, at his age I was married but our bedroom wasn’t about six feet from my mum and dad’s.’
She gets up to make coffee and unwrap posh chocolate brownies from the new bakery, a tip-off from Brigid. They are delicious, James agrees; almost as good as the ones he makes. How pleasing, Kerry thinks, to see a man tucking in and relishing food. Rob never seemed to care much about what he ate, perhaps due to being plied with delicious Italian cooking from birth and then spoiled with those endless account expense lunches. He never seemed to stop and appreciate anything he put in his mouth, so to speak.
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ Kerry says hesitantly, ‘but when did you and your wife break up?’
‘Um … two years ago now.’
‘And there was no warning at all?’
‘Not any that I picked up on, no. That was probably the worst part – that there must have been signs, and I just didn’t see them.’
Kerry nods. ‘Well, you shouldn’t blame yourself. I didn’t see it coming either …’ Perhaps it’s the bottle of wine they’ve shared, or the fact that they’re not in a restaurant, on a date-date, but Kerry finds herself telling him about Rob and Nadine and the baby. He listens attentively as she describes the achingly miserable handovers of the children, and chuckles appreciatively at the thrown birthday cake incident.
‘God,’ he says, ‘you’ve had a lot on your plate. You seem to handle it so well, though …’
‘Well,’ she says with a shrug, ‘I guess I’m just about emerging from the fug. Um … shall we open another bottle?’
James smiles. ‘Why not? I walked here anyway. This is a really lovely evening, Kerry.’
She fetches the wine from the fridge and opens it. ‘It’s nice for me too. I was actually surprised when you asked to meet up. I’d thought you were a bit, well … distant and distracted until then.’
A small shrug. ‘Well, you did imply I’d run over my incontinent wife …’
‘James, I’m so sorry about that …’
‘No,’ he chuckles, ‘it’s fine. Anyway, by the time I saw you in the shop, drooling over my brownie, I’d figured out who you are. And it was such a coincidence, I thought, well, why not just ask?’
She frowns. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘Oh, you’re getting pretty well known around Shorling, you know. I hear customers talking about you …’
‘Really?’
‘It’s that kind of place, isn’t it? French tutors, piano lessons – kids around here aren’t allowed to be idle for a minute.’
‘Oh yes, the hot-housing. I’m sure I’m going to be reported for not signing up Freddie and Mia for at least three activities a day …’
‘Well, you probably couldn’t have picked a better place to teach piano. And you know what’s funny? I was going to call you about lessons a couple of months ago. I’d scribbled down the number from your ad, then Buddy went mad – one of his barking outbursts – and I must have dropped it …’
‘So you wanted to play?’ Kerry asks.
He grins. ‘Well, I do play, a bit. Then I thought, who am I kidding, with the shop and everything – when will I have the time? Anyway,’ he adds, ‘the piano’s Amy’s.’
Kerry nods. ‘So you’d feel strange playing it …’
‘I don’t know, maybe. I haven’t, not since she left.’
She studies his face, and as his kind, grey eyes meet hers she finds herself asking, ‘Why don’t you play mine?’
James shakes his head. ‘I haven’t played for two years, Kerry. I’m beyond rusty. More like completely seized up …’
‘I won’t judge you,’ she says firmly. ‘In fact, I promise I won’t comment at all. I’d just like to hear you play.’
He smiles then. ‘Okay, then you’ll play something for me?’
‘Agreed.’
They head through to the music room, and as James starts to play, missing notes and muttering apologies, Kerry wishes she hadn’t asked him. She’s on the verge of asking him to stop, as he’s clearly not enjoying this – but how can she do that without sounding like some mean-spirited judge on a talent show? Then something changes, and his shoulders relax, and she can almost see the tension leaving his arms, hands and fingers. And what he’s playing is … lovely. It’s not perfect, there’s still the odd slip-up, but it’s a sweet, pure melody, and all the more moving for being so simple.
He stops and gives her a sheepish look. For a moment, Kerry doesn’t know what to say. ‘That was lovely,’ she murmurs finally. ‘Sorry, I said I wouldn’t comment but …’
He blushes and smiles. ‘Thanks.’
‘Um, I don’t think I know it.’
‘No, well, I wrote it.’
‘Really? You wrote that? It’s beautiful, James. Would you play it again?’
He shrugs and starts to play. This time, Kerry can’t help sneaking a look at his handsome face with those soft grey eyes and full lips. And she wants – the realisation almost makes her tumble off her stool – to kiss him. Should she? Her lips haven’t been in close contact with anyone’s apart from Rob’s since last century and, God, they hadn’t exactly done much kissing before the split. She really wants to kiss James, though, and not just because he is undeniably easy on the eye. It’s seeing him play, a little uncertainly but so sweetly; it’s acting as a powerful aphrodisiac. Some women are turned on by watching a man cook, or emerging from the sea, James Bond style in snug