Maxine looked at him with wide-eyed admiration. ‘Why didn’t I think of that? That’s brilliant, Howard! That’s absolutely brilliant.’
‘Here. Let me do it. I’ve never removed a ring from a finger before.’
She gave him her hand, thinking it a strange thing for him to say. He put his glass down on a nearby table and touched her slender fingers. Deftly, he slid off the ring.
‘Now, give me your right hand.’ He put the ring on the third finger. ‘Does it fit?’
She nodded coyly, aware that her heart was beating fast with the unanticipated intimacy of the moment. To her surprise, being touched by someone who was not Stephen was surprisingly pleasant and, for the first time in her life, Maxine felt that maybe she was not destined to be unresponsive forever. It had to be Stephen. She felt new hope. Physical contact might be pleasurable after all, and she wondered what her reaction would be if Brent touched her.
‘There. That’s all there is to it. Problem solved.’
‘Thank you.’ She felt herself blush; though in this dim light it barely mattered.
‘Is that why you’re here tonight with Brent Shackleton?’
‘What do you mean exactly?’
‘I mean, are you trying to seek some reason to justify discarding this Stephen?’
He had a point.
‘Maybe. I don’t really know. I hadn’t analysed my motives particularly. Brent’s a fellow musician. A colleague. To tell you the truth I was ready to go home before you came talking to me.’ But suddenly she saw her chance to find out more about Brent. She must sound as casual as she could. ‘Anyway, I don’t really know Brent that well. What can you tell me about him? I’ve seen him with a girl after CBO concerts. A really beautiful girl. Is he married or anything?’
Howard looked bitterly disappointed. ‘Why don’t you ask him, Maxine?’
Outside it had started to rain. Maxine had not anticipated rain tonight. She pulled her cardigan over her shoulders and ran behind Brent as they headed for his car. He threw his trombone onto the back seat. Once inside he unlocked the passenger door for her.
‘Bloody weather,’ he murmured. ‘Which way?’
‘To the top of Broad Street, then turn right into Ladywood Road.’ She shuffled her bottom on the seat to get comfortable, Howard’s presence still with her.
He turned the car around and drove off. ‘Well? Have you enjoyed tonight?’
‘Yes, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed myself, thank you. The band’s good. I’m impressed. Have you got a name for yourselves?’
‘The Second City Hot Six.’
‘The Second City Hot Six?…But there are seven of you.’
‘Arthur doesn’t always play. His wife won’t let him out all the time.’
‘Lord, I can scarcely believe that!’ she scoffed. ‘He’s not that brilliant anyway, is he?’
‘Not really. But most of the time we haven’t got him. When we have, he’s a bonus.’
‘A liability, more like. He plays that clarinet as if it were a piece of lead piping. The pianist too – he’s the same – worse, possibly.’
He chuckled at her directness. ‘This stuff’s not serious, Maxine. It’s for fun. It doesn’t really matter how good or bad we are, so long as we enjoy playing together. It pays reasonably well, anyway. That’s a bonus.’
‘I suppose so. But I tend to be a perfectionist, Brent. I couldn’t stand to play jazz – or anything else for that matter – unless I was doing it as well as it was possible to do it.’
‘Does that apply to everything you do?’ he asked provocatively.
‘Of course it does.’ His innuendo was lost on her, however.
‘I see you were talking to Randolf’s chum.’
‘You mean Howard? He was nice. Easy to talk to. I liked him.’ The same glow she’d felt when he held her hand lit her up again as she recalled the moment. After a pause, she said: ‘I asked him about you.’
He snorted with laughter. ‘I bet that impressed him.’
‘I asked him if he knew whether you were married.’
‘Oh? And what did he say?’
‘He said to ask you …I think I upset him. So I’m asking. Are you married, Brent?’
He hesitated, and she knew he was debating with himself whether to tell her a lie. ‘Why? Is it important?’
‘It might be.’
‘Yet you didn’t ask before you accepted my offer to take you out.’
‘Nevertheless, it had occurred to me.’
‘Nevertheless, you accepted my invitation.’
She felt her colour rise. ‘I suppose I did.’
‘Which suggests it isn’t relevant.’
‘It would be relevant if I had designs on you,’ she said, trying to make it sound as if she hadn’t.
He grinned to himself in the darkness. ‘And do you have designs on me?’
‘Certainly not. Especially if you’re married. So? Are you married?’
‘I might be,’ he teased. ‘And then again, I might not.’
‘Sorry, Brent. Turn left here, please.’
‘Left? Hold tight.’ He braked hard and turned the car into the corner.
‘Now right.’
‘Okay…Now where?’
‘Just here will do…Thank you, Brent. Thanks for taking me to listen to the Second City Hot Seven.’
‘Hot Six.’
She smiled enigmatically as she clambered out of the car. ‘See you at rehearsal in the morning.’
Orchestra rehearsals for Beethoven’s Mass in D went well. By five minutes past ten everyone had tuned up and was playing. Leslie Heward was not content with some of the passages in the final movement, prompting various discussions and one or two individuals practising certain phrases privately and spontaneously before going over it again together. They broke for lunch at one o’ clock.
Maxine, who had avoided looking in the direction of Brent Shackleton, was surprised when he sidled up to her as she spoke to Gwen Berry on a point of interpretation on the cello score.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Gwen. Do you mind if I steal Maxine off you?’ he asked courteously. ‘Have you got a minute, Maxine?’
Maxine excused herself and stood up.
‘Last night, Maxine…’ he began seriously. ‘Look, do you mind coming with me to The White Hart for a drink? There’s something I want to talk to you about. It’s probably best done over a drink.’
‘Okay,’ she said, surprised at the prospect of being in his company again so soon. ‘What do you want to discuss with me?’
‘I need some advice. Something you said last night.’
About the question of him being married? ‘Let me grab my bag.’
She trotted alongside him to the exit. ‘Horrible last night, wasn’t