Leaving the door open, she stands in the middle of the room, heart banging. Are the curtains wider? Are the papers on the desk disturbed? She walks slowly into the kitchen and examines the window, looking for signs of a break-in. The scent is here too. She scans the cupboards and the worktops. The flap on the boiler is hanging down. Did she leave it like that? Her mind whirrs. She can’t remember. Then it clicks. It must have been the landlord letting himself in with a key, checking the heating as Wayne requested.

‘How dare he,’ she mutters as she stalks about the house trying to find evidence of intrusion. It’s all very well her wanting him to come but to enter the flat without her knowledge is different altogether. She is fuming, opening drawers and cupboards. The box with the shawl lies on her bed. What if he looked inside? She grows angry imagining Kenneth Quip rooting around. Would he have recognised the shawl? Would he have guessed who she is?

She steps back out into the hall. The stairway is dark. The house still. No baby crying. No music playing. No creaks or groans. Yet she is sure there is something. A sound creeping beneath the silence. What is it? Breathing. A heart beating. Blood creeping through veins. Impossible. She’s being foolish. Click. A door closes. She breathes heavily and the piano music begins. Not Chopin. This music is more robust. After a moment, she goes inside her flat and double-locks the door.

17

Eva

January 1992

Eva has a pupil. He is by far her most talented. His name is Toby and he plays Rachmaninov with panache.

She hears his clumsy tread on the stairs followed by a pounding on her door. As soon as she lets him in, he hangs his head and blushes furiously.

They talk about music and he speaks quickly and quietly. When their eyes meet, he blinks behind his glasses and blushes again. When he touches the piano keys, he throws back his head and performs.

He is playing now, nearing the end of the lesson. Eva stands beside him, her eyes closed. She is focused and not focused. Part of her mind is caught up with Ron – the telephone call and the request to see her. She had agreed and he had come, bearing gifts of Turkish Delight and a red rose wrapped in cellophane.

They had drunk tea, made small talk, while he had sat in his short-sleeved shirt and jeans, arms crossed and shoulders hunched. Instinctively she knew that if she gave him the signal, their relationship would start again.