Sarah beckoned Lydia over to a quiet corner away from the milling crowd.
“You aren’t going to tell Milan, are you?” she opened abruptly. “About last night?”
Lydia put down her violin case.
“I think you should.”
“Do you?”
“I think you should, or I will.”
She waited for Sarah to beg her not to, or threaten her or something. She did nothing of the kind but simply stood, looking at Lydia with a kind of detached amusement that made her skin prickle.
“All right, then. I’ll tell him now.” She looked over at Milan, who had just walked in.
Lydia grabbed Sarah’s forearm, aghast.
“But not now. This is his big night, for God’s sake. You can’t ruin it for him. At least wait until after the concert.”
“No, I don’t want to. Conscience won’t let me.”
She smiled, dazzlingly and cruelly. Lydia suddenly had a nasty feeling that things weren’t the way they seemed.
“Stop this. Leave him be. Come outside for a minute.”
“Thought you didn’t have a minute.”
“I have now. Come on.”
They went to the stage door and stood a little way apart from a knot of smokers on the patio.
“I can’t stand here chatting for long. I’ve got bad news to break,” said Sarah.
“Why can’t it wait?”
“It just can’t.”
“No, I’m not buying this sudden attack of conscience. How long have you been seeing Hackmeyer?”
“Oh, donkey’s years, dear. We go back a long way, on and off.”
“And right now it’s on?”
“Well, you saw us last night. The thing is, I’m hung up on him. I leave him for the thousandth time, then he turns up and crooks his finger and…I’m toast.”
I know someone like that.
“I didn’t mean to hurt Milan, but…”
“You know he and Hackmeyer hate each other’s guts?”
“Of course.”
Lydia took a deep breath. “Did you plan this?”
“Sorry?”
“You and Hackmeyer. Did you cook this up together? It seems a bit fishy that you’d leave one man and go straight to his arch enemy.”