She had spent too long of late peering surreptitiously into her compact mirror, counting crows’ feet, but now she did it again. If he saw anything in her, what was it?
It was true, she thought, with a tiny swell of smugness, that she looked good for her age. She had cleansed, toned and moisturised religiously since her teens, never smoked, drunk little, eaten sensibly, partied moderately—and now she was seeing the dividends of that careful lifestyle. On the other hand, perhaps it was possible to be too careful. Her still-delicate skin and shiny black bob gave her an air of youthful insouciance, but her eyes were guarded. In them could be read her real age—the woman who had experienced love, loss and heartbreak, not the trim, carefree girl you might think you saw from a distance.
Her divorce, five years before, followed by a disastrous rebound fling with Milan Kaspar, had sent her retreating from the dangerous waters of emotional involvement.
But Ben Chancellor… He was another proposition altogether. Refreshingly free of older men’s ego issues, he had been open and friendly with Vanessa from the start of their working relationship. And now things seemed to be crossing a boundary…
“Stop fantasising,” she told herself severely. “He likes flirting, that’s all. And so do you. It’s been a long time since you did any.”
The train juddered into Victoria Station and she squeezed out with the rest of the throng, looking forward to emerging into the aphrodisiac spring air.
Ben was messing about with the xylophone when she arrived in the rehearsal hall. The plinky-plonky sound of Fossils from Saint-Saens’ Carnival of the Animals struck her eardrums straight away. His friend Martin, a viola player, was accompanying him.
Ben’s back, crouched over the instrument, was long and narrow, his shoulders flexing as he beat the wooden bars. A curving hank of light brown hair fell over his eyes if he leant too far forward. Vanessa always wanted to brush it aside.
“It’s Van the Man!” he exclaimed his usual greeting. A tad unflattering if you were oversensitive about that kind of thing, but his vigour and enthusiasm made it endearing to Vanessa.
“Afternoon, Ben. Hi, Martin. Are we doing The Planets today? Please say we are—it’s the only piece with decent percussion on this programme.”
“I guess that’s down to Milan the Man,” said Ben.
“Weird, so weird, the way that’s turned out,” said Martin, in a conspiratorially low tone. “Even his old mates in the strings aren’t exactly thrilled.”
“I don’t know him, except from TV.” Ben shrugged and twirled the xylophone sticks in his fingers.
He gave Vanessa a look that made her want to shiver.
“What do you think of him, Ness?”
“I don’t count myself among his fans,” she said briskly. “But it’s nothing to do with me. It’s Lydia I worry about. Is she here yet?”
“Haven’t seen her,” said Martin, looking vaguely towards the violins.
“Twenty quid says she turns up with him.”
“Really?” Ben raised an eyebrow. “Are they…?”
“They certainly were. If she’s got any sense at all, she’ll keep away from him, but…”
“The heart wants what it wants,” finished Ben, with an even more shiver-inducing look.
“Shit, here she is now.” Martin stepped back, scanning the back door for signs of Milan. “Looks like you owe us twenty quid, Vanessa. She’s alone.”
“Oh, they’ll have planned that,” whispered Vanessa, but looking more closely at Lydia’s pale, pinched face, she wondered if she had misjudged her friend.
She hastened over to intercept Lydia.
“Are you okay?”
“No, not really.”
“Come to the cloakroom if you want to talk?”
“I don’t. Sorry. I know you’re being kind. Thanks. I have to make an announcement. Ugh.”
She made a determined path to the conductor’s lectern.
Vanessa thought she looked very small and lost up there. What was happening? Where was Milan?