Chapter Five

They sat in the same places as the night before. She in her armchair opposite him on the couch. He wanted her to be sitting next to him so he could he feel the warmth of her body and smell the subtle freshness of her perfume but she treated him like a guest, friendly, with the distance of new acquaintances.

There was something indefinably welcoming about the house, like coming home, though he’d never even been anywhere near Australia before, let alone set foot in the place. Despite her reserve he was comfortable with her too, beyond their shared experience of the music. They’d prepared dinner together and eaten it sitting in her tiny back garden where it was cooler. They’d laughed and been amazed at the coincidence of having the same last name albeit spelt differently. Another link. As promised he’d done the dishes.

She’d changed from her work clothes into loose white cotton pants and a baggy pink shirt, sexy and cute all at the same time and he wanted to hold her and feel her body through the thin cotton of her clothes but knew he couldn’t touch her or the fragile relationship would crash. They had enough emotional chaos to sort through without his unwanted advances adding to the mess.

But Nina was simply the most perfect woman he’d seen in his life. He’d thought she was yesterday at the shop but he’d been jet lagged and his nerves strung to breaking point by his quest and today, waiting for her to come home, relatively clear headed, he’d wondered if he’d imagined that snap of certainty that she was his soul mate. Too far-fetched, too romantic in the worst possible way.

But he could hardly take his eyes off her and had to avert his gaze when she glanced at him so she wasn’t unnerved by the stalkerish attention. She told him as they ate she had a Chinese great grandparent on her mother’s side, come to Australia in the 1850’s gold rush. She’d inherited her mother’s colouring and oval face shape but her features were less Asian than European. She’d inherited the best of both worlds and then some. The short bobbed hair swung against her cheeks in a glossy, black curtain and she looked at the world through dark, mysterious eyes.

Neither had mentioned the music before or during dinner. Somehow, with two involved, the pressure seemed less intense, more bearable. There was truth in the saying, “a trouble shared is a trouble halved.” At least for him and he suspected, by her expression and her manner, for Nina.

Now, though, the time had come to continue his part of the story. He topped up both their glasses with the remains of the crisp, chilled Riesling he’d bought that afternoon and which had gone so well with the stirfry.

“So Celia told you about her brother, the musician,” she said.

“Yes. George had played with a string quartet. He was the second violinist. She said they rehearsed together every week almost, for years. Occasionally they would have someone join them. A clarinet or flute player or pianist for example to do one of the famous quintets, and they gave concerts every now and again. They were all amateurs but Celia said they were dedicated and very good players. She gave me their names and phone numbers and I intended to ring each one and ask about the music and if I could visit to talk about it. I also managed to get George’s widow’s name and contact. Jessica. Celia had become quite chatty by now.

“I decided to ring Jessica first. I thought she might remember if George had said anything about it or what he had done with the other parts. I thought if he had the flute and cello parts he must have had all of them at some stage especially as it seemed to have come from an ancestor. She didn’t answer the phone so I moved on to Charlie Davis the first violin. He was a tetchy old character. Quite abrupt—and when I mentioned the music he said he remembered playing it just the once. Couldn’t remember where it had come from or anything else about it except in his words, “It was a horrible piece of music, too darn hard to read—handwritten—and I refused to play it. I gave it back to George and said don’t ever ask me to play that tripe again.”

“That would have been my part,” said Nina with a laugh. “Did he mention the warning?”

“No, and I didn’t know about it then so I couldn’t ask him. He may have written it but it didn’t sound as though he had had the part long enough to bother. He might have. We’ll probably never know.”

“Not much help.”

“Except that he reacted the same way as Sylvia. And for someone who only saw it briefly it had a profound effect on him. That made two people and I still don’t understand why.”

“The music didn’t like them,” Nina said dismissively. “What about the others?”

“The viola player was a complete write off because there was no viola part and he knew nothing about it. They must have run through it when he wasn’t there. I was getting a bit discouraged by now. I’d been on the phone for hours and hardly got anywhere but Stephen Adamson, the cellist, was the best. He invited me to his house the following day. He said the music had really intrigued him at the time but they’d only played it once and Charlie reacted with such vehemence George had collected up the parts and they never saw them again.”

Martin picked up the wine and drank.

“I went to visit the next afternoon. He lives in Wimbledon. His wife had baked a cake and set out afternoon tea. I had the impression they didn’t have many visitors. They’re a lovely couple, both well into their seventies but fit and healthy. Edith fussed about, making sure we were comfortable. They adore each other still. She told me they’d just had their forty-ninth wedding anniversary. Quite restored my faith in love.”

He said it flippantly hoping to cover the depth of feeling seeing them together had so unexpectedly unearthed. Even the memory of that loving couple brought with it a deep longing to have what they had, what his parents had missed out on and what he seemed doomed to miss out on as well. Unless Nina…

“Love is the key to everything,” she said. It sounded like a quote. “My parents are coming up to their thirtieth anniversary.”

Martin did a rapid calculation. She must be in her mid to late twenties.

Nina smiled. “I’m twenty-six and my sister Lucy is twenty-eight. We have a younger brother, Jason.”

“Are you psychic?”

She grinned. “No. You’re obvious. But I went to see one.”

“A psychic? I never thought of doing that. What did she say?”

Her smile faded. “That I’d meet a tall, dark foreigner. She assumed he’d be handsome.”

He smiled again. “You did. Me. And I am.”

No answering grin this time. “Yes, but at that time I thought she may mean Piers. He’s tall and dark and incredibly handsome.”

Again that stab of jealousy. The man was long dead but he reached out from the spirit world and ensnared Nina. For the first time the thought crashed into his mind—Piers had to be stopped.

“He’s hardly likely to appear,” he said.

“Except in my dreams. And in your mind.” She fixed him with steady gaze. “She also said the path was troubled and there was fear involved.”

“She was right about that.”

“She was but I had the feeling she wasn’t telling me everything. I wasn’t sure…it all seemed vague. Not wrong but not exactly right, either.” She tilted her head with a small shrug and exhaled. She drained her wine glass. “Maybe that’s typical, what they say to everyone.”

Martin said, “Anyway. Stephen said he remembered that piece because it had such a hauntingly beautiful melody. He was amazed when Charlie reacted the way he did. He would have kept playing but George collected up the parts so quickly he didn’t have a chance to even finish going through it. The really interesting thing was George had asked a woman to play the flute part. They were doing a work with flute and string quartet at the time. Stephen remembered her being quite taken with it as well. Unfortunately she died of breast cancer about three years ago so I couldn’t talk to her but then, we’ve got the flute part. Do you realise? They must have had three parts playing together, the three we’ve got.” He emphasised the last words.

“But what about George? He was a violinist why didn’t he play the violin part if Charlie hated it so much?”

“I wondered that too but not until later. It just didn’t occur to me when I was talking to Stephen. You see he mentioned that there were a few other pages that George didn’t hand out. He’s sure there was a score and a guitar part at least. He remembered George humming along following the score as they played. He might have been singing a missing part.”

“The voices would have been very strong.”

“You’d think so. I needed to talk to Jessica. She must have noticed something if George was experiencing what we’ve been experiencing. I’d tried to ring her again the previous night but she didn’t seem to be home. I kept trying every day at all different times but she didn’t answer. I even rang Celia again to ask her if she knew why Jessica wasn’t answering but she said as far as she knew she was still in London but could easily have gone away without telling her.

“While all this was going on I wasn’t practising or working at all. The orchestra fired me, I’d forget about my students and they’d turn up for lessons suddenly and surprise me. Over a period of time they began to drift away to other teachers. I rarely got calls for subbing and when I did more and more often I would refuse. That’s the kiss of death when you’re a freelance. People won’t call again.

I kept playing the music and I even asked another friend to play the cello part. Actually it was Sven, a double bass player. I thought if he played it on double bass he might not be affected the way Sylvia was. He wasn’t. It’s hard to tell with Sven what’s going on most of the time because he smokes a bit of dope and he’s already a bit…not exactly crazy but eccentric, I suppose. He’s reliable where it counts though or I wouldn’t have let him flat-sit for me now. He’s not a very good reader. I think the combination of things negated the effects.

If Sven heard voices he’d think it was quite normal. He probably hears them all the time anyway. He thought the melody was “cool man”—he speaks with this funny mix of Swedish accent and American slang—and sort of improvised his own bass line.”

Martin stopped as for the first time in months, something funny occurred to him. “Piers and Company probably didn’t recognise their music.”

Nina burst out laughing at the same moment. Martin laughed and laughed until tears ran down his cheeks and his stomach hurt. Nina, through the tears, was holding her stomach as well, laughing not because what he had said was so funny although it did conjure up a picture of three confused spirits scratching their heads and saying to each other “What’s that? Is that our music?” but because they could finally joke about it.

When the laughter had subsided to the occasional gasp, Nina said, “Want a beer?”

His wine was long gone. Martin nodded. She reappeared with two icy cold stubbies and handed him one. His first beer in Australia. He knew why they served it cold here now and why his Australian acquaintances complained about the warm beer in England.

He’d ventured outside to the bottle shop after Nina had rung that afternoon and it was hot. Baking. Humid, too. He’d wandered about, first taking careful note of her address and where he was going so as not to get lost. She lived in a terrace house and the area seemed to be undergoing gentrification, although it hadn’t reached her street yet. He found the local shops where they’d eaten pizza, mostly trendy restaurants and cafes but nowhere to buy shorts or sandals. He bought Nina flowers at a greengrocer’s when he was tempted in by the exotic array of fruit on display. They’d eaten fresh mango and pineapple for dessert tonight.

The fragrant pink and white blooms sat in a china jug between them on the coffee table and her dark eyes strayed to them quite frequently. Pleased.

He put his beer carefully on a coaster.

“I finally wrote to Jessica. I found her address in the phone book and got a reply a month later. She’d been away. I must have kept missing her at first because as Celia had said she was in London at the time when I tried to call but had gone abroad for three weeks shortly after. She agreed to meet me…I think she and Celia had discussed me and decided I was all right. We met in a restaurant for afternoon tea. My hair had grown quite long and I tied it back so as not to look too wild and I wore a suit. I don’t always look like this.”

His glance must have been anxious because Nina grinned. She didn’t seem to mind how he looked but then she wasn’t a seventy-year-old English lady fairly recently widowed.

“She remembered the music. George had come across it in his mother’s things. They lived in George’s family house and the attic was chock full of suitcases and boxes and crates—sounded like the cliché of an attic, the sort of place the Famous Five would find clues. Every now and again they would have a go at clearing some of the stuff out. Jessica said she was sure they would find some priceless antique or a Rembrandt or something but they never did. She’s a terrific woman, Jessica, bags of energy and a great character. She’d been hiking up mountains in Switzerland when she was away.

Her mother-in-law was a pianist and all her music was up there, along with other bits and pieces from George and Jessica’s children, who had taken up and dropped music lessons all through their childhood, apparently.

The music, our music, was in a box of his grandfather’s. That’s Stanley West.

It caught George’s eye because it was handwritten and he thought it may have been an original composition by Stanley. Naturally he wanted to play it and took the parts along to the next rehearsal of the quartet.”

“That didn’t go well,” Nina put in.

“No. Jessica remembered how distraught he’d been when he came home that night. He was terribly upset, she said. She couldn’t understand it and he couldn’t tell her why either. She said it was really peculiar and she was frightened because George was normally a calm, rational man not given to great emotional outbursts. He told her about trying to play the music and she asked him to play it for her. They were amazed by the effect it had on them both. She wanted him to keep playing it but he refused. He must have had a very strong will.”

“Or he wanted to protect Jessica. Maybe he sensed it was dangerous. Maybe George wrote on the violin part!” Nina sat bolt upright, eyes shining with excitement.

“Maybe. Jessica didn’t mention that either. She said he was quite adamant that the music be destroyed.”

“But he couldn’t.”

“No, that’s what she said. Something, some force, prevented him from actually tearing the paper or throwing it into the fire. He wanted Jessica to do it but she refused point blank. She told me she has no idea why she felt so strongly about preserving a piece of music that she’d only heard once but whatever the reason she suggested he separate the parts if he wanted to stop it being played. George agreed and together they put the cello and flute parts into some other music books in different boxes. That’s where I found them. I’m not sure if they knew they were in with music for the same instrument. I wonder…”

“But how did I get the violin part and where’s the score? And the guitar part?”

“Jessica said George split the parts, he thought irrevocably, by sending one to Australia and one to New Orleans. He sent the most powerful, the most dangerous, the violin part furthest, to Australia, but the score and the guitar parts must be important as well. She didn’t know which he sent where and she was sure he’d only sent two overseas envelopes so maybe he sent the others to New Orleans. Seems unlikely though, doesn’t it?”

“Sending two to the same place?”

“Yes, especially when he’d gone to so much trouble to separate the rest.”

“And Jessica didn’t know what happened to the guitar part and the score?”

“She had no idea.”

“Did he hear the voices, did she say?”

“He wouldn’t tell her. He kept insisting the music be destroyed and wouldn’t rest until he was rid of it.”

“He must have.”

“Yes. Doesn’t make sense otherwise.”

Sense? What was he saying? Sense, like Elvis, had long ago left the building.

“Why did he send the music to Australia and America? And who to? He didn’t just write ‘Anybody, Australiaʼ and post it, did he? Come to think of it that would have effectively got rid of it.”

“You’re right. It’d sit in the dead letter office forever. No. He sent it to friends and told them to get rid of it. I spoke to the friend here in Sydney, I rang him, and he said he’d shoved it in a box in the garage and forgotten about it and then a few months ago had had a clear out and sent it along to a church fete. That was after he got over his surprise at some English nutter ringing him out of the blue to ask about something that happened over twenty years ago. I’m amazed he remembered but he said it was such an odd thing George had done that it stuck in his mind and he never got a satisfactory answer from George himself. I didn’t enlighten him either. He said the music arrived in a sealed envelope which George asked him not to open and he hadn’t, but his son did when they were getting everything together to take to the church fete.”

“Which is where I found it. Wow.” Nina shook her head. “It’s amazing.”

“I was incredibly excited when he told me he’d handled it or at least his son had, so recently. I decided then and there to come here to find it. It didn’t seem crazy at the time, it seemed the next logical step and I booked my ticket as soon as I got off the phone. He gave me his address but I didn’t tell him I was coming to Sydney. I thought I’d ring when I got here and talk to the son, John.”

“What about the New Orleans envelope?”

“Jessica gave me the person’s name but they only had a PO box number and she had long ago lost touch with them.”

“But when did you play for your yoga teacher?”

“While I was waiting for Jessica to reply. I’ve made it seem sort of like a detective story but you must remember that all the time the voices were there every time I played and I had this terrific compulsion to keep listening to them. It’s close to eight months now but it’s incredibly frustrating because I kept getting the same snippets of conversation. Jasper would say, ‘She’s dead, man.’ Piers would yell, ‘No, no. She will live.’ Jasper would yell hysterically, ‘Piers, she’s gone.’ Piers would scream, ‘Mira.’ And then start cursing Jasper and Michael and Jasper would say again, ‘She’s dead.’ And it would go on like that. It still does.

I don’t know if that’s what my yoga teacher heard or if that’s what anyone else heard—Sylvia or Charlie or George. I thought my yoga teacher might be able to help me through meditation. She was more advanced at it than I am. Maybe I should have gone to a clairvoyant, too. Should go to a clairvoyant,” Martin corrected.

“My Tai Chi instructor suggested it.”

“I always think psychics are such frauds. There are lots of them in London, at all the street markets with their cards and their beads and scarves and all that paraphernalia. What a joke.”

“Mine wasn’t like that. She was very ordinary. I didn’t say anything about why I’d come and she rabbited on about how I would meet the tall, dark man, a traveller and there was love involved. Also a mystery, but she couldn’t say exactly. Standard stuff, I imagine. Not a word about the music or the extra voice in my head. Not that I really expected anything.” Nina stopped. She stared at him with a new awareness in her face. A frown passed across her brow like a shadow but she didn’t say anything.

“Nina. It’s real. We both know that.” Martin drank the last of his beer. “I’d booked a ticket for ten days ahead, just enough time to get organised and talk Sven into staying in my flat. I had no idea what I would do when I got here. The flight was hellish.

I felt like a zombie and it’s so hot here even at night. It was sleeting in London when I left. I got the train into the city in the late afternoon and sat in that park, is it Hyde Park? Lay on the grass, actually and went to sleep with all the other odds and sods there. I didn’t mean to I was trying to get my head together and work out what to do and the trees and grass and sunshine were so inviting after that plane trip. I meant to look for a cheap hotel but I woke up early in the morning, yesterday morning, and eventually found a café to have breakfast and a kind of wash. It was too early to find a hotel room so I phoned George’s friend, Alan. I wasn’t even sure what day it was because of the time difference.”

“It’s Thursday today.”

“Thanks. I know now, actually, because I read your newspaper. Luckily Alan was home, he’s retired, of course, and he gave me his son’s number and I got onto him at work. John ran the stall all day and remembered you because you flirted with him and you were pretty.”

“What? I did not. You’re making that up!” Equally amused and outraged, but Martin wasn’t sure at which part of his report.

“I’m not. That’s what he said. He remembered you were really taken with that handwritten part and particularly the writing on it. He said he would never forget the look on your face when you touched the music, as if the page attached itself to you. You looked as if you’d finally found something you’d lost. You bought it, of course. You’d told him where you worked and there you were.”

Like an angel standing behind that counter in her pale blue summer dress smiling at something her colleague had said. He knew instantly she was the one.

“And here we are. Martin, that’s an amazing story. It’s unbelievable.”

“I know. But it’s true.”

Martin stared into her eyes. Brown eyes unwaveringly met his. Both knew what the next step was, fearful though it might be.

“You said earlier that you know their names and how many there are and what they talk about but…who are they and what do they want? Why choose us?” Her voice quavered on the last words. “Why are we suitable?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

He stood up and held out his hands to her. She grasped his fingers and rose to her feet. Her hands were warm, slightly moist. She looked up into his face with those beautiful dark brown eyes and he couldn’t resist. He kissed her gently on the lips and she accepted the kiss for what it was, a gesture of solidarity and acknowledgment that they were in this together, even though the touch of her mouth on his nearly smashed his self restraint into tiny pieces.

“You know what we have to do, Nina?”

She nodded. “I’ll get my violin.”

Martin squeezed her fingers without taking his eyes from hers. “I’ll get my flute.”

Nina followed him to the spare room where he opened his suitcase. He withdrew a large envelope from the compartment inside the lid and produced the two parts. She opened the wardrobe where she stored her music and took the page off the top of the pile. It tingled against her fingertips, with repressed excitement this time but she handed it to him wordlessly, fighting the reluctance which almost overcame her.

Martin studied the handwritten warning across the top. She’d forgotten he’d never seen it before.

“Jessica would recognise George’s handwriting,” he said.

Nina gritted her teeth and almost snatched it back, unaccountably and overwhelmingly terrified he would take the music, her music, away from her.

“I won’t keep it, Nina,” he said calmly and began to unpack his flute.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, ashamed. If anyone understood this obsession, Martin did. She took out her violin. Her stomach churned with apprehension. Two instruments, what power may be unleashed? What danger? Martin had played two parts together and survived but he hadn’t heard the violin part.

“What do you think will happen?” Despite her best efforts her voice wobbled.

“I’m not sure. I played two parts but they were the flute and cello. Your part is going to make it completely different. Piers is the leader.”

“I’m not a very good player.” Her violin was slippery in her fingers.

Martin was a highly trained, professional musician. What would he think of her meagre, amateurish ability? He smiled. “Piers doesn’t seem to mind. He chose you to play it, didn’t he?”

Nina fiddled with the tuning pegs on her instrument. It sounded ridiculous stated so plainly. She hadn’t even hinted to Martin how she felt about Piers. “I don’t know why he didn’t pick a better violinist.”

“It must be a combination of factors that coincide in you.”

“We won’t be able to play for very long. It’s after eight thirty now, I don’t want to upset Florence. She’s my next door neighbour. She doesn’t mind but…”

“Nina.” Martin put his flute on the bed and rested his hands on her shoulders. Strength flowed into her body through his fingers. “It’ll be all right. I know how to control this and so do you. I’ll be here. I’ll stop it if it gets too…” He hesitated, searching for the right word.

“Scary? Out of control? But Martin what if you can’t?” Nina stared up at him. “It might be too powerful. Piers might…” But she didn’t know what Piers was capable of.

He squeezed her shoulders. “Trust me.”

She gazed into his eyes for long seconds until Martin dropped his hands and turned to pick up his flute.

“Do you have two music stands?”

“No, but I know the first section by memory,” said Nina. “We can fold my part so I can read the last page. They should both fit then.”

“Right.” Martin arranged the music carefully. The flute part was written in the same hand as the violin but with the occasional bars rest. The second section looked far less complicated than hers.

He played a few scales to warm his flute and the lush, silvery sound flowed into the room. He was very good, far better than she would ever be. They tuned their instruments together, made some subtle adjustments. Martin drew a deep breath.

“Ready?” One last look at Nina. She nodded.

As soon as the first notes sounded the music flowed effortlessly with an instant rapport, an instinctive understanding of the other’s sense of phrasing and nuance. Piers spoke almost immediately. He was pleased, and for the first time Nina heard another voice she assumed must be Jasper’s. He was reluctantly agreeing to something Piers wanted him to do, something connected with Mira, of course, but all she heard were snippets as if it were a bad phone connection.

Piers said, “Aaahh. This is the way. The powers grow stronger.”

Then, “Do this for me, Jasper. You must. The music is the key. It is better now. This will work.”

Jasper said, “It’s madness.” Then, “You have no right.”

Piers answered, “For Mira. If not for me, for Mira.”

Jasper. “I’ll try…It’s madness.”

Piers. “You must.”

Jasper. “Very well…She’s dead…It can’t work.”

Piers. “Golden Dawn knows the method…”

They reached the end of the slow melody and began the difficult section. Martin had no trouble at all with the notes where Nina struggled. Piers willed her on but he faded as she reached her black spots.

“I just can’t get this bit right.” She dropped her bow in despair and lowered her violin as the room came back into focus.

Martin stopped abruptly. “What did you hear?” Breathless, eager.

“I heard Jasper for the first time. Piers wanted him to do something and he didn’t want to but then agreed finally. Piers sounded pleased with me.”

“With you?” Martin’s eyebrows rose. “Does he speak to you? Personally? I thought Jasper was speaking to me at first but now I think I’m listening in, sort of an eavesdropper on their conversations.” Was that a trace of envy, jealousy in his voice?

“He does in a way. I’m an eavesdropper as well but I know he knows I’m there playing for him. He encourages me to keep playing…he does speak directly, sometimes.” A flush warmed her neck. She laid her violin in its case, turning away from the intensity of his gaze.

“What? What does he say?”

Nina licked her lips, closed the lid on her violin and snapped the catches. Too intimate. Piers spoke to her. He chose her, not Martin. His love was for her. She wouldn’t share those words. Something else. She turned around.

“I was with my ex boyfriend. We were in the hallway right outside the door and I wanted to come back in here and keep playing. The music seemed to beckon me…” She stopped, face burning now. Was it guilt at the prevarication or because he might assume she thought Piers was referring to him? Did she think that? Not at the time.

“Tell me, Nina.” Irritated.

“Gordon was…well, he kissed me and Piers said quite distinctly, ‘Not him. He’s not the oneʼ.ˮ The words tumbled out in a heap, giving him no chance to interrupt. “I was terrified. I couldn’t believe it. He could have been right beside me it was so loud, close. That’s when Gordon told me I was crazy and stormed out. And when I decided to ask for help.” She finished in a shaky whisper.

Martin stepped forward without a word and drew her into his arms. Nina rested her head on his chest and sighed.

“I’m so glad you found me, Martin,” she whispered.

“So am I.”

“What did you hear?” Nina lifted her head but stayed in his arms. Nothing had felt so secure for months.

“Piers. Much the same but stronger. As if he’d gained in power. But…to me he sounds…threatening. He wanted Jasper to do something in connection with Mira but he wasn’t nice about it. He said something I hadn’t heard before…Golden Dawn. Have you heard that?”

“Yes a couple of times. I heard it too. What is it? It sounds like a brand of butter.” Nina stepped from his embrace, reluctantly. His hand slid down her back as he released his hold.

“I don’t know. Do you want to play any more tonight?”

“No. It’s funny, the compulsion isn’t as strong with you here. Do you feel that?”

“You’re right. Perhaps we’ve diluted it. Can we Google Golden Dawn?”

“I’m not online at home but I do have an encyclopaedia.”

In the kitchen Martin started making tea while Nina searched the bookshelf for her one-volume encyclopaedia.

“There are lots of Goldens,” she said. “Golden Age, Golden Hind, Golden ferret…good grief, look at that.”

He read where she pointed, and snorted with laughter. “But no Golden Dawn.”

“We’ll have to go to a library and get on their internet.”

“I can do that tomorrow while you’re at work. And I need a haircut.”

Nina regarded him thoughtfully. She hadn’t concentrated much on his appearance before, beyond registering an instant attraction when he appeared in the shop. “I rather like your hair. Such lovely curls.”

He touched hers with light fingertips. “I rather like your hair. So glossy and soft.”

The gesture was more intimate than the hug or the kiss. Those were shared through solidarity, this was on a whole different level. Personal. Did he see her as a woman apart from Shadow Music? He’d given no other sign. Would that be desirable? She’d known him about twenty-four hours, didn’t know him at all, yet she trusted him with her sanity. He trusted her with his. There was no room for more. She had Piers.

“Where’s a library?” He poured the tea into mugs.

“Come over to North Sydney later in the morning and we could go to the library together at lunch time.” Nina sat down, this time in the armchair he had occupied the first night, cradling her mug in both hands. “I thought something more might have happened.”

“We both heard other voices. Do you know a cellist?”

Nina looked up sharply. “Bring in someone else, you mean? But it’s…” She wanted to say “our music” but Martin interrupted.

“Dangerous? I don’t think so. The worst that will happen is the cellist hates it like Sylvia did.”

“I suppose I could ask my brother. He used to play.”

“We could tape him on his own and play with the recording by ourselves. Then he wouldn’t be involved too much. How good is he?”

“He could have been really good but he didn’t work at it. He’s at Uni doing economics. Still has his cello though.”

“Call him.”

Nina reached for the phone and dialled. “I’m supposed to be checking up on him anyway while Mum and Dad are away.”

Jason answered almost immediately. “Oh, it’s you. Are you doing your inspection?”

“Nice to talk to you, too.” She laughed, catching Martin’s eye. Green eyes flecked with brown, surrounded by laughter lines. First impressions proved right—kind, gentle, and calm in the face of this simmering, indefinable something. An inner strength she could rely on.

“Sorry. I’m expecting a call. I’m fine, the house is in one piece, and Ringo is still alive.”

“Glad to hear it. If Mum came home to a dead cat your days would be numbered. Listen Jason, I want to ask you a favour.”

“Oh, yes?”

“It’s not a big one. I want you to play something for me on your cello. It’s a piece of music and we want to tape it.”

“Who’s we?”

“A friend. Martin. You don’t know him.”

“Yeah, I guess. When? Can I look at the part first? How hard is it?”

“We can come over whenever suits you. I don’t think you’ll need to practise. It doesn’t look difficult to me.” Nina gave Martin a grin and he did a thumbs up. Attractive lines round his mouth when he smiled.

“How about Sunday afternoon straight after lunch ʼcos I’m going somewhere at three.”

“A girl?” Nina couldn’t resist.

“You’re as bad as Lucy. Pair of snoops.”

“Well? Is it?”

“Yes. Her name’s Andrea.”

“See that was easy, wasn’t it? Thanks, Jason. We’ll be there about one.”

“I’ll go and find my cello.”

“And dust it. See you.” Nina hung up and smiled at Martin.

“Marvellous.” He suddenly sounded terribly English as he continued. “Nina, is it all right if I stay with you? Do you mind? I realise I’m a total stranger who’s just appeared out of the blue and I’m more than happy to go to a hotel if you’d prefer.”

Something akin to panic slammed Nina in the belly.

“I don’t want you to go anywhere! Since you came I’ve felt solid ground under my feet for the first time since I found that music. You’ve got to stay. Please. Unless you want to be on your own…if you do then go…but…I’d really like it if you stayed…but don’t because of me…if you’d rather not…” She finished in hot confusion, breathless, wide-eyed. Maybe he didn’t want to stay but didn’t know how to say it.

He leant back on the couch and exhaled. “Thank you. I want to stay with you too. I’ll pay my way of course,” he added.

She could almost taste the relief. What would happen if he left didn’t bear thinking about. But if she kept smiling at him the way she probably was, he’d get completely the wrong idea about her reasons for wanting him to stay.

“Good.” A yawn caught her by surprise. “I think I’ll go to bed. Good night.”

“Good night. I’ll stay up a while. My body clock’s not right yet. What time do you leave?”

“I catch the ferry at eight-fifteen so I have to leave here by five-to at the latest. They go every hour and you get off at McMahon’s Point where there’s a bus or Milson’s Point where you’d have to walk. Do you remember where the shop is?”

Martin nodded. “Sleep tight. If I don’t see you in the morning I’ll come to the shop at lunchtime.”

“I’ll take lunch when you get there. About one.”

For the first time in weeks Nina went to bed with a sense of purpose, looking forward to the next day, relieved to be found sane. Martin had brought with him a glimmer of hope that this nightmare might one day end.

“Meet me.”

“Why don’t you come to call?”

“No. It would not be prudent. I am not a respectable visitor for a young lady. Your father would not approve.” He chuckled softly and his lips scorched hers again. A current of molten passion coursed through her body. Ethan’s kiss was that of a bumbling boy compared to this man’s. She would follow him anywhere, do anything he asked, anything.

The crunch of footsteps sounded on the gravel and Ethan’s voice called softly, “Miranda? Are you there? Miranda.”

Piers touched her cheek gently and disappeared into the blackness like a wraith. She pressed shaking hands to hot cheeks, body trembling, staring into the bushes where he’d vanished. The hot night air closed in on her, and the ground heaved beneath her feet like an animal. Ethan caught her as she stumbled, head reeling.

“Miranda! What is the matter? Are you faint? Perhaps you are still weak from your illness?”

She clutched him for support as the world regained its equilibrium.

“It’s so hot, Ethan. I came out for some air…maybe I am still recovering…”

The orchestra started up and Piers’ violin soared over the other instruments with its strong, vibrant tone, speaking directly to her, she knew. The violin was his voice, reminding her, calling to her.

“Perhaps you should go home,” Ethan’s concerned face loomed close, peering anxiously. “Your father should examine you. The fever you had was very dangerous. We were all terrified we would lose you.”

Leave here? Leave Piers? Miranda laughed. “No, no. I am perfectly well now. I am ready to dance again.”

Ethan smiled albeit uncertainly, and tucked her arm in his to lead her through the rose garden to the ball room.