Blue Note

‘All right,’ Henry said to Harriet’s request. ‘If you twist my arm.’ I’d like to see her try. Henry was built like a heavyweight, though he didn’t play Rachmaninov with the gloves on.

A useful guest at her dinner parties, he got up from the table and padded across to Harriet’s waiting baby grand. Late Brahms this time, the notes falling like autumn raindrops as she served coffee and passed round the chocolate mints.

‘Great stuff, Henry!’ I applauded. ‘Now how about some Blues!’ We’d had great fun after one of his town hall recitals when I’d joined him at the keyboard to have a go at Cow Cow Boogie, till the caretaker chucked us out.

Henry’s face lit up. It met Harriet’s stony gaze. He’d better be going.

I drove him to the station. ‘Any more recitals coming up?’ Henry shook his head. His agent had dropped him. A scholarship and three years at the Royal College of Music were not enough.

Even for a chocolate mint.