“You held this lot spellbound for twenty minutes,” Constance said dryly, “and believe me, they had other things on their minds to distract them. Think about it. But actually, I wanted to ask you about something else. Carl Darrow.”
Edith’s eyes lit up. “I would love to be half as good as him. Though he taught me a great deal.”
“Then he was generous with his advice and guidance?”
“Oh yes. He even let me play along with him.”
“Do you still see him? Are you friends?”
“Not friends,” she said a little ruefully. “But he was kind.”
“He didn’t try to take advantage, did he?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Edith said at once. “He’s not interested in me in that way.” Her mouth quirked. “Or at all, really. It’s the music that interests him. That made me proud, because I must have some talent to get his attention at all.”
“Is he married?” Constance asked.
“No, but I think there is someone. Someone who’s more than the music.”
“A singer?” Constance suggested.
Edith’s eyes widened. “Now that you mention it, I think so, yes. His friend told me he was in love with her. He—the friend—thought I would mind, but I don’t.”
“Is he a gentle man?” Constance asked. “Did he ever lose his temper around you?”
“Oh, no, though he could be impatient. He was kind, but only up to a point, if you see what I mean.”
“Not really.”
Edith spread her hands in a helpless little gesture. “Almost as if he was going through the motions, teaching me things that would make the music better, without really noticingme.”
“Was he like that with everyone?” Constance asked.
“Mostly, I think. Very focused on his own career but not above helping others when he could.”
“And this friend who warned you about his affections for the singer—who is he?”
“A pianist. Geoffrey Reid. They play together sometimes. He has lodgings in the same house as Mr. Darrow.”
How useful…
*
It was afterten o’clock before Constance and Solomon left the carriage in Half Moon Street and walked up the dark little lane to the Tizsa house. At least there were lights on, though Constance worried about waking the baby by knocking too loudly.
However, almost as soon as Solomon lifted the knocker the door was opened by a tall, dark, almost impossibly handsome young man.
“Tizsa,” Solomon said. “You’re going out.”
“Actually, no, we just saw you coming,” Dragan said in his perfect, only slightly accented English. “From the window. Come in.”
He took their hats and Constance’s evening cloak before ushering them into the drawing room that doubled as the couple’s much-used study.
“Goodness, how lovely you look,” Lady Griz said, hurrying to greet them. “Have you been to the opera?”
“Nothing so respectable,” Constance said brazenly. “And you’re looking rather fine yourself.”
“Am I?” Griz said in surprise, her eyebrows rising over the framesof her spectacles. She was always surprised by compliments, which was odd because she was in fact extremely pretty, in her own careless, eccentric style.
