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“I’m a competent amateur,” she said firmly, “but thank
you.”
He looked at her for a long moment, his face inscrutable.
“What a girl for laying out the facts you are,” he said at
last. “You are unusually honest. I know many much less
talented musicians who would claim a great deal more
than competence.”
She refused to be drawn, smiled and said goodnight,
leaving him alone in the lounge.
She was up early next morning and met Sam on the
stairs. He looked his usual self once more, clear-eyed and
alert. He grinned at her, “I slept like a log! How about
you?”
“Fine,” she admitted.
They found themselves the first to arrive for breakfast.
A pretty girl in a lavender overall was moving about,
laying the table, and looked round in surprise as they
entered the room. She smiled, though, and said good
morning in rather thickly accented English, then pointed
out the food, waiting over steel hotplates.
There were scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages, but
Kate stuck to her usual orange juice and slice of toast.
Sam, however, greedily heaped his plate with a glorious
mixture of everything, and grinned at her teasingly as he
began to eat.
“I heard you playing the piano last night,” he said,
between mouthfuls.
“Did it wake you? I’m sorry. Marc asked me to play
something before I went to bed.”
Sam shook his head. “It was quite pleasant, drifting off
