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‘Why are you a cynic, Lucy?’ He shouldn’t care, but it was a question he genuinely wanted the answer to. What memories made her stare into the distance, with her mouth tight and her eyes strained?
‘Life in the orchestra taught me a few lessons about hard work and paying high prices,’ she said, torturing the napkin on her lap.
‘It must require a great deal of practice.’
‘Three to four hours of personal practice a day, leaving aside rehearsals. Or that’s how much I liked to do. Some people want or demand more. In the end, I found that...counterproductive.’
‘If you need to practice here, you’re welcome. We have a music room.’
Lucy’s eyes lit up. Such a simple suggestion had made her happy again. Her brightness warmed him. For a moment he never wanted that glow of hers to fade.
‘I’d love to see it...even though I’m taking a bit of a break from performing.’
She flexed the slender fingers of her left hand, then pressed her right thumb deep into her palm and rubbed. She bit hard into her lower lip and the troubled look was back again.
‘You’re free to explore the castle if you wish.’
‘Really? Is there anywhere I can’t go?’
Strangely, he found he didn’t mind where she went. His suggestion appeared to please her. A gentle smile teased her lips and he wanted to keep that look on her face.
‘Most of the formal rooms are unused, but you can open any door...look at whatever you want.’
‘What if I get lost?’
‘You can call me.’ He slipped his phone from his pocket. ‘What’s your number?’
Lucy gave it to him and he sent her a text. Something in her vicinity buzzed with an alert.
‘This is exciting. You said you don’t allow tourists here?’
‘Never. But you’ve told me you aren’t a tourist, so the ghosts of my ancestors shouldn’t punish me.’ Not for this sin at least. There were many more to haunt him over.
‘I’ll let you in on a secret,’ she said, lowering her voice and leaning forward in her seat. ‘I bet I fit the dictionary definition of one.’
He leaned forward too. In these moments the sensation curling inside him was strange and unfamiliar. Like happiness. Around her, he couldn’t help himself.
Lucy’s eyes widened a fraction. He lowered his voice. ‘I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.’
In response Lucy laughed, and the sound rippled through him with a wave of pleasure so intense he thought he could spend all of his time making her smile.
That was his reminder. As she laughed in her seat, glowing with what appeared to be true joy, he knew he needed to remember the job he must do.
‘So, Tourist Lucy, how long do you have in Lasserno?’
He should find out how much time he’d have to try and extract the information he sought—because he needed subtlety. Especially if her family’s fortunes had been made on the back of that coronation ring. What would his investigators find? Wealth? A sudden change of circumstance?
But now, as he watched Lucy, it was as if a light’s dimmer switch had been turned down. Everything in her faded. He regretted dimming her glow, because he was sure his words were the cause.
‘A few weeks...maybe a month. I have things I need to do in Salzburg. Moving apartments.’
‘Your orchestra must be missing you. You have an impressive biography.’
She dug her thumb into the palm of her left hand again, rubbing hard.
‘The second violin will slot into my role nicely.’ Her voice was sharp and discordant. She grabbed the napkin from her lap, placed it on the table. ‘Do you mind? I’m very tired and I think I need to go to sleep.’
Lucy stood, so he stood. How could he tell her he didn’t want her to go? Or, even better, tell her that she should invite him to go to bed with her? Keep her warm...
