Free Fearful Symmetry by Morag Joss Page A

Especially since I had to miss the rehearsal. I’m sorry I was kept late.’
    ‘Doesn’t matter, eat up. I’ll tell you all about it.’
    Andrew had never seen Valerie quite like this. He managed not to groan when she told him that she had suggested that Cosmo write in a large solo cello part, and that Poppy had made a note of it.
    ‘You’ve got to meet him. And Poppy too, of course. He’s obviously brilliant, obviously going places,’ she said. ‘He’s been studying with someone, not sure of the name, obviously the best, anyway. Harvey something.’
    ‘Herve. Herve Petrescu,’ Andrew said. ‘Personally I think he’s overrated. But sure, only the best work with the wonderful Herve Petrescu.’ He could not share with Valerie the news he had heard from Sara that evening over the bloody cup of tea, about the new commission and Herve’s imminent ‘residency’ in Bath. Nor could he share the moment when Sara had told him, apparently regretfully, that Petrescu would be taking up most of her time. Nor did he say that his first wild hope, that Sara was regretful because long rehearsals with Herve would prevent her spending most of her time with Andrew, had quickly died, because he had detected in Sara some considerable susceptibility where Herve Petrescu was concerned. And least of all did he mention to his wife the stomach-souring jealousy that he now felt at the very mention of his name.
    ‘What does he look like, this Cosmo character?’
    ‘Oh, he’s young, younger than me. Than us, that’s to say. Late twenties, early thirties. Not conventionally good-looking. Brown hair.’
    ‘And the girlfriend?’ Andrew asked, trying to steer his mind away from the thought of Sara and Petrescu together.
    ‘Older than him, quite an organiser. Did stage management originally. She was doing a course on aromatherapy and stuff when they came here, now she’s working in a nursing home. But a sweet girl, rather plain. I expect she mothers him, yes, that’s what he’d need. A bit of mothering from an older woman . . .’
    Andrew scooped up the last of the rice and managed to maintain his rhythm of placid chewing. Was it because, after his evening with Sara, he was better attuned to hear it, or was it his imagination that was making him think that in Valerie’s voice he was now picking up just the tiniest edge of the same susceptibility?

CHAPTER 8
    P LEASE, J AMES,
PLEASE
. I can’t have him here. I just
can’t
.’
    ‘Sara, darling, isn’t it a heaven-sent opportunity, to have him there with you? There’s bags of room, isn’t there? I can picture you both having a lovely creative time of it, a “period of intensive rehearsal”, in your country retreat. And then you get your pinny on and cook a nice little supper and warm his slippers . . . and then after that, I mean after you’ve done the washing up, well . . .’
    Speaking from Brussels, the mockery in James’s voice travelled well.
    ‘Don’t! Yes, I’m sure
he’d
love it, I know all about his reputation. Yes, all right, there are five bedrooms and an acre of grounds, that’s not the point. It’s so embarrassing. Of course I can’t have him staying here. Please can he stay in your flat? Camden Crescent would suit him perfectly.
Puh-lease
, James? I mean, you won’t even be there.’
    ‘And he won’t mind having an address that’s a well-known scene of a recent serious crime? Possibly popular with terrorists? Probably on the open-top tour bus route by now? Yes, we’ve heard. Andrew Poole rang yesterday.’
    ‘Oh, James, look, you shouldn’t be flippant. That poor woman’s dead. Anyway, Andrew knows who did it.
Thinks
he knows. What? Oh, because she had a row with someone in a shop. It could have been you or me.’
    She could hear James giving a slightly guilty murmur at the other end. Or was Tom giving him a shoulder rub?
    ‘Look, the point is I can’t have Herve at Medlar Cottage.’
    ‘You’ve slept with him, haven’t you?’
    ‘No! No,