wanted her. And not just in his bed. He wanted Amber in his life, even if it was only for a few days, weeks or months. He wanted to be her friend and the man she wanted to share her life with. The music seemed to soak into his heart and soul and fill every cell with a fierce determination.
Somehow he was going to have to find a way of winning her back and persuading her to give him a second chance, or risk losing her for ever.
His bag slumped onto the floor.
Sam walked slowly into the room and slid next to Amber on the very end of the child-sized wooden bench. She did not open her eyes but smiled and slowly inhaled before giving an appreciative sigh.
‘They say you can tell a lot about a man from the aftershave he has chosen. Very nice. Did you buy it at the airport?’
Her hands never missed a note as he gave a short dismissive grunt in reply. ‘Then you won’t mind if I move a little closer.’
Sam was blatantly aware that the fine wool cloth of his trousers brushed against the loose cotton trousers Amber was wearing as he slid along the shiny wooden surface until the whole side of his body seemed to be aligned against her.
‘Hello. How was the flight?’
He started to say something, changed his mind, and left her staring at his mouth for just a few seconds too long. Much too long. His eyes scanned her face as though he was trying to record the images like a digital camera in his memory.
He had been worried about how awkward this moment was going to be. But, instead of watching every word, it was as though he was meeting one of his best friends in the world—and his heart lifted.
‘You’re playing nursery rhymes. From memory.’
She shook her head slowly from side to side. ‘It sounds terrible and I am totally out of practice.’
‘But you are trying. In your apartment last week, I couldn’t help wonder if the old piano-playing business had lost its appeal. Am I right?’
Her fingers slowed down but did not stop. ‘Full marks to the man in the sweaty shirt. You’re right. I didn’t want to play. No. That’s wrong. I didn’t want to perform.’ She gave a little giggle and her left hand played a trill. ‘This is not performing. This is having fun. And I have missed that. Do you know what I spent this afternoon doing? Making up tunes and songs around nursery rhymes these girls have never heard before. We had a great time.’
‘Wait a minute. Are you telling me that you don’t enjoy performing? Is that why you decided to retire? Because you do know that you are brilliant, don’t you? I even splashed out and bought your latest album!’
She stopped playing, sat back and smiled, wide-eyed.
‘You did? That was very kind.’
‘No, it wasn’t kind. It was a delight. And you haven’t answered my question.’
Her gaze scanned his face as though looking for something important and Sam suddenly remembered that he needed a wash and a shave. ‘That depends on who is asking the question,’ she replied in a low, soft voice with the power to entrance him. ‘My old pal Sam who I used to trust once upon a time, or the newest super-journalist at GlobalStar Media who I am not sure about at all.’
He swallowed down a moment of doubt but made the tough choice. Editor be damned. ‘Let’s try that first option.’
‘Okay. Let’s.’ She looked down at her left hand and stretched out the fingers on the piano keys. ‘Well. Off the record. These past few years have been very hard going. I haven’t given myself enough time to recover from one tour before launching into rehearsals for the next. Combine that with all of the travelling and media interviews and suddenly I’m waking up exhausted every morning and nothing I do seems to make any difference.’
Her gaze shifted to his eyes and locked on tight. Shades of blue and violet clashed against the faint golden tinge to her skin. ‘Every night was a struggle to make myself play and dive into the music to try and find some energy. I lost my spark, Sam. I lost my joy.’
‘That’s not the girl I used to know talking.’
‘I’m not that same girl any more.’
‘Aren’t you?’ Sam replied and reached up and touched her cheek. ‘Are you quite sure about that? Because when I came in just now you had that soppy girly look on your face like you used to have when you sat down at a piano.’
‘What do you mean, soppy?’
‘Soppy. It means that you are your old self again—and I am very glad of it. This place seems to be doing you a lot of good.’
He glanced down and shocked her by gently lifting up her left hand and turning it over, his forefinger tracing the outline of the beautiful scrolls and flowers drawn in henna on the back of her hand.
‘Take this, for example. I’ve never seen anything like it. Totally amazing. How was the wedding?’
His fingers stroked her palm, then lifted the back of her hand to his lips so that he could kiss her knuckles and was rewarded with an intense flash of awareness that told him that she knew exactly what he was saying. It was not the henna he found amazing.
She tutted twice, took her hand back then turned to face him. ‘It was a fabulous wedding and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’ She gestured with her head towards the window. ‘Parvita’s family organised a flower arch in the garden and the service was so simple. A few words spoken by a man and a woman from completely different worlds, and yet it was totally perfect. There was not a dry eye in the house.’
‘You cried at your friend’s wedding? Really? And there is no such thing as a perfect marriage, just a decent wedding day.’
‘Yes, I cried, you cynic,’ Amber replied and scowled at him and pulled her hand away. ‘Because this was the real thing. They didn’t need a huge hotel with hundreds of guests who they would never have a chance to meet and talk to. All they wanted was their friends and family to help them celebrate. The little girls were all dressed up and throwing flowers. It was perfect. So don’t mock.’
Sam held up both hands in surrender.
‘Hey. Remember my ex-girlfriend who tried to lure me into a wedding without asking me first? Not all of us believe in happy endings, you old romantic.’
Amber thumped him on the arm. ‘Well, that is just sad and pathetic.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Sam replied and looked around, suddenly desperate to change the subject. ‘Is this one of your school rooms?’
She nodded. ‘The building work is going flat out before the monsoon rains so this is a temporary teaching room. I like it but I can’t wait until the new air conditioned school is ready.’
‘Have you decided on a name for the school you are paying for?’ Sam asked as he picked up his bag and they strolled out into the evening air. ‘The DuBois centre? Or the DuBois School for Girls. What is it to be?’
‘Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you? No. I suggested a few names to the board of governors and they came back with one winner: the Elwood School.’
‘Elwood?
