large tattoo.
‘Guitar,’ she answered, ‘but when I was a kid, I had to take cello classes. Maybe one day I’ll go back to it.’
From the mental image of her imagined piercings, Dominik quickly drifted to a private movie of her on a stage with a cello between her legs. He smiled at the thought and abruptly said, ‘I’ll take it. Say for a week?’
‘Great,’ the assistant said. She pulled out a pad and began her calculations as Dominik kept on gazing at her bared shoulder, following the black, green and red flowers of her tattoo, then noticing she also had a minuscule tattoo of a teardrop inked below her left eye.
While he waited for her, other customers streamed in and out of the store, attended to by a male assistant in matching principally black goth attire with a minimalist geometric haircut.
Finally, she looked up, giving her column of figures a final glance.
‘So what’s the damage?’ Dominik asked.
The violin came with a case.
Back at his house, he carefully deposited the expensive instrument on one of the sofas, went to his laptop and checked the seven-day weather forecast. For the first episode of the adventure he had in mind, he would rather not be inside. That would have to come later, when discretion would become the better part of valour and events might branch out into somewhat more illegal-in-public manifestations.
The forecast was good. No rain was expected over the next four days at least.
He texted Summer and informed her of the day, time and place of their next meeting.
Her answer reached him within the half-hour. She was available, and still willing.
‘Do I have to bring a partition?’ she queried.
‘I don’t think so. You’ll be playing Vivaldi.’
The sun was out on Hampstead Heath, the sound of birds chirping as they criss-crossed the tree-lined horizon. It was still early in the morning and there was a bit of a nip in the air. Summer had alighted from the tube at Belsize Park and made her way down the hill, past the Royal Free Hospital, the Marks & Spencer store that had been built on the site of an old cinema, the small shopping parade on South End Road, the fruit and vegetable stall by the entrance to the overground railway station, finally reaching the car park where they had arranged to meet. She’d been here before, some months previously, with friends intent on a weekend picnic.
There was only one metal-grey BMW parked there, and from a distance, she recognised Dominik’s silhouette in the driver’s seat. He was reading a book.
As instructed, Summer was wearing her black velvet dress, the one that bared her shoulders, and, to keep the chill away, Charlotte’s coat, which she had not been asked to return yet.
He saw her approaching, opened his door and stood waiting by the side of the car as she made uneasy progress in her heels across the rough sand and stone surface of the improvised municipal car park, which doubled during holidays as a fairground.
He looked down at her feet, noticing the high heels. Her regulation formal stage footwear. He was all in black. Crew-neck cashmere sweater and black trousers with a sharp front crease.
‘Maybe you should have worn boots,’ he remarked. ‘We have to trek over the grass a little to get where we are going.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Summer said.
‘There’s still a lot of dew on the grass at this time of the morning. Your shoes will get wet, damaged maybe. You should take them off for the walk. I see you’re wearing tights or stockings. Do you mind?’
‘No, not at all. Stockings, actually.’
‘Good.’ He smiled. ‘Hold-ups or suspenders?’
Summer felt her cheeks warm. A streak of impudence provoked her to answer back. ‘Which would you have preferred?’
‘A perfect answer,’ Dominik replied, but did not elucidate further as he opened the door behind the driver’s seat and pulled a dark, shiny violin case from the back seat. Summer shivered.
He clicked on his fob to lock the BMW and indicated the
‘Guitar,’ she answered, ‘but when I was a kid, I had to take cello classes. Maybe one day I’ll go back to it.’
From the mental image of her imagined piercings, Dominik quickly drifted to a private movie of her on a stage with a cello between her legs. He smiled at the thought and abruptly said, ‘I’ll take it. Say for a week?’
‘Great,’ the assistant said. She pulled out a pad and began her calculations as Dominik kept on gazing at her bared shoulder, following the black, green and red flowers of her tattoo, then noticing she also had a minuscule tattoo of a teardrop inked below her left eye.
While he waited for her, other customers streamed in and out of the store, attended to by a male assistant in matching principally black goth attire with a minimalist geometric haircut.
Finally, she looked up, giving her column of figures a final glance.
‘So what’s the damage?’ Dominik asked.
The violin came with a case.
Back at his house, he carefully deposited the expensive instrument on one of the sofas, went to his laptop and checked the seven-day weather forecast. For the first episode of the adventure he had in mind, he would rather not be inside. That would have to come later, when discretion would become the better part of valour and events might branch out into somewhat more illegal-in-public manifestations.
The forecast was good. No rain was expected over the next four days at least.
He texted Summer and informed her of the day, time and place of their next meeting.
Her answer reached him within the half-hour. She was available, and still willing.
‘Do I have to bring a partition?’ she queried.
‘I don’t think so. You’ll be playing Vivaldi.’
The sun was out on Hampstead Heath, the sound of birds chirping as they criss-crossed the tree-lined horizon. It was still early in the morning and there was a bit of a nip in the air. Summer had alighted from the tube at Belsize Park and made her way down the hill, past the Royal Free Hospital, the Marks & Spencer store that had been built on the site of an old cinema, the small shopping parade on South End Road, the fruit and vegetable stall by the entrance to the overground railway station, finally reaching the car park where they had arranged to meet. She’d been here before, some months previously, with friends intent on a weekend picnic.
There was only one metal-grey BMW parked there, and from a distance, she recognised Dominik’s silhouette in the driver’s seat. He was reading a book.
As instructed, Summer was wearing her black velvet dress, the one that bared her shoulders, and, to keep the chill away, Charlotte’s coat, which she had not been asked to return yet.
He saw her approaching, opened his door and stood waiting by the side of the car as she made uneasy progress in her heels across the rough sand and stone surface of the improvised municipal car park, which doubled during holidays as a fairground.
He looked down at her feet, noticing the high heels. Her regulation formal stage footwear. He was all in black. Crew-neck cashmere sweater and black trousers with a sharp front crease.
‘Maybe you should have worn boots,’ he remarked. ‘We have to trek over the grass a little to get where we are going.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Summer said.
‘There’s still a lot of dew on the grass at this time of the morning. Your shoes will get wet, damaged maybe. You should take them off for the walk. I see you’re wearing tights or stockings. Do you mind?’
‘No, not at all. Stockings, actually.’
‘Good.’ He smiled. ‘Hold-ups or suspenders?’
Summer felt her cheeks warm. A streak of impudence provoked her to answer back. ‘Which would you have preferred?’
‘A perfect answer,’ Dominik replied, but did not elucidate further as he opened the door behind the driver’s seat and pulled a dark, shiny violin case from the back seat. Summer shivered.
He clicked on his fob to lock the BMW and indicated the
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