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It would be fun."I thought about it for a heartbeat or two and then agreed. "OK, but you have to play for me too. Fair is fair." It would be fun.When we turned on the lights in my studio, there on my piano bench was her violin and a portfolio full of her music. I didn't remember her leaving the violin there and I don't remember the music at all. Had she planned this before we left to meet her parents?I did have a few surprises for her. After all, I'd been serious about music a lot longer than she had. In at least one aspect of our relationship I would be one step ahead of her. I led her to the back of the studio. On the back wall are my music cabinets. I have a lot of sheet music. The cabinets stretch almost the width of the room, and it's a big room. I've been collecting music since I can remember, and if there's a piece for piano, and if it's worth playing, chances are I have it. I even have a few autographs, originals in the composer's own handwriting. One cabinet is full of my. There were mostly cardboard boxes containing old clothes, books and toys. I even saw the little tricycle I played with when I was a toddler which my brother didn’t get a chance to break. I was moved by the fact that my mother had cherished and kept it. Despite the 120 and some degrees of heat, the police didn’t seem to be in a hurry and examined every box.“Can you tell us anything about these photo albums,” the detective asked.“I’ve been meaning to bring them down ever since Susie told me about them,” I responded. “They’re from my parents. I don’t think you will find any pictures of my brother’s wife in there. According to Susie, he burned all the photos he had of her, including those of Susie and himself after she ran away.”I asked if I could take the albums with me when they concluded examining everything. I didn’t want them to see pictures of me in my birthday suit.From the attic we went down to the basement where the cool air was a welcoming reprieve from the punishing heat of.
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By now, however, John was attracting me and it wasn’t just his fluent conversation and occasional banter. So when he reached across the table to gently squeeze my hand I responded positively. John was caressing my arm, his fingertips just touching me. He lifted my wrist and looking me straight in the eye kissed my fingertips. “Let’s go somewhere a little less public,” he said, signalling the Maitre d’ for the bill. By the time we got to the door the car was waiting for us, engine running. John’s driving was less exuberant now, and frequently he rested his hand on my knee. I looked at him and smiled, and was rewarded with a warm smile from him. After a few miles we pulled up alongside a lovely pub overlooking the sea. As we parked two of the staff greeted him and he waved back. “Your local?” “Actually, I own it,” he replied, grinning. We walked up a short flight of steps and through a high gate onto a large balcony. As the gate closed John took me in his arms and we kissed..

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