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Did he even know what he was looking for? Would he evennotice the fine craftsmanship on the bridge, or the intaglio lettering?Would Emily let him just take it away, on little more than a whim, thepiano Peter had loved ever since he was a boy? Could he even bear tothink about how great a loss that would be?Peter picked at his nails. Nobody was looking at him now. He stoodsilently at the side of the room, like a ghost unable to interact withthe living. He had always hated having to wear women's corsetry, and itwas in times like this that the tightness in his chest was mostbothersome. He was on the cusp now of just throwing his cap to theground, ripping the apron off over his head and demanding that thisrabble leave his house... immediately! But no, there was not even asqueak from him. He couldn't catch his breath, and besides, what,really, would an outburst like that achieve? It wasn't his houseanymore. It wasn't even his piano, no matter how sentimental he feltabout it. If Emily. .”“I was. Completely platonic. No bare skin – thermals on both of us. Having him there, though, I felt safe.”She raised an eyebrow. “From anyone else, that’d be hard to believe.” She sighed. “But I know someone else who slept with a young woman and didn’t touch her sexually, just gave her the security of being held and loved.” She poured a mug of lukewarm coffee, sipped, and made a face. “I’ll make some fresh. This is almost cold. Would it help if you slept with me?”“Wouldn’t you mind?”“I sort of miss having company in bed, myself.”“What was he like, your husband?”She half smiled. “Oh, Dave...” she paused. “He was... honest. Straight as a die. But never judgemental. Loving. I used to joke he was like a humbug – hard on the outside, but soft in the middle. You need to ask Jenni about their relationship. He was older than me; he’d retired early from mental nursing and when we met he was what he called ‘odd-jobbing’. He’d bought that yacht, Eirene, and was living in her while he went.
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