Challenges.
Opportunities. You know.”
“Of course,” said Isabel. “You must be very excited.”
“I’ll miss this place, though,” said Hen. “And I’m sure I’ll come back to Scotland. People always do.”
“I did,” said Isabel. “I was in Cambridge for some years, and America, and then I came back. Now I suppose I’m here for good.”
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“Well, give me a few years first,” said Hen. “Then we’ll see.”
Isabel wondered about Neil. Would he stay, or was she going to take him with her? Somehow she thought that she would not.
She asked.
“Neil’s staying here,” said Hen. “He has his job.”
“And the flat? He’ll keep it on?”
“I think so.” Hen paused. “I think he’s a bit upset about it, actually, but he’ll get over things. Mark’s death was very hard for him. Hard for all of us. But Neil has taken it very badly.”
“They were close?”
Hen nodded. “Yes, they got on. Most of the time. I think I told you that before.”
“Of course,” said Isabel. “Of course you did.”
Hen reached for the wine bottle which she had placed on the table and from which she now topped up her glass. “You know,”
she said, “I still find myself thinking about that evening. That evening when Mark fell. I can’t help it. It gets me at odd times of the day. I think of him sitting there, in his last hour or so, his last hour ever. I think of him sitting there listening to the McCunn. I know that music. My mother used to play it at home. I think of him sitting there and listening.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Isabel. “I can imagine how hard it must be for you.” The McCunn.
Such a romantic piece. And then the thought occurred to her, and for a moment her heart stood still.
“You knew what they played that night?” she asked. Her voice was small, and Hen looked at her in surprise.
“Yes, I did. I forget what the rest was, but I noticed the McCunn.”
“Noticed?”
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“On the programme,” said Hen, looking quizzically at Isabel.
“I saw it on the programme. So what?”
“But where did you get the programme? Did somebody give it to you?”
Again Hen looked at Isabel as if she was asking pointless questions. “I think I found it here, in the flat. In fact, I could probably lay my hands on it right now. Do you want to see it?”
Isabel nodded, and Hen rose to her feet and riffled through a pile of papers on a shelf. “Here we are. That’s the programme.
Look, there’s the McCunn and the other stuff is listed here.”
Isabel took the programme. Her hands were shaking.
“Whose programme is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said Hen. “Neil’s maybe. Everything in the flat is either his or mine or . . . Mark’s.”
“It must be Neil’s,” said Isabel quietly. “Mark didn’t come back from the concert, did he?”
“I don’t see why the programme is so important,” said Hen.
She gave the impression now of being slightly irritated, and Isabel took the opportunity to excuse herself.
“I’ll go downstairs and wait for Neil,” she said. “I don’t want to hold you up.”
“I was going to have a bath,” said Hen.
“Well, you go ahead and do that,” said Isabel quickly. “Does he walk back from work?”
“Yes,” said Hen, getting to her feet. “He comes up from Toll-cross. Over the golf links there.”
“I’ll meet him,” said Isabel. “It’s a gorgeous evening and I’d like the walk.”
*
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