Slowly, he closes the door behind him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. Someone is playing the piano. Caro’s piano. The sound of Tchaikovsky’s ‘Swan Lake’ filters out into the hallway and Rupert has to lean against the wall to steady himself. He knows if he looks into the living room, he will see Caro sat on the tiny piano stool, her back straight and her attention fully focused on the keys as she runs her hands over them. Tchaikovsky was always her favourite, and ‘Swan Lake’ was the tune she played whenever she’d had a bad day or felt less than happy. She’d play it right through to the end, as Rupert waited patiently, letting the music run over him like water. When she’d finished, he would go to her and pull her into his arms, trying his hardest to make her feel better, to let her know that whatever she thought, whatever she was feeling, she mattered.
Don’t be ridiculous. Caro is dead.
As the music dies away, Rupert pushes himself away from the wall and forces himself to walk on leaden feet into the sitting room. As he enters, Emily jumps up from the piano stool, a flush turning her cheeks a hot red.
‘Rupert!’ Her eyes are huge in her face, and she covers her mouth with both hands. ‘Oh, Rupert, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting you home yet.’ She turns to the piano and closes the lid, pushing the stool back into place, keeping her back turned to him.
‘I didn’t realize you played the piano,’ Rupert says, not taking his eyes off her.
‘I learned at school. I’ve tried to keep up with it, but I’m very rusty. I don’t have a piano where I live now,’ Emily replies, brushing her hair away from her face and looking anywhere but at him. ‘I couldn’t resist it. I’m sorry, I should go.’
She trails her fingers over the closed lid before she moves past him, and Rupert catches her by the arm. ‘Emily, there’s no need to apologize. It just caught me by surprise, that’s all. Caro used to play, and the piano hasn’t been used since she died. I should have called and told you I would be leaving work on time.’
‘Oh no, you don’t need to do that.’ Emily shakes her head, smiling slightly. ‘I should get going. I’ve left you dinner in the oven.’
Rupert realizes now that he can smell something delicious on the air, and his stomach gives a low growl.
Emily laughs and her whole face lights up. ‘You’re hungry, then? I’ve made a beef bourguignon. There’s a bit too much for one person, but if I leave you a tub, you can just pop the rest in the freezer.’ She is leading him along the hallway towards the kitchen as she speaks, her bare feet silent on the tiled floor. Rupert breathes in the scent of meaty stew, a clean lemony scent beneath it, and feels a pang, as though finding something he didn’t realize he had lost.
‘There’s enough for two?’ he asks.
‘Well, yes.’ Emily pulls the dish out of the oven, and Rupert notices that there is an open bottle of red wine breathing on the kitchen counter. ‘It’s a bit difficult to make a beef bourguignon for one. But like I said, you can just freeze whatever is left over…’
‘Why don’t you stay?’ The words are out before Rupert has even had a chance to think through the consequences. He looks down, worried that Emily might think he’s overstepped the mark.
‘Stay?’
‘Yes. Only if you want to, of course. It would be nice to have some company for a change. It gets pretty lonely eating on my own every night. Oh, unless you’re busy, that is?’
‘No. No, I’m not busy.’ Emily smiles, and Rupert’s stomach does another flip. ‘That would be lovely, if you’re sure?’
‘Of course. Here, let me.’ Rupert takes the hot dish from her and places it on the table, as Emily brings out plates and cutlery. Rupert grabs two wine glasses and the open bottle of red and pours them both a large glass.
‘Cheers.’ He leans forward and chinks his glass against hers. ‘So, Emily Belrose, housekeeper extraordinaire. How about you tell me a little bit about yourself? You’re in my house every day and I feel as though I barely know you.’
‘There isn’t much to tell.’ Emily ladles a spoonful of stew onto his plate. ‘I live in Swindon, not far from the High Street, with my flatmate. Above a kebab shop, believe it or not. It’s not my dream home, but it’ll do until I can find somewhere better.’
‘Oh?’ Rupert’s heart sinks in his chest a little – does she mean flatmate, or boyfriend? He tries not to think that way, but this is the first time he’s had any flicker of interest in anyone else at all since Caro died.
‘Yeah, Mags and I have lived together for about a year now – I had a bad break-up and Mags kind of saved me.’ Emily gives a tiny laugh, but there is a strange expression on her face, half sadness, half fear.
‘I’m sorry.’ Rupert sips from his wine, holding the stem of his glass tightly so he
