The October Cabaret by Nancy Buckingham

Author:Nancy Buckingham [Buckingham, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: British Mystery/Romantic Suspense
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1979-01-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Either by a stroke of luck or a stroke of genius, Ben managed to get two returned tickets for a Sunday evening concert at the Royal Festival Hall. The soaring strains of Beethoven and Brahms washed over me in lovely sensuous waves, making me even more intensely aware of the man sitting beside me.

Would Ben expect to spend the night with me again? Somehow I didn’t want that. It would be too overwhelming, too much for my fragile emotions. Though I hadn’t any doubt that I loved Ben, I needed time to myself now.

We stopped for a late supper about halfway on the homeward journey. The place Ben chose was a big, brash, noisy restaurant, and I was grateful. He had rightly judged my mood, and knew that cosy intimacy was out this time. We chatted about the concert, and about the boat trip we’d taken earlier from Westminster Pier to the Pool of London and back, with a shrimp tea on board. As we approached Tower Bridge, with perfect timing the great twin bascules were being raised for a larger vessel coming through to the Upper Pool.

Toying with my plate of curried eggs, I said, “D’you know, Ben, I’ve never been to the Tower of London.”

“I’ll take you sometime, then. And to all the other London sights. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Petticoat Lane on a Sunday morning, rowed on the Serpentine, walked up the Mall to see the Changing of the Guard....”

“Oh, I did all those things with Mother and Dad that summer.”

“So you’ll do them over again, with me.”

It was the sort of thing I wanted to hear, wanted to be reassured about ... that there was all the time in the world for us. No hurry, no rush. A lifetime to be happy in.

When we got back to Brighton it was late and the Lanes were deserted. Our footsteps echoed hollowly in the narrow alleyways and we talked in hardly more than whispers. As we came to the doorway of Pennicott’s I fumbled for my key with shaky fingers.

“Goodnight, Ben,” I said with a little sigh. “It’s been a lovely evening, a lovely day.”

“But now goodnight?”

“Yes,” I said, and added, “please.”

I knew that he was unsurprised, unresentful. We kissed, and when he let me go, he said, “About tomorrow ... I’ll call you in the morning and fix when we’re going to see Maggie Ayling.”

“Okay.”

He waited while I went in and closed the door. Then with a final kiss blown from his fingertips, he turned and walked away. I stood there until the sound of his footsteps had died into the distance before I made my way upstairs. There was a feeling of emptiness about the flat, and I thought what an idiot I’d been to send Ben away.

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