Page 10 of Pervade London
“Who did you work for?”
“Doesn’t matter now.” He fixed his stare on me. “Where does your family live?
“Mum lives in Devon. Dad left when I was a baby. We don’t talk.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “He was in the Air Force. A dashing pilot that my mother fell head over heels in love with. He swept in and out of her life as fast as one of those jets he flew.”
“That must have been hard.”
I nodded. “Still, she says she has no regrets because he gave her me.”
He smiled. “I was in the Army for a while.”
“Where were you stationed?”
“All over.” He seemed to realize he was being vague. “East Asia.”
“What was that like?”
“About like you’d imagine.” He turned to the window. “Is your landlord a relative?”
“No, Harold just lets me rent one of his rooms.”
“This is a nice home.” He looked at me as though wanting to say more.
We finished eating in silence, both of us breaking off naan bread and dipping it in our sauce and swapping appreciative smiles with each other.
Xander carried his empty plate over to the sink and washed it, then took mine from me and loaded the dishwasher.
“How did you end up at Piccadilly?” I asked, joining him at the sink.
He tapped my nose ring. “It diverts attention from your beauty.”
A frisson of excitement hit my solar plexus and made me tingle. I wanted to ask him a lot more questions, the kind that would reveal more about him. But he seemed tired and I didn’t want to encroach any more on his privacy.
I set Xander up in the front room on the daybed with a duvet and a pillow.
“Sorry, but the TV stopped working last week,” I said. “Not sure why.”
“I’m just going to crash.”
“Feel free to visit the kitchen if you need anything.”
“If only everyone on the planet was like you,” he said, shaking his head.
“Oh, I’m a little damaged.”
“How?”
“I’m an artist. We’re kind of temperamental.”
“You’re not damaged. You’re deep. There’s a difference.”
He didn’t know me, but I didn’t try to correct him.
“What inspired you to take up the violin?”
