Cellos.
“Twelve good men and true,” said Milan, drumming his fingertips against the nape of her neck in an effort to calm her. “Or rather, nine men, two women…and you.”
“What’s going on?”
“This, Lydia, is the secret heart of the Westminster Symphony Orchestra. You have a chance to influence and change the direction of the orchestra, if you agree to join us.”
“Join you? What is this? Like…like a musical version of the Freemasons?”
Milan chuckled, as did several of the other players.
“Yes, I suppose it’s a good analogy. We are all good musicians, strong musicians, who are tired of being told what we should do by conductors. We know our jobs. We know music. If we succeed, I will eventually be made conductor-leader, as some orchestras already have. What’s to stop me conducting the orchestra from the violin section? I won’t be the first. I certainly won’t be the last.”
“This is why you were being weird with Josh Clayton yesterday?”
“In a word, yes. What do you say? Are you in?”
“You said something about vetting.”
“Well, vetting is a formality. If you want to join us, you can join us. But we don’t accept people with closed minds or repressed attitudes.”
“What do you mean? And what about this…initiation?”
She turned to Milan, full of distress at having been tricked into his arms. It had all been a ploy to get her here, to join this half-baked plot. She wanted to slap him.
“You’re a sensual woman, Lydia,” crooned Milan, reaching out to stroke her arm. “Just like Gina…and Karin…” He waved towards the other two women in the room, who smiled invitingly. “Gina, tell Lydia here about your initiation.”
Gina laughed throatily. “I sucked a lot of cock that night.”
“Stop!” Lydia, shaking, wrenched herself free of Milan.
“No, no, be open-minded, listen,” he urged.
“And I had a lot of orgasms,” continued Gina. “It was the best night of my life. All the sex I ever wanted, the way I wanted it. We are all good friends, Lydia. It’s a mutually satisfying arrangement. No need for all that dating angst—great sex on tap, whenever you want it.”
“I don’t want that! I want love!”
Lydia, feeling like an idiot as various players rolled their eyes at each other, turned around, looking for an escape.
“I wanted you!” she raged at Milan. “But I was stupid to want you. You don’t care about anybody.”
He reached out to halt her, but she kicked his shin with some force and ran past Evgeny and out of the door, faster than she knew she could move.
Outside by the fountain, she sat down and wept, cursing her credulity. How could she have thought Milan’s interest in her genuine? How could she have been such a fool?
She sobbed in the sleet for a long time, until the rest of the players had all left the apartment and drifted in pairs and threes towards the Tube station, then she stared bleakly up at the starless sky and let the cold claw her face to ribbons.
“Oh, fuck !” she suddenly lamented through chattering teeth. “My fucking violin!”
She had left it in the apartment.
She would have to go back.
She rang and rang at the doorbell until Milan’s sleepy voice came across the intercom.
“Yes?”
“It’s Lydia. You have my violin.”
“Ah. Come on up.”
The front door to his apartment was ajar and she wandered into the hallway, spotting her violin case immediately. It was propped up next to a large pot plant.
There was no sign of Milan. Should she just leave? Was he in bed?
A strange moaning noise came from the living room. Lydia, wanting to postpone her return to the frozen wastelands of London after dark, tiptoed to the interconnecting door, which was half open.
Peering through the crack, she had to suppress her instinctive sharp breath.
Evgeny and Milan sat together on a sofa, both perfectly naked, while Evgeny’s pretty head rested against Milan’s chest. Milan stroked his hair and whispered words she