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happened.’
    ‘When?’
    ‘Earlier. When I asked you what the deal was with Jazzed.’
    ‘Ah.’ Evan wondered how best to explain it. The official reason that Jazzed had split up – the one he’d usually tell people, at least – was because they’d reached their peak, and had nowhere else to go. Their hit single had been down to luck more than anything else – reco rd companies hadn’t wanted to know them until the song had been picked up by the TV show – and so the chances of them ever doing anything better had been pretty unlikely. And while that was the party line, he found himself reluctant to admit that to someone he’d just met, and especially someone he found himself wanting to impress. But as for the real reason . . . well, that was even mor e of a secret than the club they were sitting in.
    ‘So?’
    ‘We just thought we’d retire at the top. You know the old showbiz maxim – always leave them wanting more . . .’
    ‘And is that your philosophy towards everything in life?’ said Sarah, retrieving the cocktail stick from her drink, then, with her eyes fixed on his, she pulled the olive delicately off it with her teeth in a way that made Evan’s head spin. ‘What?’ she said, noticing his expression.
    ‘Nothing.’ He gulped down a mouthful of his cocktail, desperate to change the subject. ‘So you’re from New York?’
    She nodded wistfully. ‘Yeah. You been?’
    ‘A couple of times. Always wanted to spend longer. Some people think New Orleans is the place to be where jazz is concerned, but for me, Harlem has the best . . .’ He stopped talking, worried he was being insensitive, as Sarah’s expression had hardened a little. ‘So what are you doing here in England?’
    ‘I got transferred.’
    ‘Like a footballer?’
    ‘Huh?’ She frowned as she took a sip of her drink. ‘Oh, you mean a soccer player .’
    ‘Yup.’ Evan nodded. ‘Soccer,’ he said, putting on a bad American accent, and Sarah kicked him lightly under the table.
    ‘No, it was just . . . After my dad died, I just felt I needed a, you know . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
    ‘Change of scene?’
    ‘Yeah.’ She smiled again, to Evan’s relief. ‘A change of scene. And this opportunity came up, and so six weeks ago . . . What is it you Brits say? “Bingo!”’
    ‘No other family? No-one to keep you in America?’
    Sarah’s smile faded, and immediately, Evan regretted asking. He’d only meant it as a subtle enquiry to ascertain whether Sarah had someone special back in New York, but this current line of questioning didn’t seem to be doing him any favours.
    ‘Nope.’ Sarah shook her head. ‘Dad you already know about,’ she said, counting off on her fingers, ‘no brothers or sisters, and my Mom left when I was four, which kind of did it for her as far as I was concerned.’ She smiled flatly. ‘So no, no family to speak of. Just little old me.’
    ‘Your mum left you?’ Evan didn’t quite know how to react, mainly because the matter-of-fact way that Sarah was talking didn’t seem to invite any sympathy.
    ‘People leave. What can you do?’
    ‘Right. Nothing, I suppose.’ Evan stared into his glass for a second or two. ‘And have you never tried to track her down?’
    ‘What would be the point?’ said Sarah, brusquely.
    ‘Well, to . . .’ Evan wanted to kick himself at his insensitivity. ‘No, I suppose there wouldn’t be any.’
    ‘Quite.’ She picked up her drink and drained the rest of it, and Evan was grateful for a chance to change the subject.
    ‘Another one?’
    ‘I don’t have to sing for it, do I?’
    Evan laughed. ‘Not unless you want to.’
    ‘I think you know the answer to that,’ Sarah said, then she stood up. ‘And I’ll get these. What would you like?’
    Evan smiled up at her. ‘Surprise me.’
    She regarded him for the briefest of moments, then walked round to his side of the table, sat down on his lap, and kissed him full on the lips.
    And Evan