“Her initial thought was that he must be a priest, because he was wearing a suit, though not a dog collar – well, how many did these days, outside working hours? And then, because he was so smooth and assured, and – perhaps, she thought afterwards, because his shirt was wine-coloured – she even wondered if he might be a bishop. He brought her a coffee. ‘This stuff could be worse,’ he said. ‘BBC coffee is much worse.’ ‘You do this kind of thing fairly often then?’ she said. God, that wasn’t quite..., ‘Do you come here often?’ but it was dangerously close. ‘When I must,’ he said. ‘Edward Bain, by the way.’ ‘Merrily Watkins.’ ‘I know,’ he said. He was, of course, attractive: lean, pale features and dark curly hair with a twist of grey over the ears. He’d made straight for Merrily across the green room – it sounded like some notoriously haunted, country house bedchamber, but was simply the area where all the participants gathered before the show. It was long and narrow and starting to look like a pantomime dressing room because of some of the costumes: Dark Age chic meeting retro-punk in a tangle of braids and bracelets.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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