After an appointment with two young women from Reading, Kate made a couple of phone calls and cancelled her engagements for the next day. She drove home from her office, crisscrossing her way through the traffic-calmed backstreets. Once home she changed into a pair of Armani jeans and fuchsia cashmere V-neck and drove the Porsche out of the city on to the northbound motorway. She marvelled in the smoothness of the gear changes and the power of acceleration. David had never let her drive his “baby”, she smiled, maybe she’d sell her own car now, instead.
On the steps outside the modest flat in Aswell Street that Stephen Bentley had indicated, Kate heard the hesitant notes of a piano, then the same notes repeated in a more confident way. In the pause that followed she knocked and a striking
