Pervade Duet: Pervade London & Pervade Montego Bay

by Vanessa Fewings

  I groaned in frustration.

  “I was joking. But I am pretty hungry.”

  I regained my composure. “Bring me my violin and I’ll treat you to a three-course dinner.”

  “Five-course.”

  “Seriously?” Go on, waste another five minutes.

  He gave me a heart-stopping grin and took off at a sprint, dodging pedestrians while scaring a few, before leaping into traffic. A car horn signaled he’d barely missed being hit.

  Guilt kicked in. I’d just catapulted a homeless man into some kind of superhero mission. No good deed goes unpunished—and I’d just received the mother of all reminders.

  Trudging down the steps of the Underground, I hurried over to where I’d been playing Niccolò Paganini’s “Caprice No. 24,” a piece no one seemed to recognize, which was one of the hardest to master. I’d literally given my violin away while attending to some homeless guy. Who was to say he wouldn’t just take the violin for himself once he got it back…if he got it back.

  After swiping away a tear, I tried not to let the floodgates open yet so as not to embarrass myself and bring any more unwanted attention my way from strangers. There was a reason you weren’t supposed to talk to them.

  I closed the lid on my glass jar. It had five pounds in it—the same fiver I’d put in there to entice people to give me tips. I threw the jar irreverently into my violin case and clipped the lid closed. When I hoisted it up, its lightness reminded me of my stupidity.

  I couldn’t remember how I’d arrived at my stop at Gloucester Street, but somehow I’d made it to the Tube station I always used to get home.

  Numbness settled in my bones, but I left my coat hanging open because I deserved to be assaulted by the chill.

  I trudged down the pavement, each footstep feeling unbearably heavy as I made my way past the row of terraces to the old Victorian house where I lived. The room I rented wasn’t much and the plumbing was noisy, but my bedroom window overlooked the garden. I always enjoyed the view while I practiced my lessons.

  How was I going to practice now?

  How was I going to explain this to Mr. Penn-Rhodes, my tutor at the Royal Academy of Music, when I faced him tomorrow?

  Someone might as well have ripped my right arm off. Playing that violin had gotten me a scholarship into one of the finest music academies, and though it wasn’t worth much it had become my world. I’d bonded with it. Loving fingertips had traced each ripple in the wood and each flame in the maple. That instrument had warmed to me personally, too, and like an old friend it always came through.

  That instrument was my life.

  I’d also taught countless children with that precious violin. Those hour-long lessons had been their introduction to one of the most difficult instruments to master. And though teaching helped pay my rent, it also felt good to know I was making a difference.

  What the hell was I going to do?

  Waves of grief drenched me in sorrow. I’d suffered a terrible violation by a person who had no idea that they’d stolen part of my soul.

  Three doors down, Mrs. Kaminski’s golden retriever, Charlie, was barking at something. I usually didn’t mind him going wild over the occasional horn or even another pet, but today it grated on my nerves.

  What was I thinking leaving my precious violin unattended?

  “No more Good Samaritan,” I muttered.

  Unlatching the brass gate that squeaked on its hinges, I continued on between the hedges, trudging down the cobbled pathway that felt uneven beneath the worn soles of my shoes. I lifted my gaze to the door.

  No way.

  Xander rose from where he’d been sitting on the front steps.

  “Hey, Emily.” My violin was in his hands. “Forget the five-course. I’m craving a curry.”

  “How did you…?” Get here before me.

  He turned the instrument, showing me the front and back. “Undamaged.” He held it out to me with both hands.

  I set my empty case down and moved quickly to claim it, hugging the violin to my chest as though my lost child had been returned.

  My cheeks flushed with relief. “How’d you get it back?”

  “Trade secret.” A wink of mischief was followed by a drop-dead gorgeous smile.

  Wait…how the hell did he know where I lived?

  Six Months Ago

  I thought my life would fall into a downward spiral after my violin was stolen. To be honest, I’d not believed this stranger could save it. Yet here he was standing in front of me, having delivered what seemed like a miracle. I’d last seen him half an hour ago outside Piccadilly Circus, when he’d sprinted off to save my violin like a beautiful angel stripped of his wings.

  His eyes lit up as he grinned. “My good deed for the day. Though nothing tops yours.”

  I studied him. “Xander, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I never told you my name.” I narrowed my gaze on him.

  “I don’t want to lie to you.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “You might not like the truth.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He looked toward the gate.

  “Did you set me up?” I snapped. “Were you working with the guy who stole my violin?”

  “No, I’ve never stolen anything in my life.”

  “Then explain.”

  His crystal blue eyes held mine for what seemed like an eternity. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

  “I’m still calling the police.”

  “You can’t.”

  “And why is that?” My foot was poised to kick him in the balls if he made one wrong move.

  He let out a deep sigh. “I didn’t get the man’s name. Your violin thief.”

  I stepped back. “I need proof you’re not working with him. That you didn’t do all this so I would feel indebted to you, and the next thing I know you’re inside my home stealing my landlord’s shit.”

  He chewed his bottom lip, looking thoughtful.

  “I’ve never been scared of the truth, so spill.”

  “Sure?”

  “Don’t underestimate me.”

  He arched a brow, and then gave a nod. “While you and I were outside the Tube station I used my phone to access the city’s surveillance system, training one of the cameras positioned on the corner of Piccadilly Avenue to scan your face. Your name came up in their recognition software.” Seeing my look of horror, he added, “At some point you decided to use face recognition to sign in to Facebook. The app recorded the results of your features into its database. All done legally because you clicked the terms of service without reading them. The government buys the data. I have access to it.”

  The air crackled around us as I processed his admission.

  “And that’s how you got my name?” I asked, stunned.

  “Yes, and then I shifted the camera to train it in the direction I guessed the thief had run.”

  “How did you know he went left?”

  “Most people choose the invariant right. You know, when you walk through a store you usually head right. It’s mainly because you’re right-handed—”

  “He went left.”

  “His guilt contradicted his instincts.”

  “How would you know this?”

  He shrugged it off. “It’s my job to know.”

  “You did all this in less than a minute?”

  He looked surprised at the question.

  “Prove it,” I said.

  “Apparently, you voted Labour at the last election and you’re registered to this place.” He raised his chin to point to the house. “That’s how I got your address. I checked the voter registration.”

  “No, seriously.”

  He looked apologetic.

  “Isn’t it illegal what you just did?”

  “Well, you gave me permission when you asked me to get your violin back.” He flashed a cute smile. “I had to find you to return it.”

  Okay…that logic worked, but everything else s
ounded like a crapshoot of weirdness.

  He had me intrigued, though.

  It wasn’t just his compelling words, it was the way he stood there tall and alluring with those exotic eyes. I could get lost in their pale blue depths. Right now he seemed to be summing me up, too.

  I gestured to his phone. “That’s a little scary.”

  “That’s nothing. I can also access your Google searches, your buying habits, and if you give me an hour, I’ll have you profiled all the way down to what you like to eat and your reading preferences.”

  I should have been more cautious. This all sounded too farfetched, but I’d been disarmed by him returning my violin.

  He grinned, oozing a charm that could be weaponized. Those full lips were seductive.

  I was so damn tired and all day tomorrow I’d be teaching my students violin lessons. I needed to get a good night’s sleep. Though there was something about Xander that caused me to linger on the doorstep.

  Wait…I did vote Labour.

  “It was really nice meeting you, Em.”

  Only my mum called me that.

  He pivoted and continued down the pathway toward the gate. It squeaked as he opened it.

  “Where are you going now?” I called after him.

  “I just upgraded myself to crazy-guy level ten.” He gave a shrug. “This is where I make my exit.”

  I knelt and opened my violin case, removing five pounds from the jar.

  I hurried over to him. “Take this.”

  Xander looked surprised. “I’m not taking your money.” He turned and walked quickly down the pavement.

  I followed him. “Xander.”

  He stopped, facing me. “What now?”

  “Show me how you got my violin back.”

  He blew out a sigh.

  That familiar uneasiness swept over me. “Or not.”

  He mulled it over. “The footage is recorded, so…”

  A few swipes later and he held his iPhone up for me to see an aerial view outside Piccadilly. The camera was trained on the line of taxis not going anywhere fast. The footage had recorded us outside the Tube. There I was, looking left and right. It captured nothing of the agony I’d felt. Farther down the street was a man scurrying away with my violin. The thief ducked inside a cab.

  What followed was Xander coming into frame in a sprint toward the cab, opening the door and then reappearing with my violin.

  I shot Xander a look of concern. “How did you get into their system?”

  “It’s one of my many talents.”

  “Are you a hacker?”

  “Not technically.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Security.” A twist of his lips hinted it was a little more complicated than that.

  “Why did you lose your job?”

  “Creative differences.”

  I hesitated only for a moment. “Okay…one night. You can sleep on the sofa.”

  He lit up with joy. “I’ll repay you.”

  “You got my violin back.” My eyebrows rose to let him know that was no small feat. “If I wake up dead tomorrow I’ll be pissed.”

  Xander laughed and followed me back up the pathway. “Tomorrow, I’ll have access to money. I’ll be able to thank you properly.”

  “Trust me, you already did.” I raised the violin.

  Not that I didn’t believe him, but we were all one day away from a lucky break that would turn us around. I certainly felt this way.

  Reaching into my pocket for my door keys, I rummaged around and then looked up at him. “I rent a room here so bear that in mind.”

  “I’ll be quiet.” Xander followed me up the steps. “I appreciate this.”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re talented. I may have been half asleep, but I recognized ‘Caprice No. 24.’”

  “You heard me play?”

  “A little, yes.”

  The fact he recognized that piece of music added a new dimension to him in my eyes. He certainly carried himself like someone who was cultured and educated.

  It didn’t take me long to give him a tour of the house. He was polite enough not to make fun of the country décor with its chintz fabrics, plaid furniture and drapes. Though the kitchen was an improvement, despite my landlord’s love for the French provincial style. The numerous gadgets revealed its owner was addicted to cooking shows and I often benefited from this by finding an assortment of Harold’s delicious creations in the fridge.

  He was away visiting his sister in Edinburgh, but Xander didn’t need to know that.

  While he used my bathroom to take a shower, I got to work ordering us a curry.

  When the take-out arrived, I paid the deliveryman with the money I’d scrounged up. For some reason, getting Xander fed brought out my nurturing side.

  I returned to the kitchen and dished out our delicious meal into bowls, placing them on the table. The scent of tomato and spices filled the air.

  From the cupboard, I brought down two china plates and pulled out cutlery from the drawer. Then I filled two glasses with water.

  “Hey.” Xander stood in the kitchen doorway. “That smells amazing.”

  He looked a lot more than presentable, from his softly tanned skin to those locks of dark gold.The scruff gave him an edgy appeal. He reminded me of European royalty.

  “Come sit.”

  He took a chair at the kitchen table. “Where did you study the violin?”

  “The Royal Academy of Music.” I was still there.

  “That’s why you’re so good.” He reached for a glass and gulped the water.

  “Your techy skills are impressive. You’d make a dangerous enemy.”

  He stared at me. “Someone once told me the same thing. But I’m not like that.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Could you get the thief’s name?” I watched him carefully.

  “Do you want me to?”

  With a shake of my head, I let him know I wasn’t sure. After handing him the rice dish, I set his chicken tikka masala before him.

  He looked like he was saying a prayer. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

  “Hungry?”

  “You have no idea.”

  I caught him looking at my nose ring. “Go on then, say it.”

  “I was going to say you should delete all apps from your phone.”

  “Hmmm, you sound paranoid.”

  Xander scooped several helpings of the creamy chicken onto his rice. “The problem with society is they’re not paranoid enough.”

  “Really?”

  He paused with his fork to his mouth. “The richest one percent owns more of the country’s wealth now than in the last fifty years.”

  “I’d read that somewhere.”

  “But what you don’t know is the extremes they’ll go to in order to keep it that way.”

  I picked up my fork. “What do you do again…when you’re employed?”

  “My specialty is computers.”

  “But you don’t hack into them?”

  “Not in the way you think.” He looked thoughtful. “It’s about…communications.”

  He ate elegantly, and I marveled that a man so hungry didn’t shovel in his food.

  I took another bite of the chicken and rich creamy sauce and the flavors burst over my taste buds. My stomach grumbled. Usually, when I got home, I’d grab a bowl of cereal or something simple, so this was a nice treat.

  I had bailed on making any money tonight by helping him. I’d have to make the cash up after classes when I went out busking again. At least I had a season pass for the Tube so I could get to the Academy.

  I turned my attention back on the intriguing man opposite me who was dipping a piece of naan bread into his sauce.

  He took another elegant bite and dabbed his mouth with the paper napkin. “So good.”

  “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?”

  “Diana Lucia Zane,” I said wistfully. “My mum took me to see her play the violin in London. I was twelve. I fell in love with the instrument that day and never looked back. Diana’s my idol. She’s from Vienna. Anyway, Mum and I went backstage afterward and I met her. Couldn’t say anything. I was too starstruck. She knew it, too. Diana took my hands in hers and stared into my eyes and announced, “You have the hands of a violinist.”