Dishonored (33 page)

“See you at practice on Wednesday, then?”

Indi nodded. She was struggling to get a comb through her hair and glanced up briefly. “Yup, see you then!” she called, her
eyes watering. “Have a good weekend, Mary.”

Mary smiled. “Thanks, Indi, and you.” And leaving Indi alone in the dressing-room, the last, as always, to get changed, she
made her way along to the stage door and went out into the clear night air.

Indi called good night to Fred the doorman and opened the stage door, putting up her umbrella before she stepped out into
the drizzle. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands and shivered in the chill, damp night. Turning toward
the main road, she jumped over a puddle and started to hum what she had been singing that night, quietly, imitating the conductor
and dodging the puddles as she went.

“Hello? Erm? Hello?”

The shout came from behind her. Indi turned.

“Hello! Yes, you! Hello, wait!”

She was at the corner of the street, where it met the main road and locking back she saw a figure hurrying toward her from
the other end of it. She narrowed her eyes and wondered whether to ignore it. Too late. The figure was a fit agile young man
and had reached her before she had the chance to make up her mind.

“Hello! Gosh, I thought I’d missed you. I’ve been waiting at the wrong door, you see, and when you didn’t come out I asked
and they told me this one was here so I legged it all the way and well…” The young man stopped and quickly drew breath.
“I caught you, just in time!” He smiled “Lucky eh?” He stood, breathless in front of her, his face wet from the rain, his
curly blond hair covered in drops that glistened under the street lights. He dug his hands inside his raincoat and pulled
out a dried rose, bound with silk thread, the petals smelling of faded summers. He held it out.

“For you,” he said. “From a fan.”

Indi took the flower. She blushed terribly and looked away. She didn’t know what to say.

“I’ve seen you sing three times now,” the young man went on, “I think you sing beautifully, I can tell your voice, I can tell
it apart from all the others. You have a perfect contralto voice, don’t you?”

Indi smiled. “Not perfect, no.”

“I knew it, I told you I could pick it out!” He smiled back. “I think it’s perfect”

Indi laughed, she couldn’t help it. “It’s very kind of you to say so, but obviously you’re not a music buff.”

The young man smiled. “I’ve only just started going to concerts,” he said earnestly, “I’m doing a course, correspondence,
teach yourself classical music…” He stopped. “You’re laughing at me,” he said.

Indi put her hand out and touched his arm. “No, not at all!” She looked at him. “Everyone has to start somewhere, I think
it’s admirable that you’re interested enough to find out about it.”

“I suppose you know everything there is to know about classical music.”

Again Indi laughed. “I know what I sing, but that’s about it, I’m afraid.” She smelted the rose, gently fragrant still. “Now
roses, there’s a subject I do know everything about.”

This time the young man laughed. “Roses?”

“Yes! Roses! I grow roses, with my grandfather, at home in Sussex. We enter competitions, we’ve won quite a few actually.
We often… “ Indi broke off. The young man was staring at her and it made her uneasy. “Anyway,” she said quickly, “I must
be off; it’s late, and I have to get the last train back.”

The young man shook his head, as if breaking a trance. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I was staring, wasn’t I?”

“Yes.” Indi looked toward the main road, avoiding his eye.

“I don’t mean to, it’s just that you’re so pretty, that’s all.”

Indi turned back to him. She knew lots of men from medical college, she knew all the lines and how to ignore them but there
was something strangely honest about this young man, something rather naïve and appealing. She smiled and he grinned back,
the skin around his eyes crinkling and a small dimple appearing on both cheeks. It was a boyish smile, uncomplicated, attractive.

“Are you singing next weekend, at this festival thing in Westminster Cathedral?” Indi nodded. “Would you like to have a coffee
with me before the performance?”

She hesitated. She never, ever went on dates, never. “I don’t know, I… “

“It’d be brilliant if you could, you could maybe tell me something about the piece you’re singing.” He looked at her questioningly.
“It would do wonders for my street cred.”

Finally Indi smiled. “Yes, all right then,” she said. “Thanks.”

He grinned. “Shall I meet you outside?”

“Yes, early though, I have to get ready in plenty of time for the performance.”

“What time then?”

“Six?”

“Brilliant! Six it is.” The young man dug his hands in the pockets of his raincoat. “Thanks, Indu, I’ll really look forward
to that.”

Indi looked at him, puzzled. “How did you know my name?”

He shrugged. “I told you, I’m a fan.” Then he glanced up the street and seeing a free taxi, jumped off the curb and waved
it down. “You’ll miss your train otherwise,” he said, walking toward it. “What station?”

“Victoria.”

“Victoria Station, mate,” he said to the cabbie and handed over a tenner. “Keep the change.”

“Please don’t!” Indi protested. “I can get the tube, honestly!”

“It’s late,” he said, shrugging, “and I don’t want you to miss your train.” He opened the door of the cab and waited for Indi
to climb in.

“You really didn’t have to,” she said, settling herself inside and yanking the window down.

“No, but I wanted to.” He slammed the door shut “See you next Saturday, then?”

She smiled. “Yes, see you Saturday.” The young man stepped back and held up his hand in a wave. “Wait!” Indi cried, suddenly
leaning out of the window. “I don’t even know your name!”

The young man laughed. “Jimmy Stone,” he called, as the cab moved off. “Jimmy Alexander Stone!” And he dug his hands in his
pockets again, turned and walked away.

John heard the front door and picked up a magazine, flicking idly through it. He heard Indi drop her things in the hall, then
cross to the sitting-room, cracking the door open and poking her head around.

“Hi, Gramps!” She shook her head, smiling. “You didn’t have to wait up, you know.”

“I know, I didn’t!” He dropped the magazine on to the sofa. “How’d it go?”

“Well, as usual.” Indi came in and perched on the edge of the armchair opposite him. “I met a fan,” she said, “after the concert.
He came to the stage door and gave me a rose.”

John smiled. “Very smooth.”

“He wasn’t, not at all, he was…” She broke off, not quite sure what Jimmy Stone was. “He was nice,” she finished. “Unpretentious,
pleasant.”

“Urgh! Avoid pleasant, Indi, it’s a cover-up for either plain evil or downright boring!”

Indi laughed. “When did you become such an expert on men, Gramps?”

“No expert, just a cynic.”

“Well, I’ll let you know,” she said, “if it’s evil or boring. I’m having a coffee with him next Saturday before the concert.”

“Oh really?” John raised an eyebrow.

“Yes really.” She stood. “And don’t pretend you’re not pleased, Grandpa, I can see the smug satisfaction all over your face!”

John laughed. “I’m pleased, all right! Now go to bed.” It was true, he was pleased; he wanted Indi to meet more young men,
get out a bit.

Indi turned at the door. “Night, Gramps,” she said.

“Good night, Indu.” He stood himself, reaching to switch off the lamp.

“Thanks for waiting up.”

“I told you—”

“I know,” she interrupted, “you didn’t!” And she blew him a kiss, then disappeared off to bed.

* * *

“…Yup, the last train, Gramps, it’s twelve forty-five. No, I’ll get a cab to Victoria and one the other end. No, don’t
bother, honestly, it’ll be really late. Yes, OK…” She smiled. “Yup, I will, thanks…OK. Bye!”

Indi hung up and waited for the extra twenty-pence piece she’d put into the payphone to drop down into the change tray. It
clinked its way through, she picked it up and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans, wishing she’d worn something smarter
now. Heading off toward the changing area to collect her dress, Indi glanced at her watch and wondered if she might still
catch Mary. She hoped so because she didn’t even have a comb with her tonight.

“Hi, Mary! You look nice.”

“What d’you want, Indi?” Mary turned away from the small cracked mirror and put her hairbrush back in her handbag. She reached
for her lipstick.

“Can I borrow your brush and a bit of makeup?” Indi asked sidling into the room.

Mary looked up. “You never wear makeup!” She handed her brush over.

“No, but I thought I might try a bit of lipstick, something on my eyes?” Indi started to brush her curls and Mary thought
how thick and glossy her hair was.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Dinner, with a friend.”

Mary smiled. “A male friend would that be? The young man you were having a coffee with earlier perhaps?”

Indi blushed. “Yes.”

“Come here.” Mary took her little makeup purse out of her handbag and scraped a chair back. “Sit. I’ll do it”

“Oh great! Thanks, Mary.” Indi plonked herself down and crossed her legs.

“What about your clothes?”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Nothing, I just…”

Indi swiveled around on the chair. “I don’t look that awful, do I?” She bit her lip.

Mary placed her hands on Indi’s shoulders and turned her back around. “You don’t look awful at all,” she answered honestly.
“I don’t know how you do it but even those tatty old jeans don’t look as bad as they should do.” She tilted Indi’s face back
and quickly applied a coat of mascara, a sweep of blusher and a dab of natural lip gloss. “There!”

Indi stood and peered in the mirror. “Thanks, Mary,” she said, “I really appreciate it.” There was very little difference,
just a heightening of the shape of her eyes, cheeks and lips. Indi finished brushing her hair.

“Where’re you going to eat?”

“I don’t know, it’s very last-minute, we only really met for the first time properly tonight.”

“And he’s nice, is he? He’s certainly very good-looking.” Mary applied her own lipstick and glanced at Indi in the mirror.

“Oh yes! He’s charming, he…” Indi broke off and smiled sheepishly. “He’s very nice thank you, Mary.” She took her jacket
off a hanger and pulled it on, picking up the carrier bag with her dress in. ‘Wednesday practice?”

“I’ll be there!” Mary took her own raincoat off a hanger and carefully folded it over her arm.

“See you Wednesday then, Mary!” Indi hurried across to the door. “Bye!”

Mary turned to wish her good luck but she’d gone. “Yes, see you Wednesday, Indu,” she said to herself. “Have a nice evening,
thank you, Mary, I will.”

Indi met Jimmy at the entrance to the cathedral; he was waiting for her on the steps. He stood as she approached him and grinned,
his hands in his pockets as they always seemed to be, his raincoat open, the collar turned up. He jumped down the steps, two
at a time, and held out his arm. “Ready?”

“Yup, ready.” Indi slipped her hand through his arm.

“If you see a cab, scream!”

Indi laughed, then suddenly saw a free taxi. “Ahhhh-hhh!” It was a piercing howl.

Jimmy did a double take, then dived into the road and flagged the car down. “I didn’t mean literally,” he said, bundling her
inside. “My God, what a voice!”

Indi giggled. She sat back as Jimmy gave the name of the restaurant and stared out of the window. London looked entirely different
from the inside of a black taxi cab, she thought; it looked like another city. They drove on and she continued to stare, the
luxury of a taxi one that she could seldom afford. At Piccadilly the car stopped and Jimmy jumped out, holding the door for
her. “Greens,” he said as she climbed out, “I hope you like oysters.”

He paid the driver and took her hand, leading her inside. “I’ve booked a table for two,” he told the head waiter, “Stone,
ten-thirty.”

“Yes, Mr. Stone, this way please.”

Indi held her breath. She spotted a well-known actor dining with a younger member of the royal family and blushed as she went
past their table.

“Jimmy!” she hissed as they sat down. “How on earth can you afford a place like this!”

Jimmy grinned. “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies!”

She narrowed her eyes. “Seriously,” she said.

“Seriously,” he answered, “I take photographs, travel photographs, for glossy books on Africa, Venetian palaces, that sort
of thing. It pays well and it gives me lots of free time.”

“To teach yourself classical music?” Her voice was heavy with sarcasm. He’d been leading her on, that much was obvious.

He touched her arm, only briefly. “Yes, to teach myself classical music. I left school at seventeen with three O-levels, one
of them photography. I’ve done bloody well for myself in the last ten years but I don’t know much about anything. Not about
music or literature, the classics, that sort of thing.”

Indi glanced away. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Rude?” Jimmy smiled. “You should hear some of those bitch art directors I have to deal with! Now that’s rude.”

Indi smiled back.

“So, now you, Indu Bennet. What have you done in the last ten years?”

Indi shrugged. She felt embarrassed talking about herself, she rarely did it. “Studied, taken exams, passed them, sung in
the choir…”

Jimmy put his hands up. “Whoa, wait! What sort of exams? Let’s not rush through it.”

“O-levels, A-levels, my medical exams. I’ve been at St. Thomas’s studying medicine. I start my stint as a young doctor in
September.” Jimmy whistled through his teeth. “I know, I’m not looking forward to it either! Eighty-hour weeks, stress, pressure,
living off doughnuts.”

“Doughnuts!”

“Yes, it’s the only take-away food I like.”

They both laughed.

“And you’re half Asian, Indian perhaps, am I right? Where do your parents come from?”

Indi glanced down. She fiddled with the napkin on her lap for a few moments. “Yes, you are right, I am half Indian,” she said.
“My father was from Balisthan.”