The clapping had finished and everyone was moving. ‘Only the interval,’ Ingeborg said. ‘God help us.’ ‘Be thankful for small mercies.’ He stood up to get the feeling back into his legs. The seats weren’t the most comfortable. At the same time he looked across to where Paloma had been. She’d gone. He’d spent much of the concert debating with himself whether to go over and speak to her. She had definitely spotted him. It seemed churlish to go through the evening without saying anything. Yet weeks had passed with no contact and the last words she’d spoken had been about as final as you can get between people in a relationship. He wasn’t good at peacemaking. And yet … If she’d come here alone, he told himself, he would have seized his chance. She might well have given him the frost, but at least the pain would be private to the two of them. The new companion – or whatever he was to her – made any approach a minefield. Diamond knew for sure that if the dog’s dinner pitched in with backchat or sarcasm he’d give him more than a mouthful, and what use was that?
