Devil Take The Hindmost

Epilogue

Priya swept up the plush carpeted staircase like an A-list model in a Punjabi perfume advert.

Couples parted like dry stalks of wheat before her scything approach; the men sneaking glances at her décolletage and the women tutting at the shabby state in which I apparently chose to accompany such an urbane woman to a recital at the Grand Theatre.

Of course, I hadn't chosen this at all, a fact brought firmly home when we arrived at the dress circle, and the door of a private box. I could not help but notice a silvered star of Inanna shining proudly, etched into the wood above the door, who knows how long ago.

Inside the box, Priya took a seat carefully, lowering herself gracefully given the tight confines of her dress and leaving a single space between the only other occupant.

Miriam Calhoun, chestnut hair pinned high and lips pursed, applauded delicately toward the auditorium, the sound as faint as a butterfly's kiss.

"Please, Mr. Turner, sit," Miriam said without turning her head, or it's wooden stare, from the stage.

I looked at Priya, who steadfastly refused to engage in any eye contact. Instead, she reached for a tiny pair of binoculars held in a clasp beside the arm rest and proceeded to inspect the scene below, where the performers began to file out and take their positions.

I lowered myself onto the velveteen seat between the two women with a sigh.

I wanted to register my dissatisfaction with such an obvious ambush, but the house lights dimmed to be replaced with a glaring spotlight highlighting a tall stick-thin man in a tuxedo who made his way to a rostrum and took a bow to rapturous applause.

"At the intermission," Priya hissed out of the corner of her mouth, and I exhaled, suddenly tired of pretty much everything.

With a tap of his baton, the conductor brought the Birmingham Philharmonic Orchestra to its feet, and they too took a short bow, then, as the tumult subsided, the musicians retook their seats and began to play.

I tried not to watch Sophie, but it proved impossible.

She was captivating and captivated, playing with a focus and freedom I'd never seen her achieve before. The fluidity of her movement, and the depth of emotion she imparted into every sweep of her bow took my breath away.

It became abundantly clear that she was happy. She belonged on that stage with those people, not with me dodging sheep shit on a farm and eating ersatz dinner foraged from a hedge.

I sensed the weight and power of the music but didn't hear any of it. All I experienced for the thirty minutes until the interval was the inescapable conclusion that here was yet one more thing I got wrong, but which had turned out for the best in the end.

*

"How do we unfuck this?" I began unceremoniously, keeping my tone calm but feeling unwilling to play any more games.

Miriam finally rotated to face me, her hands clasped in her lap and an expression on her face set harder than double-mixed concrete. With the music having paused, the joyful babble of a crowd heading to mingle at the bar didn't make it up to the box, in which the atmosphere was frigid.

"I don't know. This is a challenge from which the Daughters of Wulfrun might emerge stronger. Renewed, perhaps. If the police are not called upon to delve any further into our affairs."

"Several people died in the fire, and many more have been killed by your members over the course of this business!" I raised my voice, the anger welling inside me in response to Miriam's cold appraisal of the future fortunes of her club.