The Piano Man Project Page 0,84
on the things that were the most pressing. Principally that meant getting the campaign back on track, and secondly it meant telling Tash and Nell in no uncertain terms that there would be no date with Elvis, nor anybody else. She’d allowed herself to get so whipped up by this ridiculous search for the elusive piano man that she’d tried to strong-arm Hal into sleeping with her – now that she knew about his own romantic woes she felt pretty shoddy about that. She’d tossed, she’d turned, and finally she’d wrestled him into the right box overnight. Hal was her neighbour, and hopefully he was her friend. Yes, there was a physical spark between them, but one that was best left to dwindle and fizzle out, all things considered.
Knocking on his door ready for work half an hour later, she was resolute.
‘Morning, Hal,’ she said, chipper when he opened his door, already wearing his sexy fisherman garb.
‘Honeysuckle,’ he said, cordially.
‘Ready to go?’ she asked gaily, although he clearly was.
Hal followed her down the steps onto the pavement. ‘Why are you being weird? Is it because of last night?’ he said, cutting straight to the chase. ‘Because for what it’s worth, you were totally right. The last place I’d have wanted to wake up this morning was in your bed.’
Honey stopped walking abruptly. ‘Well, that’s charming.’
‘I’m not a charming man, Honey. I’m an honest one. It was the right decision for both of us. Thank you for making it.’
The bus approached from the other end of the road and they took their places on the early morning commute, precluding any further discussion on the matter.
Mimi hobbled into the shop at around half past ten, supported by Billy and trailed by a lacklustre Lucille. A fragile truce had been settled on between the sisters over an unexpectedly excellent breakfast of Eggs Benedict and homemade blueberry muffins.
‘Mimi has acknowledged that she can, at times, be somewhat bossy,’ Billy said, in clear earshot of his beloved.
‘And Lucille has accepted that it might have been better not to tell porky pies,’ he added, earning himself a baleful look from the lady herself.
‘Good,’ Honey said. ‘Because there’s something I need to talk to you all about.’
Having ascertained that the shop was empty of customers, they all gathered around the counter.
‘I’ve been thinking about the protests,’ Honey said.
Lucille’s shoulders slumped. ‘I can’t believe it’s my fault that we’ve had to stop. I feel terrible.’
Mimi looked as if she might be about to agree, so Honey forged onwards. ‘That’s just what I wanted to talk to you about. Are you all free next Sunday?’
Billy’s eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘Tell us more, Honeysuckle. Tell us more.’
Hal couldn’t believe how much he loved being back in a kitchen again. He was an all-or-nothing sort of man, and he’d slammed the shutters down on cooking anything beyond toast since the accident.
As a chef he’d been avant garde, a kitchen alchemist; faced with the possibility of being average, he’d chosen instead to be nothing at all. His knives had been wrapped and stored away, and even the almost-physical ache in his fingers to cook had finally started to subside. But still, at night he dreamed of food. He’d become adept at closing down his thoughts during the day, but when he slept his brain ran amok.
Complicated dishes, beautiful creations, symphonies of ingredients that would make the toughest critic weep. He dreamed of people he used to know interspersed in his here and now, of Honey dining in his restaurant, of Imogen laughing at how the mighty had fallen to running the kitchen of an OAP home. He battled against sleep because he didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night with damp cheeks and a racing heart, and because he’d have to handle those hideous in-between moments just after waking before he remembered that the nightmare was real. Brand new pain every time.
It really was sheer hard work being Benedict Hallam. The gap between his two lives was too big a leap for any sane man to take. It would take a man with balls of steel to jump that chasm.
Thursday ran into Friday, and finally the weekend arrived with a burst of pale sunshine. Honey woke just after dawn on Saturday morning full of nervous energy, and then forced herself back to sleep and slept in late. Most of the week before had been spent laying down surreptitious plans for Sunday. Every customer in the shop had left