‘And lipstick,’ said Polly. ‘Bright!’
‘Nooo,’ implored Marisa.
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Kerensa. ‘Do you want him to notice you or not?’
‘I don’t want to look trampy.’
‘Well, how is looking mousy and terrified working out for you?’
‘Just let us give it a shot,’ said Polly. ‘Is there . . . ?’
She looked around, just as a waiter turned up with a bottle of Champagne and three glasses.
‘Oh God, I like coming to your house,’ said Polly, grinning. ‘Do you remember the wedding?’
‘Most of it,’ said Kerensa, grinning broadly in return, and they smiled at one another.
They fussed around Marisa, making her put the lipstick on but letting her blot it. A bugling noise out of the window alerted them.
‘Oh!’ said Kerensa, shooting a look at her Cartier watch. ‘That means birthday cake time. You’re on.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Marisa, suddenly stricken with nerves.
‘We got you,’ said Polly. ‘You can’t do everything by yourself, you know.’
Marisa nodded. If she’d learned anything over the last year, it was this.
Chapter Seventy-six
Alexei had been ordered by Reuben to wear a bow tie and tailcoat which was profoundly uncomfortable in the heat, but he was happy to oblige.
As he took the stage in front of hundreds of people there came a large cheer; he taught many of the children and was a familiar figure at school assemblies and church services, and they all adored him.
He smiled and sat down and played a massive ripple of ornate opening chords, before announcing, ‘And now . . . for a very special boy . . .’
Lowin had somehow been wrangled back into the embroidered shirt, but the red shorts, dripping wet, were staying stubbornly on. He was sitting on a throne erected at the very front of the crowd, blocking everyone’s view.
‘I would like everyone to sing with me . . . Happy birthday to you . . .’
Hundreds of people – children, models, gymnasts and Backstreet Boys – happily joined in with Alexei’s flamboyant interpretation, as Lowin sat on his chair, fidgeting madly, Mum and Dad either side and the official photographer, a bullet-headed trendy type, thrusting a camera in his face to do ‘reportage’.
Marisa, shy, had hovered near the back of the crowd, but Polly wasn’t having that, and steadily pushed her forwards until she was practically eye level with the stage. Alexei, looking to Marisa’s eyes extremely dashing, was just reaching the end of the last line, ‘Happy birthday to . . .’
And at that exact moment he looked up, and caught sight of Marisa, and his voice completely trailed away to absolutely nothing, and the crowd had to finish it for him.
BOOM!
As Alexei crashed some very dramatic chords and arpeggios in an attempt to justify his fee for turning up and playing one song, there was the sound of a cannon going off out at sea.
The crowd’s attention turned, and the children’s jaws genuinely dropped at the sight of the high-masted pirate schooner coming round the headland, the Jolly Roger flying high.
As one, they charged to the water, screaming and yelling.
At the very front of the gang were Daisy and Avery, Avery having made a speedy recovery as he had heard something in the air about ‘pirates’.
Huckle was desperately chasing them, but it was so bright and so sunny he could barely make out their silhouettes.
Polly caught him on the way. He grinned to see her.
‘This is barmy,’ he said. ‘That’s a British word, isn’t it?’
‘It is,’ said Polly, grinning. ‘But it’s the right one too.’
He smiled and hugged her.
‘Goodness. I thought you were working?’
‘Taking a short break,’ said Polly. ‘I’d better get back to it.’
He kissed her. ‘When the crowd thins out, I have a proposal involving dumping the children in the movie theatre, grabbing a bottle of fizz and a picnic blanket and taking a long quiet walk in the dunes,’ he murmured in her ear.
‘I like that idea,’ said Polly, nuzzling in. ‘I like it very much.’
More cannons went off and they separated, Polly to return to the stall, Huckle to chase the munchkins. He couldn’t see a thing in the crowd, the sun was right in his eyes.
‘Daisy! Avery!’ he called out, although as the ‘pirates’ started throwing ropes over the side and dismounting onto rowing boats, his shouting went unheard.
‘Daisy! Avery?’
They weren’t down by the water. They weren’t splashing around trying to reach the boats.
Neither were they on the now-ignored funfair, or the candyfloss machine.
Huckle was not a man who lost his cool easily. But his shouting got a little louder.
‘Daisy! Avery!’
Alexei was waiting in the wings as Marisa tentatively approached the stage. Everyone else had charged off to watch the pirate ship. He didn’t look remotely uncomfortable in his peculiar get-up; in fact, it rather suited him, gave a certain distinguished look to his heft.
‘You look . . . very nice,’ he said shyly. ‘I thought you workink?’
‘I was,’ said Marisa, stammering. ‘But, ehm . . .’
She decided it was best just to change the subject.
‘That’s an incredible piano.’
Alexei let out a half-sigh, half-groan. ‘Oh yes. Come look.’
He held out his hand so she could clamber up on stage. His huge paw holding hers was cool and dry; it felt incredibly comforting to have her hand in his.
He opened it up.
‘This . . . What a dream,’ he said.
‘Is it worth a lot of money?’
‘It is,’ he said. Very quietly he started to play the theme from Pirates of the Caribbean, which was prettier than Marisa remembered, but he kept taking glances at her.
‘What?’
‘Nothink. You just look . . . thank you,’ he said.
‘For what?’
‘For being kind when Lara came.’
‘Well. It’s hard to get over people.’
He frowned.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I can see why you didn’t get over her.
He shook his head.
‘But I am over her.’
‘But you were so sad.’
‘Because she said I am terrible composer and haff wasted my life!’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Just like you,’ he said.
‘Oh no,’ said Marisa.
There was a pause.
‘But,’ said Marisa. ‘I think you are terrific.’
He looked down at the keys ruefully.
‘I will never be famous composer. I will never own piano like this.’
‘Couldn’t you just be a wonderful teacher?’ said Marisa. ‘And a great player? Most people would love to be able to do that.’
Alexei looked at her. ‘Oh, Marisa. You cheer me so.’
Marisa couldn’t help smiling. ‘Do I?’
‘Oh yes. So beautiful and so kind and the food and . . . well.’
She moved closer to him.
Suddenly there was a shout by the stage. It was Huckle, his face a mask of badly concealed panic.