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‘Have you been playing for very long?’ she asked.
‘We always had a piano and I used to bang the keys when I was a toddler. I started proper lessons when I was, what, three and a half.’ Before everything had gone wrong. And afterwards he’d found he was happiest when he was playing music. Filling the silence in the house. ‘Later I learned to play the cello as well.’
She glanced round. ‘You don’t have a piano now?’
‘Not any more. It’s not quite as portable as a cello,’ he said wryly. ‘Though I admit I miss the piano. When I get round to buying a place in London, the first thing I’m going to do is buy myself a piano.’
‘So you left your piano back in Wales?’
‘Moving it was going to be a hassle—I didn’t know if there’d be room in a rented place or how long I’d end up in a chain if I bought somewhere of my own. My colleague’s daughter wanted to learn, and they’re friends so I gave it to them.’ It had been a wrench, but at least he’d known his piano would have a good home and be looked after.
‘Nobody in our family plays an instrument,’ Katrina said. ‘Dad and Uncle Bryan always have music on in the garage, and Maddie’s really into 1950s stuff—Dean Martin and Julie London and soft jazz—but none of them do anything more than sing along and dance around the place.’
Remembering the absence of music in Katrina’s living room, Rhys had a feeling that she didn’t join in. Unless she, too, kept all her music as digital files…but somehow he didn’t think she did. ‘What about you?’ he asked.
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I normally go along with the kind of stuff everyone else likes. I don’t tend to bother with having the radio or what have you on in the house, or if I’m driving somewhere on my own.’
So his guess had been right. ‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘I can introduce you to the stuff I like. Though I should warn you it’s classical, rather than pop or rock.’
‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to appreciate it that well,’ she said, ‘but thanks for the offer.’
Of course. She’d said that she had a problem with high-frequency sounds; she might have a problem at the lower end of the scale, too.
‘So shall I start with the films?’ she asked. ‘Any particular order?’
‘Just however you can fit them into the boxes,’ he said. ‘I’ll start on the books.’
‘So did you ever think about becoming a professional musician?’ she asked.
‘Sort of. I almost studied music instead of medicine. It was a pretty hard choice to make.’
‘What made you pick medicine in the end?’
‘I wanted to make people better,’ he said simply. ‘Though my music teacher was pretty upset with me.’
‘You have to follow your heart. And you can still play for pleasure.’
‘That’s what I said to her. And paediatrics is really rewarding.’ He shrugged. ‘So I know I made the right choice.’
It didn’t take long to finish packing Rhys’s books and films. He refused to let Katrina carry anything heavier than the briefcase containing his laptop, so he packed the boxes and cases into both cars while she finished putting his kitchen things into a box.
And one thing she’d really noticed about his flat was the lack of personal things. Sure, he had books and films, but there was nothing to give a clue to Rhys the man. There hadn’t been a single photograph on his shelves or mantelpiece. No postcards held on to the fridge with magnets. Nothing personal at all.
She knew he was an only child and his parents had split up when he’d been young, but she’d expected to see a picture of at least one of his parents in a frame, like she had on her own mantelpiece. Or maybe a shot of a much-loved family pet. Or even one of Rhys as a student, in the middle of a group of friends.
He’d warned her that he kept people at a distance. He had said that he’d given his piano away to a colleague and friend, she remembered. So he was obviously able to connect with people.
Nevertheless, she’d never met anyone quite so self-contained as Rhys Morgan, and she had the distinct impression that she would barely know she had anyone staying in her home while he was there. Which, in a way, would be a good thing—it removed temptation. Part of her thought it was a seriously bad idea, offering Rhys a place to stay when she knew how hard they were both fighting their mutual attraction, though how could she possibly have left him to sleep in his office when she had a spare room?
Luckily there were two parking spaces just outside her house, so they were able to transfer the boxes quickly without having to carry them halfway down the street. Again, Rhys refused to let Katrina lift anything heavy, so she busied herself sorting out a visitor’s parking permit for him.
