Chapter 27: Lana

I have no idea how long the ovation lasted. Long enough for my hand to start to sting from clapping. At first, the orchestra remained seated as Dmitri turned to face the audience and accept our applause, but then, one by one, he signalled for the various soloists, starting with the harpist, the wind and brass soloists and finally the cellist and Olivia Chen, to get to their feet and accept their own ovation. Then he indicated the rest of the Orchestra to rise.

Eventually, the orchestra retook their seats and began putting away their instruments and collecting their sheet music, ready to leave the stage. The applause died away, and all around me, people began to file out of the auditorium.

But not me. We were in the middle of the row, with doors on either side of the room, so we weren’t stopping anyone from getting out when I simply stood, staring at the stage.

I took a deep breath and wiped the tear streaks from my cheeks with the back of my hand. I felt Lana’s hand on my arm and turned to face her. She smiled again—she’d been smiling at me all evening, right from when I picked her up—and held out a handkerchief. I smiled back and took it from her, then used it to wipe my face.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” I said as I dried my eyes.

She didn’t answer.

I wanted to kiss her. I so desperately wanted to kiss her. I wanted to tell her I understood now, that I’d worked it all out and that I loved her.

But I couldn’t. Not then. Not there. Completely the wrong time and place. She’d assume I was still high from the concert, and I suppose I was, but I didn’t want her to think what I was feeling wasn’t genuine, because it was.

So I’d wait. I’d tell her later. It was still early, maybe we could go for a walk along the seafront. A nice romantic walk would be the right place to tell her. Or perhaps I should wait until tomorrow.

No, I needed to tell her tonight. I know I’d promised I’d tell Carly when I’d figured it out, but—

Lana suddenly reached up to put her hands on my face, then pulled me towards her. Then her lips were pressed against mine in a firm, unyielding kiss.

Her eyes were closed. I knew because mine were wide. But then I put my hands on her face, closed my eyes and surrendered.

I felt her moan into the kiss.

But then she dropped her hands from my face and pulled away from me sharply.

“I’m sorry,” she said, as I stared at her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

Then she turned and practically sprinted from the auditorium.

I didn’t react immediately, neither to the kiss nor Lana’s sudden departure. I might have blinked, but that’s about it.

Once my brain had finally re-engaged, I realised that she’d left both her coat and her programme on her seat, so I picked up both and went after her. She was wearing heels, so she couldn’t exactly run fast, but she had quite a head start, and she was halfway down the stairs when I got to the top of them.

“Lana,” I called. “Lana, wait.”

She didn’t stop. She didn’t even look around. I hurried down the stairs, but she was all the way to the bottom by the time I caught up with her. I reached out to touch her arm.

“Lana.”

She finally stopped and turned to face me. She was breathing as if she’d just run a marathon—and I don’t think it was from the way she rushed down the stairs. There were tears in her eyes that she was fighting back. If she blinked, it would break the dam.

“Lana? What—”

“Not here,” she said. “I can’t do this here.”

I nodded. “The seafront is a five or ten-minute walk. The café at the end of West Pier should still be open.”

She nodded.

I held out the handkerchief she’d given me. She smiled and took it, then dabbed the tears from her eyes. Then I held her coat open so she could turn around and slip her arms into it. Once it was on, she turned around again and said, quietly, “Thank you.”

I nodded. Then I held my hand out, looked her in the eye and raised an eyebrow.

She held my gaze for just a second before smiling and taking my hand. Then, hand in hand, we left Symphony Hall, walked out of the main entrance to the Winter Gardens into the cool March night, and headed for the seafront.

The early spring evening was cool, but not cold. Lana had been right to bring a coat, given her dress was sleeveless, but in my suit, I certainly didn’t need one. The clocks went forward in just a few hours—the ‘official’ start of spring I suppose—and it felt like there was a warm spell on the way. Overhead, seagulls circled, their calls the most prominent natural sound of the night, just barely audible over the rumble of late-night traffic and the noise coming from the pubs we passed.

The walk took us past the end of High Street, cutting through St. Matthew’s churchyard, which was the quickest route.

Neither of us had said a word since we stepped outside, although Lana had squeezed my hand a few times—squeezes I’d returned. But as we walked along the side of the church, she said, very quietly, “I’m sorry.”

I looked at her. “I told you during the interval, you don’t ever need to apologise to me. For anything. And certainly not for being you.”

She stared at me with big, wide eyes. “Not even when I’ve done something wrong?”

I stopped walking, and because we were still holding hands, she stopped to. I turned to face her fully, and she mirrored me.

“What, exactly, do you think you’ve done wrong? What are you apologising for?”

She did that thing again where she looked into one of my eyes, then the other. It was a few seconds before she replied.

She took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I ruined the evening.” She looked like she might start crying again. “It’s been such a perfect night. Perfect. And I ruined it. I rushed and ruined it. She told me to wait. She told me not to rush you, but ... I got impatient. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to kiss you? How long I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me? I got impatient. I got tired of waiting and—”