An Irresistible Temptation by Sydney Jane Baily Page B

by a
cobblestoned walkway. Sophie had jumped at the invitation when
Carling had come knocking at her door the day before. Another day
had passed and she was unsure how to continue in her job
pursuit.
    Carling was more interested in other aspects
of Sophie’s life.
    “Still,” she said, with a jaunty wave of her
hand, “you did good to get away as you did. No harm, so to speak.
Not used and sent packing.”
    Sophie agreed, though at the time, she hadn’t
felt used by Riley; rather she had been a willing and equal
participant. But Carling was right that she’d had to get away. The
path they were on was clear to Sophie. And being someone’s mistress
was not exactly her heart’s dream.
    “I’ll go mad,” Sophie said, “if I can’t touch
a piano soon.”
    Carling, who had been working at The Palace
for two years, seemed to know everyone and everything that went on
in the heart of the city, but she was in no way connected to the
classical music enthusiasts.
    “Hey,” she said, thumping her forehead with
her palm. “Have you tried The Grand?”
    Sophie furrowed her brow, “A grand
piano?”
    “No, silly. The Grand Hotel. You know, the
gingerbread structure, next door to The Palace.”
    “I saw it,” Sophie said. “But what would I do
there?”
    “They’ve got a lovely bar. My fellow—well,
when he was my fellow, before he caught sight of my
landlady’s daughter, that cheating cur,” she paused, rolling her
eyes. “Anyway, he took me there once. They’ve got a lovely piano
and all. I know it’s not the opera house, but you could at least
play and maybe they’d pay you. Just get on with it.”
    Sophie tapped her chin. It was worth a try.
The next day, she wandered into The Grand Hotel, which sat on the
corner, like a squat, showy, even gaudy aunt compared to The Palace
next door.
    At ten in the morning, the bar was empty. It
was also quite lovely, Sophie thought, even more so when she espied
the piano, which, as luck would have it, was a beautifully carved,
square grand, in the dark corner of the room. She was drawn to it
like a moth to the flame. Without asking, she sat on the stool.
Taking a deep breath, she started to play, and it was like sinking
into a comforting, warm bath. The sounds were rich and full and
true—someone had tuned it recently, it seemed. And then she let
herself drift into the music with no other thoughts at all.
    “Hey there!”
    She jumped, brought out of her Chopin reverie
by a loud but friendly voice. However, she didn’t get up—she
couldn’t bear to take her fingers from the keys. She looked at the
man who appeared at her side, wearing a sharp-looking suit.
    “Well, don’t stop,” he said, leaning on the
piano. “Obviously, you know what you’re doing.”
    Sophie nodded. Yes, at least here, with
these 85 keys, she did .
    “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
    “That’s all right. Stay as long as you like,
until eleven that is,” he winked at her. “Then this place’ll start
to fill up. Say, what’s your name?”
    “Miss Malloy. Sophie Malloy.”
    He leaned closer and she could tell
immediately that he was interested in her person. That was nothing
new. And her feeling nothing in return, that wasn’t new either.
    “I’m Freddie Vern. I manage the bar and the
dining room.”
    She smiled. She was sure that was an
important job, particularly by the way he said it with pride.
    “How wonderful for you,” Sophie said. He
seemed pleased with that response. Should she ask him if he wanted
a pianist? She knew what Carling would say. Get on with it. So she did.
    “Your piano looks a little dusty.”
    He nodded. “We haven’t had a player for a
while. And I’m not certain it matters, profit-wise.”
    “Maybe you didn’t have the right . . .
player.” She preferred the word pianist but she could
certainly adapt.
    “Come to think of it, the last one was ugly,
short, and bald. And played like he was using his feet. Didn’t
exactly draw a crowd.” Now his