Chapter 2
It was five o’clock and the Christmas lights were on, illuminating the busy shopping street below, whilst flakes of snow tumbled from an ink-black sky. Through the third-floor window of Georgian building, Conor McCauley gazed down at Bath’s bustling shoppers, took in the festive atmosphere and listened to the distant sound of Mariah Carey singing about all she wanted for Christmas. Closer to hand, he could also hear the strains of a violin being played. The music was familiar and hauntingly melodic, and he pushed open the heavy sash window in order to be able to hear it more clearly.
There was the violinist, tall and long-haired, standing in the centre of the street that had been closed to traffic for the evening. As he played, the folds of his full-length Sirius Black style coat swayed around his thin denim-clad legs. There was a hat on the ground in front of him, containing a handful of coins. Few people were stopping to listen – they were too busy and too cold – but he carried on anyway, his bow darting and dipping as he played, lost in the beauty of the music . . .
The next moment Conor did a double-take, because the violinist was no longer alone. A girl had appeared from nowhere and launched into a series of ballet steps that caused his breath to catch in his throat. She was wearing a white bobble hat, a Puffa jacket and jeans, and a long knitted scarf that swung out as she spun and danced and leapt like a gazelle into the air. Her feet were enclosed in plain white trainers but that didn’t hold her back. He glimpsed the girl’s broad smile as she raised her arms, freestyled elegantly once more around the violinist like a will-o’-the-wisp, then executed a graceful leap into the air followed by a stunningly beautiful series of pirouettes.
Within two minutes, it was over. Despite the falling snow, a group of around thirty people had stopped to watch. They broke into enthusiastic applause and threw money into the violinist’s hat. Aware of the pound coins in his own jeans pocket, Conor was tempted to throw them down too, but maybe not; if he hit someone on the head he might kill them stone dead.
Which wouldn’t be a good look.
As he continued to watch, entranced by the unexpectedness and the charm of the impromptu scenario, the girl in the white bobble hat briefly waved her gloved fingers at the violinist before retrieving the bag of shopping she’d left at the kerbside and melting away into the crowd of Christmas shoppers, who’d been oblivious to the display.
For a moment all Conor wanted to do was race downstairs and chase after the disappearing girl. He longed to tell her how delightful her brief performance had been, and to find out who she was and what had made her do it. If this were one of those romantic films girls were often so crazy about, it would be a matter of love at first sight; their snowy chance encounter in the street would change their lives forever and lead to—
The door behind him opened and a middle-aged woman carrying a camera and a mince pie appeared in the room.
‘Sorry to keep you, dear – Arthur couldn’t remember where he’d put it! His memory’s not what it used to be, bless him. Still, at least he still knows how to repair broken cameras. There you go, all fixed now. And he says you must have a mince pie to make up for having to wait so long.’
By the time Conor had paid and left the tiny workshop on the third floor of the building, the girl in the white bobble hat was long gone, and the long-haired violinist had departed too. Even the snow had stopped falling.
It was like Brigadoon, as if the entire magical scenario he’d witnessed had never existed.
Unaccountably disappointed, Conor did the only thing he could do and took a consolatory bite of his mince pie.
Oh well.