The Deal Read Online Free

Lisbeth was a redhead but she dyed her hair raven black.”
    “What’s all this about, Alex? It’s you who’s obsessed with this sodding woman.”
    “Ever since you read the book you’ve imagined you were her.” A hand rested on her knee. “When you read that she had imagination...”
    “No. That was Dragan Armansky, her boss at Milton Security. He thought that she had...”
    “Got it, Sara? You know that book word for...”
    “Piss off, Alex. She was anorexic.”
    “No she wasn’t. She was just thin.”
    “And flat chested.”
    Alex laughed. “Thank God there’s one difference between you.” A hand disappeared inside Sara’s shirt, and she groaned softly in anticipation of the pleasures which would come later.
    The next morning, when Charlie Stanford arrived for work at Portcullis House, he found a brief letter from Sara on his desk.
    Oliver had parked his car in the basement and switched off his radio after listening to Jane Jones on Classic FM presenting uninterrupted classical performances. He nodded to the caretaker as he caught the lift to the fourth floor of his Clerkenwell flat. He was tired after his evening workout in the gym. He threw his jacket onto the table, poured himself a drink and put on the CD he had bought earlier in the day at the HMV shop in Moorgate. He was determined to track down the piece of music he had heard on his car radio four weeks ago and then again in The Westbury the previous evening. He was able to repeat the theme and decided his best option was to try to identify the composer. He’d telephoned his brother-in-law, who was in his chambers at Gray’s Inn in Holborn.
    “Edward,” he asked. “Who’s the most famous Russian composer of piano music?”
    “Rachmaninov,” he’d replied.
    He now had a choice of four piano concertos. For no particular reason, he selected No.3 in D minor, op.30. Sergei Rachmaninov had written this masterpiece during a stay at Ivanovka, his family’s estate near Moscow, in October 1909. He then crossed the Atlantic and premiered the concerto on 28 November at the New Theatre, New York. Initially its great length, over forty-five minutes’ playing time, caused some critical reservations, but eventually the brilliant first movement (‘allegro ma non tanto’), with its colour and emotion and its climax in the cadenza, paved the way for its eventual acclaim.
    Oliver closed his eyes as the pianist began to play. It wasn’t the style of music for which he was searching, but slowly he became immersed in its lyrical and flowing melodies. He raised his feet and laid them on the arm of his sofa.
    Vladimir Ashkenazy and the London Symphony Orchestra, conducted by André Previn, led Oliver into the second movement (‘intermezzo adagio’) and finally to the ‘Finale (alla breve)’. However, by this time, Oliver’s mind was wandering to a different place.
    He was recalling her physical shape. He hadn’t seen the flesh of her thighs but his imagination was vivid. He retraced her calf muscles and the tanned skin of her lower body… the silky smooth legs. He was becoming aroused.
    Amanda was sipping wine in her flat on Elm Tree Road on the north side, overlooking Lord’s cricket ground. She was twenty-eight years old and reflecting on her decision to reject the chance of a longer term relationship with Zach. During her time at Oxford she’d had a few relatively serious boyfriends as a result of her production work for a theatre group. However, Zach was the closest she’d come to a life partner. She was reading a letter he’d sent her – it was composed with Zach’s typical tact and sensitivity.
    He analysed her decision with some empathy and discussed why she’d questioned their relationship. He suggested that life wasn’t always perfect and all choices had some form of defect ingrained in them. He wrote that there was no ideal relationship but he felt they were capable of building a good one.
    She knew he was right. But she concentrated