Page 108 of Savage Redemption

CHAPTER 28

Black Combe

Rosie

“This is for you. It was mixed up with mine.” Eva glances again at the white envelope in her hand. “Foreign postmark. Austria.” She hands me the envelope but makes no move to leave. “Who do you know in Austria?” she asks.

“No one. It’s probably just a circular.” I stuff the envelope, unopened, into the back pocket of my jeans. “Have you seen Adan this morning?”

“I haven’t seen as much of him as you have, I daresay, given that he sleeps with you.”

I shudder. My dad is due back today, and he’ll go spare when he realises what the sleeping arrangements are. Eva’s been pretty laid-back, but he’s going to have plenty to say. I can’t really blame him.

I steel myself for the coming confrontation. I’m twenty years old, for Christ’s sake, I can fuck who I like.

‘Not under my roof’I can hear him now, and I guess that means finding another roof, not such a challenge given that Adan isn’t exactly hard up and we could go anywhere. But I wish it could be different…

“So, open your letter,” Eva prompts me. She hasn’t bought the ‘circular’ crap at all. I don’t blame her, she’s one astute lady.

“Like I said, it’s probably nothing. I’ll get to it later, but right now I need to change Erin’s nappy.”

“I’ll do that. You open your letter.”

“There’s no need?—”

“Rosie, open the damn thing.” She grabs the pack of clean nappies from the couch and a few wipes. “It’s from the Vienna Philharmonic, isn’t it?”

“What? No! Why would you think that?”

“The envelope has their logo on it,” she replies, deftly dealing with wriggling toddler and bagging up the dirty nappy at the same time.Is there nothing she can’t do with aplomb?“So, go on. Why is one of the most prestigious orchestras in Europe, if not the world, writing to you?”

“Like I say, a circular…”

“They don’t send circulars. Why would they? Just open the damn thing.”

Thoroughly cornered, I know when I’m beaten. I retrieve the now crumpled envelope and rip it across the top.

“Well?” she demands, once I’ve scanned the page.

“It’s nothing…”

“Christ, girl. Give it here.”

“It’s private,” I protest.

One delicately arched eyebrow puts a stop to the nonsense. Admitting defeat again, I hand the sheet to her.

Eva skims the first few lines, then lets out a whoop. “Bloody hell, Rosie. They’re offering you a contract. A year, in their string section. How did you…?”

I busy myself disposing of the dirty nappy. “I auditioned online at first,” I mumble, “then they invited me to do a follow-up in Manchester. At the Opera House.”

“When was all this?”

“The online stuff? Just before we left Caraksay. The Manchester audition was last week.”

“You told me you were shopping. Sly, much?”

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t want any fuss.”

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