Page 118 of Duplicity

‘I asked him to invite you up to sing with him later,’ Brendan explains in a kindly voice, like I’m a dim-witted toddler.

I. Am. Mortified.

‘No you didn’t. You did not.’

‘He did,’ Santiago tells me cheerfully. ‘He said you’re amazing. And classically trained. You trained at King’s College, correct?’

‘Yes, but—’ I have to make him understand. ‘I’m out of practice, Santiago. I haven’t performed for years, and even then, only as a student. I?—’

Santiago cuts me off smoothly. ‘Call me Santi. I thought we could singSummertimetogether. Everyone likes a bit of Gershwin on a warm evening, even if we are stuck indoors. Don’t worry, we’re going to rehearse it right now.’ He gestures at the piano.

If I were a multi-platinum-selling artist and my mate was suggesting I bring some random woman on stage to sing with me, I’d be freaking out. But not Santiago.Santi.

Oh my God, what is this rabbit hole I’ve fallen down?

Brendan doesn’t stop grinning as Santi leads me over to the upright piano and opens aPorgy and Besssheet music book.

‘Let’s have you sing the soprano part like normal first time around and I’ll just fit in around you,’ he explains, as though there’s anything normal about this situation. ‘Second time, feel free to ad lib. This one is just thebestfor playing around with—especially those second and third verses where you can really sock it to ‘em.’

He’s so casually, easily charming. The star quality positively shines out of him. I’m sure he’s used to people doing everything he tells them to do.

‘Okay,’ I manage, shooting Brendan a lastsave meglance, but he just grins at me and squeezes my arm.

‘Break a leg.’

I roll my eyes at him and stand behind Santi, looking over the sheet music.

He begins to play, and the part of me not currently shitting herself thrills at being in a room withtheSantiago Vale as he plays the piano.

‘We’ve got a nice little jazz sextet tonight,’ he tells me, his fingers flying over the keys, ‘but I’ll lead us in for now.’

I’ve already made the split-second decision to give this one a very languid, jazzy arrangement. I’ve seen it sung in operatic style, but that’s not right for a jazz club with as devastating a performer as Santi. I’d rather give it a sexy, sultry delivery that speaks of that lazy drift of a summer’s day.

When I open my mouth, to my surprise, that’s exactly what pours out, the very first word setting the scene for what’s to come. Santi joins me, and we find our rhythm. It’s a short song, the third verse a repetition of the second verse (a fact that makes it far easier for me to remember the lyrics). What’s incredible is how evocative it is from that very first note.

I have anoh holy crapmoment when I realise thatI am singing with Santiago Vale.His voice is low and rich and decadent and just so fucking gorgeous, and it would be an absolute crime not to embrace this moment. I decide to ditch the idea of sticking to the notes on the first round, and I really go for it on verse two. When I do, Brendan lets out a positively orgasmic groan, and Santi shakes his head in adamn, girlway as his magical voice and fingers do their thing.

I let rip at the end. I may be out of practice. I may be a rusty amateur at best, but I can tell when two performers make magic together.

And we just did.

Santi laughs aloud. ‘Fucking brilliant! That was immense! You could hear that, right? We were good.’

I can’t stop smiling. ‘Yeah. We were.’

‘Your voice is fantastic. Rich and so fucking sexy. Where the hell have you been keeping this one hidden, Sullivan?’

‘Locked up in my office,’ Brendan says, ‘which is fucking criminal.’ He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he says it.

‘Amen to that,’ Santi says. ‘Okay, one more time, from the top.’

We’re sitting at our table, and I’m clutching my champagne coupe like it’s a life raft. I’m trying really hard to enjoy Santi’s incredible set from this excellent position right in front of the stage, but the nerves are real. I’m glad we’re doing drinks and not dinner. I’d never be able to get anything down.

Then Santi’s talking and winking right at me. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. I have a special treat for you tonight. To sing Gershwin’sSummertimewith me, please welcome to the stage Ms Marlowe Winters!’

Oh fuckity fuck. I give Brendan a panicked glance, and he grins back. ‘You’ll kill it. Go show everyone you were born to be a star.’

That’s ridiculous, but I can’t keep Santi waiting. I rise and walk as elegantly as I can to the low stage. A roadie helps me up the steps, and then I’m joining Santi onstage and taking my seat on a bar stool next to his. He flashes me a warm grin as the audience applauds me and the same roadie hands me a mic.

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