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  “I’ll have the asparagus, and Dover sole,” said Priya.

  “And I’ll have the duck pâté, and a lamb chop,” said Seb, “and I’d like to order a bottle of wine.”

  “I don’t drink,” said Priya.

  “I’m sorry. What would you like?”

  “Water will be fine, thank you. But don’t let me stop you.”

  Seb checked the wine list. “I’ll have a glass of Merlot,” he said.

  “As a banker,” said Priya, “you’d approve of how well this place is run. Most of the courses are simple and easy to prepare, so when you return to your table at the end of each act, they can serve you quickly.”

  “I can see why you’re an analyst.”

  “And you head up the property division of Farthings, which must be quite a responsibility for someone—”

  “—of my age? As you well know, banking is a young man’s game. Most of my colleagues are burnt out by forty.”

  “Some at thirty.”

  “And it still can’t be easy for a woman to make headway in the City.”

  “One or two of the banks are slowly coming around to accepting that it’s just possible a woman might be as bright as a man. However, most of the older establishments are still living in the dark ages. Which school you went to, or who your father is, often outranks ability or qualifications. Hambros is less Neanderthal than most, but they still don’t have a woman on the board, which is also true of every other major bank in the City, including Farthings.”

  Three bells rang.

  “Does that mean the players are about to come out onto the pitch?”

  “As you’re a regular theatregoer, you’ll know that’s the three-minute bell.”

  Seb followed her out of the restaurant and into the auditorium as she seemed to know exactly where she was going. He wasn’t surprised when they were shown to the best seats in the house.

  From the moment the curtain rose and the little swans fluttered out onto the stage, Seb was transported into another world. He was captivated by the dancers’ skills and artistry, and just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, the prima ballerina made her entrance, and he knew he would be returning again and again. When the curtain fell at the end of the second act and the applause had died down, Priya led him back to the restaurant.

  “Well, what do you think?” she asked as they sat down.

  “I was spellbound,” he said, looking directly at her. “And I enjoyed Margot Fonteyn’s performance as well.”

  Priya laughed. “My father first took me to the ballet when I was seven years old. Like all little girls, I left the theatre wanting to be one of the four cygnets, and it’s been an unbroken love affair ever since.”

  “I had the same feeling when my father first took me to Stratford to see Paul Robeson in Othello,” Seb said as a lamb chop was placed in front of him.

  “How fortunate you are.” Seb looked puzzled. “You’ll now be able to see all the great ballets for the first time. Mind you, starting with Fonteyn won’t make it easy for those who follow her.”

  “My father once told me,” said Seb, “that he wished he’d never read a word of Shakespeare until he was thirty. Then he could have seen all thirty-seven plays without knowing the endings. I now realize exactly what he meant.”

  “I just don’t get to the theatre enough.”

  “I did invite you to The Merchant of Venice, but—”

  “I had something on that night. But I can now get out of it, so I’d love to go with you. Assuming you haven’t offered the ticket to someone else.”

  “I’m sorry, but two of my friends were desperate to see Olivier, so…”

  “I understand,” said Priya.

  “But I turned them down.”

  “Why?”

  “They both have hairy legs.”

  Priya burst out laughing.

  “I know you—”

  “Where do you—”

  “No, you first,” said Priya.

  “I just have so many questions I want to ask you.”

  “Me too.”

  “I know you went to St. Paul’s and then Girton, but why banking?”

  “I’ve always been fascinated by figures and the patterns they create, especially when you have to explain their significance to men, who so often are only interested in a short-term gain.”

  “Like me, perhaps?”

  “I hope not, Seb.”

  It could have been Samantha speaking. He wouldn’t make the same mistake a second time. “How long have you been with Hambros?”

  “Just over three years.”

  “So you must be thinking about your next move?”

  “So like a man,” said Priya. “No, I’m very happy where I am, although I do get depressed when inadequate men are promoted to positions above their actual ability. I wish banking was like the ballet. If it was, Margot Fonteyn would be governor of the Bank of England.”

  “I don’t think Sir Leslie O’Brien would make a very good black swan,” said Seb as the three-minute bell rang. He quickly drained his glass of wine.

  Priya was right, because Seb couldn’t take his eyes off the black swan, who mesmerized the entire audience with her brilliance, and when the curtain fell at the end of act three, he was desperate to find out what would happen in the final act.

  “Don’t tell me, don’t tell me,” he said as they returned to their table.

  “I won’t,” said Priya. “But savor the moment, because sadly you can only have this unique experience once.”

  “Perhaps you’ll have the same experience when I take you to The Merchant of Venice.”

  “How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!

  Here will we sit and let the sounds of music

  Creep in our ears. Soft stillness and the night

  Become the touches of sweet harmony.

  Sit, Jessica, look how—”

  Sebastian bowed his head.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Priya. “What did I say?”

  “Nothing, nothing. You just reminded me of something.”

  “Or someone?”

  Seb was rescued by the P.A. “Ladies and gentlemen, would you please take your seats, the final act is about to begin.”

  The final act was so moving, and Fonteyn so captivating, that when Seb turned to see if it was having the same effect on Priya, he thought he saw a tear trickling down her cheek. He took her hand.

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m making a fool of myself.”

  “That wouldn’t be possible.”

  When the curtain finally fell, Seb joined in the ten-minute standing ovation, and Margot Fonteyn received so many curtain calls and bouquets she could have opened a flower shop. As they left the auditorium, he took Priya’s hand as they strolled back to the restaurant, but she seemed nervous and didn’t speak. Once coffee had been served, Priya said, “Thank you for a wonderful evening. Being with you was like seeing Swan Lake for the first time. I haven’t enjoyed a performance so much in a long time.” She hesitated.

  “But something is worrying you.”

  “I’m a Hindu.”

  Seb burst out laughing. “And I’m a Somerset yokel, but it’s never worried me.”

  She didn’t laugh. “I don’t think I can come to the theatre with you, Seb.”

  “But why not?”

  “I’m frightened of what might happen if we see each other again.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I told you my father had to return to India.”

  “Yes, I assumed on business.”

  “Of a kind. My mother has spent the past few months selecting the man I will be expected to marry, and I think she’s made her final choice.”

  “No,” said Seb, “that can’t be possible.”

  “All that’s needed now is my father’s approval.”

  “You have no choice, no say in the matter?”

  “None. You have to understand, Seb, it’s part of our tradition, our heritage and ou