didn’t look so lonely.
When their train sped up to the platform and stopped, a recorded male voice boomed, “Mind the gap, mind the gap,” meaning the space between the train and platform, and the four of them scrambled on after the rush of departing passengers cleared away.
They settled into their seats as the train pulled away from the platform. A refined, velvety female voice took over the announcement chores and Anthony closed his eyes, sighing at the way she said, “Sloane Square.” Cal shook his head at him and made gagging noises.
But their goofiness wasn’t annoying her so much now. Friends could have fun together being silly, she told herself. Maybe she was about to make a friend she could kid around and laugh with.
They arrived at the Havards’ home, a beautiful white stone townhouse four stories tall, graced by iron window boxes brimming with colorful flowers. Mrs. Wescott rang the doorbell, which they could hear chiming inside, accompanied by the barking of a dog.
The door swung open, and a plump woman with a friendly, open face and the frizziest hair Liv had ever seen, beamed as she said, “There you are! Come in, come in!” She stood aside as they entered a large foyer with a stone floor. “Ah, the Wescotts. Lovely!” She pumped Mrs. Wescott’s hand. “I’m Tatiana. Delighted to meet you.” She turned to Liv. “And this must be our musician—Liv, is it?” Liv nodded and let her hand be engulfed in Mrs. Havard’s. The woman’s regionless British accent reminded Liv of a television special, where the Queen had greeted guest after guest in refined, well-modulated tones.
As Mrs. Wescott introduced the boys, a small white dog with a very business-like air came forward, sat down in front of Mrs. Wescott, and raised his paw to be shaken.
Mrs. Havard explained, “Baxter’s our official greeter. He’s a Westie—a West Highland White Terrier. We bought him as a watchdog, but he seems to think he’s an ambassador.” Baxter wagged his tail furiously and licked each visitor in turn.
“It doesn’t matter,” she continued. “McGinty’s taken over that part of the job.” She paused and looked around. “I don’t see him any—”
She was interrupted by the sound of beating wings and a blur of green, as a very large macaw swooped down from the top of the staircase, squawking in Liv’s ear before it came to land on Anthony’s shoulder. “Cool!” he and Cal said together.
The boys might think McGinty was great, but Liv felt she could take him or leave him. While she wondered if he could sense it, the bird flew uninvited from Anthony’s shoulder to her head. Mrs. Havard tut-tutted, doing nothing about it at first.
“McGinty has a perch in every room, but he prefers human heads, though he knows better than to try that on us. Visitors, I’m afraid, are fair game.”
It didn’t seem fair at all to Liv, and she wondered if McGinty had mites. Mrs. Havard frowned at the bird, but he didn’t budge—just waited stubbornly for his mistress to come get him. Finally, she picked him up and put him on her own shoulder. Liv wondered if McGinty would think he owed her one now and try to pay her back on her next visit.
No daughter had come out with Mrs. Havard, and Liv felt let down. But as they began to climb the limestone staircase, she heard the sound of a piano. Maybe the girl was practicing. Her new friend.
They wound their way up, and the noise grew louder. Someone was torturing a piano, pounding on the keys with plenty of wrong notes and no attempt to slow down or correct them.
Mrs. Havard never lost her serene expression as she escorted them down a hall that ran the length of the house and bypassed the rooms: a reception room, where the noise was coming from, a large dining room with a giant table piled with stacks of music, and a kitchen, where she stopped and motioned to them. “Here we are. Come right in, everyone.”
She pointed to another enormous table and kept walking,
When their train sped up to the platform and stopped, a recorded male voice boomed, “Mind the gap, mind the gap,” meaning the space between the train and platform, and the four of them scrambled on after the rush of departing passengers cleared away.
They settled into their seats as the train pulled away from the platform. A refined, velvety female voice took over the announcement chores and Anthony closed his eyes, sighing at the way she said, “Sloane Square.” Cal shook his head at him and made gagging noises.
But their goofiness wasn’t annoying her so much now. Friends could have fun together being silly, she told herself. Maybe she was about to make a friend she could kid around and laugh with.
They arrived at the Havards’ home, a beautiful white stone townhouse four stories tall, graced by iron window boxes brimming with colorful flowers. Mrs. Wescott rang the doorbell, which they could hear chiming inside, accompanied by the barking of a dog.
The door swung open, and a plump woman with a friendly, open face and the frizziest hair Liv had ever seen, beamed as she said, “There you are! Come in, come in!” She stood aside as they entered a large foyer with a stone floor. “Ah, the Wescotts. Lovely!” She pumped Mrs. Wescott’s hand. “I’m Tatiana. Delighted to meet you.” She turned to Liv. “And this must be our musician—Liv, is it?” Liv nodded and let her hand be engulfed in Mrs. Havard’s. The woman’s regionless British accent reminded Liv of a television special, where the Queen had greeted guest after guest in refined, well-modulated tones.
As Mrs. Wescott introduced the boys, a small white dog with a very business-like air came forward, sat down in front of Mrs. Wescott, and raised his paw to be shaken.
Mrs. Havard explained, “Baxter’s our official greeter. He’s a Westie—a West Highland White Terrier. We bought him as a watchdog, but he seems to think he’s an ambassador.” Baxter wagged his tail furiously and licked each visitor in turn.
“It doesn’t matter,” she continued. “McGinty’s taken over that part of the job.” She paused and looked around. “I don’t see him any—”
She was interrupted by the sound of beating wings and a blur of green, as a very large macaw swooped down from the top of the staircase, squawking in Liv’s ear before it came to land on Anthony’s shoulder. “Cool!” he and Cal said together.
The boys might think McGinty was great, but Liv felt she could take him or leave him. While she wondered if he could sense it, the bird flew uninvited from Anthony’s shoulder to her head. Mrs. Havard tut-tutted, doing nothing about it at first.
“McGinty has a perch in every room, but he prefers human heads, though he knows better than to try that on us. Visitors, I’m afraid, are fair game.”
It didn’t seem fair at all to Liv, and she wondered if McGinty had mites. Mrs. Havard frowned at the bird, but he didn’t budge—just waited stubbornly for his mistress to come get him. Finally, she picked him up and put him on her own shoulder. Liv wondered if McGinty would think he owed her one now and try to pay her back on her next visit.
No daughter had come out with Mrs. Havard, and Liv felt let down. But as they began to climb the limestone staircase, she heard the sound of a piano. Maybe the girl was practicing. Her new friend.
They wound their way up, and the noise grew louder. Someone was torturing a piano, pounding on the keys with plenty of wrong notes and no attempt to slow down or correct them.
Mrs. Havard never lost her serene expression as she escorted them down a hall that ran the length of the house and bypassed the rooms: a reception room, where the noise was coming from, a large dining room with a giant table piled with stacks of music, and a kitchen, where she stopped and motioned to them. “Here we are. Come right in, everyone.”
She pointed to another enormous table and kept walking,
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