“Sonata in C major, by Mozart,” Paul said. “It was the composer’s first mature violin-piano sonata.”

When the piece was over, Walker turned to Jayne and asked for one more. “These instruments are really something.”

Jayne led them over to the lovely grand piano in the corner. “This is my favorite. The owners of the piano would hire a popular virtuoso to come to their home to give a little concert. The piano recorded it on a punch roll and the owners kept it to play whenever they wanted. I guess you could say that it’s the great-grandpappy of the tape recorder.”

Walker examined the piano carefully. “I see how it works. Hey, Jayne! There’s a shipping label on the side telling the movers to deliver it to your studio.”

Jayne’s mouth dropped open. “My studio? But why?”

“There’s something written on the roll.” Ellen peered down at it. “It says, Listen to this, Jayne.”

Jayne switched on the piano, which began to play a one-fingered melody. She looked at Paul and frowned. “What is it?”

Paul listened for a moment and then he shook his head. “I have never heard it before. Perhaps it is an original written by Johnny.”

“It’s not very good,” Ellen pointed out, making a face. “If that’s the best Johnny could do, I’m glad he hired you to write his songs.”

Jayne switched off the piano and ran her fingers over its glossy surface, an amazed smile on her face. “I just can’t believe a gift like this. It’s incredible!”

Walker knelt to look under the piano. “It’s on a dolly. I think we can move it by ourselves if we get a little help. What do you say, Jayne? Shall we wheel it up to your studio right now?”

“Let’s wait until tomorrow. It’ll be easier in the daylight. This is so exciting!”

Paul glanced at this watch. “We had better begin the packing. The others will be finished before we have started.”

Jayne shrugged. Paul was right; she knew they had to get to work, but it was so damn typical of him to remind her. There were times when she liked to play hooky from her obligations. She knew she’d have to make up the time by working harder, but it was worth it. It was a basic difference in their personalities. Jayne sighed as she walked over to a standard player piano and looked through the box for a suitable roll. “Why don’t you two start boxing the stuff in Johnny’s practice room? And I’ll put on the ‘Maple Leaf Rag’ to work by.”

“Great.” Walker nodded and headed for the alcove in time to Joplin’s bouncy tune. “Come on, Ellen, let’s go.”

As soon as they were alone, Paul turned to Jayne. “I will now take the cow by her horn. You are angry because I reminded you of the work to be done?”

“Take the bull by the horns,” Jayne corrected him. “And yes, I’m madder than a wet hen. We’ve got all week to do this packing and I was having such a good time showing off Johnny’s collection. You’ve got a problem, Paul. You never did learn how to kick back and have fun!”

“Norwegians are by nature a humorless people.” Paul looked very serious. “We eat lutefisk and enjoy it.”

Jayne stared at him for a moment and then doubled over in laughter. “You made a joke, Paul! I never heard you make a joke before!”

“Does this mean that you have forgiven me for suggesting the work?”

“I guess so.” Jayne blew the dust off an old metronome and put it in the box. “Why aren’t you packing, Paul? I thought you were so hot to work.”

Paul crossed the room and knelt down beside her. “Perhaps you have convinced me to boot back and have fun.”

“Kick back.” Jayne corrected him automatically. “And you don’t know how to have fun.”

Paul didn’t bother to reply. He just lifted her to her feet and whirled her around the room until the “Maple Leaf Rag” had finished with a crashing finale.

“Was that not fun, Jayne?” Paul’s voice was loud in the sudden silence.

Jayne laughed as she reached for another carton and opened it. “I take it all back. By the way, I need a rhyme for a song I’m writing. Can you help me out when we get home?”

“Of course.” Paul glanced over at her, but she was busy filling the carton. When we get home. Was that Jayne’s way of asking him to come back into her life? Or was it just a turn of phrase?

Ellen sighed as she took a stack of sheet music from the shelf and handed it to Walker. It was “Lonesome Hours,” one of Johnny’s early hits. Seeing Johnny’s familiar smile on the cover made her feel like crying. She’d been so sure he loved her. And she’d been so wrong.

“Do you want me to do this, Ellen?” Walker’s voice was gentle. “You could start on the stuff in the closet.”

“No.” Ellen picked up another stack of music and flipped it over so she didn’t have to look at Johnny’s picture. The closet would be even worse. Johnny kept his working clothes there, all the sequined shirts and satin tuxedos he’d worn for his performances. There would be the lingering scent of his expensive cologne and she’d have to fold them and pack them and try not to imagine how he’d looked when he’d sung her favorite songs.

Walker looked up at Ellen as he assembled the next carton. Perhaps she was trying to exorcise ghosts by helping to pack Johnny’s things, but it wasn’t working. “Why don’t you take a break and see how Laureen’s doing in the kitchen? I can finish up in here.”

Ellen shook her head. She knew Walker was trying to spare her, but the kitchen would be even worse. They’d sipped coffee together at Johnny’s kitchen table out of matching mugs. And shared take-out Chinese they’d picked up in town and reheated in his microwave. The silver chopsticks he’d given her for her birthday were still in the drawer by the stove, and the special rice bowl with her name on the side was in the cupboard. No, she didn’t want to set foot in the kitchen.

Thank God Moira hadn’t suggested they pack up the bedroom! One look at Johnny’s bed and Ellen knew she would have been in tears. And the den would have been just as bad. They’d watched late-night movies together, cuddled up on the overstuffed leather couch, eating popcorn and drinking Johnny’s favorite imported beer. The living room was out, too. She’d played hostess there at Johnny’s parties, giving instructions to the caterers and florists, and meeting his friends. The picture she’d given him hung over the fireplace, an original drawing of Johnny onstage that had taken her months to complete. No room in Johnny’s condo was safe from memories.

“Ellen? Are you all right?”

Realizing that Walker was staring at her, Ellen nodded shakily.

“I think that’s enough work for tonight.” Walker taped the box shut and pushed it against the wall. “Come on, Ellen. Let’s go up and open that wine I brought.”

“But there must be twenty boxes left to pack.”

“They can wait.” Walker took her arm and propelled her into the room where Jayne and Paul were working. “We’re knocking off for tonight. Ellen needs some rest.”

“She sure does.” Jayne nodded. “Go to bed, Ellen, honey. You look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet.”

Less than ten minutes later, Ellen was sitting on her own couch in her own living room, wearing her new bunny slippers. It was a relief to be home again. Walker came in from the kitchen with the wine and stopped to smile at the slippers. “You look cute with hare on your feet.”

“Thank you.” It was an effort, but Ellen managed to return his smile. “These are the silliest things I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“I knew you’d like them. How’s the wine?”

Ellen took a sip and smiled again. “Perfect.”

When Walker sat down in the big chair across the room, Ellen began to relax. He seemed to know that she didn’t like close contact. She was lucky to have such an understanding friend.

They sat in silence until they’d finished their wine. Then Walker got to his feet. “Can I get you another glass of wine before I go?”