The Forget-Me-Not Sonata(155)

‘So how is your mother?’ he asked, sitting down on a chair that only had three legs; the other was made out of books piled one on top of the other.

‘She’s well. Not very happy that I’ve come all the way to Dublin to study.’ She gave a gentle laugh that was so innocent and charming Louis found himself smiling too. He couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled. His face had set into a grimace that had become a comfortable habit he was frightened of breaking. But Grace disarmed him. When he smiled his whole face changed, as if he had turned on a light and transformed the dank little room into a conservatory. And it felt good. His smile caught Grace off guard and very little caught such a gifted clairvoyant off guard.

‘Does she still play the piano?’

‘Never.’

‘She once played, you know.’

‘Yes, she did. Leonora plays though and remembers you teaching her in Buenos Aires. She’s married a gypsy called Florien and has three children.’

He shook his grey head and rubbed his bristly chin with his hand. She noticed how the tips of his eyelashes had been caught by an early frost.

‘How time flies. It’s only with children that one becomes aware of the rapid passing of the years. If it weren’t for them I’d feel the months withering away slowly. But no, I am old and the years have left me behind.’

‘Goodness, Uncle Louis, you’re not old. You only look old because you’re unhappy.’

Louis smiled again. ‘You didn’t inherit your boldness from your father, that’s for sure.’

‘I say what I think. There’s no point in hiding the truth, as long as the truth is always motivated by love.’ He frowned. Her uniqueness was compelling.

She looked around the room and saw the piano hidden beneath disorderly piles of manuscripts.

‘Did you enjoy being Director of Music?’ she asked.

‘I enjoyed teaching music,’ he replied with a sigh. ‘Nothing gives me more joy than music. It’s the rules and regulations that go with an institution of this sort that grate on my sense of freedom. But it paid the bills and has given me a roof over my head ever since.’

‘You never married?’

‘You ask a lot of questions.’

‘I’m curious, Uncle Louis. You were a handsome man when you were young. I’ve seen your photograph on Aunt Cicely’s piano.’

‘She can’t play a note.’

‘Well, I’ve never heard her play, to be honest.’

‘That’s because she can’t, the old stoat.’

‘The names she calls you are much worse,’ she said with a giggle.

‘I bet they are. Has Marcel left her yet?’

‘Goodness me, you are out of date!’ she gasped. ‘Marcel left her, which was no bad thing, and she married the farmer next door. Anthony Fitzherbert. You’d like him.’

‘Why would I like him? You don’t even know me.’ His face turned irritable again as if to challenge her.

But Grace smiled indulgently. ‘I know. But I feel I do.’ Louis stared at her with his chin loose and floundering. Grace held his eyes with an expression of compassion and understanding that was a direct reflection of her mother’s.

‘So, what can you play?’ he asked, getting up stiffly and shuffling over to the piano.

‘Anything you want. But I find sight-reading boring. I tend to improvise for fun.’

‘You do, do you?’ he said slowly. ‘Show me how.’ So Grace sat down and lifted the lid. Louis handed her a manuscript. She placed it on the stand and began to play. She put little feeling into the notes at first, following them mechanically. Then all of a sudden she closed her eyes and allowed her fingers to follow a different course, in the same style as the original. Louis was astounded. He knew no one else who could play like that but him.

When she finished, his eyes were moist with tears. ‘I’m an old man and you’ve just given me a lot of pleasure,’ he said huskily. But then he looked at her with that strange intense stare and asked in a very quiet voice, ‘How old are you, Grace?’

‘Eighteen,’ she replied.

‘What month were you born?’

‘October.’

‘October,’ he repeated slowly, nodding his head. ‘October.’ The truth hit him between the eyes and he had to sit down.

‘Are you all right, Uncle Louis?’ she asked.

‘Play some more. Anything. You play so beautifully, it breaks my old heart,’ he choked gruffly, waving his long fingers at her. ‘Just play.’

So she played. Sensing his unhappiness she let her empathy direct her fingers so that the music mirrored the heaviness in his soul and enabled him to let go of it, little by little. It was only the beginning of a healing process that would take many months, but Grace was very gifted and when she left the house he felt strangely lighter. ‘Your roses are beautiful,’ she said as she departed. Then she opened her inner eye and saw the flurry of spirit entities who danced among the branches. She laughed. ‘They like your music,’ she added. ‘No wonder the flowers grow better here than anywhere else.’