Dan had said that the house was impressive. And it was. It was on the edge of the village, set back from the road. In fact, you couldn't really see the house from the road. There were too many trees. But once you got past the trees, you could see that it was a house of some considerable size and quality.
I drove through the open gates, up the broad gravel driveway, and parked my car next to some Laurel bushes. Then I walked up to the front door and pressed the bell. When no one answered, I briefly wondered if I had the wrong house. The house on the other side of the road was also quite impressive. It was quite an impressive neighbourhood. But Dan had said that the woman's house was called 'The Beeches'. And that was definitely the name on the gate.
Dan had also warned me that the woman was a tad eccentric. He said that she had spoken in a sort of code when she called to make the booking. But, when she did eventually answer the door, I was still a bit surprised that she answered it dressed in a long satin robe and that she was carrying a martini glass in one hand.
'Hello. Gosh, you came quickly,' she said. 'I do hope that you don't always come quickly.' And she laughed lightly and winked. And then she noticed my car. 'Oh. Is that your car?' she asked.
'It is. Why? Should I not have parked there?'
'Maybe just move it forward a bit,' she said. 'Just behind that Abelia hedge. My neighbour. Nosey old cow.' And she tapped the side of her own nose and smiled.
I moved the car.
'Right,' she said. 'Come on in.'
I followed her into a large entry hall and then through a door into a sort of sitting room. 'Martini?' she said. 'Or would you prefer something else? I have most things.'
I'm not really much of a drinker. I'll have a beer now and then. But spirits and cocktails? Not really my thing. Also it wasn't even four o'clock. And I still had the piano to tune. But she didn't seem to need an answer. Before I had much of a chance to say anything, she was handing me a glass.
'There you go. Cin-cin,' she said.
Oh, well. I took a sip. Wow! Talk about fire water. 'This is ... very ... umm ...
tasty
,' I said.
She just smiled. 'I must say that you're a little younger than I was expecting. Not that I'm complaining, you understand. Far from it. But still ... Have you been doing this line of work for long?'
I told her that my grandfather had been in the business for many years and I had just sort of 'drifted' into it when I left school.
'Oh, well,' she said. 'I've certainly heard very good reports of your ... umm ... work. A couple of my girlfriends speak very highly of you. "One of the best," Miranda says. So ... no pressure then.' And she smiled again. 'I suppose you go to a gym, do you? Work out? Stuff like that?'
'I swim competitively,' I told her. 'I'm not sure that I'm in danger of Olympic selection or anything, but I do OK.'
'Yes. I bet you do,' she said. 'I bet you do.' And she came and stood beside me and ran her manicured fingers over my shoulders and upper arms. 'Oh, yes.' And then she took another swig of her martini.
'I have a pool,' she said. 'A little smaller than you are used to no doubt. But it's heated. And, being indoors, it's very private. The old cow next door can't see a thing. Perhaps afterwards, you and I could ... well ...'
Dan had said that he seemed to recall from an earlier visit that the piano was a top-of-the-line baby grand. I looked around, but there was no sign of it. 'Your piano ...' I said, trying to get back to the purpose of my visit.
She frowned. 'My piano?'
'Yes.'
'Oh, my piano,' she said. And she nodded. 'Yes. My piano. Yes, I do have a piano. But I think that it may be a little out of tune. It doesn't get played as often as it might do. My daughter used to play it. But since she went away ... Well ... you know. I should probably get someone in. Get someone to look at it. Why? Do you play?'
'A bit,' I said. 'Although not as well as I would like to,'
'I think that perhaps I should be the judge of that,' she said. 'It's just through here.' And she opened a pair of doors that led into an even bigger sitting room. I was pleased to see that the piano was in a sort of alcove - away from direct sunlight and possible changes in temperature from the large windows that looked out across the garden.
She lifted the keyboard cover and propped up the sound board. 'Be my guest,' she said
I looked around for somewhere to put down my drink. 'Oh ... I'll take that,' she said.
I slid onto the piano stool, stroked an A below middle C, and listened carefully. It sounded OK. I played a few scales and a few arpeggios. The piano had a nice responsive action and a beautiful tone. And while there were a couple of notes that were perhaps a smidgen flat, the piano wasn't seriously out of tune. 'It's a very nice instrument,' I said.
I don't know why, but I then launched into 'My One & Only Love', borrowing heavily from Oscar Peterson's arrangement. I guess it was my party piece. Blame the martini, but I guess that I was showing off a bit.
'Beautiful,' she said when I had finished. And she leaned over and kissed me lightly on the side of my neck.
It was not unusual for clients to offer me a cup of tea or coffee while I worked. Or, on a hot afternoon, a cold drink - lemon and barley water or something like that. But she was the first client to make me a martini and then kiss me on the side of my neck. Oh well ... Dan had warned me that she was a little eccentric.
'Right. Well, I suppose that I had better get down to work,' I said.
She smiled. 'Yes. I guess so. Let's go upstairs,' she said.
Upstairs? Gosh, how many pianos did this woman have? Most people - even posh people - drew the line at one - especially if that one was a good quality baby grand. Mind you, my grandfather, who could never bear to see a piano abandoned, had three crammed into his small cottage. So there you go. You never can tell.
I followed her back out into the grand entrance hall and up the grand staircase to a landing that was about as big as many people's sitting rooms. And then I followed her through another set of double doors into what, at first, appeared to be yet another sitting room. It was only after I had had a proper chance to look around that I realised that it was part of perhaps the biggest, most luxurious bedroom that I had ever seen
'Oh dear. I suppose that I should have brought our glasses,' she said. 'Not to worry. We'll just have to have fresh ones.' And she opened what at first looked like a wardrobe but then turned out to be a fully-stocked bar. 'Same again?' she said. 'It's probably not a good idea to chop and change, is it?'
As she placed ice into a cocktail shaker and covered it with a generous slosh of Tanqueray gin and just the merest hint of Italian dry vermouth, she asked if I found the room warm enough.
Again, blame the martini, but I think that I might have misheard the question. 'Yes. It is rather warm, isn't it?' I said.
'Maybe take your shirt off,' she suggested.
I laughed.
'I've already taken mine off,' she said. And she laughed too. And then she capped the cocktail shaker and gave it a gentle shake before filling two fresh martini glasses. 'There you are,' she said as she handed me one of the drinks. 'Recipe more or less as before. Cin-cin.'
'Umm ... yes. Cin-cin,' I echoed.
'Don't you believe me?' she asked.
I think that I must have frowned. 'Believe you?'
She smiled, and tugged gently at the sash of her satin robe. The robe fell open. 'See? No shirt. In fact, not much at all. What do you think?' she said. 'Will I do?'
Not quite knowing what to say, I took a serious gulp of my drink.
