As he chained up his bike, Paul Seddon looked through the railings at the front of University College School and saw a man in dark glasses looking straight at him. The man didn’t look away politely, as most people would when they realized they had been caught staring at someone.
Then Paul noticed that the man was holding a white stick in one hand.
Paul crossed the quad and went up to the stranger. The man had a full red beard, a respectable rival to Paul’s own black one.
‘May I help you?’
The blind man looked straight past him, as if at some point above his right shoulder. He said nothing but raised one hand, in which he held a battered satchel. He seemed to believe that this was all the explanation of his presence that he needed to give.
‘Have you come to tune the piano?’ For some reason Paul believed this was what the man meant him to understand. He took it that the satchel contained whatever tools he needed. ‘But we’re about to have a rehearsal. I don’t think now’s the best time, I’m afraid. Who booked you? I think there must have been some mix-up.’
‘Sir Aidan Fonthill.’ There was something unusual about the way the man spoke. He did not seem to be answering Paul’s question so much as making a pronouncement.
‘Oh, Sir Aidan. I see. That’s strange. He doesn’t usually handle this sort of thing. It’s normally Cavendish, our treasurer. I think, really, you’re going to have to come back some other time. Perhaps after the rehearsal.’
‘I’ll come back.’ The man lurched straight towards him, tapping the ground in front of him with his stick. Paul was forced to jump to one side to avoid being hit. ‘Do tell Sir Aidan I was here.’
‘Who shall I say?’
But the man did not answer, except to hum a strange and broken melody.
Paul watched him tap his way across the quad. It was quite extraordinary the speed at which these blind chaps could move sometimes.
A moment or two after the fellow had disappeared through the school gate, Charles and Ursula Cavendish came in.
Cavendish’s face was set in a distracted frown. His wife had the startled expression of someone who had just been given some unexpected news and could not decide whether it was welcome or not.
Cavendish greeted Paul with a wordless nod.
‘I say, Cavendish, did you see the piano tuner?’
‘What piano tuner?’
‘Blind chap, with a stick. You must have seen him as you came in.’
Cavendish shook his head. ‘I don’t remember. Besides, I didn’t organize any piano tuner. Not for today at least.’
‘No. Sir Aidan arranged it, but I told him now was not a good time. He’s going to come back later.’
‘What the devil is Fonthill doing arranging piano tuners?’
Paul shrugged. Cavendish’s anger seemed out of proportion to Fonthill’s supposed offence. It was all the more remarkable because Cavendish was usually such an easy-going fellow.
‘I shall have to have a word with him about that. I need to talk to him about another matter anyhow.’ Cavendish gave his wife a dark look. She drew her head up defiantly.
Good heavens! Not Ursula as well! thought Paul. He held the door open for them to go in.