Chapter Sixteen

 

THE JOURNEY DOWN TO LONDON and then on to Little Netherington wasn’t half so boring as the journey from London to Scotland, not so very long ago ...although it seemed like years. I had no chattering companions in the train ... but perhaps that was because I was grossly preoccupied in looking forward to seeing Stella and George again and of course, their family, whereas on the journey up to the north, I had no idea what I was taking on, or what I would find at the end of my journey.

George and young Eddy met me at the station in the latter’s old jalopy and to my utter delight, they had Robbie with them. I didn’t see him at first, but my joy was complete when I saw the blonde quiff being pushed back on a boyish forehead as he came from the car with eyes as wide as saucers and a face full of joyful expectancy. Even then ...again, it was hard to imagine that Robbie was nearly sixteen and would soon be a man. I still regarded him as a little boy with his young, fresh, clear complexion didn’t contradict me.

“Aaagh ...Aaagh,” he said, or better still, tried to say ...but I knew what he meant as I ran forward to cuddle him and press my warm cheeks against his cold, rosy blooms. His blue eyes sparkled and I felt the welcome was just for me ...and nobody else. There was a certain innocence surrounding his image. An innocence that gave me a feeling of awe in his presence, but I knew that what I saw was just plain and simple honesty and inner joy ...and that made his face the picture that it was.

“Love you Darling,” I whispered as our faces touched and he grinned and blinked as if that was just what he had expected me to say and he held me in his vice-like grip. Eddy took my case and opened the car door for me as Robbie slid into the back seat to ensure that he would be the one to sit with me on the journey home and I saw George smiling as he lit his pipe and Eddy revved up the car.

When we arrived home, Stella made a great fuss of me too and took me straight into the kitchen where I could smell the delicious roast that she was preparing for dinner.

“Oh! Stella ...the smell alone makes me feel hungry,” I cried ...”I could eat a horse.”

She smiled accepting the compliment and apologising that she could do nothing to oblige with my equine request.

“We don’t have any horses Darling, but you’re welcome to what we do have …” she grinned and I threw my arms around her with joy. We all laughed ...laughed together and I don’t think we knew what we were laughing at. It was just one of those occasions when everyone was happy to be with everyone else and words were inadequate, whereas laughter liberated the tension. Robbie joined in the laughter too, as he pulled me into the lounge to see his piana ...which looked so tiny in comparison to my old grande from home ... but when I saw Robbie’s eyes as he ran his fingers lightly and diligently across the keys, I realized that I had bought him the biggest, best and most important present of his young life.

“Now leave it alone Robbie until we’ve had dinner,” Stella remarked as she came into the lounge drying her hands on a kitchen towel, “Or you’ll have Amy running off to buy herself a cuddy,” she giggled, hoping I would understand what a cuddy’ was from the raised eyebrows that accompanied her remark. My father often referred to a horse as a cuddy, but it was so long since I’d heard the word, it brought back a sense of nostalgia and a little pang of sadness, for all that it was meant to amuse. Robbie closed the piano lid obediently and drew in a deep breath before reaching to take my hand and lead me into the dining room.

“You can play for me later, Love,” I patronized as my young nephew flushed with renewed joy and kept squeezing my hand ...and with all my heart, I wished that he had been as normal as his siblings, denying the fact for the moment, that I knew he had a warmth and an affection that was given to very, very few. What is normal, I asked myself as I closed my eyes and gave him another quick cuddle and kissed his still cold and smooth cheek.

 

***

 

Dinner was absolutely delicious as I had expected it would be and Stella excelled herself with her Cherry Pavlova to follow. We had coffee after that, without the cognac, which didn’t worry me in the least, for somehow, I felt at home again and I shuddered at the memory of Freya and her horrible horse, but I dismissed the thought from my mind quickly knowing that I would return there soon enough ...and sufficient for the day was the evil thereof as the Bible says. That biblical phrase of St. Paul’s seemed to blaze in front of my eyes when I thought of Glencara.

“Haven’t seen the girls yet Stella, nor Alastair for that matter, don’t they eat here anymore?” I joked as Stella sipped her coffee contentedly and gave George a side glance as she blew into her cup.

“My brood are all out educating themselves Amy. ...Right up to the hilt, I might add, but they’ll be home soon.”

George glanced at the clock above the mantelpiece.

“Frances is helping Moira at the library where the young madam is studying bio-chemistry and biology amongst other things. ...or so she tells us, but I’ll wager she’s out again with young Zubin. He’s the great love of her life ...well, at the moment anyway.”

“Zubin,” I asked, “That’s a strange name for a boy, isn’t it?”

George grinned and tapped his pipe out on an ashtray.

“I think he’s part Indian, but he’s a fine young man and he follows Frances wherever she goes, so I suppose there’s something there. Dark and handsome too, don’t you think Stella?” he asked, but Stella had her thoughts elsewhere. “Stella ...don’t you think Zubin is a handsome young man?” he repeated and she jumped.

“Oh! Zubin. ...Zubin ... Yes, he’s handsome alright, but I wish our Frances didn’t knock about with young men of a different race.”

George scowled.

“Oh! Stella ...you know you don’t mean that. Why when Zubin comes round here, you can’t do enough for him. You’re always making a fuss of his dark flashy eyes.”

Stella blushed and sniffed.

“Yes, I know I do ...well, he is handsome. I know that.” She looked at me and shrugged her shoulders. “He’s lovely really Amy. I just get worried that if they marry and have children ...what they’ll look like. He’s so dark and Frances ...well, you know what she looks like. She has dark hair alright, but her eyes are lilac ...as you well know and her skin is so fair. I can’t imagine what any child of theirs would look like.”

George refilled his pipe and blew a perfect circle of smoke into the air.

“You’re jumping the gun a bit, aren’t you Stella. They haven’t even got engaged yet and they are still so young. It doesn’t mean marriage ...not at this stage anyway.”

“Oh! I know you’re right George, but when I see how she looks at him ...and worse still, how he looks at her ...I wonder. Shouldn’t think those two would take too long to make up their minds ...after all, I was only a young thing of seventeen when we got married George, wasn’t I?”

George sighed and blew another cloud of smoke.

“Yes, you always were an impatient young thing Stella and couldn’t keep yer hands off me, as I remember …”

“Cor ...Listen to Rudolph Valentino here. If I hadn’t married you when I did, you wouldn’t be the man you are today. Your mother used to starve you. An oxo cube was a square meal to her.” Everybody laughed and Stella punched George playfully in the ribs. “Belly like a young horse on ye now, eh lad?” she jibed but George just smiled and continued to smoke his beloved pipe. Suddenly there was a shuffling movement from the corner of the room and Stella giggled as she raised her arms in the air.

“I think a certain someone wants you to hear his piana playin’ Amy,” she called out and Robbie grinned at me as he made his way into the lounge and I pretended that all I wanted to do that evening was to listen to him playing ...but my pretence was probably for everything and anything else that was happening around me as I truly did want to hear Robbie playing.

“So your going to play for me at last, my Darling? I just can’t wait to hear you. Come on.” I took Robbie’s hand and we skipped off together. He went through some finger exercises before he actually began to play and I smiled at his movements. They were so professional and the face ...well, it was a picture to watch him. He sat so straight and looked so sincere. It was as if his life depended on what he was about to do ...and he had obviously seen those preliminary hand movements before, from some concert pianist he had been watching as he had everything off to perfection, even to the clicking of the knuckles. Robbie closed his eyes for a few seconds ...to recollect himself, I have no doubt and I smiled again. His visual performance was an act in itself and his eyes would close again in serious concentration. Everyone sat still in anticipation of the Maestro ... Stella with her eyes full of pride and George puffing away contentedly on his brier. I think the other children were more anxious to know what I was thinking about their genius of a brother and what reaction I would show to his recital as he moved his fingers with slow, sensual movements across the keyboard as he went into his version of The Warsaw Concerto. I thought at first, it was a little adventurous for a novice until only a few moments had passed and then I realized, it was I who was the fool, to have patronized this young boy, who played his piana with the expertise of a tried and true musician, of many a year’s experience. I was truly surprised and amazed to watch his fingers move with such ease and agility and the sound he produced from that little piano was out of this world. I simply could not believe that such a child as Robbie could have advanced so maturely and in such a short time, in a field of which he had no previous knowledge or experience, added to which he was playing by ear only as I knew he could not read music ...nor anything else for that matter. I understood also, in those first few moments of listening to him play, what Stella meant when she wrote to me in Scotland, for I too had tears in my eyes as I sat there entranced by the beauty that came from Robbie’s hands and I wondered at the mind that could render such beauty, when it was impossible for him to explain or speak of what was going on there. It was hard ...No, I would say it was impossible for me to comprehend that Robbie was in any way retarded when I listened to his music and to see his face so full of peace and tranquillity where it was obvious that his mind was captivated by his gift. I watched that young, fresh face with pure devotion as he opened and closed his eyes to the sway of the cantabile that poured out from that tiny white piano, with his blonde quiff vibrating in time with the keys as he struck his notes home with such fervour and intent. George looked across at me and smiled as if to echo his own amazement as he touched my hand.

“Thanks Amy,” he whispered and nodded towards the piano. ...and then my tears really fell. I could no longer control my emotions as the music came to a halt and the silence in the room that followed was so completely total ... No-one moved until Robbie came out from his majestic and magical trance ... and beamed at me for my approval.

“Oh! Darling …Darling, darling Robbie,” I heard myself crying, “You can play ...You can play so beautifully and I’m so very, very happy.”

He jumped up from his stool, sending it spinning into circles as he clapped his hands with excitement and Stella dried her eyes as she admonished him with a croaky, if proud voice.

“Hey, that’s for your audience to do ...Not you. Now come and thank Amy for buying you that piana ...There’s a good boy!”

Robbie rushed towards me and held me at arms-length in that strange, exciting moment, where I did not see a retarded child. I saw a young man ...a beautiful youth looking at me with the joy and passion of a lover and I embraced him in ecstasy ... the ecstasy of that moment and I thanked my father for the means of giving this young man the freedom from his private prison, which he so richly deserved. It was at that moment too, that I resolved never again to patronize my nephew’s playing as I gazed at him in awe and in renewed respect, for he was indeed, The Maestro. ...