The Piano Teacher

by Sophie Elliot

  Title Page

  THE PIANO TEACHER

  By Sophie Elliot

  Publisher Information

  The Piano Teacher published by

  Chimera Publishing Ltd

  Digital edition converted and published

  by Andrews UK Limited 2012

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by

  Cox & Wyman, Reading.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright © Sophie Elliot

  first printed in 2001

  reprinted in 2006

  The right of Sophie Elliot to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex

  Introduction

  ‘Oh, that’s it,’ snapped Dr Tovey, clearly cross. ‘You’ve had plenty of warnings, but you continue to abuse my hospitality by behaving in the most immature manner.’

  With that, he suddenly got out of his chair and moved purposively towards her. Lucy felt a tremor of fear grip her, and suddenly realised she was out of her depth. ‘W-what are you doing?’ she said nervously, only to be roughly pulled out of her chair and thrown over the right arm of it. ‘Oh no!’ she cried. ‘No - please! I’m sorry Dr Tovey! Don’t spank me!’

  Dr Tovey snorted. ‘So Miss Martin did show you the ropes,’ he said. ‘Well it’s too late for that, my girl; you’ve had this coming a long time now.’

  Prelude

  Lucy Cavendish picked at her food miserably, hardly noticing the bustling refectory around her. People came and went, chatting amongst themselves. She had just come from her tutor’s office, a book-lined study at the top of one of the towers, overlooking the shady courtyard of the college. He was a reasonable man, she knew, but he had been unable to disguise the disappointment in his voice at her essay. It lay crumpled in her bag now, the comments in it unread. Why had she picked Philosophy, of all things? And who in their right mind chose to read Hegel, let alone write essays on his impenetrable Teutonic prose? Long nights of reading lay ahead of her, she knew, if she was going to get anywhere. Her misery was written over her face, and she made a forlorn little figure, sitting alone in the chaos and noise of the student dining area.

  ‘Are you all alone?’ came a familiar voice opposite her.

  Lucy looked up, and saw the face of Dr Tovey, the music lecturer. She smiled weakly.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Just eating.’

  To Lucy’s considerable discomfort, he sat down opposite her.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ he said.

  Dr Tovey was a vague friend of the family, and Lucy knew her parents had requested that he take a special interest in her. To be frank, it was not entirely welcome. Even though she was homesick and lonely in her halls, the presence of a lecturer inquiring after her was hardly the kind of attention she craved. She missed her friends, and the comforts of home, and her difficulty in settling into the academic world was not assuaged by reminders of her new, uncomfortable situation.

  ‘So,’ he said amiably, ‘how are you settling in?’

  Lucy smiled again weakly, as if that was her only response to questioning. ‘Oh, okay. It’s all a bit new, but I’m sure I’ll find my feet soon.’

  ‘Good girl,’ said Dr Tovey briskly. ‘That’s the spirit. Everybody finds things a bit disorientating at first, but I’m sure you’ll fit in very well here, if you give it time.’

  His banter only served to make Lucy more miserable. She found herself desperately wanting to spill out her concerns to him, to tell her how homesick she was, how hard she was finding the studies, how intimidating she found the other girls on her corridor, how she missed having a loving hug, how alone and unloved she felt... but she couldn’t bring herself to. Especially not to a strange man who embodied all that was foreign in her new circumstances, and whose respect she already found herself unconsciously craving. It was impossible - impossible to keep everything bottled-in, and she felt tears bubbling up within her.

  Involuntarily, one trickled down her soft cheek.

  ‘Lucy?’ said Dr Tovey suddenly, frowning. ‘Are you all right?’

  She looked away, wishing he would leave. ‘Oh, it’s nothing, really,’ she said, sniffing back her tears. ‘Really, I’m fine. Just a little tired.’

  Dr Tovey took her hand and looked at her with a concerned expression.

  ‘Lucy,’ he said, almost sternly. ‘There must be something wrong. Tell me what it is - I may be able to help.’

  Strangely, Lucy found his touch very distracting, and his firm but caring tone gave her an unexpected warm feeling inside. The tears began to dry up, to be replaced by embarrassment. She thought she should withdraw her hand, but it was good just to have someone’s attention, so she left it there. She looked up, to catch Dr Tovey looking back at her, brow furrowed. Lucy blushed, and finally pulled her hand back.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘You must think I’m stupid.’

  Dr Tovey, noticing her rosy cheeks, smiled in a strange way. ‘Not at all, Lucy,’ he said. ‘I think you’re perfectly lovely. But won’t you tell me what’s wrong? I can’t help if you don’t speak to me.’

  Lucy just wanted to melt away then, to disappear into a small ball in the farthest corner of the room and roll into oblivion. She searched for a way to end the questions without offending him. Inspiration was slow in coming.

  ‘Well, as it happens, I had been wanting to ask you something,’ she said, at length.

  ‘What, Lucy?’ asked Dr Tovey, with a hint of impatience in his amiable tone.

  ‘To tell you the truth,’ she said, ‘I suppose I miss playing my music. There’s so much noise in my halls, and I can’t seem to find the time or the place to sit down and play the piano. I do miss it, and I think I would be happier if I could find a quiet spot in the week when I could escape from it all and get my skills back. I had been thinking of taking up lessons, and I wondered if you could... but I don’t want to presume.’

  Dr Tovey smiled. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘I don’t teach the piano myself, but I do know of a few good teachers. Would you like me to have a word with one of them?’

  Lucy nodded gratefully. ‘That would be nice,’ she said, relieved.

  The lecturer looked at her intently then, as if he were weighing something up in his mind. It was like he was trying to decide, on the basis of some evidence, if Lucy would be suitable for something else he had in mind.

  ‘There is, of course, Miss Martin,’ he said, a little uncertainly. ‘She’s very good, and wonderfully motivational. My only concern would be that she’s a trifle eccentric in a few respects.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘Oh, nothing much,’ said Dr Tovey, as if he had settled on something. ‘Now that I think about it, though, she might be good for you. She’s rather old-fashioned, you see, and insists on a certain level of discipline, but you wouldn’t mind that, would you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Lucy. ‘I guess I’ll need a firm hand if I’m to progress without my parents nagging at me.’

  Dr To
vey raised an eyebrow. ‘Indeed?’ he said. ‘Then I think we may have made the right choice. Shall I arrange an appointment for you?’

  ‘Oh, would you?’ said Lucy, beginning to cheer up. ‘That would be kind. To be honest, I think I’d enjoy a more formal style of teaching. I don’t reckon I learn much here, except how to miss lectures and crib essays, which is a shame, because I think I have a lot to learn.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Dr Tovey, ‘I’m sure you have. But Miss Martin will be eminently suitable for that.’

  He rose then, collecting up his papers in his hands.

  ‘I’m sorry to dash off like this, Lucy, but I’ll ring you later if you want, after speaking with her,’ he said. ‘I’m sure she’ll have a space for someone like you, and then we can arrange a meeting. Does that sound acceptable to you?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ said Lucy. ‘That would be wonderful.’

  ‘You look a little better now,’ said Dr Tovey, smiling with what looked like satisfaction. ‘Try not to worry about things. University is all about discovering yourself - once you’ve done that, you will never want to leave, trust me.’

  He smiled again at her, and turned to walk away. For the first time since her arrival, Lucy felt a pleasurable glow suffuse her. Things were going to change, she could feel it.

  That evening, Dr Tovey did indeed ring.

  ‘Lucy,’ he said, ‘I’ve had a quick word with my acquaintance, and she would very much like to meet you. Can you go to the Cinque Moulins coffeehouse at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning? She has some business in town, and would very much like to speak to you there, if possible.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lucy, ‘I think that would be fine. Has she got a vacancy just like that?’

  Dr Tovey sounded amused at the other end of the line. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘She’s really very good, trust me. It’s just she’s selective about her pupils, and chooses not to take many on.’

  ‘Really?’ said Lucy, consternation entering her voice. ‘Oh dear, perhaps I should have told you - I’m not actually very good. In fact, it’s been a long time since I played at all. I don’t think she’ll want me.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Dr Tovey said sharply. ‘Don’t worry yourself. Miss Martin selects her pupils on the basis of all sorts of criteria. In any case, if you can make it, it would be rude not to show up. You’ll find she places a great store upon punctuality.’

  ‘Miss Martin,’ said Lucy, repeating the name. ‘Is that how she likes to be called?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Dr Tovey. ‘But I must go now - I have essays to mark and students to see. If everything is all right, I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Lucy. ‘Eleven o’clock at the café - that will be no problem. Thank you so much for your help, Dr Tovey. I’m ever so grateful.’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ he said dryly. ‘I’m quite sure you’ll find a way of repaying me.’

  So it was that Lucy found herself, the next morning, sitting in the quiet café alone, wondering how on earth she was going to recognise the figure of Miss Martin. She only hoped that Dr Tovey had not neglected to give the teacher some description of her, or else she fancied it would be a long wait.

  Luckily, there was little mistaking the figure of Miss Martin when she did appear, and Lucy instinctively knew that the tall, clipped figure walking through the glass-panelled doors was her prospective music mistress. Likewise, Miss Martin appeared to recognise Lucy, either from the lecturer’s description or from instinct. She walked over to Lucy’s table in a measured, heel-clicking fashion. Lucy rose to meet her, and they shook hands.

  ‘You must be Lucy,’ said Miss Martin, in a perfectly cadenced upper-class English accent.

  ‘Yes, Miss Martin,’ said Lucy. ‘Pleased to meet you - may I buy you a drink?’

  Miss Martin smiled. ‘Thank you, dear,’ she said. ‘I will have a cup of Earl Grey, slice of lemon, no sugar. You may bring it to the table.’

  Lucy nodded, a little taken aback by her clipped manner. ‘Very well,’ she said, smiling awkwardly, and went to the counter.

  While she was waiting for Miss Martin’s cup of tea, she stole a look at the woman. She had sat down, her long legs elegantly crossed. Every part of her was impossibly smart, from her impeccably tailored dark jacket and chic, straight skirt, to her immaculate sheer stockings and narrow high-heeled shoes. She had folded her slim handbag in front of her, and was looking absently out of the window, playing with a necklace of pearls that hung about her slender neck. She had an astonishingly beautiful face, with smooth pale skin framed by a classic bob of dark hair. Perhaps she would have seemed severe if she had not looked so feminine, but Miss Martin’s shapely figure, held erect in the chair, was as womanly and sensual as it was authoritarian and formal. Quite involuntarily, Lucy found herself fascinated by her, and began to study the line of her deep red lips, the arch of her back, the sweep of her stockinged thigh.

  That was until the tea came, and she was rudely interrupted in her contemplation. She went back to the table, and placed the cup before Miss Martin.

  ‘Thank you, Lucy,’ said the music mistress, smiling at her.

  Lucy sat down opposite, and took a sip of her own drink.

  Miss Martin placed her slim hands together.

  ‘So,’ she said. ‘Dr Tovey tells me that you would like to take up your music again.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Lucy. ‘He was kind enough to recommend you as a teacher who might be able to take me on.’

  Miss Martin smiled again.

  ‘Well, I’d certainly like to. I’m looking for a new female pupil at the moment, as it happens, and I know he thought you’d be suitable.’

  Lucy found herself wondering what difference it made whether she was male or female. Perhaps she had some quota to fill.

  ‘Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?’ Miss Martin went on.

  ‘Please do,’ said Lucy.

  ‘How much playing have you done before, Lucy?’ she said, slipping on a pair of reading-glasses and taking out a slim notebook.

  ‘Uh, up to grade five a few years ago,’ said Lucy.

  ‘Very well,’ said Miss Martin, making notes. ‘Grade five. Well, I’m sure we can do something with that. Do you have your own music?’

  ‘Well, not really,’ said Lucy. ‘I don’t have anything suitable with me, I’m afraid.’

  ‘No matter - I can send you to Mr McLellan to get some. I’ll make a list this morning, and you can take it with you.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Lucy, finding herself eager to please.

  ‘I think I’ll start you on a Mozart sonata, some theory, and a course in technique,’ mused Miss Martin. ‘We can see how you progress, and change things if necessary. How does that sound?’

  ‘Oh, fine,’ said Lucy again.

  ‘Good,’ said Miss Martin. ‘Another thing - did Dr Tovey tell you about the dress requirements?’

  Taken aback, Lucy did not reply at once.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ she said. ‘Did you say dress requirements?’

  ‘Evidently not,’ said Miss Martin, musing. ‘I would have thought he’d have mentioned it.’ She tutted, then looked back at Lucy and smiled. ‘Never mind - it’s nothing important. You see, I’m a firm believer in traditional methods of tuition. I find them so much more effective, and don’t hold at all with the wishy-washy liberal orthodoxy of modern pedagogy.’

  ‘I see,’ said Lucy, in a tone of voice that indicated she wasn’t so sure.

  ‘One aspect of this,’ continued Miss Martin, ‘is an insistence on a uniform for my pupils. I find it helps to create the right atmosphere for learning. Once installed in the proper clothes, the mind is free to apply itself to the task of education, and pupil is placed in the optimum position for retention of information.’

  Lucy nod
ded warily.

  ‘Of course,’ Miss Martin went on, ‘I supply the uniforms myself, at no cost to my pupils. It is one of the benefits, one of the many benefits, of learning the piano with me. Does this sound acceptable to you, Lucy?’

  It was certainly a strange requirement, and not one Lucy had been expecting. But, thinking about it, she couldn’t see any harm in it. Miss Martin was clearly a bit of an eccentric, but was also evidently competent and very experienced. It was a little odd, she thought, for such old-fashioned ideas still to be adhered to, but Miss Martin clearly had her reasons. And who was she to tell her how to do her job?

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘What kind of uniform is it?’

  ‘Oh, nothing very special,’ said Miss Martin. ‘Just a blouse and skirt, sensible shoes and a tie. Much like a school uniform, really. It’s designed to put one in the mood to learn, and I find it a very effective tool.’

  At least it was nothing too complicated, thought Lucy. And if she didn’t have to pay for it, then she could see no special objection. The thought that it was more than a little odd for a grown woman to ask her pupils to dress up for her nagged a little, but she banished it to the back of her mind. She was so nice, Lucy thought, what could be at all wrong with it?

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Should I try and sort something out this week?’

  ‘Oh, there’s no hurry,’ said Miss Martin. ‘We can fit you up in your first lesson - that’s no problem.’

  She leant forward, as if imparting a confidence. ‘It’s such a pleasure, I must say, Lucy,’ she said, ‘to find someone so willing to submit to my little quirks. Some people are put off by my requirements, which is a shame, for I think they would benefit from my methods. Never mind - I’m gratified that you’re so acquiescent. I think we’re going to get on very well, Lucy.’

  ‘I do hope so,’ said Lucy.

  ‘Splendid,’ said Miss Martin, sitting back. ‘Goodness, though - look at the time, and so much to do. Did you have any questions yourself, my dear?’

  Lucy shrugged. ‘Um, I don’t think so. It’s been a while since I did any playing, though.’