Unexpectedly at first, Graham began to appear in the garden while Anna was working. She would stand nearby, often wordless for long lengths of time, and then simply disappear. Eventually she started to ask Anna what it was that she was doing. Graham would listen attentively, then smile to herself as she made a mental note of a new shrub or planting. She was slowly creating a new vision of Yardley with Annas help. As the days passed, her visits became more frequent. Anna found herself looking forward to these encounters. On those days when Graham didnt appear, Anna finished her work strangely restless and unsatisfied.
Late one morning Anna glanced up to find Graham close by. Her hands were thrust into the front pockets of her trousers, and she leaned forward with a perplexed expression on her face.
"What are you wondering?" Anna asked, leaning back to see her tall companion.
"What youre planting. This isnt the rose garden, or the English garden, or the perennial bedin fact, this isnt anything at all as I recall." Graham gestured toward each of the gardens as she spoke.
"Youre right on all counts. This is the kitchen garden."
Graham frowned. "We dont have a kitchen garden. Helen always said she couldnt grow weeds, and II never had the time." Her expression became distant, a response Anna was coming to recognize. Whatever the memory, it was painful.
Anna reached into her carry all. "Here," she said, placing a pair of soft work gloves into Grahams hand. "Put these on."
Graham turned the gloves over in her hands, clearly at a loss. Anna found her consternation appealingshe was usually so commanding. Had Graham known her bewilderment was apparent, Anna knew she would have been embarrassed.
"But why?"
"So you can help plant the tomatoes," Anna said matter-of-factly. "Were making a garden so we can grow our own vegetables this summer." She knew she was risking alienating her reclusive employer, just when she seemed to be emerging from her isolation, but she had to try. The gardens seemed to bring Graham some peace. Anna only hoped her instincts were correct. She was quite sure that no one had ever suggested to Graham Yardley that she dig in the dirt.
Graham hefted the gloves. "I dont need these."
Anna studied Grahams hands. They were long-fingered and delicate, ribboned with fine blue veins beneath soft pale skin. The supple fingers suggested strength, but they were not meant for rough work. Anna had seen Grahams hands on the keyboard, how they moved with certainty and grace. She had heard the music from those hands on the night breeze. She did not need newspaper accolades to know they were exquisite instruments in themselves.
"You do need them," Anna said softly. "Please put them on. I cant let you do this without them."
Graham hesitated for a moment, then nodded. She slipped them on, then asked, "Where do you want me?"
Anna grasped her sleeve. "Here, on my right. Give me your hand." She placed a seedling in Grahams palm. "There are twelve of these in each flat. Make a hole six inches deep, then put the seedling in, pot and all. Press the earth firmly around the peat pot, so there are no air pockets. Put the plants a foot and a half apart. Move straight to your right back toward the house. All right?"
Graham brought the young plant to her face. It smelled like warm sunshine. For a moment she was lost in the comfort of it.
Anna watched the transformation of her elegant features. Graham cradled the tiny plant reverently, her face losing its stark tension, relaxing into a gentle smile. The tenderness she hid so well was plainly evident now. Abruptly Graham emerged from her reverie, and with a shake of her head, her expression was once again inscrutable.
"I can do that," she said with her usual confidence. With utter disregard for what must be five hundred dollar trousers, she knelt beside Anna as directed.
"Good," Anna replied. She watched Graham work for a while, amazed at her self-assurance and dexterity. She also noted the care with which Graham handled the delicate new life. She was a wealth of contradictionsremote, emotionally distant, intimidating, and yet she showed such tenderness and sensitivity in the small gestures that she didnt realize were so revealing. Anna found it hard to take her eyes off her. Eventually she forced herself back to work, and the time passed in companionable silence. As the sun climbed above them, Graham paused to roll up the sleeves on her shirt. She leaned back and Anna caught a glimpse of her face.
"Graham," Anna called, "turn towards me."
Graham swiveled around, a questioning look on her face.
"Oh hell. Youre burning!" Anna cried in consternation. She hadnt thought the sun was that strong, but then it occurred to her that part of Grahams pallor was from her rare time outside. She knew Graham walked the grounds late into the night. Only recently had she begun to venture out during the day. Anna grabbed a tube of sunscreen and knelt by Grahams side. "Put this on your faceand your arms, too."
"Are you sure?" Graham questioned reluctantly.
"Of course Im sure!" Anna exclaimed, angry at her own carelessness. "You should see how red you are!" The instant the words were spoken, she wanted them back. "Oh, god! Im sorry!"
Graham opened the tube. "Well, Im notI know what I look like with a sunburn."
Anna thought she looked more striking than ever with color in her face. "Its not that bad, but if it gets any worse, I think Helen will kill me."
"Better now?" Graham asked as she covered her hands and face with the lotion. She lifted her head toward Anna for inspection. Her hair was windblown and tumbled over her forehead in disarray. Sunlight etched the angles of her face in gold, a dazzling contrast to the rich black of her hair and eyes. She was unknowingly stunning, and as Anna gazed at her something visceral shifted in her depths.
Shaken, not wanting it to show, Anna reached for the tube. "Here, give it to me," she said hoarsely.
She brushed the cream across Grahams jaw and down the side of her neck. "You missed a spot," she said softly, cupping Grahams chin gently in one hand. Graham struggled not to pull away. Anna sensed her discomfort and wondered why. Was it her blindness that made her so, or something else?
"Thank you," Graham remarked seriously when Anna took her hand away. The touch of Annas fingers on her skin had startled her. Even Helen rarely touched her, and Graham had not thought she missed it. She had little need of contact with anything save the keys of her piano. Still, her breath caught in her throat at the sensation of Annas fingers on her face. She struggled to control her expression, aware that she was trembling.
"Youre welcome," Anna replied, moving away. She had a hard time forgetting the look on Grahams face when she innocently touched her. It looked like fear.
**********
"Graham!" Helen cried when Graham walked into the kitchen. "Oh my gracious! Did you fall? Are you hurt?"
"Im finewhy?" Graham answered in surprise. She felt better than fine, in fact, she felt strangely exhilarated.
"Why, youve got dirt streaked on your face, and your shirt is a sight!" Graham took meticulous care in dressing, and Helen could never remember her with so much as a crease out of line on her tailored trousers.
Graham frowned. "I was gardeningapparently rather messily. Just how bad do I look?"
When Helen got over her astonishment, she laughed with delight. God bless Anna for this! "Im afraid you wouldnt like it. You look - disheveled."
Graham put down the glass she was about to fill. "Im going to shower," she said stiffly. She left with as much dignity as she could.
Helen looked after her, tears threatening to fall.
**********
Less than a week later Graham was startled by a knock on the door of the master suite. Helen never disturbed her when she was in her rooms. She rose from the chair that faced the open windows, calling, "Yes?"
"Graham, its Anna. I have something for you."
Graham opened the door to admit her, a question in her eyes. By way of explanation, Anna placed a package in her hands.
"These are for you," she said, suddenly shy. It had seemed like such a good idea when it first
occurred to her. With Graham standing in front of her, as unassailable as always, she wasnt sure.
Graham motioned her inside with her usual grace. "Please, sit down."
Anna looked about, surprised by the luxury of Grahams quarters. Everything from the high four-poster bed to the ornate armoires and antique dressers spoke of cultured refinement. Graham projected such an austere impression that Anna had to remind herself that Graham had grown up in and been part of the very pinnacle of wealthy society. Her only visible concession to that opulent world now was her taste in clothes. Anna watched Graham carefully as she opened the parcel.
Graham stood by her bed, meticulously examining each item, her expression growing more and more perplexed. She said nothing as she carefully arranged the strange gifts. Finally she faced Anna, one elegant eyebrow arched in question.
"And these are?" she queried, her voice carefully uninflected.
Anna took a deep breath. "Two pairs of denim jeans, three blue cotton workshirts, six white cotton tee shirts, crew socks, and a pair of Timberline work boots."
"Interesting," Graham noted, struggling to keep her voice even. "And the purpose?"
"You cant garden in Saville row suits and Italian loafers. Its criminal," Anna stated. She didnt add that it was also unsafe for Graham on the steep, often muddy slopes in the shoes she usually wore.
"I have never worn blue jeans in my life," was all Graham could think to say. No one had ever been so bold as to comment on anything she had ever worn before. In fact, such an attempt would have drawn her most scathing reply. That Anna had taken it upon herself to actually buy her clothing astounded her.
"Theyre black," Anna answered smartly. "I thought youd prefer that."
"And how did you manage the size?" Graham asked, still strangely subdued. Anna was one of the few people she had ever known who did not seem intimidated by her. The other had been Christine, and that had been entirely different.
"I write out your checks," Anna explained. "I called your tailor."
Graham couldnt hide her shock. "You called Max Feinerman about blue jeans? What on earth did he say?"
Anna smiled at the memory. "He told me more than Ill ever need to know about your inseams, rise and waistbands. I had a hard time convincing him that it wasnt necessary for him to make the jeans, even though he insisted vehemently that he had always made all of your clothes. Hes delightful." She didnt add that he also obviously adored Graham, and had asked anxiously when he might be needed to tailor her next concert suit. He explained her trousers were cut to allow easy movement on a piano bench and that since Graham had an unusually long arm span, she needed extra width in the back and sleeves of her shirts. It was important, he said, that nothing impair her reach on the keyboard. His pride in assisting Graham had not diminished during her years of seclusion. Anna was coming to realize that Graham made an indelible impression on every one she touched.
Graham smiled softly as Anna spoke, one finger aimlessly tracing the cuff of her fine Irish linen shirt. "Poor Max," she said with a hint of laughter. "He probably hasnt yet recovered."
"Try them on," Anna suggested boldly.
Graham started with surprise, then laughed unexpectedly. "All right, Ms. Reid, I will. If you would be so kind as to excuse me for a moment." She gathered the clothes and disappeared into her dressing room, leaving Anna with the memory of her laughter.
Chapter Eight
Helen opened the music room door with one hand, Grahams breakfast tray balanced in the other. It was five a.m., and the sky visible through the open terrace was just beginning to lighten. It was the first of June, and although it was still cool in the early mornings, Graham had begun taking her meals outside on the stone patio. She was there at the edge of the balcony now, facing as always down to the sea. At the first sight of her Helen halted in astonishment.
"Graham?" she queried, her voice rising in surprise.
Graham turned, a distracted look on her face. "Yes? What is it?"
Helen collected herself quickly. "I -well, its - you look quite nice!"
Graham tilted her head, frowning. Helen wasnt making any sense. "I look - ah, the jeans! Youve noticed the addition to my wardrobe. Im not sure Im used to them yet."
"Wherever did you get them?"
"Anna decided my day wear was not suitable," Graham answered.
" Anna bought those clothes?" Helen cried in amazement. No one in Helens recollection had ever had the audacity to buy apparel for Graham, she was much too particular. That Anna was not only bold enough to do it, but that Graham seemed to have accepted the gesture with aplomb, amazed her.
"And do you approve?" Graham asked testily.
Helen studied her in frank amazement. She was broad in the shoulders, with narrow hips, and naturally sinewy. The white cotton tee shirt highlighted the muscles of her chest and arms. The close fitting jeans accentuated her leanness and height, giving her a tense feline appearance. She looked ten years younger and tautly lithe. In all the years Helen had known her, her appearance had always been refined, dignified, and wholly elegant. She had a kind of natural androgyny that suited her professional persona. Graham as an individual was secondary to her role as a musician. Her gender on the concert stage was of little consequence. This was the first time Helen had ever had a sense of Graham as a sexual being. It was a disconcerting, and at the same time, wonderfully gratifying change.
"You look quite acceptable," Helen managed to say in a tone that belied her astonishment. She was afraid overt enthusiasm would make Graham self-conscious. She knew it would be hard for Graham not to know how she looked.
Graham nodded absently, recalling Annas reaction when she had emerged from her dressing room. Anna was silent so long Graham began to think she had missed a button in some delicate location.
"Well," Graham had asked with a trace of impatience. "Do they fit or shall we have to call Max?"
Anna had cleared her throat, saying, "The fit is fabulous. You look altogether- handsome."
Handsome she had said. Graham wondered what Anna saw when she looked at her. She had never given it any thought before. How she appeared to others meant nothing to her. It had only been her music that mattered. Why it should matter now, when she had nothing to offer anyone, eluded her. And why she should care what Anna Reid thought of her was even more mystifying. She could not deny however, that she had enjoyed pulling on these clothes when she awoke that morning, and that as she did so, she remembered Annas soft praise.
"Put the tray down, for heavens sake, Helen," Graham said brusquely, annoyed with her own reminiscences. What did any of it matter!
When Helen returned an hour later, Graham was gone and her breakfast remained untouched.
**********
Hours later, Graham walked down the garden path to the sea, vaguely aware of the fine salt mist against her skin, absently welcoming the suns warmth on her face. She had been preoccupied since she awoke that morning. The hint of a refrain trailed in and out of her consciousness, making it impossible for her to concentrate on anything else. The notes were elusive, but ever present, and that was an experience she hadnt had in years. Whereas once music came to her unbidden, demanding expression, that inner voice had been silenced along with the surging rhythms of her once vital life. Why it should return now, she didnt know, and she was afraid to question it, lest the music desert her once again. She was feeling the notes, searching for the form, when she struck something large and unyielding in her path. She had no time to react, emitting a curse as she found herself lying tangled in a thicket by the side of the path.
"Damn!" she swore, struggling to free herself from grasping tendrils of ivy.
"Oh my god, Graham!" Anna cried, rushing to her. "Oh god, are you hurt?" She began frantically pulling at the vines, attempting to pull Graham upright. Please dont let her be hurt!
Graham took firm hold of Annas hands, stilling her frantic motion. "Im quite all right. Just take my arm and help me up."
Anna reached for her
hand and slipped her other arm around Grahams waist. She was surprised once again by the strength in the deceptively lithe body. She gasped when her worried eyes searched Grahams face. "Oh lord, youve cut yourself," she cried. With trembling fingers she brushed a trickle of blood from Grahams chin.
"What was it?" Graham asked quietly, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.
Anna looked devastated. "My wheelbarrow! How could I have been so careless!" She was close to tears. "God, you could have really been hurt!"
Graham stared toward Anna. "Your wheelbarrow?"
"Yes," she said miserably. The thought of Graham injured was unbearable. She had begun to see Yardley as a maze of potential obstacles, all waiting for Graham to walk innocently into their midst. Every time she watched Graham maneuver the uneven flagstone path, or climb the crumbling steps from the bluff, her heart pounded with anxiety. Seeing her reach across the stove for the coffee pot, knowing how easily her sleeve could touch the flame, made Anna want to scream out loud. She cursed whatever godless force had stolen Grahams sight, and exiled this magnificent being from the world. That she might have been the cause of further harm completely undid her. She didnt seem to be able to think quite rationally where Graham was concerned. She held onto her protectively, one hand brushing at the smudges on her tee-shirt.
Graham reached out for Annas hand, laughing. "Was it a trap?"
Anna cradled the long, delicate fingers in hers, aware of how vulnerable Graham was despite her stubborn independence. "No, just my thoughtlessness," she managed around the tightness in her throat.
Graham was suddenly serious, aware of the trembling in Annas voice. She grasped Annas shoulders with both hands, looking intently into her face.
"Its not the first time Ive fallen," she said gently. "Im quite fine, you know."
Anna stepped closer until there was only inches between them. "No, youre not. You have blood on your face and thistles in your hair."
Graham laughed again, a sound that warmed Annas heart.
Radclyffe - Love's Melody Lost Page 5