and have orgies.
They are surprised and thrilled when I tell them I want to learn the piano. I haven’t shown any interest in it before, but that doesn’t matter; all that does is the satisfaction of knowing I’m happy at school and focused on doing well even in subjects I’ve shown little aptitude for in the past. They are keen for me to explore every avenue that’s open to me, and aren’t at all judgemental or disappointed when things don’t turn out so well. We know already that I’m never going to be an athlete, or a scientist, I probably won’t make much of a pianist either, but they consider it a wonderful skill to have even if I’m not going to be the next Clara Schumann. Everyone agrees with that – it was discussed amongst their guests during the weekend I broached the subject – and before I returned to school on the Sunday evening many piano recitals were played on the new stereomaster that Daddy bought for Mummy’s birthday. It looks like a small sideboard and has taken the place of Grandma’s old writing desk in the niche to one side of the marble fireplace.
The question of who is to teach me was never in doubt. My parents have met Sir on visits to the school and were as charmed by him as they are by anyone who has kind things to say about their daughter. (I don’t think Sir ever utters a bad word about anyone, it’s not in his nature, but his praise for me is fulsome enough for my parents to feel certain he’ll do a magnificent job of bringing out any hidden talent I might have.)
‘Have you got a crush on him?’ Mummy asked when she came into my room to help me pack for the return to school. She’s lovely and willowy, eyes deep, dark pools of dreaminess, wide lips always slanting towards a smile. ‘I know I would have if I were you,’ she confides with a laugh that seems to float on her perfumed breath.
I tell her I might have if he weren’t so old and she laughs again. ‘He can’t even be thirty yet,’ she gently scolds. I don’t tell her he’s twenty-five because I see no reason to. She comes to clasp my face between her delicate hands and gazes into my eyes. Her own aren’t fully focused, which tells me she’s stoned, but I’m used to her being that way and usually love her even more when she is. ‘Do you think we should invite him to one of our weekend parties?’ she whispers mischievously. ‘Would you like that?’
Knowing I’d rather keep him to myself than share him with my parents’ promiscuous friends, I say, ‘The taxi should be here any minute.’
She laughs and hugs me close. ‘You’re a beautiful girl, my darling, probably more beautiful than you know, but you will, soon and when you do you’ll begin to understand how powerful you are. Don’t squander that power, use it wisely and you’ll make all your dreams come true.’
During the journey back to school I sit staring at the passing countryside, thinking over her words, and trying to understand what they really mean. Was there something tucked away in between them that I’m not clever enough to catch? We’ve had plenty of chats about intimate things, in fact, thanks to their parties, I know quite a lot about sex without ever having experienced it. I’ve even been invited to join in on occasion, but Daddy is having none of that.
‘This is for the grown-ups,’ he tells me, sending me back to bed, ‘and you’re not there yet, my angel.’
‘Your first time,’ Mummy sometimes says when we’re lying together on her bed chilling out to Cream or Hendrix or The Doors, ‘has to be special and with someone who matters to you and cares about the way he takes your most precious gift.’
‘Did Daddy take yours?’ I ask.
She smiles and stretches like a cat. ‘Yes, my darling, he did and we both treasure that truth, that memory almost as much as we treasure you.’
There’s so much to think about on my return journey, much of which I don’t really understand even though I think I do.
Now here I am in the music room with Sir having my first private lesson. School has finished for the day so everyone else is either in the dorms or at their own after-hours activity leaving this wing of the main block quite