The Organist Ch. 01

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," she said and smiled sweetly.

"Would you mind if I drew you?" It was only polite to ask and I thought she might refuse but, without a word, she kicked off her shoes, crossed her legs and locked her fingers together at her knee. We exchanged smiles and I began to make a few lines.

"Where do you live?" she asked innocently, though her face was tilted in the direction of our house.

"I live up there." After I had sketched out her slim form I asked, "What do you do?"

"I'm a piano teacher."

"You teach from home?"

She nodded, then added, "And I'm an organist at All Saints."

I widened my eyes with surprise.

"I thought church organists were all old and stuffy. You don't look old enough," I said, wondering suddenly at my own forwardness.

"I'm twenty-five," she said.

I told her I was just a year older.

"I'm Stephanie, by the way," she said. "Stephanie Bell."

"Linda Kirwan."

"It's lovely to meet you, Linda," she said, and again I felt hot.

As I drew I lost track of time and it wasn't until the sun had moved behind me that I realised Christine had not phoned, as she often did. She must be really busy, I thought.

Stephanie made no mention of needing to be somewhere else so I continued to work, completely forgetting lunch. I made a little painting, just an impressionistic portrait of my new model from the waist up, with her holding Bailey, her head bent a little over the dog as if about to kiss him. He was looking straight at me and his black eyes complimented his owner's nicely. He then went to splash about happily in the lake while I made sketch after sketch of Stephanie, mostly of her sitting, but some of her barefoot at the edge of the water. I drew her beautiful body again and again. Then she stepped down until she was standing in just over a foot of water. The lake was clear and you could see how shallow it remained for quite a way. So she waded out, sending little ripples and splashes around her legs until her entire figure was reflected in the water. Now there were two and, working quickly, I recorded my first impressions of this vision of beautiful twin sisters, one inverted beneath the other. I followed Stephanie right to the edge, then sat with my legs over the bank. There was nothing save the swishing of her lithe limbs in the water, the splashing of the dog and the occasional call of a coot or moorhen to disturb the quiet.

"Why don't you come on in?" she called from a short distance. "It's lovely and warm."

I had not thought to paddle in the lake and could not remember having paddled at all since a trip to the seaside when I was little, but the water looked so clean and sparkling and her smile so inviting, that in just few seconds my tennis shoes were off and I was standing in the warm lake. I waded out a little with my sketch book and drew some more.

My pencil traced every gentle, sensuous curve of her body, gliding so easily and quickly, loving every detail. Slowly, she came closer and I made a portrait of just her face. She obligingly removed her sunglasses and tilted her hat back, allowing some of the sunlight to fall on her mouth with its fuller lower lip and on the tip of her small, round nose. Her face was youthful and round with full cheeks and a slightly receding chin. Her eyes were still in shadow, but I could see the irises shining pale and green from between long, curled lashes. How could someone like this work as a church organist? She must be a professional model, I thought.

She removed her lace gloves and stuck them under the short, puffed sleeve of her dress. Then she bent down, cupped some water in both hands and drank from it before offering some to me. I lowered my face into the outstretched hands and wondered exactly what was happening. I tasted the surprisingly sweet liquid and sipped until I found myself involuntarily kissing her hands. It was just a fleeting moment, during which I noticed that she wore no ring. I pulled away and apologised to which she raised a finger to her pouting lips and shushed, then smiled, revealing for the first time a little imperfection, a gap at the side of her upper teeth. This dental lacuna was small, evidence that she had lost a tooth during her childhood, the neighboring teeth having moved in a little to fill the space, and it only served to give a quality of cuteness to her smile. Only then did she seem real to me, that she was standing there in the water, that we were breathing the same air.

I was stirred as if from a trance by the sound of male voices from out on the water. The two boating males were rowing by again and this time seemed eager to open up in conversation. One of them was a muscular and round-faced blonde, the other Asian, also muscular and with a sharply chiselled beard. I tried to ignore them, but Stephanie waved and laughed. I returned to the bank and sat down to let my feet dry while she happily engaged them in some flirtatious small talk. Unlike me, she was clearly someone who found it easy to talk openly to strangers and I felt a little angry. The men were casting optimistic glances in my direction, but Stephanie kept them focussed on her with her incessant talk. In a few minutes, listening to them chat, I discovered more about her than I had gleaned in the hours we had been together. I learned all about her favorite music, books and food. She liked Bach and jazz, Charlaine Harris and peanut butter malts. She babbled so much I wondered why she had been so quiet with me. She seemed to hit it off so well with them that it amazed me when she curtly said goodbye to them and returned to the bank. The men tried to hide their disappointment and rowed off, staring at both of us. The further they went, the less tense I felt. By now I was back in my shoes and feeling like I should pack up and go for some lunch. It was mid-afternoon after all. Before long I would have to start cooking for Christine.

"Wasn't that a little risky?" I asked Stephanie, still feeling a little jealous.

She pouted again and said, "I think they were shy. The more you talk to that type the more likely they are to go away."

"Is that what you wanted?" I asked, beginning to pack up my stuff.

"Yes," she said bluntly, and our eyes locked for a moment until she smiled kindly, then looked away.

"I'm sorry I've kept you here for so long," I said as we started walking. "You probably came here for just a little morning walk and I've kept you here all day."

"That's OK, Linda," she said, hooking the lead back into Bailey's collar. "I'm not usually busy during the week days until late afternoon."

"Oh," I said, and hoped I didn't look too elated.

"I've a student at four today but I'll be back in time if I leave now."

We came to the little path that led up the hill and began climbing. She picked a buttercup and twirled it between her fingers while hopping daintily across each little obstacle that the ground threw up before us. Every one of her movements was as graceful as a ballet dancer's. When we reached the fork in the path, I turned to look at her, seeing that she now had her sunglasses back on. I stared at her as she stood there with the valley behind her, and I wondered how long I could endure this moment before I said something stupid, but it was she who broke the profound silence.

"I can come again tomorrow if you'd like, Linda."

"I'd like that, Stephanie, very much," I said.

"Please, call me Stevie," and she held out her gloved hand. We shook and, after giving me a wave, she popped Bailey back in the basket and headed off down the road. I went to the gate and waved to her until she had disappeared from view.

"Be careful on the lanes!" I called.

"I will!"

I was ravenous by the time I had hauled all of my stuff inside, so I went to the kitchen to grab some afternoon tea. I felt a little guilty that I had not even offered my new friend something. She must be really hungry by now, I thought. Just the idea of her returning tomorrow had been too much to hope for.

There was a message on the answerphone from a woman at a gallery that had recently exhibited a series of my work, wondering if there was anything new in the pipeline. I called her back, but spoke to an unfamiliar man with a lisp. I told him, "Maybe," then relaxed in front of the TV for a bit. However, by the time Christine arrived home I had managed to cook a nice meal for us both of chicken tagliatelle. As Christine often did she had picked up a bottle of something on the way home, this time of red. As we both watched TV together on the couch she attempted three times to get me to drink with her. I shook my head, preferring to stick to some decaff.

"You were busy today, yes?" I said.

She merely nodded and didn't even ask me about my day. I watched her become increasingly sozzled over the evening and so decided to spend a little time perusing some of the day's work in my studio. This was just an undecorated room at the back of the house with a bare floor. It caught the light in the mornings but, now with the sun on the other side, everything was shadowy. I turned on a little yellow lamp and set the canvas on the easel. Regarding this, the day's first effort, I thought to herself, Without a doubt one of the worst things I've ever done, and I tore it from the board. Then I sat and looked through the sketches. I felt like I had hardly begun to truly appreciate the beauty of my unearthly visitor. My pencil lines had awkwardly groped, struggling to describe the subtlest of contours and had failed to capture what I could now see in my mind's eye as I cast my mind back to that afternoon. I had made an utter pig's ear of it.

I wondered, Will she really return tomorrow? Have I dreamed her?

Rather than leaving the sketchbook on the table as usual, I locked it up in a draw and returned to the living room to find Christine asleep. That night we did not make love and I lay awake for a long time, listening to snoring, until I finally drifted away into a land of elves and unicorns.