Daniela by Behira Graham

Author:Behira Graham
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Behira Graham
Published: 2022-04-10T19:32:24+00:00

Chapter 15

Eight young men were sitting at the kitchen table having supper with the family. Alan had joined a rock band. The members were a mixture of rock and classical musicians from different countries and were in London recording an album.

I often caught Robert, the English keyboard player, looking at me. His eyes were small, hazel in colour and warm. He was slightly taller than me, big, but not fat. His mousy coloured hair receded from his high forehead and the small red lips were surrounded by a well-trimmed goatee. He was neither handsome nor ugly.

One afternoon he came round with the excuse that he wanted to practise the piano as it was much better than his own. Claire gave me a meaningful look and made herself scarce. We sat in the music room and he played. Rebecca sat on my lap sucking her thumb. Robert played something soft and gentle, sometimes it sounded like water bubbling, at others, a tinkling of raindrops on puddles. I looked out of the French windows, Claire was pottering in the garden, above were patches of blue spring sky and small, fluffy white clouds that hardly moved. In my head I went where sometimes music took me, into a kind of a dreamy spell.

At the end of the piece, he turned round and said, ‘I am not needed in the studio tomorrow. There is a place that I’d like to take you to. Will you come? Are you free?’ He was twiddling with the gold signet ring on his little finger. His voice was deep, warm and mellifluous.

‘Can I come too?’ Rebecca asked perking up.

He smiled at her. ‘Not this time Rebecca.’ He looked back at me. ‘It’s a magical place. I think you’d like it. How about it?’

I nodded my head.

*

Robert came the next afternoon and drove me to Highgate. I was taken aback when we entered a cemetery. I looked at him perplexed. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Wait till you see it.’

We meandered amongst graves with elaborate headstones in silence, not wanting to disturb the enchanted world. It was so very peaceful, there was no one around, no traffic noise, and the birds were singing and fluttering about. We passed classical statues, sculptures of winged angels, large follies and mausoleums, walked through arches, all pitted and greyed, mellowed by time. Majestic trees rose above us. Shrubs covered the ground. Ivy was taking over, rampaging, threatening to swallow it all up.

I felt Robert’s presence close to me as we walked silently in the unreal world.

Some angels held musical instruments. I imagined that at night, when no one was there, they came alive and played. I thought I felt the spirits whispering gently in the breeze, in the rustling of the leaves. The space belonged to them. I knew they were there.

Robert pointed out graves of famous people. One of my favourite writers was in residence, George Eliot. She was in good company.

We sat on a bench. ‘It’s wonderful. Thank you,’ I whispered.

‘I thought you might like it.

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