Celia hadn’t played the piano since she was an undergraduate, but once her child was old enough to go to school, she decided to start playing again. She planned to try having lessons with an old lady who lived in Pebmarsh, a ten-minute drive from her house. The lady had been a concert pianist, and had performed music for two pianos with her partner, who also happened to be her identical twin sister. The critics at the time had been unanimous in pronouncing them the ultimate piano duo, but since Geraldine had died, Mary had stopped performing and become a piano tutor. Mary lived in a low, pink thatched cottage opposite the village pub. She was wearing an apron when she opened the door, as she was cooking Sunday lunch. She invited Celia to come into the living room, where two upright pianos were standing side by side. She asked Celia to play a tune, after which she said she would gladly undertake Celia’s tuition. Then she made a pot of tea and they sat and talked for a while. She had a twinkle in her eye as she talked about her and Geraldine’s turbulent past. She said one should never underestimate the trust between identical twins. She described a time in their childhood when Geraldine had taken a tumble and Mary had actually felt Geraldine’s ankle twist as though it were her own. A kind of telepathy seemed to underlie their individual thought processes. On the rare occasions when they did disagree, though, a tug of wills could develop which could seriously undermine their partnership. After Geraldine’s husband died, she wanted to perform as much as she could, but Mary preferred to stay at home on the village and enjoy a quiet family life.
Celia had lessons weekly. Mary could sit quietly and turn the pages of the score, stopping her from time to time to make a comment or underline a few bars in pencil. Mary, who herself had had to undergo a strict training with Mabel Lander, taught Celia to tuck her thumb under her fingers so that her scales became fluent and her tone strong and even. Later she taught Celia to play some of Chopin’s nocturnes, and later still, some of his Etudes, which are far from easy to play, even for professionals. “You’re got plenty of music inside you, my dear,” Mary used to say, “We’ve just got to uncover it, that’s all.”
Celia had lessons weekly. Mary could sit quietly and turn the pages of the score, stopping her from time to time to make a comment or underline a few bars in pencil. Mary, who herself had had to undergo a strict training with Mabel Lander, taught Celia to tuck her thumb under her fingers so that her scales became fluent and her tone strong and even. Later she taught Celia to play some of Chopin’s nocturnes, and later still, some of his Etudes, which are far from easy to play, even for professionals. “You’re got plenty of music inside you, my dear,” Mary used to say, “We’ve just got to uncover it, that’s all.”