she could ask for. I play E minor carefully, slowly, but - I suppose - otherwise perfectly.
“Well done, Mr. Reid,” she says. “That concludes your scales. And the British School of Music doesn’t always demand that candidates play arpeggios if their scales are sound. Yours are excellent, so we can move on to your pieces, I think.”
I can hardly believe this - these exercises were my weak point and she’s telling me I can skip them altogether. I like this exam.
“Now I’d like you to play a piece for me. How about trying the James Hook? Any time you’re ready. We’ve plenty of time.”
And so I play James Hook’s Tempo di Minuetto from Guida di Musica, opus 37, to the best of my ability, which isn’t very good, but in truth I can’t do much better. Then I follow up with Theodor Kirchner’s Little Study in D minor, opus 71, number 18, which, buoyed by the success of previous parts of my exam, I manage to sound less excruciating than I’ve ever made it sound before. Each piece receives a quiet smile and a “thank you, Mr. Reid”.
“Now I’d like you to play your nominated special piece, Mr. Reid, which will be judged for its overall musicality rather than on technique. I see you have chosen a piece by M. M. Hume. Do you know anything about - him?” she asks. The Mona Lisa smile is there again.
“It’s a ‘she’, actually. M. M. Hume is my piano teacher,” I tell her.
“Excellent,” she says, and sits back as if to enjoy the music. Poor her, I think.
But I play the piece, wishing an inward wish for Ms. Maxwell-Hume at the same time, because I do quite like playing it anyway.
A minute or so later, it’s all over. I turn to look at the examiner, who to my surprise is - I think - brushing a tear from her eye.
“Are you all right?” I ask. “Have I upset you?”
She shakes her head. “Quite the reverse. It was beautiful. I’ve never heard such a beautiful piece.”
I don’t quite know what to say. “Thank you” is about the best I can manage.
She turns her attention to the papers in front of her, and furiously scribbles lots of notes on my entry form, another sheet, and then finally signs everything. Eventually, she looks up at me.
“Mr. Reid, I’m delighted to inform you that you have passed Grade Three Piano at the British School of Music, and passed with distinction. If you’d care to step across here, I’ll present you with your certificate.” She rises from her chair to greet me with a slightly wider version of the Mona Lisa smile, offering me a signed certificate with her left hand, and her right hand to shake. “Perhaps you’d like to attempt Grade Four some time soon.”
I can hardly see any of her beneath her habit, of course, but what I can pick out of her tall, willowy figure is uncannily familiar. As is the Chanel No. 5.
Accepting my coveted certificate - the signature is illegible - and shaking her hand, I ask, “I wonder, might we have met before? You’re not by any chance from the order of the Sisters of Mary of the Sacred Cross, are you?”
The Mona Lisa smile replies before she speaks. She seems surprised. “You’ve heard of us? That’s nice.”
“My piano teacher happened to be of your order, as it happens.”
“My,” she says, “what a coincidence.”
“She doesn’t wear a red habit, though, she dresses… normally, if you know what I mean. The red habit is quite striking, isn’t it?”
“It’s functional. We believe we should only wear what is necessary to provide due modesty.” I think I understand what that means now, although where the Chanel No.5 fits in I can’t quite fathom.
Gathering my things together to make my exit, I say, “As far as Grade Four goes, Sister Mary, I think I might take a break from exams for a while. Perhaps in the future, though.”
“I do hope so,” she says. “You seem to have found an excellent teacher. You must let her know that you did so well.”
“I’ll phone her straight away to tell her the good news.”
But making my way from the church hall towards my Honda Jazz, I reflect on the cost of passing Grade Three piano in the British School of Music, and suspect I can at least save myself the price of a phone call.
###
Thank you for reading The Piano Exam. If you enjoyed reading, this short story, you might like to know that it was written as a prequel to the full-length novel Four Old Geezers And A Valkyrie, available from the same outlets as this story.
The first couple of chapters of Four Old Geezers And A Valkyrie follow...
FOUR OLD GEEZERS AND A VALKYRIE
Gordon Lawrie
© Gordon Lawrie, 2012