The old man saw my notebook and smiled at me.
'Don't tell me. You're a reporter. Which newspaper
do you work for?'
'The Sunday Times, sir.'
'A very good newspaper. Come in and sit down. Ask
your questions. We were young once, weren't we,
Linda? But of course that was a long time ago.'
He turned to a tall woman, who was standing in the
corner. She smiled at me with friendly brown eyes. 'So
this is Lady Evans,' I thought. 'What a nice face she
has! She looks like a farmer's wife.'
I was not afraid any more. I sat down and opened
my notebook.
'Tell me about yourself, please, Sir Anthony. Did
you come from a musical family? Did you start to learn
the piano when you were three, like Mozart?'
The famous pianist smiled. 'No, no, my dear. I am
the first musician in my family. And I was fourteen
years old before I touched a piano for the first time.'
He saw the surprise on my face. 'We have a little time
before my concert. I'll tell you my story. It's a strange
story, but every word of it is true. You see, I left school
when I was thirteen. Everybody called me Tony in
those days. I worked on a farm . . .'
It was an exciting story and he told it well. At first I