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The prospect of meeting a childhood idol should have left me speechless and tongue-tied. Although not as much as it would my grandfather who, now that I come to look back at it with an adult's eyes, was probably completely besotted with Strowan Westwood's stage image. But in truth I wasn't quite sure what to expect. My Granddad had been dead for more than a century, so she must be really old by now. "Mister Findo Gask," Tibbermore said formally as he ushered me through the dining room door. Lady Westwood was seated at one end of a long and beautifully polished dining table, set with just two places clustered around a couple of large candelabra with at least a dozen lit candles. To my eyes, the room was almost unbearably bright. Even so, Strowan Westwood squinted over the top of a pair of bottle-thick glasses in my general direction. It seemed she was very nearly blind. "Mister Gask," she said graciously, "I do hope my summons has not unduly inconvenienced you." "Your Ladyship," I replied, deploying my best speaking-to-toffs voice, "It's my pleasure to make your acquaintance." She held out her hand; I took it and kissed it, as I had been taught to do as a child. The hand was slender and frail, with veins standing out on the back and knobbled knuckles which told of age and arthritis. She was one who was once famously beautiful but long years had taken their toll. A few vestiges still remained: her movements retained a certain poise and the bone structure of her face hinted at the luminous radiance she once had. "Please, sit down," she instructed, "Make yourself comfortable." Tibbermore was already holding the chair at the other place setting. I sat, taking the opportunity to look around a little more while the butler fussed around me for a few moments. I could see that Strowan was not able to get around very much by herself, judging by the two stout canes positioned discreetly not very far from her hand. "We'll eat right away, Tibbermore," her Ladyship said, "I'm sure Mister Gask will be hungry." "Of course, Ma'am." He padded softly across the room and left by the other door, the one that led to the kitchens, returning almost immediately with a tray. Bowls of soup appeared in front of both of us, then the old retainer offered me toadstool bread rolls - I took two - but did not, I noticed, offer any to her Ladyship. "Would you care for wine, Mister Gask?" Lady Westwood asked, her voice as clear and alive as I remembered from all those years ago. She might be a blind cripple, but she showed no signs of being gaa-gaa as well as being every bit the gracious hostess. I picked up my spoon to sample the soup - hot and delicious - and tackled the first of my bread rolls - fresh from the oven - while waiting for her Ladyship to direct the conversation. In my experience, it pays to be patient at this point. New clients often take a while to get to the nub of their concern, perhaps because they have difficulty in admitting to themselves that they actually have a problem at all.
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Part 5