Corn Goddess and Other Stories

By Geoffrey Gudgion

Short stories with a subtle, other-worldly twist, by the best-selling author of Draca and Saxon's Bane:

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Geoffrey Gudgion
• Release date: Mar 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393266990

Book preview

Welcome

I HOPE YOU ENJOY Corn Goddess and Other Stories. It is offered free of charge to my readers’ group, The Writer’s Cabin, and is available for purchase through most ebook retailers.

It is a living book, in the sense that it will be updated with a fresh short story every quarter, free of charge.

If you have purchased the book, and wish to receive alerts about updates, and news of other forthcoming releases, please join The Writer’s Cabin at

https://geoffreygudgion.com

Thank you!

About the Author

I SERVED FOR OVER 10 years in the armed forces, and made my first attempts at writing fiction during quiet moments on deployment. Fortunately none of those efforts survive. I later stepped off the corporate ladder, in the midst of a career in marketing and general management, specifically to release time to write. Freelance consultancy paid the bills. My first novel, Saxon’s Bane, reached #1 in Amazon Kindle’s ‘Ghost’ category, and I now write full time. My second novel, Draca, will be published by Unbound on 14 May 2020. When not crafting words I am an enthusiastic amateur equestrian and a very bad pianist.

There’s more background on my web site at https://geoffreygudgion.com

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Muse

Author's notes

MUSE has special meaning for me. When I entered it for a short story competition at a writing conference in 2011 it was the first piece I had submitted for external appraisal. The £50 first prize was my first income as a writer. Much more importantly, this independent validation of my writing encouraged me to keep going.

The character of the old lady in Muse has stayed with me; she has a role to play in future stories that will look back into the history of a crumbling English country estate. There is a glancing reference to her in Corn Goddess as the young Mrs Bonnevaux, set in 1953 when she is newly widowed. Her history may change a little as I write, but this is how she first appeared.

You may wish to listen to Liszt’s Liebesträume while reading this story, for reasons that will become clear. I recommend the Evgeny Kissin performance on YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XsxDH4HcOWA

Muse

HUGO’S PARENTS HAD a grand piano. It beckoned to me, that first time I stayed, with the curve of its case sweeping around the corner of the drawing room like the grand gesture of a conductor’s arm.

From its seat, a pool of mahogany stretched away, reflecting pictures of Hugo's ancestors in darkening oils. Beyond, French windows stood open to the terrace, framing a landscape of lawns and folded parkland. Summer spilled into the room; birdsong, the snip of a gardener’s shears, the smell of cut grass.

The maker’s name gleamed the piano’s pedigree; one of the best, naturally. So fine a house could have no less. One day, I told myself, I would own such a piano. For a long moment my fingers hovered near the keyboard, imagining, while the slow tick of a long-case clock measured the silence. I yearned to unleash Liszt, perhaps, or Chopin, on such an instrument. The great composers had no place in the jangling heart of my parents’ old upright.

Regretfully, I lowered my hands into my lap. Guests should not take liberties, particularly with a sick woman upstairs. Later, perhaps. I would ask.

Do you play?

I jumped. I had not seen the elderly lady in the wingback chair. She sat with the straight-backed, knees-together poise of the finishing-school generation, in perfect harmony with her surroundings. Blouse-and-pearls against a backdrop of chintz and fresh roses. I nodded, retreating from the keyboard.

I didn’t mean to startle you. You must be Hugo’s friend from university, the Music Scholar.

I nodded, fumbling for words. Matthew. This must be the ailing grandmother.

Where is everybody? Her accent was cut glass but friendly, even vivacious. Despite her age, she was slender enough to be dwarfed by the chair, seeming more debutante than dowager.

The others went riding.

But not you?

I shook my head, feeling inarticulate. I can’t ride. I thought I might read a book. I nodded towards the paperback lying on the piano.

And Hugo’s mother?

I think she went to the pharmacy. She mentioned a prescription that the doctor had written for you.

Oh dear, I did so want to see ..... For a moment there was real regret in her voice, and she lifted her hands and dropped them back in her lap.

Can I do anything for you? Fetch something, perhaps?

Would you play for me?

I looked at her intently, hoping my eagerness was not too obvious. Her eyes sparkled with humour above high cheekbones, and for the first time in my life I realised that an old woman could be beautiful. She had masked the pallor of sickness with a little rouge, so that she seemed as translucent and fragile as the porcelain figurines scattered around the room. I demurred half-heartedly.

We’ve all been told to keep quiet. Hugo’s mother said you needed to rest.  I gather the doctor’s coming back this afternoon.

Oh, stuff and nonsense! These doctors don’t know anything. I just had a funny turn. Please? Something romantic, perhaps?

I touched the keyboard reverently, exploring its feel, but that first, tentative chord resonated with surprising strength. There was a depth in this piano, a richness of tone that pleaded for passionate material, as if telling me what to play. Liszt. It had to be Liszt.

A great piano magnifies the pianist. It lets you discover nuances within the music that you never knew were there. It also amplifies faults, but I played the A-Flat Liebesträume as well as I had ever done. I kept my hands lingering over the keyboard as the last note faded, well satisfied, smiling at the privilege.

Bravo.  She applauded gently then kept her hands together in front of her lips, as if in prayer. Above them her eyes were moist. How did you know to play Liebesträume?

I shrugged, lacking the words to explain.

That was my dear husband’s favourite. He used to make me play it over and over again. She glanced at a portrait of an army officer hanging above the fireplace. We only had a few years together, but they were wonderful. Such a long time ago, now.

You used to play?

"Oh