By day she's the Lady of the Manor but, by night, Marie-Jane Barnett becomes Pussy Barnett, jazz singer. George Frew went to meet her

There is a scene in the movie Goldfinger where Honor Blackman turns to a stunned Sean Connery and tells him: "I am Pussy Galore".

And Connery, as Bond, shaken and stirred, can only murmur, "I must be dreaming..."

Well, as our wheels scrunch up the long and winding gravel drive of Towersey Manor in the first hot flush of a June afternoon, we find ourselves in a dream location, sure enough.

Marie-Jane Barnett

Creamy-coloured ducks slumber beside a pond overhung by a weeping willow's green curtain. Lime trees and Corsican pines stand among Irish yews and the front lawn is dominated by an old and impressive Wellingtonia Redwood which survived being whacked by a lightning blast.

The manor itself is solid and English and stands in about two acres of grounds, with its own fields rolling awayto the back. As we arrive, the Lady of the Manor is sweeping the back step, watched fondly by Baldrick the Labrador.

Marie-Jane Barnett also happens to be the chairman of the local parish council and a jazz chanteusse of some ability.

You pronounce her given name with a French inflection: "Mahree Zhaan," as Inspector Clouseau might say.

You pronounce her stage name with caution. It is "Pussy.' And I am not dreaming...

As we sit in the shadow of a nut tree down by the summerhouse, she pours us refreshments and admits, laughing: "My American friends always say, "Gawd, we can't call you that!" but it was what my stepfather called me when it didn't have the connotations it does now, so..." she shrugs.

On July 7, Pussy will perform with the cool cats of the Joe Thompson Quartet as 170-odd guests fill the Manor's barn to listen to some hot jazz on a summer's evening.

The £22.50 a head soiree -which includes a rather fine dinner -will be for the benefit of various organisations in the village. The Manor Jazz has become an annual event. "I graciously dish out the money afterwards like Lady Muck," laughs Mrs Barnett.

She and her stockbroker husband David bought the house and grounds in 1973 and have transformed it utterly. Built in 1870 by a 'Squire Griffin', the house used to be owned by a red-faced gentleman who apparently terrified the locals.

The Barnetts raised their three children -Rory, Natalie and Oliver -here and would, you sense, be loathe to leave the place.

Mrs Barnett began singing when she was "wheeled on to entertain at parties," and resurrected her fondness for jazz when she joined the Jazz Thamensians 20 years ago.

"I love traditional jazz and anything classical, especially choral music. The children were young when I sang with the Jazz Thamensians and I never got home from gigs after midnight and never sang outside a 20-mile radius, but it was such great fun.'

She's says her personal hot tune is St Louis Blues in B flat and brings her creative touch to her garden and to her cooking. "I love trying out new stuff".

Marie-Jane Barnett is the first to admit that she was born into a good life and that the luck of the draw has been kind to her. She laughs easily, talks well and moves with the sort of confidence of someone who is happy in their own skin.

A brief flicker of annoyance crosses her face when I ask her if there is anything which annoys her. "These stories recently about women in the Army who have been having breast jobs paid for by the Army!" she says, incredulously.

"Bouncing around with their great big silicone boobs! It doesn't seem right, somehow."

She herself 'bounced around' Hatton Garden before her marriage, working as a diamond-sorter, armed with a keen eye and a pair of tweezers. "There were piles of them and we had to sort out the good stones from the rubbish," she exclaims.

She's been married for 32 years now, despite David's reluctance to share her love of jazz. "He's not a natural rhythm king," she admits, with a smile, "but he's gotten used to it."

You might think that everything in Marie-Jane's impressive garden is rosy, and you would be right, although she does worry about the constant threat to the Oxfordshire Green Belt.

"I'm always nervous about that aspect -it would be such a great pity if it was all spoiled," she says.

She rises and, followed by Baldrick who surely lives in Labrador heaven, she shows us the barn. The producers of the film Emma turned up one day and decided that the Barnetts' barn was just what they needed to bring Jane Austen's heroine to life.

"It was funny," says Marie-Jane. "There were all these people dressed up in costume, wearing sunglasses and talking away into mobile phones. Very strange."

Rural life, you reflect, doesn't get much better than this. A beautiful house, wonderful gardens and summer jazz in a rustic setting. A lot of hard work has gone into all this and the Lady of the Manor is nothing if not a hands-on member of her beloved community.

Pussy Barnett has made her mark.

Forgive her if she purrs a little.