The explosion had woken up everybody in the street. Mortified, David watched his neighbours open their windows to see what was happening outside. He took a quick pace back and pulled the drapes firmly closed to shut out the unfolding crisis—and ease his nerves.
Curiosity getting the better of him, David pulled on his clothes and ran across the street like a mad man. The foremost thing on his mind was ensuring that Suzanna was safe. He banged his fist on the locked courtyard doors and demanded to be let in. Mr Thakur obliged. Blinkered with concern for his woman’s welfare, David rushed across the courtyard, taking no notice of the Thakur boys efforts to calm the distressed elephant. He flung the stage door open with a deafening crash.
He shot up the back staircase to the attic and shoved his way through the extended Songbird family. He did not care who saw him or what they thought. I need to know she’s safe. With palpable relief, he saw Suzanna observing all the excitement, her face lit up with joy as the humorous spectacle unfolded. David grabbed her arm and pulled her away.
“Come with me,” was the whispered order.
“I’m in no danger,” she said, yanking her arm free.
“I don’t care. I don’t want you in this place, with all these lunatics.”
The young Chinese boys had tired of sniggering at Mr Lee and were running around the legs of Max and Sargent Payne, playing tig. Granny Chong was becoming worryingly defensive again.
“I suppose you have a point, David,” she conceded.
Quickly, they made their way to his apartment, with David glancing at his neighbours’ curtains hoping to see fewer twitching open than before.
Upstairs, David slid his fingertips between his window drapes and looked through the tiniest sliver of a gap he could manage. He waited for five minutes to see if any flames were coming from the theatre. One loose spark could spell disaster if it landed on one of the wooden eaves, but thankfully there were none. He closed the curtain praying that there wouldn’t be more disasters at The Songbird before dawn.
“What a night!” said Suzanna, as she collapsed into a fireside chair in fits of giggles, which continued as she filled David in with all the amusing details.
12
Escaping the chaos
Suzanna’s eyes began to droop, and she gave a deep sigh followed by a yawn. It was well past everyone’s bedtime.
“You are sleeping here tonight. I won’t have you in that disaster zone over there.”
“But there’s only one bed, David?”
“Just think of it like sharing with your mother. No one will know. I need to get some rest before I speak to my father tomorrow. Goodness knows how I am going to resolve this situation. Those fireworks on the premises are an accident waiting to happen.”
He went to the bathroom and slipped into his cotton nightshirt, then climbed in next to Suzanna, making sure none of his body touched hers. She looked a little shocked at his forwardness, but appreciated it was the most practical solution under the circumstances. David was obviously shattered and dealing with Max was going to take considerable effort. A good night’s sleep will help them both.
Suzanna fell asleep immediately, but David could not. Just as he closed his eyes, he thought he heard the loud trumpeting of an elephant, but decided his exhausted mind was playing tricks on him. In the morning, he would discover it wasn’t.
He could not take his eyes off her peaceful face as he felt her body heat warming the bed up. All he wanted to do was put his arms around her and wake her up, but he bit his tongue and lay there, motionless, observing her.
Suzanna rolled over in her sleep and sighed. By now, the temptation was too great. He kissed her lightly on her forehead, put his arm around her waist and gently manoeuvred his body up against hers. Dozing and barely awake, instinctively, she put her arm over him. His fingertips could feel her soft welcoming flesh under her nightdress. It was a tantalising sensation. He was surprised when she instinctively undid the top button allowing him to kiss her neck. Her mind had raced back to the night at The Crown and Cushion. He was so dashing, rescuing me like that. She felt safe with him. Then, with a smile, she remembered how he complimented her at The Ritz, and with that, the last of her resolve evaporated.
David was the sweetest lover, treating Suzanna with the utmost tenderness. He studied her face as he undressed her, sensitive to any sound or expression which could indicate that she was afraid or uncomfortable. He loved her dark skin that contrasted with his as their limbs entwined. Her dark hair that tumbled down her back like the mane of a wild horse.
With the utmost care, he covered her with his body. He did not have to ask her if she wanted to make love—he could feel it in her response to him. Suzanna was the enjoying exquisite pleasure of her first time with a man she cared deeply for. He wanted the moment to be special for her—unforgettable even. The slight awkwardness she felt from her inexperience was nothing in comparison to the ecstasy that engulfed her. Afterwards, they lay in one another's arms not uttering a word, content to listen to each others soft breathing. David did not tell her that he loved her, and Suzanna did not ask.
Early the next morning, David knew the workers at The Songbird would be taking up their positions and time was of the essence if they were to get back undetected. David washed and dressed for work, then he smuggled Suzanna back to her room, dressing her in one of his big coats and a wide-brimmed hat to hide her long hair.
Her bedroom still had the Parisienne backdrop in situ. He stepped into the French capital for a moment and kissed her again, chastising himself for falling in love with the beautiful exotic creature who he would lose forever at the gala night contest.
13
The casualty emerges
Thomas opened his bedroom door and limped toward the staircase. Unsure if he was suffering a severe concussion when he swore he saw two white bunny rabbits bouncing on the steps watching him from the shadows and thought he might be. Other than hallucinating and a few painful wounds on his torso, he decided he would be right as rain soon.
On the landing, he bumped into Sid.
“Good morning, soldier,” Sergeant Payne greeted cheerfully.
“Good morning, Sir,” Thomas replied, thinking nothing of indulging Sid’s desire to reference his military past.
“Are you aware of the explosion in the early hours of the morning?”
“Yes, Sir. The racket was unmissable,” replied Thomas.
“At least, Max and I were able to contain the uprising,” confirmed Payne.
He looked at the Sergeant, raising his eyebrows at the curious comment. Thomas, like Max, was spotting the clues that Sergeant Payne seemed to think he was still on a tour of active duty. If the aide were honest, it worried him a little. He’d read in the papers that ex-military men were prone flashbacks and snapping at the slightest bit of provocation. Thomas hoped Payne was not losing his grip on reality.
“It was an attack on our soil,” added Sid.
“Quite,” Thomas replied, deciding to humour the man.
Well, Payne is certainly in the right environment to have a vivid imagination and curious habits. He will fit in perfectly to this madhouse. Thomas left Sid to his warlike delusions and, feeling peckish at last, went in search of food.
Mrs Bowles had been preparing all the meat that she could preserve for the Christmas Day meals. There was smoked ham hanging in the cold store, and sides of beef soaking in hefty buckets of salted water. She was liberally dousing at least a dozen Christmas cakes with brandy, while she gave her assistant orders on how to steam a plum pudding in a muslin rag. Thomas tried to steal a couple of mince pies cooling on the rack, but Mrs Bowles caught him. She rapped his knuckles with her ladle then shooed him away. Thomas winced in pain and loosened his grip on the sweet treats. Please, no more injuries, I’ve suffered enough.
Seeing his miserable expression, Mrs Bowles took pity on him.
“You can have one—just one—mind.”
Thomas grinned at the news. His arm shot ou
t quicker than a frog’s tongue latching onto a fly as he whipped away one of the delectable pies.
“Now, get out from under my feet, Mr Bartlett. Got a to-do list as long as your arm, I have. Max keeps adding to the bloomin’ thing. I think when I die, I’ll come back as a miracle worker—it’ll be a nice rest!”
Thomas winked at Mrs Bowles then scuttled off to the big table and munched on the glorious snack.
*
While the backstage staff at The Songbird worked tirelessly to prepare for the yuletide festivities, it was time for Max and the others to take a break and head off to Lord Ashwood’s country estate to hunt the game birds destined for the gala night’s formal dinner.
Thomas did not know what he was more excited about, a luxury weekend retreated or pointing a real gun at a clueless bird and shooting the stuffing out of it. As a young lad, at the coast, he enjoyed fishing for crabs at the quayside. Alas, Thomas, a city boy at heart did not have much of an idea about what was involved to put meat on the table. He could not ask Max or David for advice as he was sure they were as inexperienced as he was. Perhaps Sergeant Payne might pass on a few tips to us. Then, Thomas began to imagine the chaos that would ensue at the Ashwood Estate if Sergeant Payne went on the rampage with a loaded gun. He decided did not want to find out what that might entail.
Max was adamant Suzanna should accompany them saying he needed his secretary wherever he went. However, Thomas knew that Max loved Suzanna like a daughter, and it was far more likely he wanted her to experience the finery that Lord Ashwood’s sumptuous lifestyle had to offer, rather than call upon her administrative assistance.
Ashwood was still smitten with his fiancée, Monique, so everyone presumed she would be there too. Thomas wondered when Peter would begin to see the horrible harridan for what she was, but perhaps that was what rich men wanted—a snooty wife who would fit in with other haughty wives.
Thomas realised how lucky he was as well as everyone else involved with The Songbird’s productions. They were all immersed in a world of delight and fantasy, unaffected by class. The artistic license to ply their trade meant they were not subject to societal norms. In the big melting pot that was the auditorium, the rich had their gala nights, posh stalls and boxes and the rest had the regular nights and the cheap seats. Artists seem to face no judgement, else except in the newspapers, perhaps. Even then, the critics were only really interested in seeing performances in the comfort of the front row and schmoozing with the stars at the lavish after show parties. Bad reviews were soon forgotten by the paying public when word of mouth would spread wider and longer than a scathing one-off piece in the press.
Thomas was still pondering the benefits of his career when a tall, sad-looking man in a black suit came into the kitchen and slumped down on the chair beside him. The man looked like something between a tax collector and an undertaker. Mrs Bowles made no attempt to chase the man off. He made no effort to greet anybody working at the table or introduce himself, yet he did thank the cook for the meal.
“Who’s the grim reaper?” Thomas asked Mrs Bowles after the man had left.
“The new magician,” she answered, “I don’t know his name yet.”
Thomas’ mood seemed to lighten instantly. That must be where those two bunnies came from! Thank goodness! I’m not concussed after all.
*
Suzanna’s mind was focused on the Christmas gala event and the life-changing contest. The date was rapidly approaching.
“Ma, I want to wear a black dress for the competition. Have you got anything that you can alter?” Suzanna had asked Maria.
“What’s come over you, Suzanna? Black is for mourning widows and funerals. A bright colour is what you need. I have been ordered to create something spectacular for Monique. We’re planning an elegant but daring scarlet gown. Max has said she can choose the most breath-taking earrings from the Liebowitz family collection.”
Suzanna rolled her eyes, hardly impressed by her mother’s safe and staid plans for her. I am not a poor man's Monique! The young girl wanted to make a bold impression, not look like every other singer on the variety circuit.
“I can’t see how looking bereaved will endear you to the judges, Suzanna,” Maria snapped, irritated by her daughter’s desire to be an iconoclast. “How about some brightly coloured ribbons and beads at least?”
“Yes to black. No to the colourful trimmings.”
Maria shook her head.
“I am sure that it will be perfect when you have finished it,” the girl said with a smile.
“Monique is going to steal the show with the red dress, Suzanna. Is that what you want?”
“That is what she is paid to do, Ma, be the diva, the starlet. Max is just being kind to me. He could easily have chosen someone else to sing—girls would be biting his hand off at the chance. I have no desire to be a prima donna. It is enough reward that I am trusted to be his secretary, let alone participate in such a prestigious competition. Winning is of no consequence.”
Maria’s face was one of total concentration as her daughter put on the black dress she had slaved over. The seamstress was adamant it would not resemble a mourning garment and applied her creative license to design a simple yet breath-taking gown that would still meet her daughter’s approval. With its drop-waisted design and snug bodice, the dress elongated the wearer’s torso, enabling Suzanna to reveal her shapely body in a subtle way. The sleeves were off the shoulder, exposing her dark and exotic skin. The skirt velvet had a gossamer-thin layer of soft tulle fabric on the outside. Dotted on the tulle were tiny black beads. The mother knew when her daughter stood under the spotlight, the beads would sparkle with each footstep. The hemline just touched the floor as Suzanna moved, creating the impression that she was gliding gracefully like an angel, not walking.
To complete the ensemble, she insisted that Suzanna wear her hair in an elegant chignon. A simple black ribbon choker with a round diamante pendant sat at her neck, sparkling against her olive skin. Everything inch of Suzanna was elegant, simple and breath-taking.
“I cannot wear this, Mama. I cannot,” whispered Suzanna, looking at her reflection, thinking it was a stranger staring back out at her.
“I have not spent a week of late nights making that gown for you to refuse to wear it,” Maria growled. “What’s wrong with it, pray tell?”
“It is too beautiful. It is more beautiful than I imagined it could be.”
“Isn’t that the point though? This is a gala competition, Suzanna. I will not allow you to waltz on stage looking like one of those St. Giles women from Sally’s.”
“It is stunning,” Suzanna cooed, swishing the skirt from side to side so she could admire the twinkling beadwork.
“It is,” Maria agreed, bursting with pride, “and I am certain you’ll be the most beautiful woman in The Songbird on the night.”
“Perhaps,” came the timid reply as Suzanna got changed into her usual clothes.
Maria shook her head when the girl left. So often she wanted to give her daughter a good shake for her lack of confidence, but somehow managed to stifle the urge.
“Can I come in?” shouted a voice from the doorway.
“Of course, Max. Why I have not seen you for days! I’ve been trapped in here behind this wretched sewing machine. What have you been up to?”
“Mmmm!” he sighed, “I have been having a few adventures. Have you met Sundatara the elephant yet?”
“No,” Maria chuckled, “but I have heard Thomas complaining that thanks to her, our Christmas trees are disappearing at a great rate of knots.”
“Well, she is a big hungry girl,” laughed Max, “and I have to keep her happy. She is a temperamental thing at times, bless her. It can’t be easy settling into a city when she’s used to roaming the jungle. It will be worth the trouble though. The crowd will love her—I can feel it in my bones.”
“I think it’s a fine idea, Max. What could possibly go wrong?” Maria jested, remembering the chaos of Christmas
es gone by. “You’ve certainly got a lot of nerve at your age.”
“Now, now, Maria! I don’t know how to take that comment,” Max protested.
He wandered over and sat down in a comfortable chair next to Maria’s sewing machine. Over the years, regularly they confided in each other in their hour of need. Whether Max was looking for a voice of reason to assess his latest scheme or a loyal friend to confess to when his confidence was shaken, he would visit Maria and pour his heart out. The lifelong bond was forged because the two of them had similar backgrounds. Both had started from nothing in life and worked their way up. Max Leibowitz, the Polish immigrant had become the director of one of the finest theatres in London. Maria, the unwed mother was now head seamstress and costume designer at The Songbird. As single parents, they had been forced to raise their children without a spouse, and many a night they had sought advice from each other about their offspring.
“I would love Suzanna to win the competition, Maria. It would do her confidence the power of good. After honing her craft in Florence she would be the talk of London on her return. This theatre needs a true songbird. Right now we have a blasted ‘song vulture’.”
“Now, Max. Don’t be ungrateful. Monique ensures the theatre is full night after night. You can’t complain.”
“I thought that too,” he replied, “—until I watched Suzanna. I’ve seen enough acts in my time to know that she has true star potential, even if she might not think so.”
“Yes, she sang beautifully. I was so proud of her the last time she appeared here. She just needs a little more confidence and she will soar to success.”
The Christmas Songbird Page 11