The Christmas Songbird

by Emma Hardwick

“And she is such a gentle soul, Maria. These days, Monique is spiteful and begrudging. I am tiring of her petulance. These days, I thank the Lord I am retiring. Then she will become Thomas or David’s problem. I don’t know what Lord Ashwood sees in that harpy at times. She can’t love him, she only loves herself!”

  Maria allowed Max to vent but did not divulge her opinion on Monique. She had been brought up not to say something behind someone’s back that should not be said to their face.

  “Max, I know that Suzanna has enough talent to win this competition, but I am afraid for her.”

  “How so?” asked Max. “She’ll get over the stage fright once she’s a couple of songs into her act. They all do.”

  “No. It’s not that. You’ll remember I’ve told you about Suzanna’s Gypsy father—”

  It was precisely at that moment that Monique opened the door without knocking first. She looked at Maria, and then at Max, then turned and stared at Maria again.

  “Can I help you?” Maria demanded impatiently.

  “Excusez-moi! I didn’t know that you and Max were having a tête-à-tête. I will come back,” said Monique, as a small smile appeared on her lips.

  Unable to contain her joy, the diva left the room and danced down the stairs in delight and relief.

  “Do you think she heard what I said?” asked a worried-looking Maria.

  “I hope not,” Max replied gravely.

  “If the news of her parentage reaches the social columns in the newspaper, they will make Suzanna’s life a misery. The Roma community have been portrayed in such a terrible light in the press as scoundrels. She has been happy and safe here. You took us under your wing and protected us for years. I don’t want this ugly business surfacing—especially now with the contest of her dreams in her sights!”

  “Try not to worry, Maria, my dear. I’ll never let anyone hurt Suzanna.”

  “But Max,” the concerned mother protested, “you know being a Gypsy is worse than being a dog! Not only in England but all over Europe. Her chances in Italy are doomed before they even started. What was I doing when I went with Ocean Taylor all those years ago? The stigma will plague my child forever!”

  Max took her hand and held it gently.

  “If you hadn’t met that Gypsy fellow, you would never have had Suzanna, and all our lives would be the poorer for it. Some good came out of the encounter. Cling onto that thought.”

  Tears of dread began to form in Maria’s eyes. I’ve hidden my family secret for years, and now, in a moment of rashness, the most spiteful, selfish and vindictive woman in London knows. Max sensed her angst and tried to reassure her.

  “Maria, it will damage Suzanna far more if we teach her to be ashamed of herself. She is a fine, beautiful woman who emanates kindness and joy wherever she goes. Remind me—she does she know who her father is?”

  “Yes. I felt it was wrong to keep it from her—or tell her little white lies. But if this becomes public information, they will persecute her. Monique is bound to use it as a weapon if it furthers her own interests.”

  “I don’t know what makes people hate someone different from them, Maria. It makes no sense.”

  “Ocean told me that our Queen sold his people as slaves, that they were put to death without fair trials. The ‘lucky ones’ were whipped and tortured in public. All the while the newspapers published them to be thieves and murderers. There’s no wonder the public harbour such a grudge. They were painted in such a terrible light. And the stories from the continent are no better. There has prejudice there too— for centuries.”

  Max nodded slowly, listening to Maria, understanding first-hand what persecution feels like.

  “Ever since the Romany people arrived in Europe in the 1400s, they endured expulsions. Their children were forcibly taken from them. The was compulsory servitude in galleys or mines. Every Gypsy in the Balkans was marked as a slave. It’s all bubbling under the surface of polite society in Europe. Even if she won the competition and escaped the prejudice in England, there would be no respite in Italy.”

  “I can see why you are fearful, my dear. I am your friend, Maria, and we have walked a long road together. You can rely on my support.”

  Maria gave Max a sad smile. He decided to lighten the mood.

  “Is that how you look when your child is about to become the most famous singer in England and Europe? You, the mother of the legendary Songbird Theatre’s new star?” he teased.

  Maria giggled silently. Max always made her feel better. He was the eternal optimist giving everybody around him endless hope, no matter how dark their situation.

  “Let’s see what happens on Saturday night, Max. I know that Suzanna will do her best.”

  14

  The threat of the challenger

  Suzanna’s performance of Habanera was still haunting Monique. As late as the afternoon before the competition, she was still plotting how she could dissuade Suzanna from participating, or better still engineer her nemesis’ downfall. Losing the Gypsy girl from the contest will make my chance to audition in Florence a dead cert.

  Monique had guessed correctly that David Liebowitz was in love with Suzanna. Although David was a more loyal man than Peter Ashwood, and she was sure he would not take kindly to learning of Suzanna’s wayward Gypsy blood and his father’s decades of deceit.

  Monique also had plans to use David to further her own ends. She knew he was a handsome man—blond hair, blue-eyed and a body fit for a warrior. She allowed her mind to wander further. The idea of seducing David had endless appeal. Bedding him would be an excellent shortcut to progressing my career. She imagined how life would be if she married David. I’ll be the true queen of The Songbird. Oh, how she would entertain! Then she imagined raising the status of the theatre further still by courting the upper class with luxury gala evenings. The days of letting in all and sundry for a cheap night’s entertainment will be over.

  Monique was shocked into the present by the racket the rowdy ladies from Sally’s were making in the next room. What was Max thinking when he allowed that sort of woman to move in? How can he drop his standards so low? It won’t be long before those unholy cows begin enticing patrons into their makeshift boudoir. I will be performing in a den of iniquity—not a theatre!

  *

  Max sat opposite David who was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit and looking well-turned-out, as ever.

  “About Suzanna,” Max began the conversation.

  David looked up from a pile of books that he was reading.

  “What about Suzanna?” he asked.

  “You could not have chosen a more beautiful person to love, David. I have always held that girl dear in my heart.”

  David kept quiet, and let his gaze fall back to the book, hoping that Max would change the subject.

  “Have you asked her to marry you yet?”

  “No, Papa,” he sighed.

  Max rolled his eyes to the heavens.

  “Why is it so important that I marry?” asked David with irritation.

  “I want grandchildren. I want a family again.”

  “Look around, Papa,” chided David. “This place is full of children. Every time I take a walk, I see at least two whom I have never seen before. Even Mrs Bowles has her grandchildren running around here for the holidays.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that you will never give me grandchildren?” demanded Max heatedly.

  “You cannot order children like you order potatoes,” countered David.

  “Suzanna is a young and healthy lass,” said Max lifting a bushy grey eyebrow provocatively.

  David ignored him.

  “You don’t look very happy for a man in love,” Max laughed loudly.

  “Forget about Suzanna, Papa. It’s not meant to be.”

  “Why do you say that? What has happened? You’ve not had a tiff already, have you?”

  “Of course not. It’s quite simple. If Suzanna wins your stupid singing contest, she will go to Florence, join their opera,
and I will never see her again. I have been foolish to allow myself close to her. It will only end in heartache for us both. That’s why I’ve decided to cool things off.”

  Max nodded his head, realising his son had a point. He felt a pang of guilt for giving David’s sweetheart a place in the competition. Did I do the right thing?

  “What did Suzanna say about the audition? Does she even want to go? It’s a big step. She might just want the chance to perform at the Gala night. It’s not set in stone that she will go to Italy if she wins.”

  “But it is, Papa. Suzanna says Florence will be a dream come true. I can’t stop her. I won’t stop her. She will resent me for the rest of my life,” David said mournfully.

  “You are right, son,” agreed Max, “you can’t hold her back.”

  “Remind me, when does the winner leave for Italy?” asked David.

  “Immediately after the concert. Puccini is premiering Tosca in the middle of January, and she will get a small part in that, I expect. It’s a very tight deadline.”

  “I am beginning to hate Christmas.”

  “Don’t say that, David! Christmas is a time of exceptional joy,” Max chastised.

  “Papa, there is another option, I suppose?” said David, seriously. “What would happen if I don’t take over The Songbird when you retire?”

  “That is a strange question, my son. You know making the place a success has been my life’s work. I always assumed—”

  David cut him off.

  “—I have come to realise that I have lived in this place all my life, surrounded by hordes of people and suffocated with mountains of work. I want a simpler existence. And one day when I marry for love, I want a homely, quiet place where I can spend time with my wife and those grandchildren that you continually insist upon.”

  “David, I have built this business from nothing—put my heart and soul into it,” Max reiterated. “I can see you are unhappy here. I can see it every time I walk into this office. Much as my dream might be for you to take over, I feel the same as you feel about Suzanna, I can’t hold you back either if your future lies elsewhere.”

  “Will you sell The Songbird?”

  “I don’t think it will come to that. Besides, it’s my pension. In fact, it’s a lucrative business that will support us all well.”

  David raised his eyebrows. It could support us a damn side better if you stopped housing all these ‘people in need’. Or hungry elephants.

  “No, I will not sell it. I’ll give young Thomas first refusal on co-owning it with me. I am sure he could secure some funding.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course! Thomas loves this theatre, and he knows everything about it. He loves the people and the drama. With him as the new full-time manager, it will also allow me to come and visit regularly,” Max added with a laugh.

  “I thought you would be furious with me, Papa,” said David with relief.

  “Not at all, son. Living another man’s dream is a nightmare.”

  15

  Gala night arrives

  On the night of the gala, a great excitement gripped The Songbird. It was destined to be the evening that everyone would remember. The enthusiasm was contagious, as if the audience was aware that something extraordinary was going to happen. Everybody behind the scenes was a bag of nerves. Several of them had secretly taken a sneaky peek at the patrons as they assembled, trying to guess which person was representing the Florence opera.

  Max stood in the shadows, watching the people arriving, looking refined in his white dinner jacket and matching white bow tie. Thomas was wearing a dress suit which was unusual for the young aide who was more often seen in some scruffy looking overalls and giving orders in the wings all night.

  David had placed himself on the mezzanine level, high above the stage. He was never eager to get swamped by the crowd. He wore a perfectly pressed black dinner suit. Nobody would deny that David was a handsome man. His ash-blond hair was cut in a severe style, enhancing his air of sophistication and making his startling blue eyes and strong jaw the focus of attention.

  Max sent a young stagehand up the steel staircase to tell David the Italian ambassador and his entourage were due to arrive and that his attendance was mandatory. He made for the front steps of the theatre and proudly stood next to his father. Four carriages of dignitaries arrived. There was no mistaking the Italians with their tanned skins and glamourous slick black hair. David remembered Italian men were supposed to love blonde women and wondered if that would count in Monique’s favour. Mind you, the Italians are not particularly fond of the French after half a century of hostility, so perhaps that will count for nothing.

  The Italian women were some of the most fashionable and elegant that David had ever encountered. They dressed so impeccably they made even the most stylish British woman look like a frump. I wonder if Suzanna will begin dressing like an Italian if she goes to Florence? How many more times—I need to forget about her. Jewellery was in abundance, from bold gold rings for the men to diamonds and rubies for their wives, tastefully applied, yet enough to outshine the demure English. They persisted with their continental style of greeting, making a show of politely kissing each cheek. The handsome young Brit experienced each hot-blooded belladonna push her body up close to his and linger a few seconds too long.

  Thomas enjoyed every moment of the introduction, making the most of greeting Francesco de Renzis’ divine daughters. They fluttered their beautiful lush eyelashes at him unashamedly and introduced themselves by their first names.

  Monique and Suzanna were not in the welcoming party. Max was afraid that it would cause bias. Both women were still in their dressing rooms, suffering pre-show anxiety. Both were holding court with their supporters.

  An elite group of Peter Ashwood’s friends were drinking champagne with the French diva. Her dressing room was a picture of sophistication, fit for royalty. A simmering Ashwood stood on the peripheries of the small crowd watching Monique lap up adoration like a thirsty dog would a bowl of water. The scene began to disgust him. She side-lines me whenever someone ‘better’ comes along. Her arrogance, feeling she could get away with treating him so shabbily in public and that he would still come running like a soppy little puppy was becoming unbearable.

  Suzanna’s dressing room could not have been more different. Chaos rather than sophistication reigned supreme. She was surrounded by Sally’s girls who were drinking cheap gin out of pint glasses and offering their advice while Maria dressed her. The rowdy lasses had some outlandish suggestions, and Suzanna laughed so much she was afraid that her daughter would split the sides of her tight bodice.

  The proud mother was grateful for the cheery atmosphere. It took Maria’s mind off Monique De La Marre knowing the truth about Suzanna’s Gypsy father. As yet, the diva seemed to have kept the revelation to herself, and Maria was tempted to think perhaps Monique hadn’t overheard the tail end of her conversation with Max after all. She was wrong.

  The audience rose to their feet and gently applauded when the Italian contingent were shown to their seats. Ambassador Francesco de Renzis made an opening speech hailing opera singers as more spectacular than royalty—'one step away from gods’ he said at one point. David was sure that the pope would have burnt him at the stake if he had heard the speech.

  He excused himself, went backstage and waited for Suzanna to arrive. Monique appeared first with her sycophantic friends. Her bright red sequined dress showed as much soft white flesh as she could muster without causing too much offence. Her hair was styled to show off her blonde tresses, in the hope that it would seduce the red-blooded male judges.

  David greeted Peter Ashwood with a handshake.

  “May the best woman win,” Peter quipped. “I wish you all the best.”

  “Thank you, and to you as well. I will pass the message to Suzanna.”

  David smiled, but he could not share Ashcroft’s enthusiasm. Suzanna is the best woman, and when she wins, I will have lost her—fore
ver.

  Suzanna floated toward David. The timid little girl he raced around the theatre with as a child was now a sophisticated performer ready to face the crowd. As she walked towards him, in her mind, David was the only person in the room. As she reached him, she gazed into his eyes passionately. He held out his arms to her. She allowed him to kiss her on the cheek, mimicking the Italians earlier. Ashwood watched them from where he stood and his jealousy flared up. Why can’t I find a beautiful woman who would look at me like she looks at David? Monique barely acknowledges me these days.

  Monique was going to sing first. She walked onto the stage and blew a kiss to her supporters in the wings. With her head held high, she stood behind the luxurious red velvet curtain, waiting for it to open slowly.

  The curtains parted. The audience stood up and applauded Monique, who smiled and dropped her head in acknowledgement of their adoration. She expected nothing less than total devotion from them and was delighted to receive it on such an important night in her career. Magnifique! The judges will see how much this British audience loves me! And so it will be in Italy!

  Monique chose to sing an aria by the Italian composer, Puccini’s, ‘Musetta’s Waltz’ from La Bohème. She could not have chosen a better song to sum up her personality.

  When I walk all alone in the street,

  people stop and stare at me

  and look for my whole beauty

  from head to feet…

  Deliberately choosing an aria with Italian lyrics, the entire piece was a musical projection of Monique’s narcissism. She was a gifted woman who entranced the audience with her powerful timbre and vocal range. Performing with such serene confidence and natural talent, she was sure that the judges would choose her. Backstage, she had already packed her luggage in eager anticipation of her imminent journey to Florence. With all her heart she believed it was time to bid farewell to miserable, boring, London.

  Monique paraded about the stage, going through the motions of her routine that she had performed thousands of times already, delivering her songs with conviction and passion. The whole performance was polished and professional.