Most of Monique’s set had been operatic, but it ended with a change of tempo as she belted out the music hall staple, ‘The Man on the Flying Trapeze’. The audience gleefully clapped along, singing their hearts out to the popular tune. The rafters were definitely being raised. It looked and sounded like the crowd were eating out of Monique’s hand as she entertained them. Her set ended with rapturous applause.
“Don’t be afraid, Suzanna,” David said gently, as the curtain fell on Monique’s act.
With everyone backstage still transfixed by the starlet’s magical performance, Suzanna gave David a grateful peck on the cheek for his kind words, then held her mouth close to his ear.
“There is nothing for me to fear. I will have your beautiful face right in front of me,” she whispered.
As she turned to walk on the stage, Suzanna’s back was straight, and her chin was up. Her posture was magnificent, and her genuine warm smile charmed her way into the Italians’ hearts from the moment they saw her. She floated into the spotlight, with the beads on her dress twinkling at the audience. The Italian women were impressed with the bold statement made by her black outfit. It was as innovative as anything that they could buy in Milan. The men were captivated by her dark exotic beauty, her skin tone looking sunkissed and healthy, despite it being the middle of the harsh British winter.
The audience held their breath in anticipation to hear Suzanna sing. She had been the talk of theatreland after her last performance at The Songbird, and soon they would hear the fresh-faced newcomer once again.
Conductor Hoffman lifted his baton, and the orchestra started to play the introduction to Carmen’s Habanera. Suzanna began the song note-perfect and with a blistering confidence that David had never imagined that she could summon.
On stage, she transformed herself into a Spanish Gypsy. Her inhibitions fell away. She was lost in the music and lived through the song. Her body and soul portrayed Carmen searching for love. Impressed by her deep connection to the music, the audience could tell she wasn’t just singing the lyrics, she was living them before their very eyes.
At the end of her first song, the audience was enraptured. Their delight in her soared higher still by the end of her set, feeding off her enthusiasm as she sang. As the orchestra played the last few bars, a humble and grateful Suzanna curtsied to the crowd, her face light up with true joy. Compared with Monique and her peacocking, Suzanna’s humility was touching.
Stunning bouquets of flowers thrown by Suzanna’s supporters landed at the front of the wooden stage and skidded towards her feet. The crowd were chanting for more, and since she was the second artiste on the billing, Suzanna seized the opportunity to continue. I must prove to Max I can replace Monique when she leaves The Songbird.
She gave Conductor Hoffman a cheeky wink. Hoffman was delighted to get an opportunity to infuriate the diva, and with a swift flick of his baton, the orchestra sprang into life once more with the opening notes of Suzanna’s strongest song, Marie Lloyd’s signature tune, ‘The Boy I Love Is Up in the Gallery’. She forgot about the horrors of The Crown and Cushion and imagined David’s face as she closed her eyes and immersed herself in the tune, loving every second of the attention.
The boy I love is up in the gallery
The boy I love is looking now at me
There he is, can't you see, waving his handkerchief
As merry as a robin that sings on a tree
Monique stood off stage, surrounded by her shallow friends. Alas, they were ignoring her, all of them as taken with Suzanne as everyone else in the auditorium. The diva did her best to remain the image of decorum and grace, but in the end, she failed miserably. On the verge of tears, she ran to her dressing room, mortified. Alone, a distraught Monique sobbed into a cushion on her chaise longue. Her dramatic stage make-up dribbled from her lashes and down her pale cheeks in long black streams. For the first time in her professional life, Monique had to consider she might not have the upper hand.
Back on stage, Suzanna was winding up her encore with a lively rendition of ‘Where did you get that hat.’ The audience’s happy voices ringing out and filling the theatre with joy. It made Monique feel worse. She has the crowd eating out of her hand.
There was a gentle knock on the door. The diva grabbed a tissue and desperately scrubbed at her face. The reflection in the mirror shocked her. She looked weak and disconsolate—nothing like her stage persona at all. There was another knock at the door, much louder this time. With nowhere to hide, Monique summoned up the courage to open it. It was Max, stood outside, looking relaxed with his hands in his pockets. The empathy on his face was plain to see. She threw her arms around his neck, hid her face in the curve of his neck and began to sob uncontrollably.
“What are all these tears for, my dear? You sang beautifully. The audience was enthralled as ever,” Max said encouragingly, trying desperately to calm her.
“Yes, but they loved her. They didn’t love me,” she protested between snatched uncontrollable breaths.
With no further words of comfort, Max held her until she stopped trembling, stroking her hair reassuringly. Besides, he agreed with the diva. It was obvious there had been a special rapport between Susanna and the audience during her spirited act that had been missing from Monique’s perfect, but clinical, performance.
“Susanna only has one song left. Then the judges will be ready to announce the winner, Monique. You must be there.”
“I can’t face anybody. Tell them that I am indisposed. Tell the ambassador that I am ill,” she wailed, thinking only of herself as usual.
Max was livid. How dare she snub the audience and the ambassador’s entourage like that! And me! Who does she think she is? I am tired of her tantrums.
“Wash your face and stop crying at once. You are a professional. Start behaving like one,” he said firmly. “If you choose to defy me, I will send somebody to carry you down. How dare you consider embarrassing me in front of these important people—people who have been willing to offer you an opportunity of a lifetime?”
Monique knew not to argue with Max. She had never seen him this furious. Filled with terror, she obeyed him. In a frosty silence, the two of them stomped back towards the wings. He snapped his fingers and gestured for two young stylists to attend to Monique’s appearance. They quickly set to work, and the diva was quickly transformed to her usual beauty.
To demonstrate her versatility, Suzanna finished her encore with an Italian aria of her own, ‘O mio babbino caro’ from Puccini’s ‘Gianni Schicchi’. She ended the performance with a gracious bow, then picked up the biggest bunch of flowers by her feet and hugged the blooms close to her chest to show her gratitude. All on their feet, the ecstatic crowd waved and cheered wildly.
David watched Suzanna turn to leave the stage, both of them bursting with pride at her performance. She hid with him in the wings, desperate to share a moment alone with him.
“I am so proud of you,” he congratulated. “You did marvellously! You even had a standing ovation.”
“Are you taking your favourite singer to The Ritz again?” she laughed.
“Yes, I am.”
“Thank you for believing in me, David. It means everything. Without you by my side, I wouldn’t have even had the courage to compete.”
Hidden in the shadows, he looked into her eyes, totally transfixed by her, doing his best to ignore their imminent separation, the thought of which was cutting through his heart like a knife.
“It was my pleasure! Like my father, I will always support you,” he blurted out, hoping his voice would not waver with emotion.
“Once Monique is announced the winner, can we leave? I can’t face watching her strut about rubbing my nose into her victory.”
He leaned forward, desperate to kiss her, to celebrate her success and to say farewell, but it was not to be.
“Suzanna!” yelled Thomas. “Where the devil are you?”
“Over here!” she confirmed as she pulled away from David.<
br />
“Come on, then! The judges are calling for you and Monique.”
Monique put her best foot forward and breezed past Susanna, and onto the stage to a loud cheer. Suzanna looked back at her beau, knowing she had to go, but not wanting to say goodbye just yet. She walked away, giving him an alluring smile over her shoulder. He beamed back at her but ached inside. Tonight, she will be gone, I know it.
The two rival women stood alongside each other at the left of the stage. The ambassador and his wife were at the right, standing behind the podium normally reserved for the compere. Francesco looked at the notes he had prepared, then cleared his throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the ambassador began, “it gives me great pleasure to announce the winner of this prize. It has been a very difficult decision. The award goes to an exceptional lady.”
Always wanting to put on a show, Monique smiled confidently, despite her earlier concerns.
“This prize will enable the winner to audition for the prestigious Florence School of Opera.”
David wished Francesco would stop blathering on and get on with it. Will I lose her?
“And the winner is—”
The audience gasped. The ambassador stalled for dramatic effect.
“—Miss Suzanne Stratton. Congratulations. Tonight, we depart to Florence!”
Savouring the underdog’s triumph, the crowd got to their feet, delighted that the fresh-faced English rose had defeated the haughty established French starlet. Suzanna felt dazed. The noise of another standing ovation was overwhelming. The large spotlight blinded her and swathes of people that she did not know were coming to congratulate her. There were more continental kisses from the Italians.
David fought his way through the people and reached her side. She heard his voice and turned to face it. He took her in his arms and hugged Suzanna to his chest, and then he quickly kissed her on the cheek.
“You are lovely,” he whispered in her ear, “I am so proud of you.”
David was emotional. This is it. She really is going. Had he been alone, he sensed he would have cried. With his throat tightened by anguish and his stomach in knots, he let his arms fall away from her. It was then that she panicked.
“Don’t leave me, David. Stay next to me. I don’t want to be alone. I am not used to all of this attention.”
He looked down at her, his red stinging eyes threatening to well up. He did not want to let her go, but he had no choice. She had won and would be leaving him for Italy as planned.
“Susannah!” Max shouted over the congratulatory cacophony. “Thomas has brought your trunk down from your room. It’s time to get to the station. The ambassador’s valet will help you. You don’t want to miss tonight’s sailing to France, my girl, do you?”
“Please come with me, David? Please?”
Blinking furiously, trying to squash away his tears, he nodded.
*
All too soon it was time for the farewell at the platform.
“Send me a telegram when you reach Florence. Tell me how wonderful it all is?”
“I will.”
“And write to me occasionally and tell me how your lessons are going? Perhaps I can visit you in the summertime?”
“Yes, I would like that. Enjoy the Christmas show. Max will be—”
A loud train whistle interrupted her. The stagehands lugged her trunk onto the train. Suzanna felt herself choking up as the moment to leave was upon them. Talking became difficult. David put his arms around her, then kissed her in full view of everyone. Some passengers turned away in shock, others smirked.
“I will bring you home if you’re unhappy, Suzanna.”
She nodded at him. He put his arms around her again, fighting back the words he had to tell her before she left. Feeling her warm breath against his neck, he gave in.
“I love you, Suzanna.”
“I love you too, David. I wish you could come with me. The summer seems a lifetime away.”
“Time will fly. And we can write. Go now. There is a great adventure ahead of you.”
David watched her get into the carriage and take a seat with the Ambassador and his wife. The trio struck up a friendly-looking conversation immediately. He waved at her, but she wasn’t looking, too engrossed with entertaining her travelling companions. He had seen her almost every day for twenty-two-years, but it was over. She really was all grown up, and it was time for her to follow her dreams.
The heartbroken young man watched the train puff and pant its way out of London Bridge station and disappear into the black of night.
16
The frosty walk in the woods
A few days later, deciding to transport his guests the short distance to his country manor in style, Lord Ashwood booked two private train compartments.
Monique arrived at London Paddington dressed in a luxurious fur coat that covered her from head to foot, looking regal. When a platform attendant stepped aside to let her pass, Monique behaved like a medieval monarch, staring down her nose at the peasants in her way. Showing no decency, no one was thanked if they made way for her. She was followed by a porter who had the unfortunate task of taking care of three trunks of clothing and four hat boxes that were accompanying her for the short weekend break. Thomas couldn’t believe that one person could need that many clothes. I could fit everything I own into one trunk—the posh clothes and the tatty ones.
When it was time to board, the guard sought out Monique and escorted her to a first-class cabin. Lord Ashwood had afforded his friend Max that courtesy. Besides, the diva would have chewed his ears for doing anything less. The rest of the party had to squeeze into the other compartment, luggage and all. To make matters worse, Max had invited Sergeant Payne for the weekend, assuring Lord Ashwood that the man’s military experience would be of great benefit to those who had never hunted.
In the second-class carriage, five people were squashed into a space made for four. Madeleine, Monique's svelte overworked maid, wedged herself in between the two slender men, David and Thomas, opposite portly Max and the immense bulk of Sergeant Payne. Sid told them old war stories as the train rumbled along, believing that he was alleviating the boredom.
“Why is your voice so rasping, Sergeant?” asked young Madeleine, during a brief pause in the monologue.
Max’s eyes widened. He quickly nipped the situation in the bud, relieved that Payne, back full flow, appeared not to hear.
“Terrible accident, my dear, terrible accident.”
“Oh my,” gasped Madeleine. “Perhaps he can tell us the story?” she whispered.
Max’s eyes became wider still. He glared at the girl and shook his head vehemently. Thankfully for Max, she obeyed her boss and did not say a word for the rest of the journey.
Bored with the war stories, David’s gaze drifted onto the passing countryside. He thought of his sweetheart, remembering the heart wrenching night of her departure. I wish that Thomas had never suggested that blasted competition. Why had Papa not arranged a raffle or an auction or something equally ridiculous? If he had not been insistent on getting his way yet again—Suzanna would still be with me.
As the train puffed into the platform at its final destination, a tiny rural station in the middle of nowhere, Lord Ashwood and valet were eagerly awaiting the guests. It was bitingly cold and the winter sky was dismal and grey. The trees, bare of leaves, made the frosty landscape seem a stark black and white.
Peter welcomed them all with a firm handshake as his entourage of servants appeared and began transferring their luggage to the cabs. Again, there were two coaches to transport everyone, but this time Max was invited to travel with Lord Ashwood and Monique and Madeleine. The diva had not spoken a word to max since the night of the contest, and she was thinking of how she would manipulate the situation in her favour.
“My word, Peter, you certainly live in a beautiful part of the world,” Max praised.
“It is nothing compared to the landscape around my parents’ chateau,” i
nterrupted Monique boastfully. “That has been in our family for two hundred years.”
“Yes, of course, dear,” Lord Ashwood muttered.
“I could easily live in the country all year round, Max. I don’t enjoy the city much. I only go to London to do business.”
“And to visit me of course,” added Monique.
“Yes, my sweet—and to visit you,” Ashwood replied out of habit.
“I could never live in the countryside,” complained the singer. “I would be bored to tears, oui? I miss the sophistication of the city.”
“When we are married, you may have to reassess your relationship with the city, my dear,” Lord Ashwood advised.
“Many couples live apart, oui? Like Sisi and Emperor Franz Josef. I can be in London and you can come and visit me.”
Good grief. She’s comparing herself to an empress now! Max looked out the window and shook his head gently, reflecting on how unpleasant it was to work with someone with such a strong sense of entitlement. How can Peter consider living with her for the rest of his life?
Ashwood’s manor was stunning, the epitome of a fine English residence. The lawn was perfectly mowed. Bare winter trees stood on the peripheries of the garden, planted to provide shade on hot summer days. A frozen pond stood in the centre of the courtyard, yet David could imagine barefoot children running around it in the summertime and splashing in the cool water. I would love a home in the countryside. I long to wake up every morning with my gorgeous wife in my arms and hear the laughter of our children.
David helped Madeleine out of the coach. The young girl was filled with wonderment when she saw the magnificent manor. She had been in a daydream for days, anticipating the visit to the countryside. Orphaned at a young age, she had never been on a family daytrip out of London, making the exposure to the fresh, wide-open English landscape a genuine novelty to her. Even the fast train ride which everybody else took for granted filled her with awe.
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