“Mr Liebowitz, I am struggling to make head or tail of this affair. Will you please tell me what happened? You seem to be the sanest person in my courtroom.”
“It is simple, your Honour. Yellow over there broke a glass bottle of perfume by accident. The shopkeeper got rather hot under the collar when he heard that she was from the East End. I offered to pay for the damage, but he refused payment. That was when Green, Blue, Pink and Red became involved. They wanted to defend their friend, thinking the matter was easily resolvable and the man was being petty and vindictive.”
“It makes sense you offered to make good for the breakage,” the magistrate agreed as he wondered why this rabble was even in front of him.
“The shop keeper took an inexplicable dislike to Yellow from the minute she tried to apologise. They felt it was absurd that I couldn’t pay on her behalf.”
“I see. So, Mr Johnson, to resolve this matter swiftly, you will accept payment from Mr Liebowitz. Is that understood?”
“Yes, your Honour,” agreed the perfumier begrudgingly.
“Yellow, you are innocent. You did not deliberately break the bottle.”
“Yes, your majesty. I mean your Honour—Lord—Sir,” whimpered the relieved woman.
The judge stared at Green for a while.
“Green, I recognise you from somewhere,” he said. “Have you been in this courtroom before?”
“No, your Honour,” she replied knowing that he probably remembered her from his numerous visits to Sally’s to partake in some rather racy services.
“Good, Green. We do not need repeat offenders.”
“Ladies, your raucous behaviour in a luxury store this afternoon was appalling and must have cost Mr Johnson considerable business at this time of year. However, I can empathise with your frustration about the harsh treatment of Yellow. You get away with a warning. I don’t want to see you in this courtroom again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you—and Merry Christmas!” they cheered.
“Get out of here, Mr Johnson. You have wasted the court’s time and mine. In future, if a customer offers to pay for their breakages, I suggest you accept that offer with good grace.”
Max gave a sigh of relief while David and Thomas stood at the back of the courtroom, amazed by what they had just witnessed. The bailiff herded them out of the courtroom and close the door behind them.
“Your Honour, do you wish me to document your judgement?”
“Don’t be stupid, Mr Barclay, go home. I need to be at my club in ten minutes, or I may have a breakdown.”
23
Florence
Suzanna sat alone in her room. She had imagined Italy to be bright, sunny and warm. Instead, it was dark and wintery. That afternoon, Florence was as gloomy as London. The Italians were caught up in the yuletide festivities, leaving Suzanna to fend for herself. She had little idea about the continental customs of the season, which made her feel incredibly homesick and craving a small slice of familiarity.
The room was chilly and bare because the Italians had the attitude that the view over the city should be sufficient to impress any visitor, and comfort was a distinctly secondary consideration.
The villa was empty, save for a few lost souls like Suzanna who had nowhere to go for Christmas. The audition process was a lot slower and more arduous than she anticipated. The two French sopranos that were in permanent residence were as arrogant as Monique. Suzanna began to understand that rudeness was not exclusive to the Songbird’s Gallic diva. I have no doubt it is a French custom.
Since she arrived, Suzanna’s passion for her opportunity had waned. She began to question if she had entered the competition because she desired to be a famous soprano—or because she wanted to beat her nemesis, Monique. She was embarrassed to admit that winning had given her far more satisfaction than singing scales over and over again, or struggling to overcome the language barrier.
Time alone in Italy had matured Suzanna. A date was still to be set for her audition, and the likelihood of even a bit part in the première of Tosca in the new year was fading fast. All her life she had dreamed of an opportunity to perform. Now it was within her reach, it didn’t feel as good as she hoped. Melancholic, listless, and alone, she wanted to return to the safe and happy haven where she was raised and be her loving mother and surrogate Songbird family once more.
Suzanna stared out of the window, taking in the view of one of the most beautiful cities in the world. A tear of self-pity ran down her face. Lost about what to do next, she climbed into bed and pulled the blankets over her head, doing her best to shut her surroundings out. All that did was remind her how unhappy and alone she was. She had still not received a telegram from David as promised. Her work schedule was so punishing she didn’t have time to find out how and where to send one to him. Why has everything gone so wrong?
*
Monique had not accepted being judged second best at the competition and never would. The diva’s initial wrath had become a fully-fledged vendetta against Suzanna. It was time to use the only tool that Monique had left to ruin her foe’s singing career. If Monique had been closer to the judges on the night of the contest, she would have used her body. Now, she had to use her wits. The chanteuse decided to see David, hoping she could persuade him to help her with the plan to bring Suzanna’s future crashing down.
David sat at his desk and stared at Monique. She was the last person that he expected to see. He gauged from her expression that it was not a friendly visit. Mentally, he prepared himself for yet another confrontation. What the hell does the woman want now?
“May I sit down?” asked Monique.
“Is it urgent?” asked David, trying to find a reason to dismiss her.
“Oui,” she confirmed as she settled into the chair before his invite to take a seat. “As you know, Suzanna stole my opportunity to go to Florence.”
Just the word Suzanna cut through his heart. As the Christmas show loomed, David did not have time for Monique’s endless selfish whining. Tired, overworked and miserable, it was the last thing he wanted to hear.
“I have a little surprise for you, David,” said the starlet in her husky French accent. “Some information that I will use if you do not bring Suzanna home immediately.”
Now she had David’s full attention.
“I know Suzanna’s secret and I will use it against her.”
“Please, Monique, get to the point. I have no time for your cloak and dagger antics today.”
“Suzanna’s father is a Gypsy, a dirty traveller. That is why she has dark skin. Her mother was a tramp and went with him like it was nothing. She was with child when she arrived here—unmarried.”
Motionless, David started at the woman in front of him. She was the ugliest person that he had ever met—inside and out. Monique was surprised that he was not reacting to the news. Frustrated by the lack of response, she became more venomous.
“Max knows about her sordid past but he covered it up with Maria to deceive you. They were in it together for over twenty years. Everyone knows the Romanies are bad people and not to be trusted. This news will ruin your business. The English rose everyone took to their hearts is really a vile foreign Gypsy. It will shut your doors,” she threatened David.
David stared at her, disgusted.
“This is no surprise to me, Monique. I know everything about Suzanna since childhood. We grew up together and have no secrets.”
It was not the response that the diva was expecting. She changed tack with a spiteful attack.
“I saw you take her to your apartment the night of the firework explosion,” she yelled. “I stayed awake, and I waited to see when she would return. I had to wait all night, but it was worth it to know you bedded her.”
Thomas and Max heard Monique shouting and hurried to David’s office, listening to every word of the shrew’s accusations wafting through the door.
“It proved to me Suzanna Stratton is a Roma tart just like her sinful mothe
r, Maria,” screeched Monique.
The two men stared at each other wondering whether to interrupt. David could not control himself any longer. He sprang from his chair like an enraged lion and grabbed her by the throat. He was so powerful she was swiftly dragged out of her seat. His hands clamped around her throat and mouth. Crying for help was not an option.
“How will it feel when you can never sing again?” David threatened as he began to crush her windpipe.
The door swung open and Thomas saw Monique’s arms flailing as she fought to breathe.
“Stop it, David! Stop! You’ll kill her!” Thomas roared as he tried to pull David away.
Finally coming to his senses, David released Monique, and she slid down to the floor gasping for air. Max was in no mood to show the harpy any compassion.
“Get up, Monique. I want you to leave immediately.”
“You can’t do this to me. I have been loyal to you and filled this place night after night. Your son just assaulted me and I will be going to the police,” she rasped.
“Do as you see fit, Monique, but I never want you near this theatre again,” Max told her coldly.
“This place is finished. I will see to it.”
“There are many women as talented as you are. Suzanna has shown us that.”
At the mention of Suzanna, Monique went wild again.
“I am trying to protect David from her!”
David lurched forward and Thomas had to intervene once more to stop him throttling her.
“Get out!” shouted Max. “We never want to see you again.”
Thomas took Monique by the arm and marched her to the door and shoved her through it. Nobody backstage said goodbye to Monique. She had to find help off the street to carry her trunks. After her departure, The Songbird was deathly quiet. The staff had never witnessed such wrath from their normally charitable employer.
*
Monique booked into the cheapest dreariest hotel she could find in the West End. After trying to rally support from her wealthy friends, she found none of them could accommodate her. They were either off to their country houses or entertaining house guests in the city over the festive season. Nobody wanted to take responsibility for a social leech.
For the crestfallen star, there was only one option left. In her heart, she knew that it would not make a difference to her predicament, but she decided to do it out of spite. At the grubby hotel desk, she began to write a barbed letter to the Ambassador Francesco de Renzis and marked the envelope with the word ‘Urgent’.
When the letter arrived on the ambassador’s desk, he noted on the back it was from Mademoiselle De La Marre. He ran his nose along the edge of the correspondence and closed his eyes as he smelled the expensive French fragrance. The ambassador was delighted. The singer looked stunning and he was eager to meet her. Bored by his wife for years, the blonde beauty would provide the perfect distraction he needed to survive dull London.
The information that Monique had forward to him was alarming. Having served in the diplomatic corps for many years, and he knew that there was some substance to the Romany threat. Best of all for him, he knew if he ruined Suzanna’s future, a grateful Monique would be his enthusiastic lover for as long as he was posted in the English capital.
24
Lastminute preparations
“I refuse to sew Sundatara a tutu,” grizzled Maria. “I have too much work to do as it is. Besides, where am I going to find the material to do it. She is huge! Do you want me to cut up the stage curtains?”
Max looked at Maria, knowing that she would not budge. He gazed around the workroom to see who was idle.
“And none of my girls are free to do it either,” she told Max fiercely.
“I agree with Maria,” said Sid. “Why do you want to cover the beautiful Sundatara?”
“She will be a glorious novelty in a skirt,” countered Max, his face lighting up as he imagined the scene.
“Don’t let her hear you. She will take offence. Sundatara doesn’t need any enhancements to draw a crowd. She is perfect as she is.”
Max sighed. He was outvoted, two to one. He had great respect for Sid’s advice when it came to the beast mainly because he did not want Sundatara sneezing on him again.
“Thomas, do you know how are we going to get Sundatara onto the stage?” asked Max. “Do we have a solution yet? We don’t have long and we seem to be going round in circles.”
The young aide shook his head.
“The chippies have said the stage will never hold Sundatara. She is too heavy—.”
“—well built,” Sergeant Payne corrected him.
“—too heavy for the joists,” Thomas insisted. “And in terms of access to the stage—"
“That is not acceptable. You must come up with an idea!”
“I have. I need to break a hole in the sidewall, build a ramp and reinforce the stage,” he snapped.
“Must it be so complicated?” asked Max, who had no practical knowledge of woodworking or building works.
“Unfortunately, yes Max.”
“Why do I feel like everyone and everything is against me?” wailed Max. “This is the greatest show of my career, my swansong, and every time I request something, the answer is ‘no!’ Is this a conspiracy?”
“I thought you said last year’s show was the greatest,” disagreed David.
Max gave David a foul look. As much as he loved his son for his financial acumen, he still had no idea how to put on a true spectacle. He knew business—but not show business.
“What are our alternatives?” demanded Max.
“We can parade her in front of the theatre,” suggested Sid.
“By Jove, no!” exclaimed David. “That big lump will trample someone to death.”
“Stop that immediately, Max. I won’t have you insulting Sundatara. We have become very close.”
David could not believe what he was hearing. Everyone around him was mad. Secretly running off to some remote country hotel over Christmas was becoming an ever attractive option.
“Well then, you think of something, Sid,” replied David in defeat.
“Why not parade her down the auditorium’s main aisle? That’s nice and wide,” proposed Max.
“But what about the mess? Who will clean it up? Not to mention the smell,” David said with a grimace.
“Sundatara does not smell,” snapped Payne. “Mr Thakur washes every day and she smells like patchouli.”
“Never mind that,” David reprimanded. “Are you going to walk behind her and collect her droppings?”
“Golly, no!” said the soldier. “I thought that Thomas could do that.”
Thomas looked stunned.
“And what do we do with the droppings when Thomas has collected all of them?”
“I pondered that very seriously. I have an answer,” announced Payne confidently.
David raised his eyebrows and braced himself for Sid’s next big wheeze.
“We can sell it a fertilizer. Fertilizer is big business. We’ll make a fortune.”
“That settles it,” said Max excitedly. “Well done, Sid. What an excellent idea.”
“Over my dead body,” warned David. “I can’t believe you would consider such a ridiculous plan. The theatre will be wrecked for a few shillings in return.”
Once more, it was Thomas who provided the solution that satisfied all the rival demands.
“Sarge, Max, I have the perfect answer,” he said with a cheeky grin. “We know that Sundatara is a very proud woman, and her image means everything to her. I suggest that we decorate the courtyard with pretty Christmas lights and trees. Let’s allow people into her enclosure to feed her clementines. I am sure that she will be delighted with extra rations, and they will be in awe of being so close to such a magnificent animal. The children will remember it forever.”
The men looked at each other and began to nod their heads. It was the best plan so far, and David was relieved when Max agreed to it.
&nb
sp; *
“Max, while I have you with me, Lee Ting-Chong is asking for more heat in his rooms, he says that the children are cold,” counselled Thomas.
Max didn’t say a word.
“Lee says Granny Chong does not have enough coal for her stove up there.”
“She can cook in Mrs Bowles kitchen,” answered Max, unable to look Thomas in the eye.
“And Lee says that the children are hungry.”
Usually, anything pertaining to the welfare of children got Max’s attention, but he just stared into the distance pretending that he had not heard Thomas. Max was terrified. He had seen the fireworks piled up to the ceiling, and he knew that Granny Chong had almost blown the attic to bits. That woman cannot be trusted.
“What are you hiding from us?” asked David.
Max looked sheepish.
“Oh no, Max, this has something to do with the fireworks, doesn’t it?” asked Thomas.
“They are piled to the ceiling Thomas, and if Granny Chong persists with cooking next to them, she will blow up this building.”
“And ruin Sundatara’s introduction to show business.”
“To hell with that blasted elephant!”
Sid was about to come to Sundatara’s defence, but Thomas would not hear of it.
“I don’t want a word from you, Sarge. You are the only man here familiar with explosives. Get up to the attic and find a safe place to store those bloomin’ fireworks. I want it done immediately.”
David began to laugh. He had never believed that mild-mannered Thomas had it in him to take control of a situation, but he was wrong. It seemed Thomas was more than able to run The Songbird. Perhaps I should go to be with Suzanna after all, if I am not needed here?
Over in Grosvenor Square, Francesco de Renzis sent a telegram to the musical director in Florence giving the details of Monique’s complaint and advised that Suzanna should return to London immediately to preserve the good standing of the opera.
The Christmas Songbird Page 18