The Storm Sister

by Lucinda Riley

  They left the theatre in silence and walked across the square to the café, where Anna indicated a table in the darkest, quietest corner. Jens ordered tea for both of them.

  ‘Tell me, Anna, how was your summer?’

  ‘Far better than yours by the sight of you. You look . . . unwell.’

  ‘Well, thank you for phrasing it so politely.’ Jens gave a chuckle at her bluntness. ‘I am not sick, simply poor these days and in need of a good bath and a change of clothes. Simen, who also plays in the orchestra, says I’ve become a true musician. He has been very kind to me by providing a roof over my head when I was forced to leave my home.’

  ‘Goodness! Why?’

  ‘My father disapproved of my musical aspirations. He wished me to follow in his footsteps and run his brewery like my ancestors before me.’

  Anna stared at him with new admiration. Surely, she thought, it must have required a great strength of character to put aside his family and homely comforts for the sake of his art?

  ‘Anyway,’ Jens continued, ‘now that the season is beginning at the theatre and I am finally earning money, I’m moving to more suitable accommodation. Otto, the oboe player, told me yesterday that he will rent me a room in his apartment. His wife died recently, and as she was quite wealthy, I’m hoping to find myself in more salubrious surroundings. The apartment is only a five-minute walk from yours, Anna. We will almost be neighbours. You can come and take tea with me there.’

  ‘I’m happy to hear that you’ll be more comfortable,’ she said shyly.

  ‘And as I find myself down in the gutter, your star rises apace! Perhaps you will become the rich benefactress every musician needs,’ he teased her as their tea arrived. ‘Look at you in your fine clothes, and your smart Paris hat. Quite the picture of a wealthy young lady these days.’

  ‘It may be that my star falls as swiftly as it seems to have risen. I think I am a terrible actress, and will probably lose my job very soon,’ Anna confessed suddenly, glad to say it to someone.

  ‘And I am equally sure that is not true. When the orchestra gathered for its first call yesterday, I heard Herr Josephson telling Hennum that you were “coming along nicely”.’

  ‘You don’t understand, Herr Halvorsen. I’ve never worried about standing in front of an audience and singing, but saying words and playing a character is a very different thing. I think I may even have stage fright,’ Anna said, fiddling distractedly with the handle of her tea cup. ‘I cannot begin to imagine how I will ever find the courage to step out in front of an audience on the first night.’

  ‘Anna . . . May I call you Anna and you call me Jens? I feel we must be well enough acquainted by now to allow this.’

  ‘I suppose you may, yes. When we are in private, at least.’

  ‘Thank you. Well, to continue, Anna, I’m sure you will look so beautiful and sing so enchantingly that no one will notice what you say.’

  ‘That is kind . . . Jens, but I cannot sleep at night. I do not wish to let anybody down.’

  ‘And I am sure you will not. Now tell me, how is your suitor back home?’

  ‘He is bound for America. Without me,’ she said carefully, averting her eyes. ‘We are no longer promised to each other.’

  ‘My condolences, but I confess that you have made me a happy man. I have thought of you constantly since we last met. You are the only thing that has kept me going through this difficult summer. And I find myself completely in love with you.’

  Anna stared at him for a few moments before answering. ‘How can this be? You hardly know me. We have never had longer than a few minutes of conversation. Surely you must love a person for their character? And to do that, you must know them well.’

  ‘I know far more about you than you think. For example, I can see you are modest from the way you blushed when the audience rose to applaud you after your triumph at the soirée. I know you have few airs about your appearance by the lack of paint on your face. I also understand that you are virtuous and loyal, with high morals, which has made my task of wooing you that much harder. And this also brings me to believe that you are as stubborn as a mule once you have decided something. For in my experience, it is a rare woman who wouldn’t at least take a quick look at a suitor’s letters before throwing them onto the fire – even if she did feel his ardent pursuit of her was inappropriate.’

  Anna did her best not to show her amazement at his perception. ‘Well,’ she said, swallowing hard, ‘there are many things you don’t know. Such as the fact my mother despairs of my domestic abilities. I am a terrible cook and cannot sew. My father says I can only care for animals, not humans.’

  ‘Then we shall live on love and buy a cat,’ Jens responded with a grin.

  ‘Forgive me, but I really must catch my tram and return home,’ Anna said, rising and taking coins from her purse to place them on the table. ‘Please let me pay for the tea. Goodbye . . . Jens.’

  ‘Anna.’ He caught her hand as she turned to leave. ‘When will I see you again?’

  ‘As you know very well, I am at the theatre every day between ten and four.’

  ‘Then I’ll be there at four tomorrow,’ he called to her as he watched her hurry to the door. When she’d left, Jens looked down at the coins on the table and saw that it was enough to pay for the tea and to buy him a bowl of soup and a glass of aquavit.

  Once safely on the tram, Anna closed her eyes and smiled dreamily. Being with Jens Halvorsen alone had been quite wonderful. Whether it was his new circumstances, or simply his perseverance in pursuing her, he no longer seemed like the proud, strutting cockerel she had once thought him.

  ‘Oh Lord,’ she prayed that night, ‘please forgive me if I say I believe that Jens Halvorsen the Bad is no longer quite so bad. That he has been tested and has changed his ways. I have done my best not to yield to temptation as you know, but . . .’ – Anna bit her lip – ‘I think I might now. Amen.’

  In the run-up to opening night, Anna and Jens met every day after rehearsals. Worried about tittle-tattle at the theatre, Anna suggested he wait for her inside Engebret. The café was at its quietest in the late afternoons, and slowly Anna began to relax and become less concerned about keeping up appearances. One day, when Jens had reached for her hand under the table, she had allowed him to take it. That had set a precedent, and they now sat together most days with their fingers surreptitiously entwined. It made the pouring of the tea and the milk somewhat difficult with only one hand available, but it was worth every second.

  Jens was looking far more like his old self. He’d moved into Otto’s apartment and, as he had graphically described to her, had benefited from a thorough delousing. There was a maid at the apartment who had also washed all his clothes, and Anna was relieved that he smelt far fresher.

  But beyond all that, it was the memory of the touch of his skin on hers – an outwardly innocent touch, yet one that promised so much more – which consumed Anna’s thoughts night and day. She finally understood how Solveig had felt and why she had sacrificed so much for her Peer.

  Often, they sat together in silence, their tea ignored, just drinking each other in. Even though Anna told herself to be wary, she knew she had finally surrendered to him. And was being drawn further and further under his spell.

  26

  Three days before Peer Gynt opened the new season at the Christiania Theatre, the arduous process of bringing orchestra and cast together began once more. This time, Anna wasn’t sharing a room backstage with Rude and the other children. She was in Madame Hansson’s old dressing room, with a whole wall of mirrors and a chaise longue covered in velvet to rest on if she felt weary.

  ‘Very nice, this is, isn’t it, Anna?’ Rude had commented as he’d taken a look around it. ‘I’d say that some of us have gone up in the world in the past few months. Do you mind if I come in here sometimes and keep you company? Or are you too grand for me now?’

  Anna had taken his chubby cheeks in her hands and chuckled. ‘I may not have time
for our card games, but you are welcome to come and visit me any time you wish.’

  On the opening night, she walked into the dressing room to find it filled with flowers and good luck messages. There was even one from her parents and Knut, with a letter enclosed, which would doubtless refer to her broken engagement to Lars. She put that aside to read later. As Ingeborg, the make-up artist, painted her face, she read the other cards, appreciating the kind words people had written. And there was one in particular, accompanied by a single red rose, which sent a thrill through her as she read it.

  I will be there, watching your ascent to the stars tonight. And I will feel every heartbeat that you do.

  Sing, my beautiful bird. Sing!

  J.

  As Anna heard the call for ‘Beginners’, she sent up a prayer. ‘Please, Lord, do not let me disgrace myself or my family name tonight. Amen.’ Then she stood up to walk to the wings.

  There were moments of that night which Anna knew would be indelibly printed on her memory. Like the dreadful one when she’d walked onto the stage in the second act and her mind had turned completely blank. She’d looked down into the orchestra pit in desperation and had seen Jens mouthing the lines to her. She hoped she’d recovered in time for the audience not to notice, but it had unnerved her for the rest of the performance. It was only during ‘The Cradle Song’ at the very end, as Peer’s head lay upon her knees and they were alone on the stage, that she had felt confident again and let her voice and emotions rise up.

  After the last note had died away, there had been many curtain calls and bouquets were handed to her and Marie, who played Peer’s mother, Åse. She left the stage as the curtain finally dropped and burst into noisy sobs on Herr Josephson’s shoulder.

  ‘My dear, please, don’t cry,’ he soothed her.

  ‘But I was terrible tonight! I know I was!’

  ‘Not at all, Anna. Don’t you see that all your natural uncertainty actually enhanced Solveig’s vulnerability? And by the end . . . well, the audience was spellbound. The part could have been written for you, and I am sure that had they seen you, Herr Ibsen and Herr Grieg would have been satisfied. You also sang like a dream, as you always do. Now’ – he put a finger to her cheek and wiped away a tear – ‘go and celebrate your achievement.’

  Anna’s dressing room was crowded with well-wishers by the time she reached it, all wanting to be present at the crowning of a new and very much home-grown princess, and Anna did her best to say the right things to all of them. Then Herr Hennum entered and shooed everyone out of the room.

  ‘It was a joy to conduct the orchestra tonight, and to watch you making your stage debut, Anna. And no, you were not perfect as an actress, but that is something you can learn as your confidence grows, which it will, I promise. Please, try to enjoy the adulation of Christiania, because you truly deserve it. Herr Josephson will be here to escort you to the first-night party in the foyer in fifteen minutes.’ Then he bowed and left her in peace.

  As she was changing, a short knock heralded the arrival of Rude. ‘Sorry, Frøken Anna, but I’ve been asked to deliver a message to you.’ He handed it to her with a cheeky grin. ‘You look very beautiful tonight, may I say. And can you ask my mother if I can come to the party? She may let me if the request comes from you.’

  ‘You know I can’t, Rude, but now that you’re here, can you fasten my dress for me?’

  As Anna entered the foyer with Herr Josephson, she was greeted with a round of applause. Jens watched her from a distance and thought he had never loved her more, and he had told her as much in his note to her afterwards, delivered by Rude. He noticed how she smiled and made small talk, and thought how far his bird had flown since he’d first heard her sing.

  Then his heart sank as he saw a familiar figure approach her, his oversized handlebar moustache almost bristling with joy as everyone stood back to let him pass.

  ‘Anna! My dear young lady, even my mother’s illness could not prevent me from being here to watch you on this glorious night. You were superb, kjære, truly superb.’

  Jens noticed a slight slackening of Anna’s features, then watched as she recovered herself and greeted Herr Bayer warmly. Jens left then, feeling depressed that, with the appearance of her mentor, he would be unable to tell her in person how proud he was of her.

  Of course, he thought, as he sank his misery into an aquavit at Engebret, he could see which way the wind was blowing, even if Anna could not. She may have rid herself of the farmhand suitor, but it was obvious to all that Herr Bayer was in love with her. And he could give her everything she could ever want. A few months ago, Jens thought, he could have done the same.

  For the first time, he wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake.

  ‘“Frøken Landvik may not bring the seasoned assurance of Madame Hansson to the role of Solveig, but she makes up for that with her innocence, her youth, and her exquisite rendition of Solveig’s songs.”

  ‘And in the early edition of Dagbladet, the reviewer comments again on your beauty and youth and the . . .’

  Anna listened to Herr Bayer no longer. She felt happy that she had managed to get through the first night, but the thought of doing it all over again the following evening was something that she could not begin to contemplate.

  ‘Now, Anna, sadly I am only able to stay in Christiania until the morning, as I must take the ferry back to my mother’s bedside as soon as possible,’ said Herr Bayer, closing the newspaper.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘No better, no worse,’ he sighed. ‘My mother has always had an unbreakable spirit and it is that alone keeping her alive. There is nothing I can do, except be with her as the end approaches. But enough of that. Tonight, Anna, I wish us to share a special dinner, during which you can tell me all that has happened since I last saw you.’

  ‘Of course, it would be my pleasure, but I am feeling a little weary. If we are to dine together tonight, may I take a rest now?’

  ‘Of course, my dear young lady. And congratulations again.’

  Franz Bayer watched Anna leave the room and marvelled at how far she had come in the past year. And indeed, since he’d last seen her. She’d always been a bud about to burst into flower, but now she had fully blossomed, she was beautiful and under his tutelage had gained a new grace and sophistication.

  Despite the fact that Anna had just pleaded exhaustion, there seemed to be a new glow about her he could not define. He hoped it had nothing to do with that violinist she’d obviously been so taken with at the soirée back in June. Last night Herr Josephson had teased him rather meanly that it was a good job he, Franz, was back in town. Herr Josephson had mentioned that his protégée had been spotted more than once taking tea with the fellow in Engebret.

  Up until now, he’d been biding his time, not wishing to frighten her off. But after what Herr Josephson had said, he thought he had better make his intentions clear.

  ‘My dear young lady, how enchanting you look tonight!’

  Herr Bayer greeted Anna as she entered the dining room in her topaz evening gown. No matter how beautiful people said she looked – especially men, she thought wryly – if they saw her without the magic face powder, her freckles would be in evidence once more and they would likely consider her looks rather homely.

  To repay Herr Bayer’s gallantry, all Anna could think to do was to admire his jaunty new paisley cravat, hoping he wouldn’t detect the insincerity in her voice.

  ‘How was your dear family keeping when you saw them in the summer?’ he asked.

  ‘My family is well, thank you. And the wedding was beautiful.’

  ‘I hear from Frøken Olsdatter that sadly, you and your young man have called off your betrothal.’

  ‘Yes. Lars felt he could wait for me no longer.’

  ‘Are you unhappy about this, Anna?’

  ‘I think it is for the best, for both of us,’ Anna replied diplomatically, taking a bite of fish. All she really wanted to do was to turn in early for the night a
nd dream about Jens.

  After coffee in the drawing room, Frøken Olsdatter brought in a decanter of brandy for Herr Bayer and, to Anna’s consternation, also an ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne. It was far too late for her to consider taking alcohol and she wondered immediately if Herr Bayer was expecting other guests.

  ‘Shut the door after you,’ he called to Frøken Olsdatter and the housekeeper did as he had asked.

  ‘Now, Anna, my dear young lady, I have something to say to you.’ Herr Bayer cleared his throat. ‘You must have noticed how my fondness for you has grown over the time you have lived here with me. And I hope that you appreciate the efforts I have made to guide your career.’

  ‘Of course I do, Herr Bayer. I cannot thank you enough.’

  ‘Let us do away with formality. Please, Anna, call me Franz. You know me well enough by now . . .’

  Anna watched Herr Bayer as he lapsed into silence. For the first time since she’d known him, he seemed lost for words. Eventually, he recovered himself and continued.

  ‘You see, Anna, I have done all this not only to nurture your talent but also because . . . because I find myself in love with you. Of course, being a gentleman, whilst you were promised to another, I could not speak out, but now you are free, well . . . I realised the depth of my feelings for you clearly this summer when we were parted. And I also know that I must leave you here alone again to return to my mother’s bedside, with little idea of how long I will be gone. So, I thought it best that I express my intentions now.’ He paused for a second and took a deep breath. ‘Anna, would you do me the honour of marrying me?’

  She looked at him in silent shock, unable to prevent her horror from painting itself on her face.

  Noticing her expression immediately, he cleared his throat again. ‘I understand that this proposal may have come as a surprise to you. But Anna, can’t you see what we could be together? I have served you well in your career so far, and you have already reached the heights here in Christiania. But Norway is a very small country, too small to hold your talent. I have already written to several musical directors and programming committees in Denmark, Germany and Paris, telling them of your gift. And no doubt, after last night, they will hear of you for themselves. If we married, I could travel with you to Europe as you appear at the great concert halls. I could protect you, look after you . . . I have waited many years to find a talent like yours. And of course,’ he added quickly, ‘you have also stolen my heart.’