The Curtain Rises

by Mary Burchell

  It was obvious that she was in excellent spirits and under the impression that she was making the conversa­tion scintillate round the table. But neither Nicola nor Julian appeared to have much to scintillate about for the next few minutes. And not until she saw her mother looking at her questioningly did Nicola rouse herself to address Julian in what she believed to be a composed undertone.

  'Gina talks a great deal of nonsense when she's in one of her outrageous moods. I've learned not to take any of it seriously. I hope you have too.'

  'Not entirely,' was the cool reply. 'On the contrary, I think she has a considerable flair for imparting an air of amusing nonsense to something she seriously believes.'

  If Nicola was minded to argue that point she had no chance, for her mother leaned forward and spoke across the table.

  'Nicola dear, your Uncle Peter says that your aunt would specially like to have you with her on the day of the performance—on the Friday. So of course your father and I will willingly manage without you. There are one or two things we wanted to do on our own anyway.'

  'Do you really want me on Friday, Gina?' Nicola spoke eagerly to Torelli, hoping she was not irritated by the remarkable number of family relationships her mother had contrived to mention in comparatively few words.

  'Of course, dear. I always want you,' said Torelli a trifle emotionally and not quite accurately.

  'Then certainly I'll be there.' Nicola was touched and flattered. 'I thought perhaps that you and Uncle Peter—'

  'Dear child, he will be around somewhere. But natur­ally he has his own affairs to attend to,' explained Torelli, giving such a superb impersonation of a submissive wife that everyone stopped talking and looked at her in admiration.

  'Don't be ridiculous,' said her husband. 'You know I'll be wherever you want me.' And Torelli looked as pleased as any girl being bullied and petted by her first sweet­heart.

  Afterwards, Nicola's mother declared it was the most extraordinary and interesting evening she had ever spent.

  'Really, your aunt is a most unusual person,' she said with monumental understatement. 'Not exactly lovable, and definitely eccentric of course, but I'm sure she means well.'

  'Very often she doesn't mean well at all,' Nicola could not help saying. But when she saw how shocked her mother looked, she tried to take that back. 'That's to say—like all artists and people who live on their nerves, she's rather self-centred and unpredictable.'

  'Well, I think we must give her that,' replied Mrs. Denby tolerantly. 'After all, it's an unnatural sort of life. What I liked about that young conductor was that, even if he is as talented as you say, he was also very pleasant and normal. I noticed he went off eventually with that pretty red-haired girl.'

  'I noticed too,' said her daughter without much expression. For indeed, when the dinner-party broke up and she and her parents had prepared to go on to a theatre, she had seen Julian cross the room and join Michele.

  'I was glad to see that,' went on Mrs. Denby musingly. 'I felt sorry for her, poor little thing, sitting there alone while we were all enjoying ourselves. Once or twice I nearly suggested she should join us. But Gina so obviously felt it was for her to make all arrangements that I decided it wouldn't be a good idea somehow.'

  'It wouldn't have been a good idea at all,' Nicola assured her with some emphasis. And there the matter rested.

  On Friday morning, much though she loved her parents and enjoyed their society, Nicola was aware of rapidly rising spirits as she went once more to her aunt's apart­ment. She had actually missed the unpredictable, slightly melodramatic atmosphere which was part of Torelli's life. To be the buffer state between a prima donna and the world might have its bruising moments, but boring moments—never.

  There was a certain amount of correspondence and some social telephone calls to attend to, and she was busy on these when her uncle came in, looking so matter-of-fact and normal that Nicola instantly knew what Torelli had meant when she said he was a wonderful person to have about on the day of a performance.

  He greeted her briefly and went over to the files where accounts were kept.

  'I suppose,' Nicola said presently with a smile, 'you are so used to first nights that they hardly disturb you at all?'

  'On the contrary, I'm always intensely nervous on Gina's behalf,' he replied, flicking over some papers and jotting down a few figures.

  'Nervous, Uncle? I don't believe it.'

  'True, nevertheless. I don't show it, of course. Nor do you, I notice.'

  'I try not to,' Nicola said. 'I feel it's her prerogative to have the jitters and throw the odd tantrum.'

  'Quite right. Our business is to be the proverbial cool hand on the fevered brow. You can't blame a fever patient for being excited. Equally you can't blame a public per­former for being nervous and difficult on the day of a performance. Pity she wants to see this Laraut girl.'

  'Does she want to see Michele? Today?'

  'This morning. Much better not to worry either the girl or herself just before a first night. But there's no arguing with Gina, as you know.'

  'When is she coming?' Nicola was faintly disturbed, as she always was by the thought of Michele.

  'In about half an hour. Something quite unimportant, I think. But to hear Gina one would suppose the perfor­mance hung on it. As it's this girl I shan't interfere. If it had been someone else, I might have.'

  'Don't you like her?' Nicola asked curiously.

  'No.'

  'Why not, Uncle?'

  'That,' said her uncle, 'is a long story.' And he closed the file and went away.

  For several minutes after he had gone Nicola sat at her desk unable to concentrate on her work again. The thought and image of Michele had the power to make everything else seem trivial, to a degree that was strange, considering she was essentially a lightweight person.

  It was Michele who had been the one disturbing ele­ment to threaten the precious, nostalgic memories of Brian, and when that was explained away she stood between Nicola and something even more precious.

  Not that anything could be more precious than the memories of Brian, she hastened to tell herself guiltily. But because she could not bear to pursue that line of thought she went on then determinedly with her work. She was not so utterly absorbed, however, that she was not fully aware of Michele's arrival and of the sound of Lisette showing her into the music-room.

  The reason for Torelli's summons was evidently purely a professional one, for Nicola was not bidden to join them and presently she heard the two voices mingling in some passage from the scene they shared. The sounds—ravishingly beautiful sounds, for the voices blended particularly well—continued for a short while, after which there was obviously discussion only, for there was no more singing.

  Then Nicola heard the door open once more and her aunt's clear voice say, 'I am sure you will find it much better that way. I was a little worried about you at the dress rehearsal. Can you find your way out?—Good. Till this evening, then.' And the music-room door closed again.

  Nicola hastily resumed her typing, for it suddenly seemed urgently necessary that she should assert her complete lack of interest in what had been happening. Then, without so much as a tap, the door opened and Michele's voice said coolly, 'May I come in for a minute?'

  'Of course.' Nicola turned from her desk and tried to produce a welcoming smile. 'Won't you sit down?'

  'No. What I've come to say can be said just as well standing.' No question now but that Michele was in an unfriendly mood. 'It's about last night.'

  'Last night?' Nicola was genuinely mystified.

  'Yes, last night—and your crude attempt to appropri­ate Julian and spoil my evening. Calling him over like that and foisting your parents on him! I wonder you weren't ashamed. And letting that—letting Torelli make a family party of it. If you'd had any—'

  'I have no idea what you are talking about.' Nicola's tone was like ice, and Torelli herself could not have been more dignified. 'I did not call Julian over to
our table. He came of his own accord—Yes, he did!' she exclaimed in sudden fury as the other girl laughed. 'Do you suppose I would have chosen to introduce him to my parents after what he did to Brian? Once he had spoken to me, what else could I do but introduce them since they were sitting there?'

  'It didn't look like a case of social compulsion to me.'

  It had not been, of course. At the time she had been almost happy to present him to her parents, and the recollection of that stung her now.

  'In any case, it isn't the slightest business of yours,' she said curtly. 'I'll speak to whom I please and make what introductions I like. If Julian wished to meet my parents—'

  'But he didn't,' interrupted Michele coolly. 'He told me later—when at last we were able to get together—that it was all rather embarrassing for him but that—'

  'He was not embarrassed!' Nicola was white with fury and with the sensation of not knowing what had hit her.

  'He told me so. He should know.' The other girl laughed and shrugged, suddenly completely in command of the situation. 'It was bad enough having you run after him to his dressing-room, paying him girlish compliments and making up to him the way you did. He didn't mind that too much, of course, because all artists like a bit of flattery. It was just something to laugh about over lunch afterwards. But to try to make a family friend of him—'

  'Will you go; please?' Nicola had risen to her feet, and for a wild moment she thought she was going to lay hands on this girl who suddenly looked so insolently and dangerously beautiful. 'But before you go, understand one thing—nothing which happened last night was of my choosing. He came to the table of his own accord, and the introduction to my parents was the merest conven­tional piece of courtesy. If—'

  'And what about the determined inclusion of my escort in your dinner-party?'

  'That was Madame Torelli's arrangement. I had noth­ing whatever to do with that.'

  'It's useful to have a relation who manages everything the way one wants,' Michele laughed.

  'He could have refused if he—'

  'He tried to. But you know as well as I do that she accepts no refusal to anything she wants. She liked the idea of leaving me on my own while you—'

  'Don't be ridiculous! If Julian had wanted you in­cluded he had only to say so.'

  'And court a flat refusal? That would have been a nice humiliating experience for us both, I must say!'

  'But if he had already arranged to have dinner with you, which is what I suppose you're trying to say, there was nothing to prevent his saying so and insisting on either joining you or having you join us. Why not?'

  'Because neither of us could face any sort of upset with Torelli just before the first night. We know we can't afford to cross her—yet. And we know she wants you to marry him and—what's the expression?—keep him in the family. But—'

  'He—told you that?' Nicola gasped, as though someone had struck her over the heart, and the other girl gave her an odd speculative look. Then she said deliberately,

  'Yes, he told me that. And I might say he found it as absurd and impertinent as I did. But he was determined not to get involved in any trouble until tonight's per­formance was over. I felt differently. I wanted to have it out with you. And then, providentially, she sent for me. Quite unnecessarily, I might say, but that didn't matter. It's given me the chance to hand you your exit line. If you have any pride you'll take it. If not—'

  'Please go,' said Nicola, groping blindly for her chair. And Michele went.

  'It serves me right!' Nicola spoke aloud at last in a harsh little whisper. 'It serves me right. I was so little faithful to Brian's memory that I let myself be infatuated by the man who virtually killed him.'

  She felt cold with shock, sick with self-disgust, and over and over again there came back to her the humiliat­ing phrases Michele had used. 'It was just something to laugh about over lunch.'

  'He found it as absurd and im­pertinent as I did.'

  'He was determined not to get involved in any trouble until tonight's performance was over.'

  Just something to laugh about over lunch.—That was what hurt the most unbearably. She burned with shame now to think how she had made it her business to go to his dressing-room after that rehearsal and tell him she thought he had been wonderful. And he had seemed so pleased and amused. Oh, yes, amused no doubt! He had played up. He had even kissed her. And she had thought it a lovely and significant moment. Instead of which it was just something for him to laugh about over his lunch with Michele.

  Dignity, pride, self-respect—everything which decently clothed one's most naked thoughts and feelings had been stripped from her. And she hated him in that moment as much as she had hated him when she first knew he was responsible for Brian's death.

  Now she could not imagine how she had ever let her­self wander from that bitter, logical standpoint. If she had remembered constantly that he had sacrificed Brian to his ambition she would have been safe. Instead she had allowed herself to be dazzled by his talent and charm, and now she had been sacrificed to his vanity. It was hardly to be borne!

  And in that moment she suddenly decided it should not be borne. Let him in his turn hear some home-truths. Let his feelings and pride be sacrificed if that were possible. And if the experience shattered him just before his all-important first night, who was she to care about that?

  With an almost steady hand she reached for the tele­phone and dialled his number. On the day of a perfor­mance he was, she knew, practically certain to be in. Even so, when his familiar voice replied she found herself wishing he had been out. She drove herself on, however, to do what had to be done.

  'This is Nicola Denby,' she began very coolly.

  'Why, Nicola—!'

  'I just wanted to clear up what might have been a misunderstanding last night.' She was surprised at her own composure. 'I want you to understand it was not by any wish of mine that I introduced you to my parents. It was merely a piece of social courtesy. And it was Gina who wanted you included in the family party. That had nothing to do with me. I would have preferred not to have you there.'

  There was quite a long silence. Then he said, 'Why are you telling me this?'

  'I thought you might have got a totally wrong impres­sion. The impression that I wished to be friendly. Nothing could be further from the case.'

  'And did you have to choose today, of all days, to tell me?'

  'Today seemed as good as any other day.' She managed to make that sound supremely indifferent.

  'Today was better than any other day if you wanted to do me a real injury,' he replied quietly. 'Did you think of that?'

  'I didn't really think about you at all,' she said care­lessly. 'I was thinking more of—' she was going to say 'myself, but then some terrible perverse impulse prompted her and she said softly, 'Perhaps I was think­ing of Brian.'

  'You are an absolute little beast, aren't you?' he replied, and then he hung up his receiver.

  After a long time she too hung up her receiver. Then she leant her head on her hand, stunned by what she had done and overwhelmed by the most extraordinary feeling that somehow, somewhere Brian was angry with her.

  'I did it for you,' she whispered. But she knew that was not true. She had done it for her own aching, lacerated pride.

  'I can't go this evening,' she decided presently. 'I don't want to go this evening. I simply can't bear to see him triumph. And oh, I can't possibly, possibly bear to see him fail. What have I done?'

  She was still sitting there, her head on her hands, when her uncle came back into the room once more. Without so much as a glance at her he went over to the files which were his special concern. But then something in the still-, ness of the figure at the desk must have impinged on his consciousness, for he turned and looked across at her.

  'What's the matter, Nicola?'

  'I don't want to go tonight,' she said in a stifled sort of voice. 'Make some sort of excuse for me, Uncle—please make some excuse for me. Gina will liste
n to you. I can't go tonight.'

  'Why not? Are you ill?'

  She shook her head. Then she realized that she had let a perfectly good excuse go, and she exclaimed, though without conviction, 'Yes, I'm ill.'

  'You're not, you know.' He came across then and looked down at her. 'You're just upset. Who upset you? Gina?'

  'Oh, no!' She thought how much she loved Gina suddenly, in contrast to the way she hated herself.

  Her uncle thought for a moment. Then, with what seemed to her startling acumen, he said, 'Michele?'

  'H-how did you know?'

  'She's the only person who has been here this morning. It doesn't take a magician to guess she made trouble. What did she do?'

  For a whole minute Nicola remained silent, nervously clasping and unclasping her hands. Then her uncle drew up a chair beside her, took those restless hands in his and said in his comfortingly matter-of-fact way, 'You'd better tell me. It's always better to tell a safe person. Otherwise one is suddenly tempted to tell the wrong person.'

  'She—came in here and—made a row—about last night. She was angry because she thought I deliberately took—took Julian Evett away from her. He came and spoke to me when I was with Mother and Dad, you know, and I introduced them. And then you and Gina came in and he was included in the family party. She thought it was my doing.'

  'Does that really upset you?'

  'No,' said Nicola. And her uncle waited patiently for whatever else might come.

  'She accused me of—of being in love with Julian and trying to take him away from her.'

  'And you are in love with Julian?' inquired her uncle.

  Nicola shook her head, which was bent so low that she didn't see her uncle smile.

  'It would be quite understandable if you were, you know. He's an immensely likeable fellow. And there wouldn't be any question of your taking him away from Michele, because he's never belonged to her.'

  'He's keen on her now,' Nicola said huskily.

  'Rubbish. He has every reason to detest the girl. And she on her side cherishes a special resentment against him.'