On wings of song

by Burchell, Mary

  *Yes, I think she'll be there. I suppose we ought to have tried to get your Miss Curtis a

  ticket. But ' he opened the top drawer once

  more and took out a now much diminished pack of tickets. Tity—^but I'm afraid all these are answered for twice over. There just are no tickets left.'

  'Except with the lady herself,' murmured Caroline absently.

  *Well, she's entitled to a few. But how did you know she had some?' he asked curiously.

  'She gave one to my cousin Jeremy when she met him casually at a reception.'

  'To a casual stranger?—that's naughty. Unless—oh, that's who it was!' An amused smile broke over his face. 'I knew I'd seen him somewhere. Outside the lift, of course, when he told me to mind my own business. So it's your cousin Jeremy who's on waving terms with her, is it?'

  'On waving terms?' Caroline found that she disliked the expression intensely, and her tone was sharper than she had intended. 'What do you mean exactly?'

  'He was in the restaurant where I took Lucille

  to lunch on Saturday, and they waved to each other very cordially, I thought. So she'd given him one of the precious tickets, had she? Fast mover, your cousin Jeremy. But I have to admit he's quite a good-looker in his own way. I didn't notice when we met head-on outside the I Warrenders' apartment. But Lucille is right— I he's almost too handsome for a tenor.' |

  *She said—that?' Caroline was divided between gratification on behalf of Jeremy and a sort of dismay for which she was quite unable to account. 'So you discussed Jeremy?'

  'I wouldn't put it quite like that. She said, "You see that dark-eyed Adonis over there? He's a tenor in addition to everything else. It doesn't seen fair, does it?" And I just murmured something noncommittal, having quite enough troubles of my own without having unknown tenors wished on to me.—Let me see, where were we?'

  Caroline glanced down at her notebook, read back the last paragraph with commendable accuracy, and thought, 'I'll ask Jeremy about Lucille Duparc'

  But she knew suddenly that she would not. |

  During the next two days Jeremy also made no '^ reference to Lucille. But he went about looking rather pleased about something, and Caroline heard him putting in a lot of practice on a French song he had not previously tried over.

  'I never heard you sing that before,' she said casually. 'It suits your voice well.'

  'Think so?' He smiled as though gratified. 'I rather thought so too.'

  'What made you choose it?'

  There was a second's hesitation, then he said.

  'Someone suggested it to me, and I thought I'd have a bash at it.'

  And somehow she simply could not make herself ask who had made the suggestion. It would have been such a natural question only a few days ago. Now his once open manner had become slightly veiled as though a faint cloud had risen between them.

  Caroline felt dismayed out of all proportion to the little incident, and her disquiet deepened when, on the night of the concert, he left the house half an hour before she did, without comment.

  *He's going to get flowers for her, I expect,' observed Aunt Hilda complacently. 'It's his way of acknowledging her kindness in giving him a ticket. He's got something rather extravagant in mind, I imagine—^he borrowed five pounds.' But she said that indulgently.

  Caroline made some noncommittal reply and presently took herself off to the concert, feeling in some way rather out of things.

  Although it was Lucille Duparc's first London recital she already had a considerable reputation based on her gramophone records, and when Caroline arrived at the hall the vestibule was already crowded, with at least three major critics conspicuous in the throng.

  One or two cronies from the Covent Garden amphitheatre and the Festival Hall greeted her, but she managed not to become involved in any long conversations. Instead, she went almost straight to her seat, telling herself that she would rather be left on her own at the moment.

  This was not, however, strictly true. She

  longed for some contact with Jeremy—some confidential word perhaps about his offering to the heroine of the evening—^and when she saw him come in and take his seat on the other side of the hall she felt chilled by the rather indifferent wave which was all he bestowed upon her.

  Her thoughts were still deeply engaged with Jeremy when she had to stand to allow a tall, elegant woman to pass to the seat beyond hers, and was a good deal startled to be greeted with,

  'You must be Ken's secretary, Caroline Bagshot.'

  'Why, yes, I am.—Oh, and you must be the famous Sophie Lander,' exclaimed Caroline. 'At least—I'm sorry! I mean Mrs Van Kroll, of course.'

  'Don't apologise. I haven't been called Sophie Lander for so long. It's somehow rather touching to hear it again. And now I must have a good look

  at you ' the older woman turned towards

  Caroline with uninhibited curiosity. 'Ken says your eyes are exactly the same colour as mine.'

  'Really? But does he know the colour of my eyes?' Caroline was amused and faintly put out. 'We are usually too busy to *

  'Dear child, no man is ever too busy to notice a woman's eyes if they're worth noticing! And I see yours are. Ken is right—they're the same shade of violet blue as mine. It's very rare, you know,' Sophie Van Kroll added complacently.

  'Is it?' Caroline was amused, but took the opportimity to look with some frankness at her employer's legendary godmother. Immediately she was aware of a sort of pleasurable shock. For even now—at seventy or whatever it was—Mrs

  Van Kroll was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen.

  'If Mr Marshall was right about me. Miss Curtis was right about you,' she exclaimed.

  *In what way?'

  *She said that when you came on the stage or into a room no one noticed anyone else.'

  'Oh, that was years ago.' The older woman laughed and shrugged. 'And Naomi was always rather prejudiced. Though I was very good-looking in my youth,' she added impersonally and entirely without conceit. 'Now tell me something about Naomi. How is she these days?'

  So Caroline explained about her connection with Miss Curtis and her own singing lessons, and Mrs Van Kroll said, 'I must arrange to see her again. Just to talk about her makes me feel young and silly and irresponsible again.'

  Caroline found it difficult to imagine Miss Curtis yoimg and silly and irresponsible, but before she could say so, her companion glanced down at her programme and asked, 'Have you heard this woman?'

  'No. Have you?'

  'Yes. Once or twice in Paris.' Mrs Van Kroll looked critically at the photograjph on the cover of the programme. A very attractive photograph of a rather appealing face. And she observed dispassionately. 'She's not a bit like that really.'

  'No?' Caroline looked intrigued and amused. 'What is she like then?'

  'Like one of those gorgeous cats who always get top rating at a cat show, because they're much to cute to sharpen their claws on any of the judges until the prizes have been awarded.'

  *0-oh! That sounds rather dangerous.'

  *She is dangerous, my dear. That sort always is. I wouldn't have her set sights on any man I was fond of—Ken, for instance,' she added reflectively as she saw her godson coming up the gangway. 'But I shall probably kiss her afterwards in the green room,' she admitted without shame. *One does, you know.'

  There was no time for Caroline to make any sort of reply to that, even if she could have thought of one. A second later her employer slipped into his seat on the other side of his godmother and Lucille Duparc made her entrance on to the platform.

  The recital was destined for success from the first number, Caroline admitted to herself without reservation. The voice was warm and of an intensely individual quality, and Lucille Duparc used it with consummate skill and artistry. In contrast to that appealing manner of hers the luscious, sexy soimd was extraordinarily piquant. Then, in a group of Spanish songs, just before the interval, she suddenly changed her whole manner, almost frightening Carol
ine with the intensity of her feeling and purpose, and bringing half the delighted audience to their feet.

  'She must be tremendously effective on the operatic stage,' Caroline said to her employer, fascinated in spite of herself.

  'Oh, she is,' he replied with a satisfied smile. 'Even if my godmother doesn't like her,' he added, with a faintly provocative glance at Mrs Van KroU.

  'I, my dear?' She opened those remarkable eyes in innocent surprise. 'She's a very fine artist. What makes you think I don't like her?'

  *A certain pricking of my thumbs which is infallible/ he retorted, at which she gave him a quite heavenly smile and said,

  'I shall go backstage afterwards to express my fervent admiration. And Caroline will come with me, won't you, dear?'

  'If you'd like me to.' Caroline gave an interrogative glance at her employer, who nodded his assent.

  During the interval she kept on wishing that Jeremy would come across to her and exchange at least a few words of friendly comment, but he made no move to do so. And just as she had made up her mind to take the initiative and go to him the audience began streaming back into the hall, and the interval was obviously over.

  The second half of the programme was as remarkable—and as well received—as the first, Caroline finding herself almost completely under Lucille Duparc's spell by the end. Then, when all the encores had been cheered, and all the flowers presented and acknowledged with grateful, wide-eyed surprise, Caroline went round backstage with Mrs Van Kroll, her employer having slipped away ahead of them just before the last encore.

  The green room was crowded and at first it was difficult to see Lucille for the admirers milhng round her. But because of her extra height Caroline's companion evidently saw rather more than she did. For she suddenly said softly, 'No— I don't think I need worry about Ken.'

  ^ Worry about him?' It had never occurred to Caroline that anyone need worry about her employer. To the best of her belief he was

  singularly well equipped to look after himself, and she said as much.

  'Oh, you never know,' was the knowledgeable reply. 'Most men are fools at one time or another. But at the moment it's that good-looking yoimg man she has in view. Lean a little this way. You can't see him where you are.'

  So Caroline leaned a little towards Mrs Van KroU, and gave a slight gasp. For the young man at whom Lucille Duparc was smiling with such compelling charm was Jeremy.

  'You see?' Her companion gave a pitying shrug.

  'Yes—I see,' Caroline replied, and was suddenly aware of a stab of pain that was almost physical. A pain which she bewilderedly identified as raging jealousy.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was late when Caroline reached home after the concert. Not that she had been included in any celebration supper, of course. Nor that there had been even so much as a cup of coffee and a sandwich with Jeremy, which was their usual ending to an evening after attending the same concert.

  In the green room she had been briefly presented to the star of the evening by Kennedy Marshall as 'my invaluable secretary', while Jeremy stood by smiling but making no attempt to claim any connection with her. After that there was nothing to do but bid goodnight to Airs Van KroU (her employer had already turned away) and make her departure through die now more or less empty hall.

  On the whole, Caroline tended not to join the throng waiting at the stage door after a performance, but on this occasion she did so, though she kept well to the back of the crowd. Jeremy would almost certainly come out this way, she argued, and then they would go home together, discussing the evening—as they had discussed so many evenings in their time—and everything would be as it had always been. The passionate emotion which had shaken her earlier would fade into normality.

  But it had not been like that at all. She had had to wait quite a long time, alternately chilled by

  the slight wind which had sprung up and hot with a sort of shame that she should be standing there waiting—for what?

  At last Jeremy came out. But Lucille came out with him. She even handed him some of her flowers, saying, *Hold those for me, darling,' while she signed some eagerly proffered programmes. Then he and she entered a large waiting car and drove away, while Caroline fled from the scene before her employer and his godmother could come out and find her waiting there, ignored and ashamed.

  She walked home, though she could hardly have said why. It was a long way, and there was a perfectly convenient bus if she had cared to take it. But she could not have sat still in any bus. She had to move —and fast, in some desperate attempt to outdistance her own thoughts. But there was no way of doing that.

  *It's absurd!' she told herself. *Why ever shouldn't Jeremy go out to supper with another woman? It's a wonderful experience for him—^a struggling singer—to go with a celebrated artist. Any young man would have jumped at the chance.'

  But that was not the whole of it, and well she knew it. Until tonight Jeremy and she had shared almost every experience connected with his musical development—right from the first time when as a child she had listened entranced to his practising, until the magical, undreamt-of excitement of the Warrender audition which had seemed to open up fresh vistas of hope and joy.

  It would have been ungenerous to dwell on the fact that it was she alone who had engineered that

  last experience for him, and she resolutely refused to do so. She had been so happy to offer him that glorious chance. In all her life she had never been happier than when she rushed into the house and told him that Warrender had agreed to hear him.

  'I didn't want anything in return. Not a thing. It was so wonderful just to give him joy. Only—

  only ' two big hot tears suddenly ran down

  her cheeks and she caught her breath on a sob *—if only he'd acknowledged me this evening! Just said, "This is my cousin Caroline." Oh, it's silly to mind, but I do mind. I do—I do! Maybe it's ungenerous of me, but I w-wanted him to say, "This is my cousin Caroline.'"

  Yet what young man was going to drag cousins into the picture when a dazzling Lucille Duparc was calling him 'darling' and asking him to hold some of her floral tributes?

  'It isn't as though there's anything specially interesting or exciting about mey she thought dejectedly. 'I'm ordinary—that's what it is. I'm ordinary. No Stardust about me. Cousins don't rate much in the Stardust league. Except '

  And then she stopped dead, not a himdred yards from her own front door. For what was it that Oscar Warrender had said about her, if her employer had reported correctly?

  'Ifs the girl who interests me.'

  Also something about her being 'out of the ordinary' with 'remarkable potential'.

  Her footsteps, which had been dragging wearily, suddenly quickened, and she reached the house almost at a run.

  Predictably Aunt Hilda called out, 'Is that you.

  Caroline?' as soon as she stepped into the hall, but her voice came rather sleepily from her bedroom, and Caroline had only to reply,

  'Yes, Aimtie. I'll tell you all about it in the morning.'

  'Is Jeremy with you?'

  Her throat ached suddenly, but she managed to reply quite steadily, 'No. He—went out to supper with someone. I'll leave him to slip the front door bolt when he comes in. Good night.'

  Then she went into the kitchen, helped herself to a glass of milk and a biscuit and stood there sunk in thought while she absently consumed them. After that she went to her own room and, without even taking off her coat, sat down before the dressing table and examined her reflection in the mirror with more intensity than she had ever bestowed on herself before.

  /r's the girl who interests me.

  But why? Why should Sir Oscar Warrender, who was, by his own cynical admission, pestered by would-be stage performers, be interested in Caroline Bagshot, hitherto little more than an admiring supporter for her cousin Jeremy?

  The violet-blue eyes on which Mrs Van Kroll had commented so favourably stared back at her Out of a rather anxious face. Then, quite deli
berately, she smiled—^and was surprised to see how subtly that changed her whole appearance.

  Still without taking her eyes from the girl reflected back at her, she put up her hands, loosened the chestnut-coloured hair and, with a quick shake of her head, brought the gleaming waves into a softer frame around her face.

  'Not bad/ she said aloud. 'Good enough to team up with a voice which could interest Oscar Warrender. It's the voice that matters, not the face.'

  But that voice would have to be developed, burnished, brought to full beauty. And—how?— how?

  At that moment she heard Jeremy open the front door.

  He came straight to her room, knocked softly and asked in a half-whisper, 'Are you asleep, Carrie?'

  'Almost.' She gave a realistic little yawn.

  'Oh ' He was disappointed, she could hear

  that from the tone of his voice. But she didn't care. For the first time in her life she simply did not care that she had disappointed him and brought that note of protest from him.

  Then, in the same excited whisper, he said, 'What did you think of Lucille? Wasn't she gorgeous?'

  'Absolutely wonderful,' replied Caroline, making a slight face at herself in the mirror. 'We'll have to talk about her tomorrow.' Another yawn.

  'Indeed we will,' he agreed. 'Good night.'

  'Good night,' she returned. And she went on sitting there smiling faintly at herself in the mirror and thinking, 'I pretended. How odd. I never pretended anything to Jeremy before.'

  She continued to pretend the next morning during the hurried breakfast he and she shared. There was little she needed to say, however. All Jeremy wanted was to give an uninterrupted account of the wonderful time he had had at the

  supper party the previous evening, and he looked genuinely taken aback when she interrupted drily with,

  'I was a little surprised that you didn't introduce me when I came backstage.'

  'Introduce you? Wasn't that for your boss to do if he felt it necessary?'