On wings of song

by Burchell, Mary

  'Not really—^no. He's not related to me, and you are. You were standing by when I said my few words of congratulation. Didn't it even occur to you to say, "This is my cousin Caroline"?'

  'Frankly, no. It might have seemed to Lucille that I was trying to include you in the supper party,' he said rather naively.

  *I see. Well, tell me some more about this party.'

  'I wasn't the only one there, of course. I mean—it wasn't what you might call an intimate affair. But she insisted on my sitting beside her.' Jeremy was back on course again after that slight interruption, and laughed with such transparent satisfaction that she was curiously touched and almost reduced to her old role of absorbed listener.

  *It was rather one in the eye for that self-satisfied boss of yours, I imagine. He was there, of course—^with a handsome woman old enough to be his grandmother.'

  'His godmother,' amended Caroline. 'Mrs Van Kroll.'

  'Was that who it was? No wonder he paid a good deal of attention to her! She's pretty well-heeled, isn't she?'

  'I don't know,' said Caroline, coldly and untruthfully. 'But that wouldn't be the only consideration. He isn't at all mercenary.'

  *How do you know?' asked Jeremy, not unnaturally.

  *I just do know/ she insisted. 'But tell me some more about Lucille Duparc'

  So he told her some more about Lucille Duparc, a good deal of it rather repetitious, until she said she must fly or she would be late. On this they parted, he obviously believing that they shared a common admiration for the French soprano.

  It promised to be a fairly slack day for Caroline as her employer was making a brief visit to Paris to engineer a couple of important contracts. She dealt rapidly and efficiently with the post, and completed an unfinished task left over from the previous day. Then, after some thought, she deliberately rolled a sheet of paper into her typewriter and began:

  'Dear Sir Oscar, I hope you will not think I'm presuming on the kindness you've already shown me, but my employer, Mr Kennedy Marshall, has told me that you spoke well of my vocal potential, so far as you could assess it the other evening.

  *My problem is that, apart from my voice teacher, I have no one who can advise me about what I should do to develop further any talents I may possess. Would you be willing to give me the name of someone I might consult for further guidance?

  'I should be deeply grateful if you could do so. On the other hand, I should fully understand if you felt that I should take my personal problems to someone less distinguished than yourself. Yours sincerely—Caroline Bagshot.'

  She read it over three times, with less satisfaction each time. To battle for Jeremy had become second nature to her. But to battle on her own behalf was something so completely new to her that she found herself in imknown coimtry, with some doubt about every step she took.

  If she had not recalled the words, 'It's the girl who interests me,' she would probably have torn up the letter at that point. Instead, she put it into an envelope, addressed it to Sir Oscar Warrender at Killigrew Mansions, and took it with her when she went out to lunch.

  Ignoring two postboxes which she passed, she took it in person to the elegant block of flats in St James's and handed it to the porter in the entrance hall. Then she walked rapidly away before the last grain of courage could desert her.

  She presumed he would reply—if he replied at all—by post. But, back in the office, the horrid thought came to her that perhaps two short sentences on the telephone might be a more characteristic way of dealing with a presumptuous request from a virtual stranger.

  *If only Mr Marshall hadn't rushed off to Paris,' was the rather imfair reflection which followed on that. 'He'd have kept me too busy to do anything so ill-judged as pester Sir Oscar. Putting myself forward^ as Atmt Hilda's horrid phrase has it!'

  And then the telephone rang and, with an imsteady hand, she picked up the receiver, already rehearsing her apologies to Sir Oscar.

  It was not, however. Sir Oscar who spoke. It was her employer, calling from Paris to request some necessary information. Caroline supplied

  this promptly, but there must have been something unusual in her voice, because, having dealt with the matter, he suddenly asked, 'Are you all right?'

  'All right?—Yes, of course. Why not?'

  *You didn't sound exactly yourself somehow. Must be the phone. Oh, by the way, you made quite a hit with my rather exacting godmother.'

  ^Did I?' Caroline was inordinately pleased by this much-needed boost to her morale. 'Thank you very much.'

  'Don't mention it. It's a pleasure to transmit compliments between two charming women,' he retorted with a laugh. 'It doesn't happen all that often in our world.' And, still laughing, he rang off.

  In some way she felt better for having heard his voice, and, since the rest of the afternoon passed without incident, her agitation had quieted by the time she gathered her things together to go home. Then, just as she reached the door, the telephone rang again.

  Reluctantly she returned to pick up the receiver once more, and a precise female voice said, 'May I speak to Miss Bagshot, please?'

  'This is Miss Bagshot,' replied Caroline, swallowing a slight lump in her throat.

  'I have a message from Sir Oscar Warrender,' went on the precise voice. 'If you will come to Killigrew Mansions at six o'clock this evening, he will see you then.'

  'Oh, thank you,' gasped Caroline, and then, as her caller rang off, she dropped into her chair, trying to decide if that curt reply, through a second party, meant that she was to receive

  valuable information or what might be best described as the complete brush-off.

  'No, he wouldn't have bothered to see me if he meant to brush me off/ she decided, after some thought, 'And I daresay Lady Warrender will be there, with her special talent for smoothing over any awkwardness.'

  Lady Warrender, however, was not there when Caroline was once more shown into the now familiar studio. Sir Oscar was there alone, sitting at his desk, and although he rose when she came in, his greeting was brief, and he merely indicated the chair directly opposite him before resuming his own seat.

  There was a slight silence, and Caroline realised it was being left to her to open the proceedings.

  'I hope,' she said diffidently, 'you weren't annoyed by my writing to you.'

  'On the contrary,' was the reply, 'if you had not made some approach to me on your own account I should have lost interest in you and any possible career of yours.'

  'Would you really?' She opened her eyes wide. 'But why. Sir Oscar?'

  'Because the profession you hope to enter is a very tough one, and the prizes don't go to those who hang back expecting someone else to take the initiative for them.'

  'I—I very nearly didn't write that letter,' she suddenly confided in him.

  'I know.' He smiled slightly.

  ^How do you know?'

  'Because everything about you the other evening indicated a retiring disposition. The only

  time you plucked up courage to act with boldness was when you were thinking of your cousin's welfare. Isn't that correct?'

  Caroline nodded, but she added quickly, *I'm deeply concerned still with Jeremy's career.'

  'Of course, of course,' agreed the conductor without any interest at all. 'Now tell me about yourself. All I know so far is that you have obviously had a good basic vocal training, and that your voice is an excellent one, with a memorable quality essential if one is ever to stand out from the clutch of worthy Marys and Annes and Elizabeths, who never make a nasty soimd nor, unfortunately, give one the slightest reason to want to hear them again.'

  'Oh ' Caroline slowly digested this. *I don't

  know that there's much else to tell you about me.'

  'Of course there is—don't be silly,' said Warrender impatiently. 'And above all don't underestimate yourself. If you can't display the goods in your own shop window no one else is going to do it for you. Why should they? Think careftilly for three minutes, and then tell me anyt
hing about yourself which you think might interest me.'

  'Anything?'

  'Anything,' agreed the conductor. 'The singer, imlike every otiher musical performer, is his or her own instrument. If the basic voice is good, everything else about the owner of it contributes to—or detracts from—its beauty and importance.

  Three minutes ' and he suddenly smiled at

  her with quite compelling charm and authority.

  Afterwards Caroline had the extraordinary impression that she practically told Oscar

  Warrender her life story. If it proved longer than he had expected he showed no sign of impatience. He asked one or two questions, but in a casual way which did nothing to check the flow of her narrative and usually related to her feelings or reactions.

  She even told him about the concert on the previous evening, and he enquired idly, 'Did you admire Lucille Duparc?'

  'As an artist—^yes. As a person, I think—^no.'

  'How about your cousin?' he asked, moving one or two things on his desk absently, so that she thought again that he was not really much interested in Jeremy.

  'He—admires her very much, both artistically and personally,' she replied, and for the first time there was hesitation in her flow of information.

  'Do you mind very much?' He looked up and straight at her.

  'Passionately/' Suddenly her remarkable eyes blazed at him, and the one word came out with a force which shook her to the core.

  'Splendid,' said Oscar Warrender, and his one word, though quietly spoken, was as significant as hers.

  'What do you mean? It—^makes me very unhappy.' She glanced down at her tightly clasped hands.

  'That is immaterial,' he told her coolly. 'Success—^particularly artistic success—is not built on imadulterated happiness.'

  'But ' indignation rose in her at this casual

  dismissal of her misery about Jeremy and, to her own dismay, she heard herself challenge him with, 'Have you ever known what it is to be terribly unhappy?'

  *Of course. No fiilly developed person goes through Ufe without experiencing the extremes of emotion/ he told her not unkindly. *But your imhappiness is not the factor which made me express satisfaction. It was the way you looked and the tone of your voice. In one word and with one direct glance you showed me that you can express tremendous depth of feeling in your face and your voice. If it's any consolation to you, Lucille Duparc has to work much harder to produce an equal effect/ he added with a slight smile.

  'Does she?* Caroline caught her breath. *Do you mean that one day I might possibly be as—as arresting as she is?'

  'Difficult to tell. She is the product of much work on her own part and the part of those who have schooled her. We still have to find out how you respond. The vocal foimdation has been well laid by your Miss—Curtis, isn't it?—and you say you play the piano reasonably well?'

  Caroline nodded.

  *I would suggest that you continue your basic singing lessons with her, but in addition you will need intensive coaching in the study and interpretation of roles, the understanding of musical nuances, the value of tone colour and so on—everything which belongs to the development of an artist as distinct from a mere warbler. Apart from that '

  'Sir Oscar,' interrupted Caroline rather anxiously, 'all this is going to be very expensive, isn't it?'

  'Oh, yes. The training of a worthwhile singer is not a cheap proposition,' he agreed. 'I'm only

  outlining what ideally you should do. How—or even if—you follow that out is of course your own concern, though I can recommend you to the right people for the purpose. In addition, if you set your sights on an operatic career—which I would say is your right milieu both vocally and personally—there would be the further matter of some stage training.'

  She was silent in dismay at the immensity of the task confronting her, and finally she said slowly,

  *rm afraid we're talking rather far outside the sphere of practical possibilities. As I told you, I have a well paid but not spectacular office job. In addition I have a modest bank balance made up of the last of the money left me by my parents and part of the very generous reward Lady Warrender gave me for finding her ring. It would be idle for me to pretend there's anyone else to whom I could turn.'

  *Think it over,' he replied calmly. 'It's remarkable the paths one can explore if one is utterly dedicated to a fixed purpose. What about Kennedy Marshall? Might he feel like making a generous contribution?'

  'My employer?' Caroline sounded so shocked that Oscar Warrender laughed. 'I couldn't think of asking him for anything!'

  'No?' He continued to look amused and even a trifle curious. 'Is he the kind who would expect something in return?'

  'Certainly not!'

  *I see. Well, it will be for you to consider the situation, decide what you might undertake in the immediate future, and canvass every possibility

  for financing your programme. I think I should tell you that in my view you're probably worth a good deal of effort—^and sacrifice.'

  'Thank you,' she said earnestly.

  'Don't thank me, thank your Maker,' Warrender told her drily. 'He gave you the voice. It's up to you to develop it.' Then, as she got up to go, he added, 'I'm not usually in favour of contests or competitions—they tend to be a gamble, and not a particularly healthy one. But there's no denying that a useful money prize would help. We'll consider that later.'

  Then he dismissed her, courteously but firmly.

  Caroline made her way home divided between extravagant hopes and a sense of realism which verged on despair. And once she reached home, of course, there would be no one with whom she could discuss those hopes and fears. To Jeremy— and still more to Aunt Hilda—this sudden obsession about her own vocal future would be inexplicable, even carrying a hint of treachery with it.

  After all, it was she herself who had always insisted on putting Jeremy's fortunes before anything else. She it was who had agreed that her part was to wait until he was established. Was it perhaps, she thought imeasily, still her natural role—to wait?

  But when she reflected on Sir Oscar's bracing advice—^and the way Lucille Duparc had looked at Jeremy, which of course had nothing to do with the present situation—she thirsted for action. And action on her own behalf, for the first time in her life.

  One encouraging ray of light was provided by

  the fact that the next day was Saturday, when she would be going to her usual singing lesson. To Miss Curtis she could confide her whole story, secure in her complete interest and a discretion upon which one could rely implicitly.

  As it turned out Miss Curtis was not only enthralled and prepared to be discretion itself, but she displayed an optimism beyond anything Caroline had herself entertained.

  *You have a great future in front of you, dear child, if you follow Sir Oscar's advice,' she stated dramatically. 'Who else could advise you better?'

  'But the money ' began Caroline.

  'The money V With a telling gesture of scorn Miss Curtis pushed imaginary stacks of banknotes from her. 'The money must somehow be found. To begin with, you will no longer pay for any lessons of mine '

  'Of course I shall!' Caroline interrupted indignantly in her turn. 'In fact, I fully intend to increase the very modest amount I pay you, out of Lady Warrender's generous reward. You see '

  This competition in generous offer and counter-offer continued for a few minutes and ended in their kissing each other emotionally— which was quite unlike them really—^and in Miss Curtis declaring that when Caroline was famous, and she herself was known to be the teacher of the rising star, prospective students would be eagerly beating a pathway to her studio door.

  Caroline's own hopes fell somewhat short of this, but there was no denying that there was something so infectious about Miss Curtis's enthusiasm that, for the first time, she began somehow to believe in miracles.

  If only she could have discussed it all with Jeremy! Until a couple of weeks ago that would have been the natural, t
he most exciting and heartwarming thing to do. But not now. For Jeremy was, not imnaturally, pursuing his own interests with concentrated energy and enthusiasm.

  Initially encouragement had been based on Sir Oscar's moderate but basically favourable verdict. But to this had now been added some subtle influence from Lucille Duparc, with whom he was quite obviously maintaining some continued contact. Indeed, during the following week the French soprano was his chief topic of conversation.

  He questioned Caroline closely about Lucille's future plans. For, as he said, 'Since your boss represents her you must know quite a lot about these.'

  Tlans for next year, you mean?'

  *Any plans of hers.' Jeremy made a gesture descriptive of unlimited activities.

  'A lot of what goes on in the office is confidential,' Caroline said a trifle repressively.

  'Oh, come on! Don't be silly. I'm not asking about fees or conditions of contract or that sort of thing. But there must be a point when general trends are discussed. There's nothing specially confidential about that. Any persistent journalist can ferret out something like that.'

  Tersist^it journalists also exercise their lively imaginations,' retorted Caroline tartly. 'But, without breaking any confidences, I can tell you that Lucille is expected to come to the Garden in the spring to sing two—or possibly three—works.

  but I don't think it's been decided yet just which ones they'll be.'

  'Is she, by Jove!' Jeremy was clearly enchanted with this scrap of information. 'She wouldn't tell me much about her future arrangements—she said it was unlucky to do so before everything was fixed. She's a bit superstitious, you know,' he added with an indulgent laugh which showed how charming he found Lucille's superstitions.

  'You sound as though you've been seeing quite a lot of her.' Caroline tried to make that sound casual.

  'Oh, on and off.' Jeremy brushed that off lightly. 'I know about the Birmingham concert at the end of the month, of course. In fact I'm going to it.'