Ghosts of the Vikings

by Marsali Taylor

  ‘What was her family, Adrien, do you know?’ From a village halfway between Vienna and Graz, Maman had said, and determined to become a star ...

  ‘She was an only child. Well, she had a little brother, who died young. Her parents clung to her the more, because of that, and now –’ His voice dropped to a near-whisper; he turned away, as if he wanted to hide his emotions. ‘I spoke to her father, as soon as Per phoned. He couldn’t believe it, that Kamilla, who was so full of life, should be gone, like that.’ He turned his face towards mine. His eyes were filled with tears. ‘Per said that the doctors said you did everything that could have been done. If what you did failed to save her, it was because she could not be saved.’

  It was cold comfort. ‘She must have had a serious allergy, to react to shellfish just being in the room.’

  ‘Mebbe there was some in what she did eat,’ Caleb said. ‘Traces on the hands of the person who prepared the salad, or on the knives.’

  I thought it very unlikely. The catering woman had the air of knowing what she was doing, and clean hands, sterilised utensils, and keeping possible allergy causers separate, was second-nature even to me, after three months helping in Reidar’s café.

  Adrien nodded. ‘She gave us a fright, oh, way back, at a seafood restaurant in the West End. Before that, she had no idea she had an allergy. She had prawns, and suddenly her face began swelling up, and we had to rush her to hospital. That was when she was issued with the EpiPens. Ever after that, she avoided any kind of seafood, just in case. She’d never have risked eating it up here, so far from medical help.’

  ‘You’ve known her a long time then?’

  ‘Oh, years, since she was a promising young debutante. She was in the chorus of my Carmen, with the ENO, and I noticed her voice.’ He smiled indulgently, as if he saw again the Kamilla she’d been. ‘She was straight out of college, with that shaggy student look, you know, jeans and a jumper down to her knees, and hiding behind a fringe. Well, I got to know her, and gave her some advice, took her to a decent stylist, and advised her on dress. She was so young, and shy, and nervous, and glad to have me to look after her. It grew from there.’Tears filled his eyes. ‘We were so much in love.She moved into my flat in London, and I gave her some help with decent roles, introduced her to people who would help her get on. We were really happy.’ His face darkened; he buried his head in his hands once more with a choked sob.

  Caleb rose, with an ‘over-to-you’ nod, and escaped. Damn. Just because I was female..I was lousy at this sort of thing. I abandoned my tea-making, and sat down beside Adrien. Arts people were supposed to be touchy-feely. I put a tentative hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s an awful shock.’

  He nodded, and lifted his head once more. His eyes were wet. ‘We were so happy together. Then she got a good offer with an early music group in the States. She’d always wanted to do more early music, and so she didn’t want to turn it down. We knew we were strong enough together to cope with the separation, and of course we’d be able to fly back and forward to see each other. Then she was spotted by The Voice, and it was the stardom that put pressure on us. She was always here, there, everywhere, they crowded her until she hardly knew who she was. So we talked about it, and agreed to do this tour together and see if we could get back on track. I’d hoped ... we were becoming closer again, just getting this time together ...’ He shook his head, covering his eyes with one hand. ‘She was so young, so talented ... why is it that people like her have to go?’

  My theology wasn’t up to answering that one. Besides, I couldn’t help my brain noticing, even as I patted his shouder and murmured soothing platitudes, that it didn’t quite ring true. My Carmen, he’d said. If there was one thing I did know it was that early music people were specialists. Someone whose normal roles were heroes like Don José wouldn’t be asked to sing Hippolyte, just like that. If he’d been introducing Kamilla to people in his classical repetoire world, how had it come about that she’d had an offer from an early music group, and in the States too, when she was working in London? I’d need to run this version past Maman. And hadn’t she said that she hadn’t known Adrien and Kamilla were an item? The way Adrien had said it, they’d never actually split up.

  ‘But I have a way out,’ Adrien said suddenly. ‘If I cannot bear it any more, to have her taken from me like that.’ He gestured with one hand, then turned it over, spreading the fingers to show me a rather heavy ring, an oval piece of onyx set in silver embossed with Victorian curlicues on the sides.

  I looked at him blankly.

  ‘I will not open it.’ Adrien rose. ‘But it holds my way out of this world, like the heroes of old, who chose glory over unhappiness.’ He brought the hand up to his breast and raised his head, in a gesture that I suspected belonged to one of his roles. ‘I will not forget her.’

  He exited, stage left, leaving me open-mouthed. I’d been wondering about how someone might have got hold of a poison that would have killed Kamilla in the way we’d seen. I had a hazy notion that cyanide would cause that breathlessness and blue skin followed so quickly by unconsciousness And here, it seemed, was a handy little receptacle which everyone might know about if he was given to these dramatic melancholy fits: a ring filled with a quick, deadly poison.

  I put two bowls of muesli on a tray, added a cup of herbal tea and headed upstairs. Dad was up and dressed, but Maman was still in bed, looking ready to sing Traviata, with her silk and lace nightdress, except that her pallor and the blue circles under her eyes were real, not the work of three make-up artists. I came around the bed to set the tray down on the slender-legged bedside table. ‘Poor Maman! I brought you some muesli, and a pot of chamomile tea.’

  ‘Thank you, dear. Chamomile is exactly what I wanted,’ Maman said. ‘But not the muesli, for the moment.’

  ‘I’ll eat it, Cassie,’ Dad said. He gave me a wink. ‘I haven’t braved the artistes downstairs yet.’

  I pulled a sympathetic face, handed him the plate, and looked at Maman. ‘Could I bring you something else?’

  She shook her head. ‘I will have toast, in a while. For food poisoning, it is best to have nothing but water for twenty-four hours.’

  Fair enough. I began on my own bowl of muesli.

  ‘Except that I will have to eat something,’ Maman said, after a reflective silence, broken only by Dad and me chewing. ‘I will have to be ready to sing.’

  My spoon froze, mid-air. I gaped at her. The show had to go on, of course, but –

  ‘Per telephoned. He has managed to find a replacement, an Italian mezzo. She is not as celebrated as Kamilla, of course, but she knows the role, and can manage to fit in these two performances.’ Maman leant back against her pillows.‘So I must get up soon, to encourage everyone.’

  I’d always suspected that singers didn’t think like normal people, and here was the proof of it. Come death, come poison, the show had to go on ...

  ‘And I’d need to go to that meeting in Cullivoe, now you have Cassie to look after you,’ Dad said. He bent over to kiss her cheek. ‘You just rest. I’ll be back well before time for the ferry, now, so don’t you be fretting.’

  Maman smiled, and waved him out, then her face clouded over.‘I must get up. I have not yet talked to Adrien – he will be taking it badly.’

  ‘He’s not good.’ I grimaced. ‘He was talking in the kitchen about a poison ring.’

  ‘Oh, that.’ Maman made a dismissive face. ‘He’s known for his ring. I don’t believe for a moment that there really is cyanide in it. Someone would have substituted something harmless long ago. Well, if you hear someone talk of suicide, and flourish the means like that, you would act, of course.’

  ‘Melodramatic,’ I said.

  ‘Adrien is melodramatic,’ said Maman serenely. She was feeling well enough now to sit up. ‘Tenors are very insecure. You noticed that Per had to give him extra encouragement to come in, during the performance.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘They have to be supported al
l the time. I will get up and go to talk to him.’

  She was just starting to sweep the covers back when there was a knock on the door. A male voice called, ‘Eugénie?’

  Maman pulled the duvet back to her chest and answered in French. ‘Vincent, is that you? Come in.’

  The door eased open, and Vincent Fournier edged in. ‘A thousand pardons, Eugénie, to disturb you in bed.’

  Maman gestured that away. ‘Cassandre is here, as a chaperone.’

  He sat down on the chair by the dressing table. He was wearing a leather jacket this morning, heightening the James Dean resemblance, but a James Dean who had grown old, to become the head of a business corporation. There were shadows under his eyes, a greyness beneath the tan, as if he too had been up half the night. ‘How is our star?’

  Maman made another gesture, grave affliction being bravely borne. ‘I am well now.’ She smiled. ‘Ready to sing this evening.’

  ‘Ah, that’s what I have come to tell you. The flights do not suit Gabriella, she can’t get here so soon. I’ve spent all morning on the Internet, then on the phone. She can’t arrive before tomorrow, and so I’ve rescheduled tonight’s performance for tomorrow afternoon, before we get on the boat. Fortunately, it’s the later ferry, 19.00, so that’s perfectly possible. A three p.m. start. Now, what I wished to consult you about is this. We can remain here, in quiet, for tonight, if you feel that is what everyone would prefer, or we can drive down to Lerwick as we’d planned, and spend the night in the Shetland Hotel. Unfortunately our poor Kamilla’s death is now headline news.’

  Maman made a face. ‘Oh, Vincent, no.’

  He nodded. ‘When I went to where I got a signal, my phone was buzzing with calls. I’ve agreed to talk to the BBC, but if we go to Lerwick we may find there are others. Here, you are more protected from them. Journalists do not like all these ferry journeys.’

  ‘My vote would be for here. Last night was a dreadful shock, and we could do with a day of peace.’

  ‘You don’t think the others would prefer to distract themselves in Lerwick?’

  Maman laughed. ‘Now, Vincent, you too have lived here. Yes, there is the new cinema, but otherwise, what do you expect? Do you see Adrien or Caleb heading for the Thule Bar, or Bryony living it up in Posers? No, no, we will eat quietly here, and let everyone recover, and take the ferry down to Lerwick tomorrow.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll let the others know, and organise catering for tonight. Shall I see if Saxavord is able to come again? Not seafood, of course.’ He spread his hand protectively over his stomach and grimaced. ‘Adrien was ill, and Per said that he had felt unwell too.’

  ‘Bryony as well,’ I said. ‘And you too?’

  He dodged that one. James Dean didn’t get stomach upsets. ‘There you are, all the more reason for us all to have a quiet day and a restful evening, and a long lie tomorrow. I’ll book us on the 12.05 ferry.’ He frowned, thinking. ‘12.05, the ferry for Toft at 12.45, Lerwick by two o’clock, then the performance at three.’

  ‘A bit tight,’ Maman said. ‘We will not want to eat much, of course, but it would be better to have some time in Lerwick.’

  ‘Very well, then.There is a 10.45 that will get us on the 11.30 to Toft, Lerwick by 12.40 or so. Is that better?’

  ‘Yes, much better.’

  ‘If they will give us the performers’ room at Mareel, you can relax there, and those who wish can go for fast-food.’

  Maman cast up her eyes, but made no more comment.

  ‘I was wondering,’ I said tentatively, since that seemed to be settled, ‘how the cast was chosen.’

  Fournier made an over-to-you gesture at Maman. ‘Ah, not my province. Per and Eugénie managed that between them. Oh, except for Adrien, when we needed someone to fill in. I know his father – he’s a business contact, well, not quite that, but his antiques shop in Paris is right next to my office.’

  ‘He created Aricia’s jewellery,’ Maman said.

  ‘He said that. Based on Helen of Troy’s.’

  Fournier laughed. ‘The family obsession. Has Adrien told you how his grandfather – no, his great-grandfather – was a friend of Schliemann? He visited the dig at Troy, and then, later, he was there when Sophia was photographed in Helen’s gold.’ He laughed again. ‘I believe Adrien has always hoped some day to find treasure like that to deck his girlfriend in.’

  You’re mad. Mad ...

  ‘Was that why he brought a metal detector here?’

  ‘Did he?’ Fournier shrugged. ‘It sounds like him. This treasure found here, just as we were coming, he would see it as fate. But as for Kamilla, and Caleb, and Bryony, I do not know.’

  ‘It was I who was keen on Kamilla and Caleb,’ Maman said. ‘Per was doubtful about poor Kamilla, he had not heard her, but I knew she would be good, and her voice contrasts – contrasted – well with mine, a dark, smoky style. Gabriella will not be so good, but needs must. I had sung with Caleb in one of the Loire performances.’ Her cheeks flushed, becomingly. ‘I thought he was a youngster worth encouraging. Bryony was Per’s choice, they had worked together before. Then, for Hippolyte, Bernard Latouche was booked, you must have heard of him.’

  I hadn’t.

  ‘No? He is the best tenor for Rameau, I have sung with him several times. But he was doing a son-et-lumière, just two weeks ago, and tripped going off the stage, completely careless, and did something terrible to his ankle, a torn hamstring, I think, and so he is not permitted to walk on it at all for six weeks. The muscle has to be forced back into place. He began with his foot at a strange angle, and slowly it is to be put back.’

  ‘And Adrien called me the moment he heard about it, and offered himself as a replacement,’ Fournier finished. ‘Well, Eugénie, my dear.’ He bent forward to kiss her. ‘I’ll put that all in hand, and let Per know, then drive down to get him from the Yell ferry. Now, you have a restful day. Try to put all this upset out of your head, and be ready for tomorrow.’

  ‘I must check on how Bryony is too. She was not at all well earlier.’

  ‘I can do that,’ I offered. ‘You have another sleep.’

  Maman held out her hand to squeeze mine. ‘Thank you, Cassandre. You are being a great comfort.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Caleb had returned to the kitchen. He had his jacket on, as if he was going out, but turned to smile at me. ‘You heard the good news, Cassandra? Per’s managed to find another mezzo. She’ll have to sing in Italian, of course. That’s the language she’s sung Phaedra in before.’

  It sounded mad to me. ‘She’s sung Rameau in Italian?’

  ‘In Italy,’ Caleb said. He made it sound quite normal, which I supposed it was, given that Rameau wrote in French for a French audience. ‘She doesn’t speak French.’

  ‘I thought you learned the different languages you sang in.’

  He shook his head. ‘Only how to pronounce them. You do a course, during your training, particularly looking at the vowel sounds. But you don’t learn the language.’

  I filled the kettle, stuck it on and perched on the table while I waited for it to boil. ‘So you just sing it, not knowing what you’re singing.’

  ‘Hell, no, you get a translation. But it’s the music that counts.’

  ‘So,’ I said, ‘she’s going to sing in Italian while the rest of you are singing in French.’

  He nodded, laughing at my face. ‘It’s completely normal, Cassandra. You can’t pick up a mezzo who knows Phaedra just like that. We’re lucky to have got Gabriella.’ Then his face sobered. ‘I shouldn’t be laughing. Poor Kamilla. I’m getting outa here for the day.’

  He was just lacing up his walking boots when there was a tap on the door, and Magnie came in. Naturally, he’d heard all about it.

  ‘Poor lass.’ He cocked his head sideways at Caleb. ‘How’re you this morning, boy? There were a lot of lights on in the night, as if folk were going to the bathroom over often.’

  ‘I had the mussels,’ Caleb said, ‘and I’m fine
. Adrien said he’d been up half the night with stomach cramps and diarrhoea.’ He shouldered his bag. ‘See you in Lerwick, Cassandra.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said surprised, ‘you’re off on the ferry?’ I remembered him asking about Inga and Charlie’s house, in Brae. I smiled. ‘Redding up kin?’

  He gave me a startled look, as if he’d forgotten having told me.

  ‘Last night,’ I reminded him. ‘You were speaking about relatives in Brae.’

  Now he definitely looked shifty. ‘Oh, yeah. I’ll see. If I’m passing. The connection’s a long way back.’ He grabbed his case and headed into the corridor before I could say any more, his ‘See ya’ floating back as the porch door closed.

  Magnie raised an eyebrow at me. ‘Kin in Brae?’

  Magnie was one of the many local geneaology experts. If Caleb really was kin to Charlie, Magnie would know all about him. I tried to remember exactly what Caleb had said. ‘I think he said his great-grandfather ran off from Eastayre and went to the States.’

  ‘Eastayre.’ Magnie scratched his head, in the classic thinking pose. ‘Well, Charlie’s great-great-grandfather was Andrew. That would be this man’s great-grandfather’s father. He’s no’ an Anderson himself?’

  ‘I don’t know. His stage name is Portland, after where he comes from.’

  ‘There were two sons, Andrew, he’d be the oldest, then Charlie, that’s this Charlie’s great-grandfather, and a lass, Janey. I mind her fine, because she taught at the school, and lived into her nineties. Andrew musta been this boy’s relation. Leave it wi’ me, lass. There’s something knocking at the back o’ me memory.’ He picked up his jacket. ‘Now, Peter was saying you were needing me to take care o’ Cat for the night?’