Songbird

by Bell, Julia

  “Yes,” I nodded. “And not only that, I’m now on the stage at Covent Garden.”

  “How wonderful. Then you must be in the production of Carmen?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “And what part do you play?”

  “Actually, I’m Carmen. But only since last Monday. I’ve managed to survive one week so far.”

  Mrs Holland clasped her hands together in delight. “Mrs Haygarth and I were thinking of going this Saturday, but I had no idea you would be playing the lead.”

  “Then I’ll leave word at the box office that two tickets must be put aside for you. You’ll be my honoured guests.”

  “That’s so kind of you, my dear. I’m sure it will be wonderful, you sing so beautifully.” Her thoughts seemed to drift. “The duc and duchesse were very taken with you. In many ways you changed their lives. Although, I suppose you changed all our lives and none more so than…” Her mind returned to the present and she stopped abruptly.

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Are you talking about Karl?” She didn’t answer. “Please Mrs Holland. It’s been five years and I desperately want to know how he is.”

  She looked away and I followed her gaze. A butterfly settled on a flower and spread its wings in the warmth of the sun. I could hear a bee buzzing somewhere and two magpies started squabbling, hidden away in the foliage of an elm.

  “He’s very well,” she murmured.

  “And happy?”

  She turned to me and smiled. “He’s very happy with his little daughter. I think that…that child means everything to him.” I knew she had nearly said her name. “He dotes on her and it’s not surprising, she’s absolutely delightful.”

  I gathered my courage. “What’s her name?”

  She shook her head slowly. “I can’t tell you that, my dear. You know I can’t.”

  I gave a groan. “Would it hurt!”

  “It might lead to his identity and you know he wishes to remain anonymous.”

  I knew that all too well. “Is there nothing you can tell me?” I asked desperately.

  “Only that she’s very clever and what I would call ‘bubbly’ in nature.” She gave me a sidelong glance and a smile flittered across her lips. “And she likes to sing.”

  “She sings?”

  Mrs Holland nodded. “All around the house. Every song she knows. Of course, my lady…”

  “What? What about your lady?”

  Mrs Holland licked her lips nervously. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. But my lady…well, she does prefer a quiet life.”

  I felt stunned. “She finds it annoying when my daughter sings?” She nodded sadly. “But if she likes to sing, then she must be encouraged. When she’s older, they must find her a music teacher to train her voice.”

  She gave me a bright smile. “I’m sure my gentleman will consider that when the time comes. After all, he’ll remember her mother and…” Her voice faded away and a frown crossed her face.

  “What is it, Mrs Holland? Please tell me.”

  She took off her spectacles and rubbed her eyes, a gesture I recognised and one she always adopted when she was deeply concerned over something.

  “There are times, my dear, when I wonder at the wisdom of that agreement between my lady and gentleman and your good self.”

  “Do you think it was wrong?”

  She turned to me with an unusual scowl across her plump face. “When the dear Lord dictates that a couple are to be childless, then perhaps it should remain so. If they did anything towards getting a child, then they should have adopted a foundling. God knows there’s plenty of babes in this world seeking loving parents. But my lady wanted her husband’s child.”

  I was starting to have misgivings about my lady, but I nodded, trying to be sympathetic.

  “The day my son was baptised, I remember thinking that my husband had left me a precious gift, proof that he had lived and during that life had loved me so very much.”

  “That’s what I’m saying, my dear. Your marriage was a celebration of your love for each other and your son was living proof of that love.”

  “Are you suggesting that a child should happen only through married love?”

  “Yes, exactly!” Her voice rose in anger. “I’ve come to believe that a child shouldn’t be made through an arrangement! Emotions can become too involved.” I stared at her, understanding her meaning. She glanced around. “Shall we walk? We can take the path and I’ll show you my flowerbeds. You’ve never been in my garden, have you? Would you like some strawberries to take home? I’ve got too many of them this year.”

  I didn’t reply, knowing she was too distracted for answers and followed her along the gravel paths and among the herbaceous borders. Suddenly we stopped and she began to deadhead the fuchsias. I stood quietly, waiting, aware that she needed to unburden herself.

  “If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it to yourself?” she finally said.

  “Of course.”

  We carried on walking.

  “I had a very distressing time with…Mr Karl whilst you were carrying the child. In the early months, he wanted to know your whereabouts, but I refused to disclose it. He said that he had to see you, but I stood firm. I was relieved when we were on our way to France.”

  I stayed silent for a while, remembering when he had come to Chateau St Julienne and found me by the lake. How I had stood there with his arms round me, enjoying his nearness, his warmth.

  “I’m glad you didn’t give him my address. It would have made it very awkward for me.”

  “I know that. But even after you’d had the child, he wouldn’t leave it be.”

  I nodded. “I heard you arguing outside the door the day the baby was born.”

  “Did you,” she groaned. “I caught him sneaking upstairs and had to reprimand him severely. If I hadn’t been there to stop him, he would have entered your room and disturbed you. And I wasn’t allowing that to happen.”

  “I wonder why he wanted to see me?”

  “Because his feelings for you were far in excess of what they should have been. Six months after the baby, he still wanted your address. I was so concerned that he would find you and I thanked God that he knew you as Miss Pritchard. Because if he had found you it would have had dire consequences for his marriage.”

  “Oh, I would never have jeopardised his marriage,” I said, alarmed.

  “You might not have been able to help yourself. Not if you had the same feelings for him.” She glared at me over gold-rimmed glasses. I didn’t answer. “Out with it, Isabelle. You loved him as much as he loved you. Wasn’t that the case?”

  He fell in love with me! In the cab on the way home, I kept saying the words over and over to myself. But then my heart sank. It had been five years and he had probably stopped loving me by now. He would have moved on with his life. Did he still think of me, I wondered. No matter what he was doing that day, did he sometimes have to stop as memories of me filled his mind? Somehow I didn’t think so. By the time I arrived home, I felt melancholy. After losing Daniel I had resolved never to fall in love again, never put myself through the agony of loss. And it had happened despite my determination. Karl had fallen in love with me! He had felt the same way about me as I did about him. As I paid the cabby, I realised I was trembling. How could I surround my heart with a barricade that would be impossible to breach? I had asked too much of myself. As I went into the house, a feeling of emptiness swept over me and I bit my lip to fight back the tears.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After Carmen, it seemed I could do no wrong and over the next twelve months in every opera I performed, the audience applauded and rose to their feet for a full twenty minutes.

  And everyday I waited for any letters from Ruth and Gwilym. They were spasmodic but were bulky when they did arrive. We would sit in the kitchen and I would read aloud to everyone. They spoke of their voyage down the west coast of Africa and round the Cape of Good Hop
e, across the Indian Ocean towards Perth in Australia and then along the southern edge of Australia to New Zealand. Ruth wrote enthusiastically of wanting to see Japan. She hoped to do a lot of sightseeing and she couldn’t wait to see a geisha.

  I didn’t visit Mrs Holland again. Her revelations had disturbed me and I had thrown myself into my work, trying to forget all the things she had told me. But it was difficult. My little girl liked to sing! Her father once loved me! I often wondered what would have happened if he had discovered my whereabouts. Would we have begun an affair? I thought of his innocent wife and was filled with shame.

  “When are you going to have supper with me?” said Mr Perry, after the final performance of The Tales of Hoffmann. He had come to my dressing room almost every night for the last week to ask me.

  “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that,” I laughed.

  “It doesn’t hurt to ask,” he smiled.

  I watched him through the mirror and saw Martha give him a withering look. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice.

  “I like to go straight home.”

  “I know you do. But I thought you would break your strict rules just this once.”

  I felt uncomfortable. “It’s not exactly a rule.”

  “It seems like it.”

  I felt indignant at his tone. “All right, I’ll have supper with you tonight.”

  He grinned. “I knew I’d break down your resistance eventually. I’ll sort out a cab while you get ready.”

  After he had raced out of the door, I rested my chin on my hands and stared at myself in the mirror. I heard Martha clicking her tongue in disapproval.

  “Now what’s wrong with you?” I asked her irritably. “It’s only supper.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that Miss Barri. It’ll be a proposal of marriage next.”

  “Nonsense! I have no intention of marrying again.”

  “That’s what you say, but one thing can lead to another.”

  I decided to ignore her as she helped me dress.

  “Oh, I’m so tired,” I said, trying to stifle a yawn.

  “You need a holiday. Now that the theatre is closing for a week, why don’t you get yourself away to the coast and breathe some sea air.”

  I smiled and nodded wistfully.

  Martha had been wonderful in the fifteen months that I had played the leading roles at Covent Garden. Her motherly advice had been practical and full of common sense and I knew she was probably right about Andrew Perry. But that particular evening I was too tired to heed her warnings.

  He dashed back a short time later and said that a cab was waiting at the door. Taking his arm, I allowed him to guide me out of the building. We kept up a happy banter on the journey to his club where late night suppers were served until midnight. I had never been in a gentlemen’s club before and as I passed through the huge double doors and made my way across the floor of cream tiles, I glanced around.The hall was quite impressive with burgundy flock wallpaper and a wide staircase leading to the next floor.

  “Am I supposed to be here?” I asked, staring nervously at the austere portraits of former presidents of the club. They seemed to be glaring down at me in complete disapproval.

  He gave an amused smile. “Would I bring you if you weren’t? In this establishment, ladies are allowed in as guests from nine o’clock to midnight but only in the dining room.”

  Through a half-open door and I could hear the deep tones of male voices, intermingled with laughter. I heard the sound of ivory balls clinking together and knew that some of the gentlemen must be playing billiards. The place smelt strange, of cigar smoke and alcohol. We went into the dining room and were shown to a table. Mr Perry pulled out a chair and I sat down and took the menu from the waiter.

  “It’s very nice,” I whispered, surveying the gold and red décor and marvelling at the white marble statues that stood in the corners. They seemed to be of Greek gods and goddesses in all kinds of poses. Some of them naked.

  “I often dine here and spend the evening playing cards or billiards.”

  Why did that sound familiar? I felt too weary to work it out. I glanced at the menu and decided on a light supper since I wanted to be able to sleep and it would be difficult on a full stomach. I placed my order with the waiter.

  “I’m thinking of taking a little holiday since the theatre is closing for refurbishment. I wondered about the seaside. Bournemouth perhaps, or even Eastbourne. Danny would love it.”

  He reached across and his hand covered mine. “That’s a good idea. You’ve worked extremely hard and you deserve time away from the theatre.”

  I gently removed my hand from under his. “Thank you for inviting me to your club. I feel quite honoured.”

  “Only very special ladies are invited here.”

  “Oh, so who have you invited thus far?” I teased him. “Miss Ruth Procter or how about Signora Zuchetti?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Neither of them! And especially not Signora Zuchetti.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “No, I didn’t think you would. Although I’m surprised you didn’t invite my sister-in-law. She’s a very attractive girl.”

  “She certainly is, drat her. I’ll never forgive your brother for whisking her away from me.”

  “She’s having a wonderful married life aboard a ship bound for God knows where.”

  “Has she reached Japan yet?”

  “Oh yes, long ago. But I’m not sure where she is now. The only thing I’m sure of is that she’s with Gwilym and she’s happy.”

  He took a gulp of wine. “Have you ever thought of marrying again?” he asked, watching me over the rim of his wineglass.

  I knew where his question was leading and I felt far too tired to think about it.

  “I firmly believe I’ll never marry again,” I murmured.

  The waiter brought our food and it looked delicious.

  “I think you should consider it. You’re still young and extremely attractive. You certainly turn men’s heads.” His cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment. I got the impression he wasn’t used to giving personal compliments.

  “I receive a lot of praise for my performance on stage,” I said lightly.

  He leaned forward in his seat. “I’m not talking about your performance, although that’s exceptional. I mean on a day-to-day basis, as you walk through the theatre to your dressing room. Eyes follow you everywhere.”

  The wine was having an affect and I started giggling. “They’re probably afraid I might throw something at them like Signora Zuchetti used to do.”

  “You’re one of the best opera divas I’ve had,” he smiled. “You’re pleasant to everyone and always have an encouraging word for the girls and boys in the chorus.”

  “I know how they feel,” I laughed, but my heart sank at his next question.

  “How long have you been widowed?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious.”

  “A long while.”

  “How long?”

  I swallowed hard. “Nine years this Christmas,” I whispered.

  He reached out and his hand covered mine once more. “I think you should settle down with a man who can not only help you in your professional life but also be a companion to you and a father to your son.”

  “Are you talking about yourself?”

  He nodded. “I’m asking you to marry me, Isabelle.” I stared at him as the seconds ticked away. “You don’t answer. Do you want time to think it over?”

  “I’m very tired tonight and I’m finding it impossible to think straight.”

  His expression softened. “Of course you’re tired. After our supper I’ll take you home and then you go off on your holiday. Think about everything I’ve said in Bournemouth or Eastbourne or wherever you decide to go. Give me your answer when you return.”

  I was glad of the breathing space. A group of men passed the open door of the dining room and I heard happy laughter followed by a very familiar chuc
kle drifting on the air. I caught my breath and looked towards the hallway. But they were gone.

  Danny couldn’t believe that we were going to spend five days by the sea. Unfortunately, my idea of us all going fell on stony ground. Nan and Diamond were just not interested. Diamond wanted to visit her family and Nan had some wedding commissions to complete before Christmas.

  Full of excitement, my son and I set off that wonderful, brilliant September morning from Euston Station en route to Eastbourne. I had already telegraphed ahead and booked a room in the Bedford Hotel, recommended by Mrs Haygarth, our landlady. She had nodded enthusiastically and assured me that it was a splendid hotel and situated on the seafront.

  Danny couldn’t sit still on the train. His enthusiasm was infectious and as we got nearer to the coast, we were both watching out for the sea.

  “There it is! There it is!” he yelled and I had to quieten him, not wanting the other passengers to be disturbed. But when I looked around I saw they were smiling too. “May we paddle, Mama? May we go straight down to the beach?”

  I brushed the hair from his forehead. “We must go to the hotel first and leave our bags. But then we can paddle.”

  From the station we took a cab and as we pulled up outside the Bedford Hotel I could see that Mrs Haygarth had advised me well. It wasn’t a big hotel, but a modest, family run business and the landlady and landlord, Mr and Mrs Turpin, greeted us with genuine pleasure.

  “Welcome to Eastbourne, Mrs Asquith. And your charming son, too,” said Mr Turpin.

  “We’ve given you a very spacious room at the front so you’ll be able to see the sea from your window,” said Mrs Turpin.

  I smiled in amusement. They were both as round as a barrel and had moon-shaped faces that always seemed to shine with delight. I was to discover through our holiday, that they couldn’t do enough for their guests and would amble along fetching extra blankets or serving meals and refreshment in the tastefully decorated lounge.

  “You’re just in time for afternoon tea,” said Mrs Turpin, when we came down from our room after unpacking. “Dinner is at seven, breakfast at nine and luncheon at one. We’re going to place you at a table near the window, then your son can watch the folk passing as he eats his meals.”