Restless and out of sorts, lost for something to do, Judith finally resumed the book abandoned previously, and forced herself to keep her attention on it until Honor returned from the rehearsal. When her sister eventually arrived she came in glowing, her fair, delicate face surprised when she saw Judith was alone.
'You're in early for a Saturday night! Where's Rob?'
'He stormed off in a temper. We had a slight difference of opinion.' Judith avoided Honor's searching eyes and went out to the kitchen. 'Want some coffee?'
'Yes, please.' Honor took the pins out of her swathe of fair hair, yawning.
'How did it go tonight?'
'Wonderful. What a man!' Honor hesitated, then turned away quickly. 'I'm just going upstairs to get into my dressing gown and wash my face—I feel a wreck.'
When she came down again Judith had a tray ready with biscuits and coffee, and she smiled at Honor, who looked like a teenager with her face scrubbed clean beneath the fall of blonde hair, her feet bare below her blue cotton housecoat.
'Worn out with all this overdose of culture, sis?'
'Tired, but I'm enjoying it all enormously. I feel so privileged just to be at the rehearsals—what a voice this man has, Judith! He's electrified the rest of the cast completely. Meryl, in particular, is singing far better than I've ever heard her.'
'Something like playing squash with a professional— one plays up to his standard rather than the other way around.'
Honor looked at Judith searchingly.
'Didn't you go out tonight?'
'No. I just didn't feel like it, somehow.'
'Something wrong?'
'No. Not really.' Judith raised wry dark eyes and smiled cheerfully. 'I've had an odd few days this week, different from usual. Which goes for you, too, Mrs Gregg, one way and another. You won't know what to do with yourself once all this excitement is over.'
'The same thing I always do, I suppose.' A faint shadow clouded Honor's face and Judith cursed herself for spoiling her sister's mood. They both looked round in surprise as the doorbell rang. Judith got up to answer it.
'It's liable to be Rob, back to make it up,' she said as she left the room. She was wrong. It was Martin Gresham who stood on the doorstep, a look of apology on his fine-boned face, and Honor's handbag in his hand.
'Miss Russell?'
'Mr Gresham, come in,' said Judith quickly, and ushered him into the hall before he had a chance to refuse.
'I do apologise,' he said diffidently. 'It's very late, I know, but I thought Honor—Mrs Gregg might be anxious when she missed her handbag.'
'How very kind, Mr Gresham, and it's not at all late,' said Judith firmly, almost pushing him into the sitting room, where Honor was in her bare feet, her cheeks bright pink as she pushed at the hair streaming over her shoulders. Martin Gresham stopped short at the sight of her, clearly taken aback.
'Mr Gresham's brought your handbag, Honor,' said Judith, as obviously no one else was about to say anything.
'How—how thoughtful,' said Honor breathlessly. 'Won't you sit down—Martin?'
Martin sat, apparently unable to drag his eyes from the sight of Honor en deshabillé. He recollected himself hurriedly as he realised Judith was offering him coffee.
'Why thank you. Yes. I would.'
Judith whisked herself out of the room and closed the door, taking as long as she possibly could to make another pot of coffee, washing up the glasses and cutlery from earlier on while she was at it to give Honor more time with Martin. Feeling rather like some trainee fairy godmother she finally went back to the other room to find Honor chatting away quite happily, completely at her ease. Martin looked distinctly captivated and almost had to tear himself away from contemplation of Honor's bare feet when his innate good manners prompted him to include Judith in the conversation, questioning her about her work in the hospital, and whether she were coming to the opening concert of the Arts Festival.
'I have a ticket, of course,' she said, smiling, 'but from what I hear I might do better financially to put it up for auction. I gather the demand for seats has been fierce.'
'Once the word was out that Raf was appearing it was inevitable.' Martin looked across apologetically at Honor. 'I'm afraid I've let you in for a great deal more hard work than I intended, Honor.'
'I'm loving every minute of it,' she assured him, smiling happily.
'How does he happen to be staying with you, Mr Gresham?' asked Judith curiously. 'Hardwick seems like such a backwater for a man like Rafael David.'
'He's been coming here to stay with me for years, unknown to the general public,' Martin told her. 'We met as boys when I was travelling through Spain on holiday before I entered Sandhurst. He ran me down in his sports car in one of those steep streets in Granada, to be precise, and took me home to his mother's house. I wasn't injured in the slightest, but Doña Carmelita insisted on my staying with them for the rest of my holiday. She had just retired from the operatic stage at that time, and I was a diversion, she said—something to relieve her boredom. She was Carmelita Valentin, a mezzo soprano in the great Spanish tradition—Lord.' He stopped, embarrassed. 'I'm boring on at great length, and it's well past midnight. I should go.' He finished his coffee quickly and stood up.
'It's a fascinating story,' said Honor gently. 'Presumably he returned the compliment and came to stay with you afterwards?'
'Yes, exactly. That was before he was swallowed up in training at the Conservatory and on the stage. But afterwards we always managed to see each other as often as possible. His mother died years ago, unfortunately.'
'I'm very grateful to you for troubling to bring my handbag.' Honor smiled at him serenely.
'I was afraid you might worry, or that there was something you might need for tonight.'
'I would have needed my glasses to read the Sunday papers in the morning,' she said, with a little laugh.
Judith could have murdered her.
'Yes, of course, I usually see you in glasses,' Martin said absently, gazing down at Honor, obviously wondering whether this made the difference.
'I'm long-sighted,' Honor added, to make sure he understood.
Judith ground her teeth impotently in the background.
'One would never know it,' Martin assured Honor gravely. 'You have such lovely eyes.'
At once the colour came rushing back into Honor's face and she looked away in confusion. Bravo, applauded Judith silently, and was as charming as she knew how as she saw Martin Gresham to the door.
'I'm very glad to have met you, Miss Russell,' he said as he made his farewells. 'Of course you're coming to the party on Monday night, I hope—no doubt your sister has told you about it.'
'How kind, Mr Gresham,' said Judith a little blankly, and raced back to Honor in excitement the moment the door was closed. 'What a turn up for the books, love,' she chortled. 'Fancy his coming back just when you'd slipped into something more comfortable as they say. He was transfixed!' She halted at the look of guilt on Honor's face.
'It wasn't exactly a coincidence, Judith. I hoped—I mean, well, I rather planned the whole thing.' Honor bit her lip in remorse.
'Did you now!' A wicked smile of delight dawned in Judith's eyes.
Honor nodded glumly. 'I left the bag behind in his car deliberately. Then I rushed in and changed and took my hair down just in case he found it and brought it back.'
'And he did, he did,' crowed Judith, hugging her. 'It worked like a charm. But what on earth made you go on about wearing glasses, you cuckoo?'
'Conscience. I felt bound to remind him of how I look normally.'
'Which only served to emphasise how tempting you look when you're ready for bed!'
'Judith!'
'I'm right,' said Judith unrepentantly. 'It was one cliché after the other, you little schemer. The entire Hollywood bit, just like those old black and white movies on television in the small hours, where the hero slowly takes off the heroine's glasses and breathes "God—you're beautiful"—only you did
it by inference, clever thing.'
Honor stared at her, looking troubled, then her lips twitched and she began to chuckle, and they both clutched each other and laughed until the tears came, Judith eventually recovering enough to demand information about the party.
'When, where and what, Honor? You're holding out on me!'
'Martin's throwing a party backstage after the concert for the performers and the Mayor and various notables, and the Russell girls are invited!'
It was only later that Judith realised the significance of the term 'Russell girls'. It seemed that at long last Honor was ready to think of herself as an eligible woman again, rather than poor Simon Gregg's widow.
To Judith's surprise and pleasure she and Honor had been invited to join Martin and his aunt, Miss Lavinia Gresham, in the family box, so she had raffled their tickets at the hospital, raising quite a large sum for toys for the children's ward as a result.
Hardwick Operatic Society was a well-organised affair, presided over by Ashley Moore, the choirmaster and organist of St Margaret's Church. His wife, Meryl, was singing Magda, the soprano lead in the excerpt from La Rondine, which was to take up the second half of the programme. Ordinarily Judith would have been bored to tears at the prospect of an evening spent listening to classical music of any kind, but tonight was different. The atmosphere in the packed theatre was electric. In addition to the red plush elegance of the usual seating Martin had strained fire regulations to the limit by squeezing in more contemporary chairs all over the auditorium, wherever there was the slightest possibility of cramming them in, and all of them were already occupied. Judith was very much aware of the attention she and Honor were attracting, installed in state in the Gresham box; both of them had taken great pains with their appearance, Honor in a sheer Liberty cotton dress with satin collar and cuffs, and Judith in her favourite garnet red, silk and starkly plain. Miss Gresham was obviously pleased to have their company, and had made both girls affably welcome in a casual way, waving them to the seats beside her. She was a well-known figure in the town, prominent in the W.V.S. and Women's Institute, and had lived with Martin since his divorce. Eventually he took his place behind the three women in the rather cramped confines of the box just as the orchestra became quiet.
An expectant hush fell over the theatre. At the opening bars of the National Anthem the audience rose to its feet as one man, and from the corner of her eye Judith had a glimpse of Martin, ramrod stiff to attention while the orchestra played God Save The Queen. It was an emotive beginning to an evening already charged with excitement and anticipation, and as the audience settled down again in a fluttering, rustling buzz, Judith realised suddenly with surprise that there was nowhere she would rather be at this particular moment. She marvelled at the power and talent of one man, who by his voice and personality could command such a fanatical following, not only in this particular audience, but wherever he appeared all over the world.
The orchestra struck up the opening bars of the Drinking Song from La Traviata, and the curtain rose to reveal the entire operatic society in nineteenth century evening dress as they sang the lilting, festive music, and waltzed round the stage beneath glittering chandeliers, the men's black and white costumes contrasting with swaying crinolines in every colour of the spectrum. Honor met Judith's eye and smiled, as if to say 'not so bad after all, is it?' and Miss Gresham beat time with her programme on the mahogany rail in front of the box, humming off-key rather audibly. It was a very good beginning, both as a spectacle and a pleasure to the ear, and the audience settled back, prepared to enjoy the rest of the evening to the full. They were not disappointed. The standard was both high and varied, from Meryl's version of the Laughing Song from Die Fledermaus to the Gypsy Dance from Carmen, performed with much verve and vigour by the girls of the local ballet school, the excitement heightened considerably by the superb performance of the young man on the timpani in the orchestra, his great shining drums pulsing through Bizet's well-known music like a throbbing in the veins. There was a roar of appreciation from the audience when the brilliantly clad girls collapsed exhausted on the stage at the final crescendo and the packed auditorium cleared to fill the various bars for drinks in the interval, everyone well pleased with the programme so far, but filled with even greater anticipation for what was to follow.
They were actually getting more for their money than expected, explained Martin as he led the three women through the crowd to a small table near the long windows at one side of the bar. A bottle of champagne stood waiting for them, and they all sipped with appreciation while Martin went on to elaborate. Since it was now Rafael David who was singing the role of Ruggiero in the opera it had been decided to present a cut-down version of both second and third acts, using the chorus as well as the principals.
'Raf did all the spadework with Ashley Moore,' explained Martin. 'He's an accomplished pianist, too, and sometimes does some composing himself, so it was no problem to cut the piece down to size. The entire company have thrown themselves into the revised version heart and soul—literally inspired to new heights by the presence of Raf, according to Ashley and Meryl.'
'He sounds like a sort of musical Superman,' observed Judith, accepting a second glass of champagne.
Honor frowned at her. 'In just the brief time I've been in contact with him I rather think that's not a bad description, actually.'
'He's always been such an energetic boy,' said Miss Gresham affectionately. 'Never still a minute. I remember when he first came to stay when your parents were alive, Martin. What would he have been? Seventeen or so? On the go all day long; riding, swimming, tennis.'
Martin laughed reminiscently. 'We even used to put the gloves on and spar together, but I soon resigned from that—he grew too big for me to contend with.'
Judith was beginning to get very slightly bored with the name of Rafael David, and was rather glad when friends of the Greshams came to their table to pay their respects to Miss Gresham, patently curious about the presence of the two sisters. She joined in the general, light-hearted conversation with animation, and was almost sorry when the warning bell rang for the second half of the concert. She had a suspicion she was the only person in the entire building not looking forward much to the opera part, but was careful to keep her lack of enthusiasm to herself in case it smacked of ingratitude. The interval had been quite lengthy, and it was plain to see why when the curtain went up to the strains of lush, lilting waltz music to reveal a cafe scene with small tables at the front of the stage, with flower-starred hedges towards the back leading on to a realistic 'garden', where waltzing couples were laughing and singing, only half visible through the 'hedges', while a waiter served drinks to those seated at the tables out front. Gradually the audience became aware that the man sitting alone with his back to them was Rafael David. A great roar of applause broke out, and slowly the man got up, gravely bowing his acknowledgment of the tribute.
Judith scrutinised him with interest. The Gresham box was quite close to the stage, and Rafael David could be seen in detail. The thick black hair and aquiline, slant-browed face were familiar enough from television, not to mention the posters plastered all over town, but photographs were no preparation for the sheer force of the man's personality as he stood there waiting for the applause to die down while the orchestra played a reprise. Unlike the stiff evening dress of the other men, Rafael wore a plain black suit with a loose jacket over a frilled white shirt, a black silk scarf tied in a loose bow at the open collar. The effect was vaguely bohemian, suggestive of a costume rather than adhering to any particular period, and suited his powerful physique. He had the deep chest of the trained singer and stood well over six feet tall, looking more like a heavy-weight boxer to a surprised Judith, who secretly thought of singers as rather an effete type of breed.
Eventually he seated himself at a table, the applause died away and Meryl glided through the opening in the 'hedge', a china doll in a blue lace crinoline and blonde ringlets. She approached the table w
here Rafael sat, apparently asking if she might join him, though no one took their eyes off the stage to consult the translation of the libretto provided in the programme. 'Restate, restate,' he answered, and the singular power and beauty of the renowned tenor voice took Judith by the throat. She blinked, astonished at her own reaction, and chanced a look at Honor, but her sister's eyes were riveted to the stage as the magic unfolded. Meryl Moore had a true, bell-like soprano voice, but in response to Rafael David's it took on new depths and a dramatic quality never suspected before. His voice, however, was truly spectacular, Judith had to admit, and he was no mean actor either; his whole demeanour expressed a half-shy, half-ardent bemusement with the girl beside him. As though she were the only thing in life. Which must be quite odd for Ashley, Meryl's husband, though presumably he could always wave his baton threateningly from the podium if things got out of hand. Judith smiled involuntarily in amusement, and at the same moment Rafael looked up and caught her eye. She moved her chair further back in the box in embarrassment, and gave an apologetic shrug to Honor when she frowned blackly in disapproval. No one else in the theatre was moving so much as an eyelash; everyone utterly still, hanging on every note, and gradually, insidiously, the enchantment began to overtake even Judith as the strong, lyrical voice wove a spell that rendered her defenceless against its allure. There was another short interval while the scenery was changed for the third act, but this time Judith sat silent in the bar while she listened to Martin's music-loving friends going on at some length about the 'red timbre of Rafael's voice' and 'the pride of the Spaniard combined with the mysticism of the Celt' in his ancestry.
'Tuneful little piece, dear, don't you think?' commented Miss Gresham, noting her silence. 'Fond of music, are you?'
'Not madly, Miss Gresham,' said Judith frankly. 'This is something out of the ordinary though, isn't it? Not an opportunity to miss.'
There was a shrewd twinkle in Lavinia Gresham's eyes.
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