'One consolation, Judith—if you don't care for the singing, Rafael's well worth looking at, you must admit?'
Judith laughed. 'Very true, Miss Gresham. It must be the experience of a lifetime for Meryl.'
'Ashley's wife? You're right. The lead in Rose Marie will seem a bit flat after this, poor gel.'
They chuckled together as they followed Honor and Martin back to the box. The orchestra was playing at full volume as they took their places, lowering almost to pianissimo as the curtain went up on Rafael and Meryl seated at a table with a painted vista of rolling lawns behind them, a suggestion of azure sea in the distance.
Judith no longer even tried to pretend she was unaffected by the music. A practical inner voice reminded her that this was very light opera indeed, not intended to be taken seriously, but it made no difference. She experienced a totally unexpected identification with what was happening on the stage, thrilling with Magda/Meryl when Ruggiero/Rafael took her in his arms, suffering when they were finally, inevitably forced to part at the end. Meryl drifted offstage, casting a last look of anguish at Rafael, who knelt in mute pain, his bowed shoulders heaving, the last poignant strains of music died away and the curtain came slowly down. There was dead silence in the auditorium for a moment then the uproar began; applause, stamping feet, cries of 'bravo', the noise almost lifted the roof off the theatre. Judith applauded with everyone else, feeling dazed, even a little embarrassed at her total involvement in the music.
As the curtain rose the principals stood hand-in-hand in front of the chorus and bowed, and the clapping went on and on. Baskets of flowers were handed up on the stage, including a special offering of pink roses for Meryl, who was quite plainly somewhere only a little short of the stars with elation. Without hesitation she handed one to Rafael, who held it to his heart and kissed her hand with stylised grace, then with a sweep of her crinoline Meryl went to the front of the stage and held out the other bloom to her husband.
'Very proper, too,' approved Miss Gresham, as Rafael beckoned Ashley Moore up on the stage and signalled to the orchestra to rise to its feet in time-honoured fashion to receive their well-deserved share of the applause. Eventually Ashley held up his hands for silence and made a speech, thanking Rafael David for honouring the production with his presence, and thanking Martin Gresham for the organisation necessary behind the scenes, and then, with a smug little smile of satisfaction, informed the audience that they were to be given an extra, unexpected treat to round off the evening. Rafael David would sing a solo aria in response to the insistence of his old friend Martin Gresham. A few minutes' grace was requested, the curtain came down, Ashley returned to the podium and the audience sat back, hardly able to believe their good fortune.
When the curtain rose again Rafael stood alone on the stage. He had ruffled his hair a little, removed his jacket and swathed his black silk scarf round his waist. A silver knife was thrust through the sash, and in his hand he held a single red carnation. A sigh ran through the audience. By courtesy of Honor's television set even Judith knew what was coming next. At a stroke, the man on the stage was Don José, frustrated lover of Carmen the Gypsy. Quietly, softly, with immense control, he began the famous Flower Song. 'La fleur que tu m 'avais jetée,' he sang, staring at the flower in his hand, and even those without any knowledge of French at all had no difficulty in understanding the intensifying anguish and passion, mesmerised as he flung back his head at the end and sang, 'Carmen, Carmen, je t'aime'.
This time, applaud as they might after the last plangent note died away, there were no more encores. The show was over at last, and Judith and Honor sat with Miss Gresham while Martin went behind the scenes to oversee the reception in preparation on the stage.
'Well?' demanded Honor, an odd smile on her face as she turned to Judith. 'Did you enjoy it after all?'
'Yes, I did.' Which was something of an understatement. Judith felt drained.
'Is this your first experience of opera in the flesh, so to speak?' asked Miss Gresham. 'Your sister says you're the cuckoo in the nest, musically speaking.'
Judith nodded ruefully.
'I'm afraid Honor's right, Miss Gresham. But this performance was something out of the usual run tonight, wasn't it? The entire company did wonderfully well—at least they seemed to, to my untutored ear.'
The other two agreed with enthusiasm, and became engrossed in a discussion of the performance, which gave Judith a chance to excuse herself and slip away, conscious of a sudden, overpowering need to be alone for a minute or two. She went to the elegant, mirror-lined cloakroom and stared at herself in the mirror as she ran a perfunctory comb through her hair and straightened her dress, wondering why on earth she was possessed with an urge to go home, to avoid the party. Impatient with herself she added a touch of lipstick and rejoined Honor and Miss Gresham in the box, where Martin was waiting to escort them down to the stage. Predictably Rafael David was surrounded by photographers and reporters, and submitted goodnaturedly to being photographed with the Mayor, with Meryl, then the entire cast, with Martin looking on good-humouredly, but refusing to join the group himself. After a look at his watch he eventually put an end to the Press's attentions and courteously but firmly cleared the stage of everyone except those entitled to be there, and urged everyone to help themselves from the platters of delicious cold food, and bottles of champagne which waited on a long table covered with a white cloth.
For the first time in her life Judith felt rather shy. She knew quite a few of the people there, but tonight the common denominator was music and she felt alien, set apart, despite Martin's good manners as he pressed both sisters to the wine and food. The atmosphere was fairly crackling with gaiety and celebration, everyone connected with the concert riding high on a tide of euphoria, including Honor, and Judith wanted very much to leave her to Martin, and the rewards of her hard work. She would have liked to stay with Miss Gresham, but that lady was firmly enthroned in an easy chair specially provided for her, and was holding court with her own friends, which was only to be expected, but left Judith feeling a little forlorn, excluded from the magic circle that seemed to enclose everyone else.
'Judith, love, Martin wants me to meet a few people,' said Honor anxiously. 'Will you be all right for a minute?'
'Of course I will, big sister,' answered Judith lightly, 'I'm a big girl now. You trot off and do your own thing—I'll be fine.' She watched Honor and Martin affectionately as they moved away, then edged over to the side of the stage, trying to make herself inconspicuous among the scenery used for the first part of the opera. She looked on from her shadowy corner, sipping her champagne, amused at the way everyone crowded around the famous tenor, wondering idly if he were married; Martin had said nothing about a wife the other night. Then she noticed the great man exerting his not inconsiderable charm as he excused himself from the people closest to him. To her surprise he collected a champagne bottle from the table and turned purposefully in what appeared to be her direction. Judith glanced round her quickly, but no one else was anywhere near. Rafael David was apparently making straight for her, still dressed as Don José, stiletto and all. Poser, thought Judith with mild scorn, and looked at him without pleasure as he reached her side.
He made no attempt at a formal greeting. His face as grave as hers he took her glass from her hand and filled it carefully with champagne. 'Your glass was empty,' he said, and bowed slightly as he handed it back to her.
Judith stiffened. The faint scent of his warm, muscular frame was unmistakable; heated from his recent exertions, his skin, combined with the cologne he used, gave off a faint, familiar fragrance. She recognised it immediately, and tensed.
'I have come to apologise,' Rafael went on, and Judith stared at him in silence, momentarily bereft of speech. 'I was the idiot who frightened you to death in the park last week.' He took her hand, gazing down into her startled eyes. 'Will you forgive me?'
'It was you!' she said at last, incredulous as her eyes stared blankly into his. A
nd what eyes he had. Not black as she would have expected, but light amber, like topazes, their brilliance framed by curling black lashes any woman would have killed for.
'I am guilty,' he said softly, 'and also desolate to have frightened you.'
Judith took her hand away hurriedly, conscious of curious looks directed at them from all sides.
'I recovered,' she said evenly, 'though if you had brought yourself to say something at the time it might have helped.'
He gave a very Latin shrug. 'I was sworn to silence, Miss—Miss—?'
'Russell.'
'Miss Russell. How do you do. I am Rafael David.' He bowed again, and Judith laughed unwillingly.
'You hardly need introduction, Mr—Señor David?'
'I would prefer Rafael.' He leaned gracefully against one of the flats, looking down into her face. 'My doctor vetoed any use of my voice at all for a time, and when I collided with you I was still under the ban. Which was also the reason for my sinister disguise—to keep the air from the vocal cords during my daily run.'
'I thought you were attacking me,' murmured Judith, keeping her eyes on her wineglass.
'I was on the point of breaking my vow of silence when you attacked me,' he said with an attractive chuckle, and Judith glanced up to see him fingering his chin ruefully. 'Before I could recover you ran like the wind and I was left alone to wonder who you were.'
Unaccustomed colour rose beneath Judith's olive skin. She felt uncomfortable; unhappily aware that they were the centre of attention, and looked round vainly for Honor.
'I must rejoin my sister…' she began, but he forestalled her.
'Martin will be very happy to look after Mrs Gregg— do you grudge me a few minutes of your time, Miss Russell?'
'No, not particularly, but everyone else does,' she said tartly. 'I'm nothing to do with the concert—you should be with the people who are.'
Rafael regarded her with slight surprise.
'But you must surely like music, Miss Russell?'
She shook her head emphatically. 'Not very much, I'm afraid.'
'Tell me then—if you are not a music-lover, why did you come to the performance tonight?'
'To please Honor, my sister, as much as anything,' said Judith candidly, and sipped a little wine to avoid his look, now trained on her face.
He sighed. 'Then the music tonight gave you no pleasure at all!'
'I wouldn't say that,' she answered slowly, 'but I must be honest and admit that a large part of the enjoyment was the sheer sense of occasion, the excitement of knowing I was present at something out of the ordinary.'
Rafael bent his head to look into her eyes.
'And what exactly was it that you found so extraordinary?' The note of indulgence in the celebrated voice irritated Judith.
'The mere fact that I was actually sitting there listening to classical music at all, I suppose.' She looked very squarely into the amused, translucent eyes. 'Beyond the top twenty in the pop charts I neither know nor care much about music, Mr David. I've never been to an opera before tonight, and can hardly tell Bach from the Beatles. I'm the non-musical member of my family—my mother used to say I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.'
CHAPTER THREE
Judith left Rafael gazing after her, champagne bottle in hand, and went over to thank Miss Gresham and say good night. She had never felt so conspicuous in her entire life before, and her face burned as curious stares were trained on her from all sides. When she reached Honor she told her firmly she was tired and wanted to slip off early, promising her anxious sister she would ring for a taxi from the theatre foyer. Judith made her escape thankfully, and ran swiftly down the stairs to the ornate double doors of the exit, shivering a little as she left the theatre, but with no intention of wasting money on a taxi for the comparatively short distance to Chantry Lane. She set out briskly, her high black satin heels ringing on the cobbles as she picked her way across the square from the theatre and walked through the town centre before turning into the road that skirted the park. Abbey Road was long and curving, with the trees of the park lining the pavement on one side, and large, eighteenth-century houses on the other, the latter used mainly as offices by day, but dark and shuttered at this time of the morning. There were street lamps at intervals, but in between their pools of light the road was dark and deserted, the night starless and overcast.
Judith hurried along, preoccupied with her meeting with the celebrated Rafael David and his astounding apology. In one way it was very reassuring to learn the identity of her masked assailant, though she could hardly call him that, she decided, they had merely collided, to be accurate, but his disclosure had somehow been part and parcel of the entire evening. Her emotions felt battered and limp after responding to the music with such unexpected intensity. If, of course, it was solely the music that had affected her so strongly. If Mr Soames the curate had stood there with a dagger in his belt and a flower in his hand Judith had an idea her reaction would have been vastly different. In her abstraction she was never quite sure when she first heard footsteps behind her. She halted and looked behind her. The road was deserted, and she scowled, annoyed with herself. Before bumping into Rafael in the park she had never suffered from nerves in her life. She walked on doggedly, uncertain whether the noise she could hear was footsteps or the thudding of her own heart. Judith swallowed and began to hurry, almost running as she rounded the corner of Chantry Lane, which was even darker, only the light of a solitary street lamp at the far end giving any illumination; all the houses were in darkness at this hour. She paused, then went on walking slowly. Now she was quite sure. And angry. Within a few yards of Chantry Cottage she swung round and turned on her pursuer, who loomed large and oddly familiar, wearing a mask… Not again!
'This is too much,' she said furiously, peering through the darkness. 'Is this your idea of a joke—' Too late she realised her mistake. At close quarters the odour of the man was unwashed flesh and greasy wool, and the mask was a stocking pulled over his face. With a muffled scream she flung up her arm but was too late, a heavy blow crashed down on her skull and the night exploded.
Judith came to slowly, wondering why the bed was moving. She tried to sit up, but pain knifed through her head. She subsided obediently as Honor's voice scolded her and told her to lie still. But it was difficult to lie still, because the bed was bobbing about.
'Honor,' she whispered hoarsely, trying to open her eyes.
'Yes, darling, I'm here.' Honor sounded different, older. Perhaps it was someone else. Judith tried again.
'Mother? Is that you?'
'No, you were right the first time. It's Honor, but keep still. Please!'
Honor sounded quite desperate, so Judith did her best to comply. God, what a headache, and she felt rather sick, too, now she came to think of it.
'I'm sorry to be unoriginal,' she said apologetically, 'but where am I?'
'Nearly at the hospital,' said Honor soothingly, 'shan't be long now.'
'But it's my day off,' objected Judith feebly.
The motion stopped. Blessed relief.
'I'm in a car,' she said, pleased to solve the problem.
'Give her to me,' ordered a masculine voice, and she felt herself taken into strong arms that held her with infinite care. Judith relaxed with a sigh. The scent of this man was familiar. She was safe now.
'It is you this time,' she muttered. 'I know you.'
'And I know you too, querida.' The voice was caressing, and Judith faded into oblivion again, waking only to the blurred, but hideous reality of injections and stitches in her scalp before she was wheeled off to have an X-ray of her skull.
'Perfectly still now, Judith,' said a voice she knew.
Judith did what she was told until it was all over, then smiled at the radiotherapist groggily.
'Hi, Kevin—sorry to get you up or anything.'
The red-haired young man smiled back at her, winking.
'Hadn't gone to bed, darlin', at least, not to mine.'
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br /> 'Philandering so-and-so,' said Judith amiably, and let him settle her in the wheelchair and call for the nurse. 'Will I live?' she asked.
'Let you know in a few minutes, sweetie. I'm not so sure about the staff in Casualty, though. Expiring with excitement they are out there.'
'Why?'
'Not only is Martin Gresham out there with your sister, but our operatic celebrity as well, snookums, the latter with your blood all over his frilly white shirt.'
'My blood?' cried Judith wildly. 'How much? What happened?'
'You were mugged, but you'll survive, a nice strong girl like you. Here's Nurse Singh. She'll take you back and put you to bye-byes.'
'What? I want to go home—'
'Save it for Sister Casualty, darlin'. If you win an argument with her you'll be in the Guinness Book of Records!'
Glumly Judith let herself be wheeled to a side-ward, where the little Indian nurse put her efficiently to bed before Sister Ames, ruling despot of Casualty, came in.
'Well, Miss Russell,' she said disapprovingly. 'A nice thing to happen, I must say. What on earth were you doing out at that time of night on your own?'
'I don't suppose you'll believe me when I tell you I was trying to get out of the public eye,' murmured Judith regretfully. 'Not very successful, was I?'
Sister chose to ignore this, and took Judith's wrist in a cool hand.
'A good night's sleep is what you need. I'll send Nurse Singh for Mrs Gregg, but she may stay for five minutes only. Good night.'
'Good night, Sister. Thank you, Sister,' said Judith automatically, then smiled apologetically as Honor's anxious face peered cautiously round the door. Honor tip-toed in as Sister Ames left, her face white and strained.
'Oh Judith,' she said huskily, and sat down by the bed, taking Judith's hand in hers. 'What on earth happened? Why did you walk home by yourself?'
'I was dead keen to get away from—from the theatre, and I didn't want to spoil your fun, so I fibbed about a taxi.' Judith smiled drowsily. 'Silly of me wasn't it?'
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