The Storm Sister (The Seven Sisters #2) (33 page)

The young man in front of Anna looked to be about her own age and his face was truly handsome, crowned with a head of mahogany hair which curled above his collar. He was not tall, but his broad
shoulders gave him a commanding air of masculinity. Anna felt suddenly as if all of her – physical, mental and emotional – was draining out and into this other unknown human being. It
was the strangest sensation and it caused her to sway slightly.

‘Are you quite well, Frøken Landvik? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘Yes, I am perfectly well, thank you. I felt a little faint, that is all.’

The bell rang, giving the company and the orchestra their usual ten-minute warning before curtain up. ‘Please,’ he whispered under his breath, seeing a rapt Halbert still peering
over his spectacles at them, ‘we don’t have much time. Let us speak in private outside, where at least you can take some air.’ Jens put a supportive arm around her, noticing how
her head tucked perfectly into his shoulder as he did so, then opened the stage door and gently guided her outside. She was so tiny, so perfect, so feminine and he felt immediately protective as
she briefly leant on him as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

Anna stood beside him on the pavement, the young man’s arm still around her, and took a few deep breaths of the crisp night air. ‘Why was it you wanted to see me?’ she asked
him as she recovered her composure and realised how inappropriate it was to be in such close physical proximity to a man. And a strange man, at that. Yet if she was honest, he didn’t feel
like a stranger at all . . .

‘To be frank, I’m not at all sure. At first it was your voice that fascinated me, but then I paid Rude to make sure he kept you lingering outside the stage door so that I could
secretly lay eyes on you . . . Frøken Landvik, I must go now, or Herr Hennum will most likely disembowel me, but when can I see you again?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Tonight, after the performance?’

‘No, Herr Bayer sends a carriage to wait for me and I leave the theatre immediately.’

‘During the day?’

‘No.’ She put a hand to her face, her cheeks suddenly burning despite the chill of the evening. ‘I cannot think. Besides . . .’

‘What?’

‘This is most unseemly. If Herr Bayer knew of our meeting, he would—’

The five-minute bell rang.

‘I beg you, meet me at six o’clock here tomorrow,’ Jens entreated her. ‘Tell Herr Bayer you have been called early for a rehearsal.’

‘I . . . I must bid you goodnight.’ Anna turned away and started walking back towards the stage door. Opening it, she began to walk through but just as it was about to close behind
her, he saw her tiny fingers grasp the edge of the door and pull it back open.

‘May I at least know your name, sir?’

‘Forgive me. My name is Jens. Jens Halvorsen.’

Anna wandered back to her dressing room in a daze and sat down to recover her composure. When she had, she decided that she must learn everything she could about Jens Halvorsen before committing
herself to any further meetings.

That night, during the performance, she asked everyone she trusted, and even those she didn’t, what they knew of him.

So far, she’d learnt that he played the violin and the flute in the orchestra and, very disappointingly, that his reputation with women was infamous at the theatre. So much so that the
orchestra had apparently given him the nickname ‘Peer’, after the character’s lothario-like ways. One of the chorus girls confirmed he had been seen with both Hilde Omvik and
Jorid Skrovset. And worst of all, he was rumoured to be Madame Hansson’s secret lover.

By the time she stood on the side of the stage to sing ‘The Cradle Song’, she was so distracted that she held on for longer than usual to a note, which caused Madame Hansson to close
her mouth two beats too soon. She did not dare to look down into the orchestra pit in case she set eyes on him.

‘I will not think about him,’ Anna told herself determinedly as she extinguished the light from the oil lamp beside her bed that night. ‘He is clearly a dreadful, heartless
man,’ she added, wishing the tales of his antics didn’t thrill her. ‘And besides, I am promised to be married.’

However, the next day, it took every ounce of willpower she had not to order the carriage early and tell Herr Bayer she had an extra rehearsal. Arriving at the theatre at her usual time of six
forty-five, Anna saw that the pavement outside the stage door was empty. She berated herself harshly for the wave of disappointment that washed over her.

Walking into the dressing room, she was greeted by the usual gaggle of mothers busily embroidering in the corner, and the children who ran to her to see if she had brought them anything new to
play with. Only one child hung back, and as she hugged the rest, she caught Rude’s unusually mournful eyes over the heads of the others. Beginners were called, and with a final sorry glance
in her direction, Rude left the dressing room to take his place onstage for the opening. In the interval, he cornered her.

‘My friend tells me you failed to meet with him tonight. He was very sad. He sent you another letter.’ He held out a sealed note.

Anna waved it away. ‘Please tell him I am not interested.’

‘Why?’

‘I am not, Rude, and that is that.’

‘But Frøken Anna,’ he persisted, ‘tonight I saw the misery in his eyes after you had failed to meet him.’

‘Rude, you are a very talented young man, both as an actor and at extracting coins from adults. However, there are some things you don’t yet understand . . .’ Anna opened the
door and left the dressing room, but he followed her doggedly.

‘Like what?’

‘Adult things,’ she replied impatiently as she continued walking towards the wings. She wasn’t needed to sing yet, but she wanted to escape from the boy’s relentless
inquisition.

‘But I
do
know about adult things, Frøken Anna. I understand what gossip you must have heard since you learnt who your admirer was.’

‘So if you know all about him, why would you continue to entreat me to meet him?’ She rounded on him, stopping Rude in his tracks. ‘His reputation is quite dreadful! And
besides, I already have a young man, and one day’ – Anna turned away again and continued walking towards the wings – ‘we will be married.’

‘Then I am very happy for you, but the gentleman in question has noble intentions towards you, I promise.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, child! Let me be!’

‘I will, but you should meet him, Frøken Anna. Business is business, as I’m sure you can understand, but what I’ve just told you now is for free. Here, at least take his
letter.’

Before she could protest further, he pressed the piece of paper into Anna’s hand, then scurried off down the corridor. She stood behind one of the scenery flats, well hidden from view,
listening as the orchestra tuned up for the second act. Glancing down into the pit, she saw Jens Halvorsen take his place and unpack his flute from its case. As she peered forward cautiously, he
looked up and, for a fleeting moment, their eyes met. The emotion in his expression was one of such disappointment, it unnerved her. Darting back behind the flats, Anna retraced her footsteps to
the dressing room in a daze, passing Madame Hansson as she did so. The familiar cloud of French perfume pervaded the corridor as the actress swept along it. The woman barely acknowledged her and as
Anna remembered the gossip she had heard about her secret lover, she hardened her heart. Jens Halvorsen was nothing but a cad, a charming ladies’ man who would no doubt lead her to ruin.
Entering the dressing room, she promised to play a game of cards with the children during the next interval, knowing she must keep herself occupied.

That night, upon her arrival at the apartment, she went immediately to the deserted drawing room. And with huge self-control, drew out the letter from her skirt pocket and threw it unopened into
the flames of the stove.

Rude continued to bring her a new letter from Jens Halvorsen each night for the following two weeks, but Anna burnt them all the moment she arrived home. And tonight, her
resolve had been strengthened further after she and everyone else along the backstage corridor had heard a loud wail echo through it, accompanied by the sound of glass being broken. The cast were
all aware that these noises originated from Madame Hansson’s dressing room.

‘What was all that about?’ she asked Rude.

‘I can’t tell you,’ he replied stubbornly, folding his arms.

‘Of course you can, you tell me everything else. I’ll pay you,’ she offered.

‘Not even for money would I tell you. It would only give you the wrong impression.’

‘Of what?’

Rude shook his head and walked away. Subsequently, as the gossip began to circulate freely during the performance, one of the chorus girls told her that Madame Hansson had discovered that Jens
Halvorsen had been seen with Jorid, another girl in the chorus, a fortnight ago. As she’d already heard the story, it didn’t come as a surprise to Anna, but it seemed that Madame
Hansson was the only one in the building who hadn’t known.

Arriving at the theatre for the first performance of the following week, Anna saw a huge bouquet of red roses resting on the counter of the booth beside the stage door. Walking
past them on her way to the dressing room, she heard Halbert, the doorman, call out to her.

‘Frøken Landvik?’

‘Yes?’

‘These flowers are for you.’

‘
Me?
’

‘Yes, you. Take them, please, they are cluttering up my booth.’

Blushing as red as the roses, she turned and retraced her footsteps back towards him.

‘Well, Frøken Landvik, it seems you have an admirer. I wonder who that could be?’ Halbert raised a disapproving eyebrow as Anna collected the enormous bouquet, unable to meet
his gaze.

‘Well!’ she said to herself as she walked along the passage and headed straight for the freezing and smelly latrines that were shared by the women in the company. ‘The cheek of
it! Especially with Madame Hansson and Jorid Skrovset both in the building. He’s playing with me,’ she muttered to herself angrily as she slammed the door and locked herself in.
‘Now Madame Hansson’s discovered his behaviour, he thinks he can turn the simple peasant girl’s head with a few blooms.’

She read the small card that was attached to the flowers.

I am not as you imagine me to be. I beg you to give me a chance.

‘Ha!’ Anna tore the card into the tiniest pieces and sluiced them away down the latrine. There would be endless enquiries about the flowers in the dressing room and she wished to rid
herself of any evidence of their provenance.

‘Goodness, Anna!’ said one of the mothers, as she entered the dressing room. ‘Now, aren’t they just beautiful?’

‘Who are they from?’ asked another.

The entire room went silent as they waited for her reply.

‘Well, of course’ – Anna swallowed after a pause – ‘they are from Lars, my young man in Heddal.’

A chorus of oohs and ahhs echoed around the room.

‘Is it a special occasion? It must be, to spend so much money on those?’ said another mother.

‘It’s . . . my birthday,’ Anna lied desperately.

At that, there was a chorus of ‘Your birthday?’ and ‘Why didn’t you tell us!’

For the rest of the evening, Anna went through the motions of being congratulated, hugged and given hurriedly put together tokens of everyone’s affection, all the while ignoring the
knowing smile on Rude’s face.