Ellida (53 page)

Amelia smiled and opened another newspaper
with similar reviews that praised her “lavishly beautiful singing…
the most powerful coloratura soprano… in divine voice for one of
Ms. Brecht’s most unexpected roles, the memorable and extremely
demanding
Queen of the Night…”

Against all the odds, she’dleft the stage
holding her head high. Her opera singer career had started here in
Palermo and thanks to a strange twist of fate, it had ended there
as well.

The newspapers were right. She’d always
refused to sing any role in
Die Zauberflöte
, especially the
Queen of the Night. In spite of her extraordinary upper register
and agile voice, she’d never felt enough confidence to sing it. The
part of
Queen of the Night
, which reached a high F, rare in
opera, was famous for its difficulty, and singers sometimes had to
be doubled by instruments. She didn’t want that.

During her professional years, the Queen of
the Night had remained a challenge she was sure she’d never have
enough courage to take. Especially not after a throat infection
three years ago and a long recovery, which had ultimately led to
her early retirement.

And then, on the very sunset of her career,
she’d been literally bullied into taking that role in exchange for
a voice-teacher position in a music school in Vienna.

She had been so sure then that it had been
Reinhardt’s sweet revenge for leaving him a decade ago for another
man. Leaving Reinhardt had been a terrible mistake that had cost
her a lot of heartache, but all that was in the past now, her
fears, her pain, it was over.

She heard a sleepy groan. A smile tugged her
lips.

“
Gutten morgen, meine Liebe.”

“
Gutten morgen, Reinhardt.”

She and Reinhardt had come back to the hotel
at the crack of dawn, after the long party organized in her honor.
She’d felt lightheaded and giddy. Her smashing performance, too
much wine, too many flattering words, Reinhardt’s dark eyes burning
with desire. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, Amelia,” he’d
said, his voice thick with emotion. She’d felt like walking on the
clouds.

She stretched in bed, feeling better than she
had in years, and the same wonderful sense of well-being she’d felt
last night splashed over her body again, bringing back every moment
of the best night of her life so clearly it was as if she watched
herself on stage from the audience.

AT THAT precise moment, at the opposite end
of Palermo, in
Villa Aurelia
, a beautiful, old structure
surrounded by an orange grove and situated on a private beach,
Astrid stretched in bed and, keeping her eyes closed, reached for
Jack.

He was already awake, braced on his elbow and
watching her.

“And here I thought it’d be hard to match my
wedding present.” She smiled, shaking her head. “I should have
known better.”

Jack lowered his head and kissed her lips,
warm and pouty from sleep. “A
1958 Gibson Les Paul
is a hell
of a gift, Mrs. Canagan. And a very thoughtful one. You made me
very happy.”

“Jack, what you gave me was the most
incredible wedding present,” Astrid said on the verge of tears.
“Thank you.”

“I promised I’d seize a theater for you, and
I did.” He gestured toward a stack of local newspapers on the
nightstand. “Do you want to see the reviews?”

Astrid closed her arms around her husband’s
neck, pulling him on top of her. “Not now, Jack. First things
first,” she said in a hot, husky voice and reached for his lips.
“Let me love you, Jack. Let me thank you for your present. Later
you can tell me how on earth you pulled such a crazy stunt and how
come I didn’t suspect a thing. And then I’ll tell you about my
present for you.”

Jack braced himself on his elbows, caressing
her with his eyes. “You have something else for me? What is
it?”

“Later.”

“NOW, YOU can tell me how you did it, and
then we can go to see Rosie,” Astrid said later, as she stretched,
boneless, over her husband.

Rosie, Liv and Tristan were settled into a
smaller house in the garden that long ago had served as servant
quarters. The arrangement had provided Jack and Astrid with an
opportunity to enjoy their honeymoon and, at the same time, spend
some time with their daughter. Rosalie somehow had figured out Jack
and Astrid stayed close by all the time and never complained when
Liv and Tristan took her back to their house.

“It must’ve been quite a conspiracy,” Astrid
continued. “Still it’s beyond me how I didn’t see what was going
on. Well, except, maybe that you kept finding excuses to avoid
taking me out to explore Palermo. That was a bit strange, now that
I think about it.”

Jack ran his fingers along her spine. “Let me
catch my breath first… And if you really want to hear the story,
stop wiggling. You’re distracting me. So, the rest of the party
started coming to Palermo in batches, soon after we arrived. If
Rosie hadn’t thrown a fit on our wedding day, she would’ve been
here a week after us, with Mom and Dad, although you wouldn’t have
known. Dad and Eamon organized the entire trip. My job was to keep
you in the villa as long as possible because Palermo was quickly
filling with our family and friends. There was a good chance we’d
accidentally bump into someone. It was a free holiday for everyone.
They neutralized their scents, just in case, but we couldn’t expect
them to stay in their rooms. ”

Astrid laughed and kissed him. “Not that you
had a hard time convincing me to stay in ours.”

“I thought you’d suspect something when
Professor Colonna called. That was the weakest part of the
plan.”

At the beginning of the second week of their
honeymoon, Eamon’s Musicology professor Alessandro Colonna had
called Astrid and asked if they could meet. He’d been delighted
when he’d heard her recording, he’d said, so he’d wanted to invite
her to
Teatro Massimo
to record the arias on the stage,
because of the proper acoustics. No audience, of course. Would
Astrid do him the honor?

“Well, in retrospect, that also sounded
fishy,” Astrid said.

“We were walking on very thin ice there, I
know. But I did manage to keep you distracted with my gorgeous
body, didn’t I?”

“Well, your distraction worked even better
than you expected.”

Jack threw her a look. “What do you
mean?”

“I’ll tell you in a bit,” Astrid said. “I’m
still stunned I didn’t have a clue about anything until I stepped
into the banquet room!”

IN THE early afternoon on the day when the
recording had to take place, Jack and Astrid had gone to Palermo.
Signor Colonna, a middle-aged man of stocky build, met them in
front of the Opera house. He walked them to the banquet room,
chatting about how thrilled he’d been to hear her voice.

When he opened the door, Astrid took a step
inside the room only to come to an abrupt halt.

Her lips had tugged into a wide smile as she
took in the big room filled with people: Astrid and Jack’s parents
and grandparents, Eamon, Maggie, Darius, Peyton, Ingmar and Lanni,
holding Rosie who gnawed on Lanni’s amber necklace with great
dedication. There was Mr. Fontaine, her patient from Rosenthal, and
a young green-eyed man, whom Astrid recognized from the photographs
as Mrs. Fontaine’s grandson, David Convel, Azem Nimanni from
Winston, Lily Falconer, the Nakamuras, little Henry... It seemed
that half of Red Cliffs and Copper Ridge, together with quite a few
guests from here and there, had flown to Sicily.

Every pair of eyes turned to her as she
stepped in.

“What are you all doing here?” she’d asked no
one in particular, smiling and shaking her head in disbelief.

“They came to listen to your singing, baby,”
Jack said and kissed her lips. “Because tonight you’re going to be
the
Queen of the Night
, on a real stage and for a real
audience.”

“Do not tell me, Jack Canagan, that you
actually took the theatre by force,” Astrid said, shaking her head.
“You’re crazy!”

“That I am. Crazy about you!” Jack said and
kissed her again.

“But how? What about that recording? Signor
Colonna? What’s your role in this?”

The chubby Italian professor laughed
wholeheartedly, looking gradually younger and slimmer. “Well,
Signora Canagan, my role is a small one, but crucial,” Alessandro
Colonna said in his melodious Italian accent. “Your husband
approached me with this unusual request a while ago. I’m still
going to use those recordings,
se non vi dispiace
.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Astrid said. “You’re
welcome to use it. So you are a real music professor, then?”

“I am indeed
un insegnante di musica
.
As you probably know by now, I’m also a werewolf. I agreed to help
Jack and your family to pull this off. It wasn’t without
complications, though.”

“The most difficult part was to find a singer
who would officially ‘sing’ tonight,” Eamon added. “After some
research, Professor and I found out that Amelia Brecht’s always
refused this role, unsure her voice could make it.”

“You’re using Amelia Brecht for this?” Astrid
said.

“But she’s perfect,” Professor Colonna said.
“And she was right, you know. She used to have a beautiful voice.
She’s always dreamt of this role, and passionately practiced it for
years and years, but even at the peak of her career, the
Queen
of the Night
was too much for her.”

“So we got her agent to blackmail her, sort
of,” James carried on. “I’m not very proud of it, but it was the
only way. He’s one of us, he understands. She’ll get a teaching job
and secure retirement, and most importantly, conclude her singing
career with dignity, so I really don’t feel bad, after all.”

“And it might help her to reconcile with him.
Reinhardt Hoffman is the greatest love of her life,” Betty
said.

“At least, that’s what Reinhardt is hoping
for,” Rowena said, smiling. “Come on, my love, you should get
ready.”

“Wait, wait, Mother. What about the
orchestra? The conductor? People will notice I’m not Amelia Brecht.
I’m at least six inches taller and not so, well, traditionally
built,” Astrid said, still dazzled.

Ahmed walked to her and hugged her. “Leave
that to us, honey. Nobody will notice a thing, trust me. The local
press will be here because this is the season premiere, but we made
sure there wouldn’t be any sort of video-recording.”

He’d made a vague movement over the room,
“There are enough Langaer here to bewitch all of Sicily. Don’t
worry, Astrid, we’ll take care of everything: the orchestra,
audience, theatre personnel, conductor—”

“
No! Non il conduttore!”
Professor
Colonna exclaimed, gesticulating with his arms. “
Il maestro
is our man.”

“Okay, then. We won’t mess with the
conductor,” Ahmed said, laughing. “We don’t want
him
to
forget who he is.”

“What about Lottie Fontaine and her
grandson?” Astrid whispered.

“They know about us, sweetheart,” her uncle
answered. “David is a half-blaidd.”

“What about Amelia, then? What will she
remember? Jack?”

“Frau Brecht will be left with the most
beautiful memories of the best performance in her life,” Jack said.
“She’ll end her career with dignity and fame she couldn’t have
dreamt of, adored and celebrated again, and with plenty of money.
She’ll watch herself on the stage, completely convinced it is she
who’s singing.”

“She’ll be in the audience?”

“Yes, looking slightly different. That’s the
easiest way.”

“Come, Astrid, you probably want to see your
dress for tonight,” Peyton said. “I chose it. I hope you’ll like
it.” She took Astrid’s hand and towed her toward the change room.
“Rowena, let’s help Astrid prepare.”

“I WAS good, wasn’t I?” Astrid asked
dreamily, nestling in Jack’s lap. She could feel him hard and
strong behind her back.

“You were the best
Queen of the Night
the world has ever heard, baby,” Jack whispered, kissing the soft,
silky skin behind her ear. “You put the entire theater under a
spell with your voice.”

THE APPLAUSE after
O zittre nicht, mein
lieber Sohn
, the first
Queen of the Night
aria, had
lasted more than ten minutes.

Getting ready for her next entrance, Astrid
watched the audience from her place behind the stage. The theater
was full to the last seat. The box tier seats had been reserved for
her family and friends.

Astrid’s eyes traveled lovingly over the
first several rows. Jack was sitting in the middle of the first
row, with Rosie in his lap. She had no problem recognizing her
mother and started bouncing up and down when Astrid entered the
stage, but Jack had whispered something in her ear and she quietly
settled in his arms.

Her mother and Ahmed, and James and Betty,
sat to each side of Jack and Rosie. She saw Ella dab her eyes with
a Kleenex and Arnaldur’s look of amazement. Beside them sat Anwen
and Robert, both smiling. Ingmar blew her a kiss; Peyton’s eyes
sparkled with tears; Tristan winked at her and Livia looked very
proud. Henry watched her with his round, green eyes wide open.

She smiled happily. Her husband, her
daughter, her family and friends. Her entire world was here with
her this night.

She stepped out and the stage light
illuminated her.

The orchestra played the first measures of
Der Hölle Rache kocht in Meinem Herzen
, the second
Queen
of the Night
aria.

Astrid took a deep breath and, once again, a
divine, magnificent sound flew out of her throat. One more time,
her brilliant, powerful, crystal-clear voice enveloped the entire
theater in pure magic…