Last Act (10 page)

“Oh, hell,” said Princess Gloria. “I wanted another drink. Find your own way, would you all, while I get one?”

In the general movement that followed, Anne was aware of both Stern and Meyer approaching Alix, who smiled impartially at them and gave her arm to Falinieri. Inevitably, they then both turned to her, but Carl was just the first, and she was glad. Taking his arm, she marvelled again at the change in his appearance. The old Carl had gone everywhere in baggy black trousers and matching polo-necked pullover. This new one was immaculate in white tie and tails. And: “You've given up those dreadful cigars,” she said teasingly. “How did you manage?”

“Strength of mind. I'm a very strong character, Annchen, as I hope you know. And it was barbarous, all that cigar smoke around the singers I taught.”

She smiled at him. “That's what I always used to say, remember?”

“Of course I do. I remember everything.” The pressure on her arm was a trifle firmer. What non-existent past bond between them was he trying to imply?

But the little procession had reached a dining room gleaming with glass and silver against a background of the most ornate heraldic wallpaper Anne had ever seen. Slit windows, high up in the walls, added to the general feeling of gothic claustrophobia. “It's the small dining room,” explained Carl, leaning forward to study place cards. “Ah, good, here we are.” He must have
known they were sitting together. Well, it was logical enough, and so—granted the odd nature of the party—was the fact that she had Prince Rudolf on her other side, with Alix beyond him. Facing her husband across the oval table, Princess Gloria had her cousin James on her right, and Stern on her left, but was talking exclusively to her cousin while Stern looked mulish and replied curtly to overtures from Bland, who sat between him and Carl. Princess Gloria must be fond of her cousin, Anne thought, to let him and his two assistants so totally destroy the balance of her party.

“You like our opera house, Miss Paget?” Prince Rudolf had turned from Alix to do his duty by his guest.

“I've not sung there yet, Your Highness. But Princess Alix says it is even better than the rehearsal room, and I think that's the best place I ever sang in.” The champagne cocktail had been strong. She smiled up at the Prince with warm brown eyes. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am for the chance you are giving me.”

“You will make the most of it, I am sure.” His smile was disconcertingly intimate. “I like a bit of spirit in a woman. There's not many in Lissenberg would stand up to me.” There was more meaning in the phrase than she liked, and she was grateful when Alix drew his fire with a question from his other side, and he turned and became involved in an animated conversation with her and Falinieri.

Footmen in a uniform straight out of
Fledermaus
began to pour wine, and Anne turned with surprise at the sound of music from above and behind her. A string quartet in a small musicians' gallery had begun what she diagnosed as someone's selection from light opera.

“And a very good idea, too,” said Carl approvingly as they all started on cold, delicious, unidentifiable soup. “You couldn't call this the easiest party in the world.”

“Well, no.” A quick glance showed Prince Rudolf still absorbed in talk with Falinieri and Alix. “It is a little … surprising. I'm quite out of my depth, and that's the truth. I'm so glad to have you, Carl, to explain things a bit.” She looked down the table to where Princess Gloria was deep in conversation
with her cousin, and spoke quietly as the musicians broke into a lively waltz from
Rosenkavalier.
“The Princess's cousin,” she asked. “He's English, surely—I didn't catch his surname—but she's American. And—has he business interests here in Lissenberg?”

“James Frensham.” Carl, too, kept his voice low, under the background of music and conversation. “Yes. The Princess's branch of the family went to the States just before the war. He stayed home and made munitions—and money. More money. They've all got it, the Frenshams. And, yes, you could say he has business interests here. He practically owns the place. Well, the opera complex isn't exactly coming cheap, you know.”

“I should think not, indeed. But”—she looked round the ornate room—“surely—”

“I quite agree.” A note of warning in Carl's voice as the musicians ended their waltz and a little hush fell on the table. “One of the best operas I've ever worked on.”

“I know it will be a tremendous success.” She followed his lead.

“It had better be,” said Prince Rudolf, and she wondered, suddenly, if James Frensham had not perhaps brought him bad news.

“It will.” Carl spoke with a confidence Anne admired. “We've got everything going for us, Your Highness.” And then, as the Prince turned back to Falinieri and Alix. “But, Annchen, tell me about yourself, what you've been doing all the time since you were my most rewarding pupil. Oh, those days … those happy days …”

Once again she had the curious feeling that he was inventing a past for them that did not exist. “Not much,” she answered his question. “Living, you know, and partly living.”

“You could never do anything partly, Annchen, not the girl I knew.
Himmel,
do you remember how angry I was when you gave up your career for that husband of yours.”

“We will not talk about Robin.” It came out more ruthlessly than she had intended, but she was glad to have it said, and glad, too, when the conversation became more general, if still curiously
strained, and she was able to devote herself to polite nothings, delicious food and elegant local wine. The mention of Robin had drawn a shadow across the evening. A ghost is walking on my grave, she thought, and, so thinking, felt the first quick stab of pain.

“What's the matter, Annchen?” Carl asked anxiously. “You look as if you had seen a ghost.” Then, contrite, “I'm a brute to have reminded you. Forgive me?”

“It's nothing.” But it was a relief when Princess Gloria rose abruptly to lead the ladies from the room. In the doorway, she tripped over the hem of her dress and was expertly retrieved by a footman. “I'm bushed,” she told Alix and Anne in loud, slurred accents as they followed her through double doors to the salon. “I'm going to hit the hay, and quick, before they bring their quarrel in here.” Anne had already noticed her curious habit of using out-of-date American slang.

“Quarrel?” asked Alix.

“I'll say! I don't know what it is, but Jimmy's here to straighten your father out, and thank the lord he's the man to do it. Darling Rudolf's not going to get through Jimmy's money the way he did mine. That damned opera shows a profit, or—” She made an extremely inelegant gesture and left them, staggering a little.

“I'm sorry,” said Alix. “Poor Mother, she's had a hell of a time, one way and another. Trouble between Father and Uncle Jimmy would be about the last straw. Though, mind you, I suppose it was inevitable.”

“I am so sorry. Should I leave, perhaps?”

“No, please. Do stay. There will be no public quarrel—not with guests. You'll see; it will be all sweetness and light.”

“Just like dinner?”

Alix laughed. “Exactly. God you're going to be a comfort, Anne. May I call you Anne, and will you call me Alix?”

“Should I?”

“Can't think why not. You've heard Mother. She's right, I'm afraid. It's not much of a princess whose father is as deep in debt as mine is. I do hope it's not real trouble between him and Uncle Jimmy. We could do without that, right now.” She put a warm
hand on Anne's. “You see now why this opera has got to succeed. If not, Lissenberg is going to find itself bankrupt. Or part of the Frensham empire.”

“What would happen then?”

“I hate to think. If I know Cousin Jimmy, he'd sell us to the highest bidder. And I don't quite like to think who that might be. We're in what you could call a strategic position. Too strategic by a half. Who wants to end up as a launching pad? And probably for the wrong side at that. Besides—I like us the way we are. Small and beautiful, if you don't think that's too vain. At least, civilised. And—neutral. Like the Swiss. It may not be exactly a position to boast about, but it has its points. Besides, like the Swiss, we contrive to make ourselves useful. And … stick to a few principles.”

“I know. Someone told me about the Russians you wouldn't send back. After Yalta. That's something to be proud of.”

“And something their bosses won't forget,” said Alix. “I wouldn't much like to be sold to them.”

“He wouldn't!”

“I'd not like to bet on it. I meant it when I said the highest bidder. Money's Uncle Jimmy's life. If he had to save young James at the expense of his fortune—a kidnapping say—I wouldn't reckon much on James's chances.”

“Young James?”

“His son and heir. As formidable as his father, in his own way. His mother was an Italian princess—rich, of course. James went to Harrow like his father. That was before his parents got divorced. Now he lives on his mother's Sicilian estate. Not much love lost between any of them, I'm afraid. Oh dear”—her smile was apologetic—“I'm gossiping. You're a good audience, Anne. Listen! Here they come. Do something for me?”

“Gladly.”

“They'll all want to drive you home. Let Meyer, would you?”

“But of course! I'd much rather. We're old friends, you know.”

And why did that get her such a strange look from her new friend? Something odd about Alix's tone; about this whole occasion. Or were fatigue and continuing pain making her
imagine things? The day was beginning to seem endless, and when the men joined them she seized the earliest opportunity to say she must go, pleading tomorrow's early rehearsal.

“So soon?” But she thought Prince Rudolf was glad enough to have his party break up.

As Alix had predicted, both Stern and Carl stepped forward to offer to drive Anne, but, surprisingly, so did James Frensham, who had come in from dinner ruddier than ever with ill-suppressed anger. “We have work to do,' he explained without grace. “Checking some figures for the morning. There is room in my Bentley.”

“It's very kind of you—” Anne began, but Carl interrupted her, a pressing hand on her arm.

“I must plead a stronger claim, sir. Miss Paget and I have things to discuss. With the opening date so near, I feel I must use every minute.”

“So I should imagine.” Frensham's tone was not hopeful. “Bland, Marks, we have work!” He took an unceremonious leave.

“Come along then, Annchen.” A proprietary arm in hers, Carl shepherded her through her farewells as solicitously as if they were old lovers rather than old friends. As he draped her stole tenderly round her shoulders she felt a quick pang of apprehension. If there was one thing she could do without right now, it was an emotional scene. But Carl, helping her into the car and starting the engine, turned at once to a brisk professional discussion of her part, and she got back to the hostel at once relieved and, just faintly, puzzled.

Waking Anne With her breakfast next morning, Lisel looked white and shocked. Her hands, putting down the tray on the big bed, shook so badly that the cream spilled. “Forgive me, Fräulein,” she said. “It's the news. Horrible!” She spoke in German, but her meaning was clear enough.

“What's happened?” Anne pulled herself up out of deep sleep and was glad to see that the shaken girl understood the tenor of her question.

“
Tot,
” she said, and then broke into a jumbled mixture of German and Liss. Anne recognised a few phrases. Herr Frensham. The Princess's cousin. And then, again, unmistakable,
tot.
That formidable English tycoon was dead? It seemed impossible. She nodded a dismissal and lifted the telephone by her bed.

“
Ja?
” Josef, too, sounded shaken.

“Josef? It's Anne. What's this about Mr Frensham?”

“He's dead. He drove a couple of his friends home from the castle last night, and they fell off the road. It's a terrible corner.” Was he trying to explain to himself, or to her?

“I'm …” What did one say? “I'm so sorry.” And then, because she was a professional, “Will it make any difference?” She had not even looked at the note on the breakfast tray that must describe her day's appointments.

“To the opera? None. That has already been settled. The opera, the conference, everything is to go on as planned.”

“Yes, of course.” Anne remembered her conversation with Alix the night before. “I suppose it must.” Ringing off, she
opened the day's programme. More rehearsals … Surprisingly, another appointment with the wardrobe mistress for the late afternoon, and a note in Josefs scrawling hand.
Fourteen hours, a car will fetch you to give a statement to the police. Not to worry.

Alix, telephoning, sounded subdued, but said the same thing. “It's a matter of form, naturally. But—I didn't know you were involved in some kind of accident on your way here from Schennen. The police seem to think this one was like it … a bit too like for comfort. We don't have crime in Lissenberg.” Now she sounded angry.

“I'm so sorry. How is your mother?”

“Flat out with shock. She really loved Uncle James.” She broke off for a moment, then, “Sorry, Anne, I must go. We're at disaster stations here today. Don't take any lifts from strangers.” It was not quite a joke.

The morning's rehearsal was a subdued affair with whispered gossip running through the darkened auditorium so that first Meyer and then Falinieri had to appeal for silence as Stern and Anne ran through their opening duet. At last Falinieri clapped his hands. “Is impossible,” he said. “This is an opera house, not a bear garden. You, chorus, go away and chatter outside. For the rest of the day we will concentrate on Regulus and Marcus—oh, and on you, of course, Fräulein Stock.” This to the quiet girl who played Regulus' daughter Livia. “We have yet to hear you and Miss Paget. We'll take that after the lunch break.”