Secrets of a Soprano (29 page)

“I should like to receive two weeks’ fees in advance,” she said. She must be short of money again.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,
madame
. But before I issue payment, I’d like to have your voice evaluated. Naturally I accept your word that the fire hasn’t affected it, but it would be rash of me not to be certain.” Trust Simon to make sure he wasn’t buying a pig in a poke.

“La Divina does not audition,” Tessa said frostily, with more animation than she had yet expressed.

“Of course not. But perhaps you would indulge me for my own peace of mind.”

“Very well. Arrange it for me with your vocal coach.”

“As for that, let your own pianist accompany you. I shall listen myself. Signor Montelli is a fine musician, a superb pianist, and judging by the evidence of your own skills, a superior coach. I’d like him to work with some of the other singers at the Regent. If you can spare him, of course.”

She agreed.

“He doesn’t exercise his gifts to their fullest extent,” Lindo mused. “He would be well-received in the concert hall, I believe.”

Tessa sounded pleased that Montelli was receiving recognition. “No one knows better than I how fortunate I am to have Sempronio. Almost ten years it’s been since he came to me. He is a man whose ambitions lag far behind his talents.”

“That’s settled then. I’ll have the contract drawn up and delivered to you. Unless you’d prefer me to send it directly to your attorney.”

“I’d like Mr. Butterworth to look at it. But Mr. Lindo, we haven’t discussed my benefit.”

“Benefit, Madame? Surely you don’t expect a benefit performance after only a few weeks’ work?”

“But I must! A full benefit. I’ll wait till the very end of the season but I must have it.” The sorrow, the hint of panic, in Tessa’s voice cut to Max’s gut. He reached for the door handle.

*

Tessa clenched her
hands on her lap and tried not to let her alarm show. She’d done well with Lindo and was proud of herself. Proud but weary. The terms weren’t quite what she’d hoped for but this time, at least, she would actually receive the money. She’d learned to appreciate the value of a bird in hand. Payment dates would be specified in the contract with no room for ambiguity. Lindo was straightforward about all terms. Negotiating with an honest man wasn’t so difficult after all.

Yet the performance fees would hardly cover her expenses into the autumn. She relied on the capital sum from a benefit to lay the foundation of a regular income, independent of performing. Two thousand pounds she’d expected from the event at the Tavistock.

“I’m afraid that’s quite impossible, Madame,” Lindo said. “You can’t ask the company staff to work an evening for no pay when you’ve been with them such a short time. It would cause resentment and endanger your relations with your colleagues. Next season will be time enough to discuss a benefit.”

Next season! She could barely endure to finish this one. She was so tired. Tired of rehearsing, tired of dressing, tired of wooing the audience.

“Without a benefit I may have to reconsider our arrangement.” It hurt to say it. Little as she relished the work, still less did she wish to look elsewhere, to enter negotiations with a strange management that might turn out to be of Mortimer’s ilk. Lindo and the Regent suited her, even if it meant that she would have to face Max at some point. Not too often, she hoped. He appeared to be little involved with the daily business of the opera house.

The door opened and Max stood at the entrance. He looked pale, with a white, pinched look about the mouth and his eyes were grim. Yet Tessa’s unruly heart jolted at the sight of him. Despite embarrassment and shame, the sight of his face, severe yet beautiful in the dim light, gladdened her for a moment. His attention was on Lindo but flickered to her, too quickly for her to avert her eyes and avoid meeting his black gaze.

“
Madame
.” He bowed. “I wasn’t aware you were here.”

She blushed deeply. “I was informed you weren’t in the office when I arrived.” The obvious corollary was unstated but understood. He knew she’d have left had he been here.

“I trust you are well. No ill effects from the fire? Your voice is well?” Of course that would be the only thing he’d care about now.

She murmured some platitude.

“You didn’t tell me you expected a call from Madame Foscari, Simon.”

The manager shrugged. “It was an unanticipated pleasure.”

“I came on a whim,” Tessa said quickly. “On my return from Bow Street. I had to report the loss of some of my jewelry in the fire.”

“I can’t imagine why you would trouble yourself,” Max said.

Why had he said that? Oh God! He must know the diamonds are counterfeit. Was all of London aware? This was the final humiliation.

“We have been discussing having Madame Foscari join us for the rest of the season,” Lindo said. “I am happy to say we have almost come to terms.”

Tessa found it even harder to speak firmly with Max in the room, but she was determined not to capitulate in this all-important matter. “I cannot sign a contract without a benefit. It’s quite impossible.” Inwardly she quaked at the thought of having to walk out of the Regent without an engagement.

Max, at his most haughty, raised his eyebrows. “Is there a difficulty?”

Lindo repeated his objections; Tessa wanted to close her eyes and pray. She forced herself to appear as proud and unruffled as Max.

“An artist of Madame Foscari’s stature deserves a benefit,” Max said and she almost doubled over with relief. “It sits badly with me to see the Regent behave shabbily in refusing her request.” He and Lindo exchanged some kind of silent communication and the manager nodded.

“Very well,
madame
. You shall have your wish,” Lindo said, raising his hands in surrender. “The last performance to end our first season with éclat.” His eyes gleamed and he sounded pleased.

She had been right to stand her ground. And meeting Max again hadn’t been the embarrassment she’d dreaded. Although he hadn’t shown any pleasure, he’d taken her side over the benefit. She was almost—not quite—disappointed when he didn’t stay.

“I’ll leave you to thrash out the details,” Max said. “I only came back to collect my gloves.
Madame
, Simon.” With a smart bow he departed.

*

What had possessed
him? Max wondered. He’d committed himself, as Simon well understood, to fund Tessa’s benefit. Moved by the sight of her, pale, distressed, and beautiful, a wilting hothouse flower in the workaday surroundings of the manager’s office, he’d been unable to resist coming to her rescue again. Simon would have talked her out of the benefit while giving in on some less important matter. Yet Max had stepped in because he wanted to make her happy.

“Lord Allerton!” Mrs. Montelli stuck her head out of the window of a waiting carriage. Given that last time he saw the lady he’d been naked, exposed, and deeply embarrassed, his craven instinct was to pretend not to hear and decamp with all haste. She repeated her call and Max resigned himself.

“Madam,” he said, his face heating as he stopped and looked in. She was alone, presumably waiting for Tessa.

“I realize some awkwardness is inevitable given our last encounter but if you won’t regard it, neither shall I.” The Austrian woman’s accent always sounded no-nonsense but this was plain speaking indeed. Max nodded politely, feeling remarkably foolish. “I have something important to say to you,” she continued. “First let me assure you that neither Teresa, nor any of her friends, hold you to blame for the unfortunate events three days ago.”

“I’m glad to hear it, madam. Neither do I blame myself.” Except for hours over the past three days and nights spent racking his brain to find the cause of Tessa’s outburst, scrutinizing how his own conduct might have been the touchpaper of her hysterics.

“Teresa’s distress had nothing to do with you, my lord, I assure you.”

A knot of anxiety in his chest eased. “What was it then? For God’s sake, what made her behave in such a way?”

“She was terrified because of something that once happened, a specter from the past.” The theatrical phrase sounded odd, spoken in her precise German accent.

“Might I be permitted to know what you’re talking about? I’d like to understand.”

“The secret is not mine to tell. Teresa must do so herself.”

“Is she likely to?” A fledgling hope batted its wings in Max’s heart.

“She doesn’t trust easily. Give her time, Lord Allerton.” Mrs. Montelli looked into his eyes. “I think you might be the one who can help her.”

“What can I do?”

Her mouth turned down at the corners. “I don’t know, my lord. She may come out at any time and it is best if she doesn’t see me talking to you.”

Regally dismissed, Max headed for Piccadilly, a street that no longer held any terrors for him.

His head had cleared. What an idiot he had been. Nothing had really changed since the night of the fire, or, if he was honest, many weeks earlier. He wanted Tessa. For good and forever.

Because he loved her.

He loved her and all he had to do—all!—was find out how to win her trust and her damaged heart.

Now that she was to sing at his opera house he would have the chance to prove that she had no need to fear him. There were several weeks until the end of the season and he would give her the time Mrs. Montelli said she needed. By the final performance—her triumphant benefit which would take place, as was entirely proper, on
his
stage—he would win her for his own.

He invested a swagger into his walk and a smile on his lips as he tipped his hat to several acquaintances. The leafy expanse of Green Park loomed on his left and, on his right, the walls of Tamworth House.

Goddamn it, his mother!

Charging in to Lindo’s office like a knight errant, he hadn’t given her a thought. But by paying for Tessa’s benefit he had violated the terms of their wager. He’d have to marry a girl of her choosing.

How was he going to avoid it? For avoid it he must. There could be no question of wedding anyone else when he knew with absolute certainty that he would love Tessa for the rest of his life.

“This Present evening will be performed the Grand Serious Opera of LA SEMIRAMIDE at the Regent Opera House, the part of Semiramide played by Madame Foscari.”

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“W
hat happens to
a theater after it has burned down?”

“I imagine they clear away the rubble. Can’t allow such an eyesore to remain in the middle of London.” Simon knew that wasn’t the answer Lady Clarissa wanted, but he was tired of her persistent questions about his professional qualifications and experience.

When asked—commanded rather—to call on Lady Clarissa Hawthorne, he’d thought she’d want to talk about her son. Something was going on between Max and his mother that Simon didn’t understand. He was prepared to use his best stalling tactics while extracting the maximum information from his hostess. Instead he’d faced a series of piercing questions about the theatrical business in general and his own history in particular.

“Don’t be foolish, Mr. Lindo. You know that’s not what I mean. Will the Tavistock be rebuilt?”

“The company that held the lease and the license is bankrupt. I imagine the ground landlord will look for a new lessee.”

“Someone with the means to build a new theater?”

“Or with the ability to attract investors.”

Simon politely stood when she arose from her own chair and came over to stand close to him and look him in the eye, a feat requiring no great effort since he had scarcely two inches advantage in height. A subtle and undoubtedly costly scent tickled his nostrils. In fact her entire physical presence spoke of wealth. Her coiffure, without a dark hair out of place or a gray one permitted to intrude, arranged with an artless perfection that only high art could achieve. The flawless complexion of a woman half her age. Her fine, though not voluptuous, figure enhanced by a morning gown of olive-green sarcenet, which Simon, from his knowledge of costumery, could price by its very expensive yard. Unwillingly, he found she stirred him.