Songbird (15 page)

“I’m
disgusted and disappointed with you, Isabelle.  I saw what you were up to with Felix
Russell and I felt repugnance then.  But this! This sickens me!  I thought you
had more pride in yourself.”  He turned to go and then called over his
shoulder,  “Give my apologies to Nan and tell her I won’t be joining her for
Christmas luncheon.  I can’t stomach the company.”

I
watched him walk away and although I called after him, he didn’t stop or turn
round.  Gwilym and I had rarely argued, even as children.  But that was the
first time he had struck me.  And now that it had happened, I knew that a wide
chasm had opened up between us.  My deeds had come home to roost.  I made my
way home, my tears freezing on my cheeks and agonising emptiness filling my
heart.  I knew that Gwilym would never understand how desperately I wanted to
sing, to become part of the opera company at Covent Garden.  My ambition had
made me blind to everything else.  And now, I had to let him believe that a
lover was keeping me, because the real truth was too awful to imagine.

It
was a terrible Christmas.

PART
TWO

THE
OPERA SINGER

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

I
seemed to be sitting in Mr Andrew Perry’s office forever.  As the director of
the theatre he felt it unnecessary and undignified to be punctual for an
appointment, especially with one so low as a potential member of his cast.  And
I was at the bottom of the pile when it came to his time.  Eventually, he made
an appearance and swept into the office as though he had Father Time chasing
him.

“Did
I keep you waiting long?”

“Not
long, sir.  Only two hours.”

He
smiled and I found myself looking at a man in his mid-thirties with greying
hair and blue-grey eyes that seemed full of mischief. 

“We’re
rehearsing for a production of
Aida
and things aren’t going too well.” 
He held out his hand and I went to shake it, but then realised he was asking
for the letter I was holding.  I passed it to him.  It was from the academy
extolling my virtues and talents.  He sat down and his gaze swept over it
briefly.  “I see you graduated with honours and the academy highly recommends
you.”

“I
worked hard, sir.”

“I’m
sure you did.  You’re a mezzo-soprano?”  I nodded.  “Stand up please.”

“I
beg your pardon?”

“I
want you to stand up and turn round so I can take a look at you.”

“What
does my appearance have to do…”

“Mrs
Asquith, if you wish to join my theatre then please do as I say.”  Feeling
uneasy, I rose to my feet and slowly did a 360-degree turn, my cheeks flushed
red.  “Not bad.  You have a good figure and no doubt you’ll look presentable on
stage.”

I
began to feel indignant.  The academy had taught me posture and deportment when
singing in front of an audience.

“Would
you like to see my teeth, sir?” I said sarcastically.

“And
you have a sense of humour too.  Good!  You’ll need it.”  He jumped to his
feet.  “Right, follow me.”

I
tried to but his long legs seemed to stride down the corridor at an incredible
speed.  I ran to keep up with him.  I followed him past the dressing rooms and
the wardrobe mistress’s workroom, the smell of the greasepaint forever in my
nostrils, past all the paraphernalia that was the backstage of a theatre,
trying to avoid ropes and pulleys and weights that threatened to strangle me or
take off my head.  The people we passed ignored us and went about their
business as if it was quite normal to see the director racing through the
theatre with a fledging opera singer close behind.  We finally reached the
stage and I followed him to the centre.  What I saw made my mouth drop open in
surprise.

In
front of me was the auditorium, the long rows of plush seats like sentries standing
in straight lines, the balcony above me and the boxes to the side.  Below me
was the orchestra pit.  I had been to this theatre a few times as a member of
the audience but it was the first time I had stood on the stage and seen it
from this angle.  My heart began to beat faster with excitement and I imagined
performing in front of people who had paid a parlour maid’s weekly wage for
their tickets and were dressed to the nines for the occasion.

“I
want you to stand there and sing for me,” said Mr Perry, jumping down the few
steps from the stage to the auditorium.  “I’ll be listening so give it your
best.”

“But
what shall I sing?” I shouted at him.

“Whatever
you wish.”

“Without
music?”

“No
time for music,” he said, making his way up the aisle and selecting a row.  He
made himself comfortable on a seat in the middle.

I
looked around at the people who seemed engrossed in their various activities
and took a huge breath.  This was the opportunity I had been waiting for, but
what should I sing?  A carpenter started sawing somewhere behind the curtain at
the back and then the sound of hammering came from right above me.  It would
have to be something loud, I thought with a grimace, or he wouldn’t be able to
hear me.  And then I remembered my time in France at Chateau St Julienne.  I
remembered my twenty-first birthday.

Everyone
stopped working in surprise when I started singing the
Marseillaise
and
then they grinned with amusement.  I ignored them and went on singing.  I had
only sung the first three lines when Mr Perry rose to his feet, slipped out of
the row and made his way further up the aisle to the back of the theatre.  I
went on singing.  And then he became absorbed in conversation with someone who
had just come through the double doors.  After that, he signed a few pieces of
paper that a secretary had brought to him.  I began to feel annoyed, but
continued singing.

When
he walked to the side of the theatre and disappeared through the exit, I kept
on singing.  He hadn’t told me to stop so I didn’t know what to do but carry
on.  Suddenly he appeared at my elbow.

“You
can stop now, Mrs Asquith.”  He quickly looked around and spied a young girl
standing in the wings, watching me curiously.  “Ruth, come here.”  The girl
sauntered across and as she walked towards us, she seemed to be scrutinising me
from head to toe.  “Take this young lady to the dressing room and familiarise
her with the routine.”  He turned to me.  “The pay’s not good and you’ll have
to start in the chorus.  But providing you’re not looking for fame for the next
twenty years, I think you’ll fit in with our happy little band.  Rehearsals
start at ten tomorrow morning, so don’t be late.”

I
inclined my head.  “Thank you, Mr Perry,” I said breathlessly.  “I’ll work
hard.”

“You
certainly will,” he laughed, as he strode away.

I
glanced at the girl called Ruth.  She was small and dark haired with almond
shaped eyes of chocolate brown.  She gave me a bright smile.

“The
Marseillaise
,
eh!  Very clever.  Did you know his grandmother was French?”  She didn’t wait
for an answer.  “And he’s right.  The pay’s lousy and you’ll definitely work
hard.”

I
grinned.  “What about the part about not looking for fame for the next twenty
years?”

“He’s
right about that too.” She held out her hand.  “Ruth Procter.”

I
shook it enthusiastically.  “Isabelle Asquith.”

“I
see you’re wearing a wedding ring.  How does Mr Asquith feel about you going on
the stage?”

“He
would absolutely love it if he was alive to see it.”

Ruth
grimaced.  “Sorry.  Me and my big mouth.” She took my arm.  “I’ll show you
round and then perhaps you’d care to join me and Diamond at the tearooms?  We
always go there after rehearsals.”

“Who’s
Diamond?” I smiled.

“Another
lost soul in the chorus,” she laughed.  She led me backstage and along the maze
of corridors.  “Her real name is Diana, but she thinks Diamond sounds more like
an opera diva.  I’ve told her it doesn’t but will she listen?  Not on your
life.”  I tried to remember the route we were taking but soon became lost. 
Suddenly, Ruth stopped at a door painted red.  “This is Signor Bartoli’s
dressing room.  You never go in there.”  And then she stopped at another door
painted green.  “And this is Signora Zuchetti’s dressing room and you must
never go anywhere near this door.  In fact, keep out of her sight completely
unless you really can’t help it.”

“Why? 
Isn’t she nice?”

Ruth
blew out a breath.  “She’s a nasty piece of work and likes to lob missiles at
us poor chorus folk.  She treats us as though we’re something she’s just
brought in on her shoe.”

I
couldn’t help giggling.  “She sounds awful.”

“Good
singer though.  Big woman.  Like Katisha in
The Mikado
, she can kill a
man with a blow from her fist.”

I
clicked my tongue.  “Don’t tell me you like Gilbert and Sullivan?”

“Love
them!  Diamond and I are always singing songs from their shows.”  I couldn’t
hide my shock.  “Don’t look like that.  You’ll be surprised how many of us do. 
But not when Mr Perry is about.  He frowns on it.”  I didn’t like to say that I
agreed with him.  We had reached another door.  “This is our changing room. 
Welcome to bedlam.”

I
stepped through to see about fifteen girls trying to get ready to leave for
their afternoon away from the theatre.  The place was filled with noise and
laughter as they scrambled into coats and rammed hats on heads.  Some were
still sitting at the long table against the wall, with mirrors positioned so
that they could put on their makeup for the performance.  The room seemed to
empty very quickly with shouts of ‘goodbye’ and ‘see you tomorrow’.

“Whatcha!”
said a voice from the end of the room.  “Who’s this then?”

Ruth
smiled and took my arm once more. 

Diamond
Ward turned out to be a large, buxom girl, who had, I was later to find out, a
heart of gold.  She and Ruth had been friends since joining the theatre two
years previously and yet they were very different.  Whereas Ruth wanted to
succeed in the opera world, Diamond simply wanted to find a wealthy husband.

Later,
at the tearooms, I discovered that Ruth had been one of the fortunate few to
win a scholarship with the academy.  She was a soprano and when I finally heard
her sing I knew she was destined for higher things than the chorus.  Diamond
was a contralto and had sneaked into Covent Garden through the back door.  Mr
Perry had heard her sing in a small theatre in Torquay and had actually invited
her to join his company.  It was one of the rare occasions when he had been
charitable enough to bend his rules.

Diamond’s
ambition to find a wealthy husband was taking just as long as Ruth’s desire to
be an opera diva.  Many gentlemen would wait at the stage door and quite a few
of the girls would have supper with them.  And Diamond had been amongst their
number, but she had never found one that really appealed to her. Plenty of
time, she told me firmly, she was in no hurry.  It seemed in the opera world,
everything took time.  It was going to be a long and arduous journey and here I
was, right at the beginning.  But as I listened further, I was filled with
excitement.  It would be an interesting journey and it looked like I had made
two good friends from the start.

“What did Mr
Perry say?” asked Nan, when I arrived home later that day.

“I’ve
got the job, but I start in the chorus.”

“That’s
good, yes?”

I
nodded.  “I have to be willing to start at the bottom.”

Nan and
I had somehow patched up our differences after that terrible Christmas when
Gwilym had accused me of having a ‘lover’ and walked out of my life.  At first
I couldn’t forgive her for prying into my private affairs or my personal
possessions.  But she had tearfully explained that it was done out of pure
concern for me.  She was bitterly sorry that it had caused a rift between
Gwilym and me.  It was the last thing she had expected to happen.  The last
thing she had wanted to happen.

I
hadn’t seen my brother for nearly two years.  Shortly after our argument he had
joined the Merchant Navy as a ship’s doctor and was away for long periods of
time.  I had written to him and waited for his answer, but none ever came.  His
anger and disgust for me ran deep and my only consolation was that he would get
in touch with Nan when he was on leave in order to see Danny.  But he refused
to come to the house.  Instead, Nan would take Danny and meet him in the park
and I would stay behind at home, my heart breaking.  I had told Nan about my
brother’s speculations concerning my so-called ‘lover’, brushing it off as
silly and completely untrue.  And after we had cleared the air, she never
mentioned that Christmas again.  As for me, my days at the academy had been
full and frantic and whatever time I could spare, I spent with my son.

Danny
was now four years old and I had started teaching him to read and write.  He
was well on the way to becoming proficient and he could already copy his name. 
He was going to be clever like his father and I had put money aside for his
education.  I had such dreams for him.  I thought I would employ a governess
when he was seven and then when he was old enough, I wanted him to attend
Harrow.  I thought Cambridge would follow.  Yes, I had his education all
planned out.  He looked so like my darling husband with blond hair that curled
round his face and brilliant blue eyes.  My investment in the
Anaconda
Mining Company
was bringing in a good dividend and I diligently saved as
much as I could for his future.

Only
very occasionally did my mind drift to the little girl I had sold.  Thoughts of
her were more acute on the twenty-fourth of June, her birthday, but I found
that with a bit of effort, I could dismiss her from my mind.  Her father was a
different matter.

Memories
of Karl still persisted in tormenting me.  His voice seemed to echo through my
mind.  It was his voice that had first alerted me to his presence that day at
Mrs Holland’s and it was his voice that had been the last thing I had known of
him.  As I had made my way to the academy each morning, I had often found
myself studying every gentleman that walked past, thinking that I might
accidentally meet him again.  And one afternoon I visited the art gallery, in
the hope that he would suddenly appear as he had done that rainy day so long
ago.  I still loved him and as far as I was concerned, I always would.