Nightingales (Warrender Saga Book 11)

by Mary Burchell

  The three visitors then departed and Nan, having watched them from the window as they got into their car, turned and exclaimed, ‘You lucky, lucky girl! You say so little. I suppose you’re just stunned by your good fortune.’

  But before she could answer, Henry asked curiously, ‘What have you against Arrowsmith, Mandy?’ and she turned to him almost gratefully.

  ‘Nothing specific, I suppose,’ she conceded. ‘But——’

  ‘I should think not indeed!’ Nan’s quick laugh was scornful. ‘This could be a chance in a million for you.’

  ‘It could,’ Amanda admitted. ‘But what I was going to say was that we don’t know much about Mr Arrowsmith, except that he’s obviously very successful and used to getting his own way regardless of other people. To the best of my knowledge he’s largely concerned with a side of the musical world which is less serious, less—’ she groped for the right word—‘oh, less worthwhile, I suppose, than the kind of thing Dr Elsworth has in mind for me.’

  ‘You seem completely under that man’s influence,’ Nan exclaimed discontentedly. ‘No doubt he means well but, as Jerome said, he’s only a village choirmaster when all’s said and done.’

  ‘Some of the best singers have been grateful to have started under the guidance of a village choirmaster,’ retorted Amanda angrily. ‘And I don’t know what you mean by only. He’s a very fine musician and organist, a quite marvellous vocal teacher and—and a composer in his own right.’

  ‘All of which need not rule out the thrilling fact that Max Arrowsmith—one of the most influential men in the theatre world—is sufficiently interested to want to hear you and perhaps take a hand in your career. What’s the objection?’

  ‘I don’t think Dr Elsworth has a very high opinion of him,’ Amanda said unwillingly.

  ‘Oh, Elsworth—Elsworth! You seem quite infatuated with the man. What’s his special magic, for goodness’ sake?’

  ‘I’m not infatuated!’ The word stung Amanda with quite unexpected sharpness. ‘What a ridiculous word to use! I owe him a lot. I like him as a person, and I have great faith in his judgment. Naturally I quote his opinions.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Nan, but she gave her young sister-in-law a rather thoughtful glance, before taking herself off to the kitchen with the observation that business must go on.

  Amanda and her brother exchanged a rather rueful smile, and he said, ‘She’s taken it very well, considering how cruelly she was cheated of her own career.’

  ‘Oh, I know—I know!’ Amanda was immediately remorseful. ‘I think I’m over-excited and—and a little scared and not behaving very sensibly.’ Then she added curiously, ‘What did you think of Mr Arrowsmith, Henry?’

  ‘On such a short acquaintance?’ Her brother laughed rather protestingly. ‘I suppose he could do a great deal for you, Mandy, if you liked to remain on the right side of him. You’re a bit too young and inexperienced to be dogmatic to an old stager like that. It’s fine to have high ambitions, but unwise, I should have thought, to reject any sort of influential support at such an early stage.’

  ‘You’re right, of course.’ Amanda drew a quick breath of relief as her brother’s dictum seemed to absolve her from making any immediate decision.

  ‘I suppose these show business people tend to blow hot and cold,’ Henry added slowly. ‘Why don’t you keep all talk of this conversation to yourself until something concrete comes up?’

  ‘Not tell Dr Elsworth, you mean? Wouldn’t that be rather—underhand?’

  ‘Depends on your relationship,’ replied her brother. ‘Are you in the habit of telling him everything?—You’re not?’—as Amanda shook her head. ‘Then why tell him this before there’s anything much to tell? He can’t form an opinion—or shouldn’t presume to form an opinion—before you know just what Arrowsmith’s offer involves. If nothing comes of it you’ll just look silly, and if something does come of it there’ll be a basis for discussion. Not before.’

  This appealed so much to Amanda that she felt her nervous tension begin to relax, and for the rest of that evening she was her usual cheerful self. She thought Henry must have spoken to Nan on much the same lines. At any rate her sister-in-law said little more about their visitors, except that it had been fun to see some interesting company for once.

  The next day Amanda went to her lesson as usual, but on the way there had some qualms about her decision to say nothing about the visit of Mr Arrowsmith and Jerome. She need not have worried. Lewis was very much the absorbed singing master, intent on nothing but the task of extracting the best work possible from his student. If anything, he was even more than usually reserved and impersonal, so that she wondered if he were regretting the very different relationship which had been briefly established the previous afternoon and was deliberately re-creating the more formal atmosphere of master and student.

  At any other time she might have been disappointed. As it was, she was relieved not to have to discuss anything but her lesson and the subsequent choir practice.

  During the next few days she hovered illogically between relief over the absence of drama and disappointment that nothing was happening. Then on Saturday evening Jerome telephoned, his voice vibrant with friendly interest. And what he said was. ‘It’s all arranged, Amanda.’

  ‘What’s all arranged?’ she asked, feeling her heart excitedly skip a beat and then begin to thump anxiously.

  ‘Stop playing hard to get,’ he told her with a laugh. ‘I’ve arranged for Arrowsmith to hear you and discuss possibilities with you, and I’m driving you up to town myself and holding a watching brief for my favourite soprano. Now don’t start raising objections. You’re talking to a very determined man.’

  ‘I’m not going to raise objections.’ She too laughed, but a little breathlessly. ‘And I’m more than grateful to you, Jerome.’

  ‘My real friends call me Jerry.’

  ‘Jerry, then. When is the appointment?’

  ‘Wednesday next. I’ll collect you about two-thirty.’

  ‘I can’t come on Wednesday,’ she exclaimed quickly. ‘I have my singing lesson then—and choir practice.’

  There was a slight pause. Then Jerome said, ‘I’m holding my breath and counting ten, Amanda Lovett. You do realise that most singing students would give their back teeth for a chance to sing to Max Arrowsmith, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I do. And I’m terribly sorry. But does it have to be Wednesday? I mean, it’s so difficult to make an excuse or explain or——’

  ‘Dear,’ said Jerome in a tone of barely controlled impatience, ‘it does have to be Wednesday, because Arrowsmith is a busy and influential man who makes appointments to suit himself. It’s the other people who keep them. Tell Elsworth whatever you like. Tell him the truth,’ he added carelessly. ‘Why not?’

  Why not, indeed? Except that she felt virtually sure he would be totally opposed to the idea and let her know it in no uncertain terms.

  ‘Would you like me to make up a few acceptable excuses for you?’ enquired Jerome’s laughing voice at that moment. ‘I’m quite good at that sort of thing.’

  ‘No! No, thank you.’ Her reaction was instantaneous, for his amused, casual offer made her see at once that it would be contemptible to fob off someone as important to her as Lewis with any old lie concocted by someone else. He was entitled to have the truth, even if this premature disclosure of her plans led to friction. ‘I will be available on Wednesday, I promise. And thank you very much, Jero—Jerry. It’s more than kind of you to drive me up to town.’

  ‘Not at all. I’m not a completely disinterested party, you know. Apart from—what shall I say?—liking you enormously, I’m personally concerned in this project of Arrowsmith’s.’

  ‘In what way?’ Her attention was sharply aroused.

  ‘I’ll tell you when we’re on our way,’ he assured her teasingly. ‘Two-thirty on Wednesday. I’ll collect you from The Nightingale. Wear your prettiest dress, provided you feel comfortable and relaxed in it. I wan
t to have the real, slightly naïve Amanda much in evidence on this occasion.’ And then he rang off before she could ask just what he meant by that.

  Since she could not ask him to enlarge on his statement she went and looked at herself in the mirror over the mantelpiece, and tried to discover the real, slightly naïve Amanda in the reflection there. While she was doing so Nan came into the room and Amanda swung round and asked impulsively, ‘Nan, would you say I look naïve?’

  ‘Look naïve?’ was the reply. ‘You are naïve. But don’t worry about it. There’s a novel sort of charm about that quality nowadays,’ she added absently, as she scribbled something down on one of her inevitable lists.

  Amanda laughed, felt suddenly how really fond she was of her sister-in-law and impulsively told her, ‘Nan, I’m going to London on Wednesday with Jerome Leydon. He’s taking me to Max Arrowsmith to be—looked over, one might say.’

  ‘You are?’ Nan dropped both her list and pencil, and into her cheeks came that flush of excitement which had so touched Amanda before. ‘How marvellous! Oh, Mandy, you won’t take too lofty a stand, will you? One has to be practical in this very imperfect world. I’d hate it if you spoiled your chances for the sake of some highflown notions about artistic principles and that sort of thing.’

  ‘Dear Nan—’ Amanda spoke affectionately but a trifle uneasily—‘how much you care about my future welfare. It’s simply sweet of you when you yourself——’

  ‘It’s not sweet of me,’ was the impatient reply, and Nan’s voice sounded suddenly harsh. ‘Don’t polish a halo which simply isn’t there. I do think of your good—I truly do, Mandy. But if you succeeded as Arrowsmith could make you succeed it would mean so much—so much.’ She broke off suddenly and stooped to pick up her pencil and list.

  ‘Do you mean—not only to me?’ Amanda felt a slight chill which she could not explain to herself. ‘Did you mean that, Nan? What is it? Is something worrying you?’

  ‘No. Nothing at all.’ Nan was her cool self again. ‘Just keep your own best interests in mind, and don’t offend anyone unnecessarily on Wednesday. Why——’ she stopped abruptly again, and then looked directly at her young sister-in-law. ‘Wednesday! It’s your singing lesson—and choir practice—that day, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Amanda said.

  ‘Do you want me to phone on the Wednesday morning and say you’ve got a cold or something? Or I could say we are specially busy and can’t spare you. I don’t mind telling a white lie for you if that would help.’

  ‘No, thank you, Nan. It won’t be necessary.’ Somehow she felt deep resentment for the fact that other people were willing to tell lies to Lewis on her behalf. ‘I’ll be seeing Dr Elsworth tomorrow for my lesson before Evensong. I’ll explain then.’

  ‘You mean—tell him you’re going to audition for Arrowsmith? He’s not going to like it, is he?’

  ‘No, he’s not going to like it,’ Amanda said steadily. ‘But we’re not on the sort of terms where I should care to tell lies to him.’ She nearly added ‘again’ but bit that back in time.

  ‘Well—’ Nan laughed approvingly—‘I’m glad to see you can stand up to him sometimes. I was beginning to think you attached such importance to his slightest word that you were afraid of him.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Amanda forced herself to smile. ‘I admire and respect him, but I’m not afraid of him.’

  She knew that was a lie even as she said it. And still more did she know it was as she rode off the following afternoon on her way to Austin Parva and her lesson with Lewis Elsworth.

  He was in a good mood that day, a much more talkative mood than on the previous Wednesday, and he told her almost at once that he had sent the manuscript of his song to Oscar Warrender and had received a highly congratulatory telephone call from the famous conductor.

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad!’ The happy note in her voice was primarily because of his good fortune, of course, but also partly for the realisation that they were starting the lesson on a most favourable footing. ‘He wants you to do more, I hope?’

  ‘Yes, he does. He wants me to meet Kenneth Fulroyd, the operatic composer. He’s quite an old man now and doesn’t do much composing. But Warrender introduced several of his works to the public, even though they were difficult to stage. He thinks we would have a good deal in common, as he too started as an organist and choirmaster.’

  ‘It’s a wonderful idea! and terribly exciting. As though things are really beginning to move for you.’

  ‘Odd you should use that expression.’ Lewis smiled reflectively. ‘I have something the same feeling myself. Perhaps I’m a little infected by your positive optimism, Amanda. I’d like you to know that it helps. Having someone else believe in one, I mean.’

  ‘I do believe in you—absolutely,’ she said earnestly. ‘In your inspiration, your judgment—oh, everything.’

  ‘Well, temper the praise a little,’ he advised her. ‘I might have to reprove you during the lesson, and then what?’

  But he had no reason to do so. It was as though she too were riding high on a wave of optimism. Difficulties just seemed to melt away, and at the end of the lesson he said,

  ‘You’re making big steps forward these days, Amanda. I don’t often tell a student that I’m very pleased. It gives them false ideas in the early stages. But I’m more than satisfied with your progress and next week I want you to——’

  She did not hear what he wanted her to do next week, for suddenly, with a horrible little shock, she dropped down off the heights to which his approval had boosted her and remembered she had to tell him about Wednesday.

  ‘I’m so sorry, but I can’t come next Wednesday,’ she said. Just like that. Bluntly, without any tactful preparation or diplomatic approach.

  ‘No?’ He looked at her in surprise. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m going—’ she swallowed—‘to London.’

  ‘Why?’ That also was blunt, to the point of brutality.

  ‘You won’t be very pleased, but I prefer to tell you the truth rather than pretend this time,’ she said steadily. ‘When I got home the other day, to my surprise Jerome Leydon and his sister had called, and they brought Max Arrowsmith with them. He—Mr Arrowsmith—said he wanted to hear me some time, that he was interested in what Jerome Leydon had said about me.’

  ‘You would have been wise to say then and there that you were not at the auditioning stage for anyone,’ he interrupted shortly.

  ‘I did try to say something of the kind, but no one, including my family, seemed to think that very sensible. Mr Leydon phoned yesterday and said he would fetch me on Wednesday and drive me to town, and that Mr Arrowsmith would interview me—and hear me—that afternoon. I explained about its being my day for my lesson. But—’ she cleared her throat nervously—‘it appeared this was Mr Arrowsmith’s only time for seeing me.’

  ‘Then you had the perfect get-out if you really wanted to avoid any contact with him, didn’t you?’ Lewis’s tone was quiet but not somehow reassuring.

  ‘If you like to look at it that way,’ she agreed. ‘On the other hand, he is a very influential man——’

  ‘Not in the world of serious music, which is your aim.’

  ‘Are there two such sharply divided worlds of music?’ she asked a little irritably because she was nervous.

  ‘Yes, there are. And if you don’t know that by now I’ve been wasting my time,’ was the curt reply. ‘I don’t want you flirting with the kind of plan Max Arrowsmith would have in mind. The sort of thing he promotes is slick, occasionally brilliant but always rather cheap. It’s not for you.’

  ‘Jerome Leydon seems to think very highly of him,’ she replied resentfully. ‘I think he even has some hand in whatever it is Mr Arrowsmith has in mind.’

  ‘Very possibly. Though he is a highly talented man I imagine he has few artistic principles. Is he an admirer of yours?’

  ‘Musically, do you mean?’

  ‘No. Personally.’

  ‘Of course not! W
hat a ridiculous idea.’

  ‘Not a ridiculous idea at all. He apparently hangs around after you, even comes to church to hear you, and now wants to promote what he regards as your best interests with his tough friend Max Arrowsmith. He also seems perfectly able to whisk you off to London to hear concerts or audition for Arrowsmith or any-anything else without much effort at refusal on your part. You should never have let him talk you into this questionable venture. It would have been much easier to refuse in the first instance. You’ll probably find it difficult to do so now.’

  ‘But I don’t propose to refuse.’ Amanda felt her temper rising.

  ‘If you wish to remain my student you will have to do so,’ he replied almost casually; and it was a second before the full implication of that hit her.

  ‘You can’t seriously mean that?’ she gasped.

  ‘Certainly I mean it. You don’t suppose I’ve been giving you lessons all this time so that Max Arrowsmith, of all people, should reap the rewards by putting you into one of his contemptible shows?’

  ‘Are you throwing it up at me that I had all those lessons free?’ she retorted furiously.

  ‘No, my dear, I’m doing nothing of the kind—and well you know it. I’m not putting any financial value on those lessons or their result. If you think that——’

  ‘I don’t think it!’ she interrupted quickly and remorsefully. ‘I had no right to say such a thing. It was just that I was furious you could be so—highhanded.’

  ‘All right, I accept that.’ He sounded as though he meant it. ‘And I don’t want you ever to feel under any obligation to me because I’ve taught you all this time. I’m looking at the whole thing as a sort of act of creation in which both of us have played a part. Sit down, Mandy——’ for she had risen to her feet during the discussion.

  She dropped into the nearest chair and he went on quite calmly and reasonably, as though he were explaining to an intelligent but difficult child.

  ‘Have you ever thought just what a voice is, physically speaking? It’s simply air passing through vocal chords. The voice will vary of course according to the quality of those chords. But until intelligence and dedication and artistry are brought to bear upon it, it will have little importance or individuality. Someone has to teach the owner of those chords what to do, and an enormous amount of work and dedication will be required from both teacher and pupil. You’ve played your part admirably, Mandy—I grant you that. I’ve never had a pupil who worked harder or with more devotion. On my side I’ve tried to impart to you everything I have and am as a true musician. The result, though not yet quite complete, looks like justifying all we’ve done together. Do you seriously suppose that I’m going to let Max Arrowsmith mix his coarse handiwork with ours? I forbid you to keep that appointment with him.’