Nightingales (Warrender Saga Book 11)

by Mary Burchell

  ‘You—forbid me?’ she repeated incredulously, and she stared at him as he leaned back almost negligently against the piano and regarded her.

  ‘Yes.’

  She wanted to ask by what right he presumed to forbid her. But she knew. He had already explained. If she were ever going to be a singer, she was partly his creation. He was, one might almost say, fighting for his part in her.

  ‘All right,’ she heard herself say slowly. ‘I won’t go to London on Wednesday.’

  Only then did she realise, by the way his body relaxed, how tensely he had been holding himself in check while appearing to regard her almost indifferently.

  ‘Good girl,’ was all Lewis said. But as he passed her on his way out of the church schoolroom she was stupefied to realise that he bent over her and dropped a seemingly careless kiss on the top of her head.

  She sat there motionless for some minutes after he had gone. She would not be seeing him again until he was in the church, playing the organ for Evensong, and she was in her place in the choir. In other words, there was no prospect of any further talk between them on the subject which so profoundly affected her life. She could not take back her promise to cancel the proposed trip to London on Wednesday. The matter was closed so far as he was concerned. Her task now—and a most unwelcome one it seemed to her at that moment—was to explain to Jerome Leydon that she was withdrawing from any involvement with Max Arrowsmith.

  To say that her thoughts wandered during the evening service would be largely true. Only the professional and disciplined part of her was fully engaged with the music, her private reflections having little to do with what was happening around her. But from time to time she glanced over at the back of the man sitting at the organ, and she asked herself why she felt so bound to follow any advice, or order, that he cared to give.

  As she had expected, he said no more than the general ‘goodnight’ which he addressed to all his choir at the end of the evening. Then he went off home and Amanda mounted her bicycle and rode slowly back to The Nightingale, reflecting on the disagreeable explanations which lay ahead of her.

  It was not just a question of breaking the news to Jerome. There would be Nan—and to a much lesser degree her brother—who would need to be convinced that she was acting wisely. Not that Henry would bring the slightest pressure to bear on her, even verbally. It was Nan who would be difficult. Nan, whose vicarious pride and pleasure in recent developments had been so touchingly unexpected. As though, instead of envying her young sister-in-law her good fortune, she warmed her own frozen ambitions at the glow of Amanda’s bright prospects.

  ‘I wish I’d never told her about Jerry’s phone call,’ Amanda thought discontentedly. ‘Then I wouldn’t have to explain about my changed decision. Oh, well, I suppose I’d better get the explanations over right away. No point in delaying things. If Henry is there——’

  But Henry was not there when she came in. Nan was sitting alone in the family dining room, some account books before her on the table; although, as Amanda reflected in passing, those books were usually Henry’s concern.

  ‘Henry gone to bed already?’ she enquired.

  ‘Yes. He didn’t feel too good.’ Nan did not look up as she replied. She just pushed back her hair from her forehead with a weary gesture, and it struck Amanda suddenly that her sister-in-law’s voice was slightly husky.

  ‘Is anything wrong?’ she enquired quickly.

  ‘Well—no, not wrong exactly.’ Nan glanced up then and Amanda exclaimed incredulously,

  ‘Nan!—you’ve been crying. What’s the matter? Is Henry ill again?’

  ‘No.’ Nan shook her head slowly. ‘He’s no worse than he’s been during the last year or so. That’s to say, he tires easily, has a good deal of pain—and never complains. The problem is not that he’s worse. The problem is that he could be very much better—if only we could afford it.’

  ‘Afford it? But of course we can afford it—must afford it, if he could really be helped and made much better,’ Amanda exclaimed. ‘What’s the trouble, Nan?’ She sat down opposite her sister-in-law and put out her hand across the table. ‘I thought we were doing so well.’

  ‘We are doing well, comparatively speaking.’ Oddly enough, Nan ignored the outstretched hand, almost as though she could not bring herself to accept Amanda’s eager gesture of comfort. ‘But we’re not in a position to face really big expense—or reorganisation.’ She hesitated a moment and then, as though forcing herself, she went on, ‘I’d better explain. You remember that Swiss doctor and his wife who stayed here some months ago?’

  ‘Yes. Doctor Charole, wasn’t it? He got on so well with Henry. They talked a lot together, I remember.’

  ‘He was very much interested in Henry’s case. Since then he’s kept in touch by letter, and recently—about ten days ago—he wrote with the proposition that Henry should go out to his clinic near Berne. What he suggests is an operation and long post-operative treatment. Four months—perhaps six. Both he and the colleagues he has consulted are ninety per cent certain there could be at best an almost complete cure, at worst a great improvement in Henry’s state of health. Without some such treatment there could be serious deterioration in a year or two.’

  Amanda passed the tip of her tongue over suddenly dry lips and asked hoarsely, ‘Is it madly expensive?—the operation and treatment, I mean.’

  ‘For what’s involved, frankly no. Dr Charole has made a very generous offer. But on any terms it would involve more than we could possibly raise. In addition to which, while Henry was away for an indefinite period, we should have to engage a salaried assistant to replace him.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Amanda murmured, and then fell silent. But presently she glanced at the account books on the table and said slowly, ‘You’ve been trying to find a way of managing? You’ve been going into everything while Henry is out of the way. Is that it?’

  Nan nodded and then, again in that strangely husky voice, she said, ‘He won’t consider it himself. I was ready even to bring Clive back from boarding school and send him to school locally. But Henry said it would be insane to mess up his education like that, even if the saving of money would be sufficient—which it wouldn’t. And of course he’s right.’

  ‘Yes, he’s right,’ Amanda agreed absently, while thoughts and plans began to revolve in her mind in a confused and somehow frightening way.

  ‘Henry says we must thank Dr Charole for his generous offer but turn it down as totally impossible,’ Nan’s husky voice went on. ‘Unless—’ she cleared her throat nervously—‘unless some sort of miracle happens in the family finances.’

  A slight chill rippled down Amanda’s spine. But she said steadily, ‘That’s why you were so interested in Max Arrowsmith and his plans, isn’t it?’

  Again Nan nodded. Then she burst out suddenly, ‘It’s unfair, I know, to involve you and your fortunes so shamelessly in our affairs, but——’

  ‘It’s not unfair at all,’ interrupted Amanda firmly. ‘I’m Henry’s sister, just as you’re Henry’s wife. We both love him and——’

  ‘That’s it,’ Nan interrupted in her turn, with a sort of heartbreaking simplicity. ‘I love him—I love Henry. I know I’m sometimes short-tempered and hateful and impatient when things get on top of me. But that’s just on the surface, Mandy—truly it is. Underneath all that he’s still the man I fell in love with, and I’d do anything—anything for him. I’d commit a crime for him, I think, if it really would help.’ She laughed shortly, a laugh which suddenly turned into dreadful little sobs, and she wept and wept uncontrollably, while Amanda stared at her in horrified unbelief before trying, in broken sentences, to offer some form of comfort.

  Chapter Five

  For a few panic-stricken moments Amanda stared in wordless dismay at her sister-in-law. Then, as Nan strove to regain her composure, the sobs subsided into small hiccuping sounds, strangely like a child and so totally unlike her usual well-controlled self that Amanda could have wept i
n her turn.

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me,’ Nan muttered.

  ‘I do,’ said Amanda gently. ‘You’ve been carrying an intolerable burden far too long. And now to have had some real hope dangled before you and then withdrawn is just about all anyone could take.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Almost indifferently Nan scrubbed her damp handkerchief across her ravaged face. Well—’ she began to pile the account books together—‘there’s nothing much else to say.’

  But Amanda put out a hand to stop her.

  ‘Listen, Nan. There’s quite a lot more to say. It would be stupid to build any extravagant hopes on what Max Arrowsmith hinted. But at least he wants to see and hear me, and I’m to be taken there by someone who passionately wants him to engage me. I don’t know any more than you do what he may have in mind. But now that I understand the family situation I’m going to strain every nerve to get a good offer out of him. If I do, then no one—’ she pushed the thought of Lewis Elsworth from her mind—‘and nothing is going to stop me from accepting it.’

  ‘Oh, Mandy! If only——’ Nan broke off with a sigh. Then, as though her thoughts had made a complete switch, she asked suddenly, ‘What did Dr Elsworth say when you told him you were going to London to see Max Arrowsmith?’

  ‘He more or less forbade me to go,’ replied Amanda with an astonishing assumption of carelessness. ‘But I couldn’t accept that, of course. I must be free to make my own decisions when it comes to essentials.’

  ‘Of course.’ Nan shot a curious glance at her. ‘Did he agree to that in the end?’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’ Amanda made herself smile, as though she recalled the scene with a touch of amusement. ‘In fact, he threatened to stop my lessons. But he wouldn’t really do that, you know. He was just flexing his muscles a bit and hoping to scare me, I imagine.’

  ‘How horrid of him!’ Nan made a slight face. ‘Anyway,’ she added reflectively, ‘if Mr Arrowsmith did offer you something worthwhile you probably wouldn’t need any more lessons from Dr Elsworth, would you?’

  ‘Possibly not,’ agreed Amanda, feeling as though someone had stabbed her.—Or was it she who had done the stabbing? It would be difficult to say which, she thought, as she bade Nan goodnight and turned away.

  ‘Don’t you want some supper?’ her sister-in-law asked in surprise. ‘It’s early yet.’

  ‘I know.’ Amanda stifled an impulse to say the very thought of food made her feel sick. Then, as Nan continued to look questioningly at her, she said, ‘Maybe I’ll have some milk.’ And, going into the kitchen, she helped herself to a glass of milk and stood by the window, looking out into the gathering dusk, as she slowly drank it.

  Suddenly, with great clarity, she recalled that day when Oscar Warrender and his wife had driven up to the little hotel and she had heard Anthea say. ‘It’s called The Nightingale. Isn’t that charmingly appropriate?’ and how later he had explained that it was appropriate because they were looking for a young singer who lived in the district. Herself.

  ‘Another world,’ Amanda thought with a sigh. ‘Or it will be if Max Arrowsmith decides that he wants to engage me. But I have no choice. Not now I know about Henry. Lewis won’t understand, of course. Nothing would make him understand. He’s rooted in his own prejudices—principles—whatever one likes to call them. And how on earth do I tell him that, after all, I am going to audition for Arrowsmith?’

  That was the overruling question now in her mind. And then she realised that ‘tell’ was not the right word. She simply could not face further argument with him, whether in person or by telephone.

  ‘I’ll write instead,’ she decided with a sort of cowardly sense of relief. ‘I’ll write and say——’ She continued to stand there in the darkening kitchen and began to compose her letter in her mind. It was not easy. The more she thought of explanations the feebler they became. In the end she went up to her bedroom, took out paper and pen and simply wrote:

  ‘Dear Lewis, I am very sorry but circumstances beyond my control have forced me to change my decision. I am going to London after all to see Max Arrowsmith. Please believe me when I say that I hate to oppose your wishes. I shall not be coming to my Wednesday lesson nor to choir practice, but I hope to give you some sort of explanation on Sunday. Sincerely and gratefully, Amanda.’

  It seemed pretty thin and foolish when she read it over, and it seemed little better when she re-read it in the morning. But nothing more brilliant came to her mind and so she posted the letter on Tuesday, determined that he should receive it in time to realise she was not coming, though not in sufficient time to interfere in any way with her change of plans.

  To her brother she said nothing of what she now knew and Nan, as though sensing that even one word out of place might alter the delicate balance of the situation, also made no further reference to the subject. Indeed, she was so much her usual self that Amanda wondered uneasily how often in the past she had hidden anguish and anxiety behind a cool exterior.

  Only on the Wednesday morning did Nan ask briefly, ‘What time is Jerome coming to fetch you?’ And she drew a slight but audible sigh of relief when Amanda replied equally briefly, ‘About two-thirty.’

  She was ready and waiting when he arrived and knew immediately from his quick, comprehensive glance of approval that he was more than satisfied with her appearance.

  ‘You look enchanting,’ he told her as she took her seat beside him in the car. ‘Just the right note. They can’t fail to be impressed.’

  ‘They?’ She glanced at him questioningly. ‘I thought it was just you and Mr Arrowsmith.’

  ‘No, no——’ he laughed that off quite casually. ‘There are two or three people involved in this enterprise. Including me, as I told you on the phone.’

  ‘Would you like to tell me a little more about what you call this enterprise?’ She tried to keep the dry note out of her voice but was aware, from his quick glance, that she had not succeeded in doing so.

  ‘I’m sorry if I’ve seemed a bit secretive.’ He was his usual warm, expansive self now. ‘But in show business one remains a little cagey until everything is signed and sealed. There’s always the risk that one’s most deadly rival will beat you to the post otherwise. But I can tell you that what we are considering is something between a sophisticated musical—sharp, witty and provocative—and what might be described as a music drama: It’s stronger—more frank and earthy—than the usual musical frolic and requires a very definite type of heroine. You, in fact, if I have my way and if you please Max and his associates.’

  Amanda considered the term ‘frank and earthy’, found it singularly unattractive, but resisted the desire to question it at this point. Instead she asked, ‘Have you written all the music for this work?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘But it’s not exactly an opera?’

  ‘Oh, no!’ He laughed at the idea. ‘It’s directed at quite a different type of audience. More sophisticated, more lively, I suppose one might say.’

  Reluctantly she recalled Lewis’s dictum on Jerome Leydon—‘Though a highly talented man he has few artistic principles.’ And after a short silence she asked, ‘Do I—I mean does the heroine—come out as what you call a sophisticated type?’

  ‘No, no.’ He laughed again at that. ‘She is the innocent—charming innocent, of course—to whom everything happens. I can just see and hear you in the part. That lovely fresh—yes, innocent—sound in your voice is ideal for it.’

  ‘Meaning that I shall be called on to look and sound a fool?’ she suggested, setting her teeth.

  ‘No, dear, no.’ He took a hand from the wheel and patted hers reassuringly. ‘There’s a sort of amusing purity about the character. It’s difficult to describe. You have to hear it for yourself. You’ll love the music. It’s eminently singable—about the best thing I’ve ever done, and I can’t wait to hear you try out some of it. Don’t look so solemn, love. If you get the part—and I’m determined that you shall—you’ll
be a riot on the first night. Now smile for me. It’s a chance most girls would give a lot to have.’

  She smiled then. What else could she do? If Lewis had not spoken so forcefully against any Max Arrowsmith proposal she would not now be entertaining these nagging doubts. She would be feeling happy and elated. She was not forced to accept—and certainly not to adopt—all Lewis’s prejudices. Jerome was right: most girls would jump at such a chance. She too must be ready to jump, if indeed the chance were offered to her.

  After that the subject was firmly changed by her companion and not referred to again during the rest of the drive. Even when they arrived at the magnificent block from which Max Arrowsmith apparently directed his personal empire Jerome gave her little chance to question or comment. On the contrary, glancing at his watch and muttering something about being only just on time, he hurried her into an ornate lift which silently whisked them up to what appeared to be the top floor of the building. As she stepped out into a thickly carpeted corridor Amanda saw that the door of the room at the end was open and from the room came the sound of several voices.

  Without explanation or preamble Jerome conducted her into the room where half a dozen men and one woman were grouped round a table talking. They all stopped as Amanda and her companion entered and Jerome simply said, ‘Here she is,’ and gave her the slightest push to indicate that she was to go forward.