Nightingales (Warrender Saga Book 11)

by Mary Burchell

  ‘That,’ replied Lewis softly, ‘is what you will sing, my dear. It’s your music. I present it to you.’

  ‘Which does not give us a practical libretto,’ put in Warrender, but there was an oddly indulgent note in his voice.

  ‘I think,’ said Anthea, ‘the man we want is Patrick Rogerson. He has a feeling for this sort of thing, but at the same time a real grip of incident and action and the creation of characters with whom one can weep and laugh and agonise.’

  ‘He has no real vein of poetry.’ Lewis spoke doubtfully, already prepared, Amanda saw, to do battle for his cherished work.

  ‘The music itself supplies that,’ Warrender said. ‘I think perhaps Anthea is right. If we don’t have someone with a thoroughly practical knowledge of what is theatrically gripping the work could degenerate into one of those high-thinking, theoretical studies invariably described as “interesting”. The kiss of death,’ he added contemptuously, ‘to any enterprise and guaranteed to empty any theatre.’

  The others all laughed at that, and the extraordinary degree of tension which had built up in the room relaxed. So much so that Amanda found she could not ask Lewis quite what he had meant when he said it was her music and that she would sing it. He could not possibly, she assured herself, have meant the remark in anything but the most general sense. He was surely not thinking of casting her for—well, anything?

  At that point Lewis glanced at his watch and exclaimed that he would have to leave in order to catch his train.

  ‘How about you, Amanda? I suppose you were driven to town. Are you driving back?’

  ‘No.’ She flushed slightly. ‘If I may I’ll come with you and catch the same train.’

  ‘You may,’ he said, effortlessly restoring the teacher–pupil relationship in a matter of seconds. ‘Sir Oscar, I can’t thank you enough for your help and support. May I leave it to you and your wife to contact Rogerson and find out if he’s interested?’

  ‘Of course.’ The Warrenders both came to the door to bid goodbye to Amanda and Lewis. And with the air of a man who was used to pulling all the strings, Sir Oscar said to Lewis, ‘If Rogerson is interested I’ll arrange for him to go down and meet you,’ and to Amanda, ‘Tell your brother and sister-in-law that my accountant will come to see them in the next few days.’

  Five minutes later Amanda was sitting beside her singing teacher in a taxi on the way to Waterloo Station, and less than half an hour later they were in opposite corners in a crowded railway compartment on the way home. There was no opportunity to talk during the early part of the journey, so Amanda just stared out of the window and reflected on the almost unbelievable fact that the solution to Henry’s problem was, as it were, in her pocket.

  By the time the train was nearing her station—which was one stop before her companion’s—the compartment had more or less cleared and he came to sit beside her. So she summoned her courage to ask, ‘May I come to my singing lesson as usual on Sunday?’

  ‘Of course. What else?’ he looked surprised. ‘You’re going to have to work harder than ever if we’re to carry out today’s tentative plans. There’s no opera yet, Amanda. There may never be one. But if there is then you’ll be an integral part of it. You get out here, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But before I go—thank you!’ And she leant towards him and kissed him. Then, without waiting to see the effect on him, she opened the door before he could, jumped out of the train and walked rapidly towards the ticket barrier without once looking back.

  During the short walk home her thoughts were in such an agitating, exciting state of confusion that nothing seemed to emerge in any coherent form. During the last five or six hours she had experienced some of the worst and some of the best and most vivid moments of her life. But when she walked into the house, to find Nan clearing up on her own in the kitchen, all she could think of saying was, ‘It’s all right. Henry can go to Switzerland.’

  ‘Mandy!’ Nan almost dropped the dish she was holding. Then putting it on a nearby table with visibly shaking hands, she said, ‘You mean Arrowsmith gave you a contract?’

  ‘Oh——’ Amanda recalled Max Arrowsmith as though he were a figure from an entirely different phase of her life. ‘Oh, no, not Max Arrowsmith. It’s Oscar Warrender who——’

  ‘Oscar Warrender?—gave you a contract?’

  ‘Not exactly. No, of course not.’ Amanda made a tremendous effort after coherence. ‘He and his wife—and Lewis Elsworth think they may want me for something in the future. And, rather than let me get involved with Arrowsmith, they’re prepared to pay for Henry’s treatment in Switzerland and for someone to replace him here while he’s away.’

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Nan paled and looked almost angry. ‘You’re making it up. Things don’t happen like that.’

  ‘I’d have said the same only a few hours ago,’ Amanda admitted slowly. ‘But it’s all perfectly true, Nan. Sit down and I’ll try to explain.’

  Nan dropped into a chair at one side of the table and Amanda sat down opposite her, rather as they had faced each other on that terrible evening when Nan had had to explain about Henry. Amanda chose her words more carefully now, for she felt it was not yet the moment to tell anyone else about Lewis’s composition. That being so, she had to concentrate very much on the idea that Sir Oscar and Lewis wanted to ensure that her vocal training was completed on the lines which they had approved.

  ‘I know it sounds improbable——’ she said.

  ‘It sounds totally unbelievable,’ retorted Nan, still looking angry because she simply dared not allow herself to accept the reassurance her young sister-in-law was so confidently offering. ‘You say Warrender is sending his accountant to see Henry and me?’ And then, as Amanda nodded—‘But why should he? why should they do this extraordinary thing? They must think you’re something tremendous, something outstanding that furthers some project of theirs. Men only do things like that for ambition—or love. And I take it Warrender isn’t in love with you.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Amanda laughed. ‘I don’t think he cares the flick of a finger about any woman but his Anthea.’

  ‘Well, that’s as may be,’ replied Nan in the tone of one who refused to be so credulous about any man of the theatre. ‘And what about Lewis Elsworth? Is he in love with you?’

  ‘No, of course not. I’m no more than a particularly promising student so far as he’s concerned.’

  ‘You don’t say!’ Nan looked so ironically amused that Amanda would have demanded to know what she meant if Henry had not come in just then, thus involving her in fresh explanations, though this time with Nan’s assistance. Henry also took some convincing that his young sister really had the story right. But then came what Amanda afterwards thought was the most wonderful moment of that wonderful day: when the full truth broke on her brother and he could allow the heavenly relief from pain and anxiety to show for once in his worn face.

  To be involved the next morning in the irresistible demands of ordinary routine seemed strange at first, and once or twice Amanda wondered if she really had dreamed some of the events of the previous day. One circumstance registered, however, with unpleasant clarity, and that was the necessity of telephoning Max Arrowsmith and telling him that she was turning down his offer.

  Bracing herself for the encounter—and trying to assure herself that she could probably get away with leaving a message with his secretary—she dialled the number which Jerome had once given her. No secretary replied. She was immediately put through to the great man himself and, her throat dry but her tone remarkably cool, she said, ‘Mr Arrowsmith, I’m not going to elaborate on things. I just want to tell you that I’ve thought over your offer and, although I appreciate it, I’m not prepared to accept it.’

  ‘Why not, my dear?’

  ‘Without going into detail—I don’t think it’s my kind of work at all, and I don’t feel ready to embark on anything professional at this stage. I’m sorry if I’m disappointing you and Jerry—but that i
s my absolutely final decision.’

  ‘Endorsed by Lewis Elsworth, I take it?’

  ‘You may take it any way you like, Mr Arrowsmith. But that is my last word on it. Thank you and goodbye.’

  She was annoyed to find that she was trembling when she replaced the receiver. She was even more annoyed to find that she had not asked him to let Jerome Leydon know her decision. Now she would have to tackle another disagreeable telephone conversation—and she felt ill-prepared to do so. Later, she told herself. She would wait until she had regained her courage and self-control. But each time the telephone bell rang during the next hour she jumped and looked stricken.

  Jerome Leydon, however, was not one to conduct important conversations by telephone. He appeared in person early in the afternoon, having timed his visit so that he would have a good chance of getting Amanda to himself. And, taking her gently by the arm, he led her out into the deserted garden behind the hotel, saying, ‘Don’t look so scared, Mandy. This isn’t your dictatorial singing teacher, remember. Just your rather puzzled friend Jerry.’

  ‘Oh, Jerry, I’m so terribly sorry,’ she began remorsefully.

  ‘But why, dear? You’re perfectly entitled to make your own decisions about anything as important as your career. But I think that in my turn I’m entitled to some sort of explanation, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course: and I’ll try to explain.’ She was so relieved by his easy, almost gentle approach that she could have embraced him. ‘Oh, Jerry—’ without knowing it she drew a great sigh of relief—‘I thought you’d be absolutely mad with me.’

  ‘Just at first, maybe,’ he conceded. ‘But even then I was more stunned and puzzled than anything else. I thought you wanted—even needed—a lucky break, and I also got the impression that you liked my music. Didn’t you care for your song, or the duet we sang together?’

  ‘So far as the music was concerned, I did like it—yes. But as I’ve told Mr Arrowsmith, I don’t think the show as a whole is at all in my line.’

  ‘You didn’t wait to hear much of it, did you?’ he said ruefully. Amanda wanted to say that she had heard enough about it, but remembered just in time that she must not involve Josephine Mead in any way.

  ‘I could make a good guess,’ she replied, ‘both from what you’d said beforehand and from the words which I had to sing. In addition, I wasn’t very favourably impressed by the other people to whom I had to sing.’

  He smiled wryly at that and observed drily, ‘It was for you to impress them, my love, not the other way round. But let that pass. You realise you would never—and I mean never—receive another offer from Arrowsmith?’

  ‘I don’t want one!’

  ‘And, incidentally, that you brought my stock with him and his backers pretty low? I have been pressing your claims for quite some time.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said unhappily.

  ‘But there’s no question of your changing your mind?’

  ‘None at all.’ She shook her head emphatically.

  He sighed slightly at that and then said, ‘Mandy, there’s one question I want to ask you. Did you in fact discuss the whole thing with Elsworth before making your decision?’

  She longed to deny that, but after a tiny pause she admitted, ‘Yes, I did. Immediately after I left Mr Arrowsmith’s office.’

  His eyebrows shot up and he said ironically, ‘Don’t tell me you just happened to run into him in the street. You must already have arranged to meet him and get his opinion. So you weren’t very straight with me when I asked you about him in Arrowsmith’s office, were you, Mandy?’

  ‘Oh, I was—I was at the time,’ she insisted, and took hold of his arm in her earnestness. ‘When I got outside I was totally undecided what to do and then I suddenly thought I would go and—and consult Sir Oscar Warrender. Lewis happened to call while I was there. Neither of them th-thought it was a good idea for me to accept Mr Arrowsmith’s offer, so I took their advice.’

  ‘I see.’ He sounded suddenly like someone who had come to the end of all argument, and to her utter dismay she realised that, for the first time since she had known him, he looked defeated and depressed.

  ‘Jerry, I wish I hadn’t had to upset things so much for you!’ In her remorseful distress she ran her hand up and down his arm in a gesture of something between supplication and comfort, and he immediately looked down at her with that charming rueful smile.

  ‘It can’t be helped, dear. That’s the way things sometimes happen. Only—’ he lightly put a hand against her cheek, and the unexpected caress moved her deeply—‘this doesn’t mean that we can’t go on being friends, does it?’

  ‘Of course not!’ she cried. ‘I’ll always be grateful for the support you wanted to give me and the generous way you’ve accepted my refusal.’ She smiled up at him almost tremulously. ‘If you still feel like being friends it would be pretty shabby of me not to do the same.’

  ‘Seal the pact?’ he suggested, and without giving her a chance to reply he bent and kissed her upturned face.

  It was perhaps a more deliberate and serious kiss than she would have chosen. But in that emotional moment of renewed friendship she could not have failed to respond, and she kissed him very frankly and sweetly in return. At that his arms went round her and he held her very tightly for a moment or two. Then she gently released herself, turned resolutely towards the house again—and realised that Lewis Elsworth had just stepped out from the French windows and was coming slowly down the path towards them.

  Chapter Seven

  Jerome gave a slight whistle of amused dismay as he too became aware of Lewis’s approach, while to Amanda the situation seemed to combine all the classic features of a bad dream. There was no possibility of avoiding a disastrous encounter, no hope of explaining away a false impression and no graceful means of eliminating herself from the scene.

  Of the three of them only Lewis displayed complete self-possession. As he came up with the other two he nodded casually to Jerome and, addressing himself to Amanda, said, ‘Your sister-in-law thought I might find you in the garden, but omitted to mention you already had someone with you.’

  ‘She—she didn’t know,’ Amanda explained, and then realised that, in her confusion, she had somehow made that sound more significant than it was. ‘Jerome was just going anyway,’ she added, as though that were some sort of extenuating circumstance. ‘Weren’t you?’

  ‘If you say so.’ His smile at the other man was faintly insolent and his shrug unnecessarily deprecating. Then, perhaps deliberately, he completed an unfortunate impression by saying to Amanda with an air of intimacy, ‘We’ll finish our talk another time.’

  ‘If I’m interrupting anything vital——’ Lewis began. But Amanda said, ‘No, no, of course not,’ and then wondered if that were the happiest way of dismissing what must have registered as a fond embrace.

  At that point Jerome took his leave and there was a moment’s silence as they both looked after him until he reached the gate. Then Amanda said impulsively, ‘I’d like to explain that——’

  ‘Oh, please don’t.’ Lewis made a slight movement of distaste. ‘Nothing is more boring than explanations which don’t concern one. I’d better tell you why I’m here.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She wished she could have sounded less subdued, and even more did she wish she had had the good sense to hold her tongue about the necessity of explaining any action of hers to him. To imply that explanations were due was also to imply that what she did was of personal importance to him. From his expression it was obvious that nothing could be further from the case, and that in fact he was bored by any little flirtation in which she might choose to indulge. So she lapsed into unhappy silence and he went on,

  ‘Patrick Rogerson phoned about an hour ago. Warrender had already got in touch with him and given him some idea of the position. He sounds more than a little interested and wants to come down and see me tomorrow afternoon. I should like you to be there, Amanda. Obviously he’ll want
to hear something of the music, and to have someone sing it will naturally be more effective than sketching it out on the piano.’

  ‘Of course I’ll come!’ She could hardly hide her eagerness to please him but hoped he would interpret that as purely artistic interest. ‘What time do you need me?’

  ‘About two?’ he suggested. ‘That would give us time to run through a few things before he arrives and provide some ground for mutual discussion. That basic idea of yours seemed good to me—as though you have some instinct for the whole thing. One could have thought,’ he added half to himself, ‘that you already knew the significance of the setting for that prayer.’

  ‘I’m glad you think I—I might be useful.’

  ‘Of course you can be useful,’ he retorted irritably. ‘In fact you’re essential. Provided—forgive me for making this quite clear—you can manage not to discuss our plans with anyone else, however close they may be to you.’

  ‘I shouldn’t dream of it!’ she retorted indignantly. ‘I had to explain the general position to Nan and my brother—about your all helping Henry, I mean—but I gave as the explanation that you and Sir Oscar wanted to make sure that I completed my training on the right lines. I said nothing whatever about your compositions.’

  ‘I was not thinking primarily of your brother and sister-in-law,’ he told her bluntly, at which she flushed and said very curtly,

  ‘If that’s a backhanded reference to Jerry Leydon, I also managed to avoid any reference to your work when I was justifying my refusal of Max Arrowsmith’s offer.’

  ‘Clever of you in the circumstances,’ he conceded, which she found almost insufferably provocative. But this time she managed to resist the longing to justify herself afresh.

  Lewis left almost immediately after that and Amanda went slowly into the house, where she found her sister-in-law engaged in dinner preparations. Nan turned to her with interest and said, ‘It’s the first time I’ve had anything much to do with your Dr Elsworth. He’s nice, isn’t he?’