‘You don’t really want to know, do you?’ he said amusedly.
‘No, of course not!’ she exclaimed hastily. ‘I couldn’t be less interested.’
‘I thought not,’ he said.
But as he turned to summon the waiter and pay the bill, she found herself literally trembling before the shock of a terrific flash of self-revelation. She did want to know — desperately — what his relationship was with Michele Laraut. Almost as much as she wanted him to turn and smile at her again.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘Well, how did your meeting with Michele Laraut go?’
Madame Torelli, who had obviously had an enjoyable afternoon and evening herself, regarded her niece with good-humoured interest.
‘We didn’t meet,’ said Nicola, automatically taking the mink stole which her aunt slid from her shoulders.
‘Didn’t meet? Unreliable, is she?’ Torelli frowned. ‘One should always keep appointments. Even social ones,’ she added slightingly. Though, as both she and Nicola knew perfectly well, she herself was capable of putting off anyone if it suited her.
‘I don’t think she was being unreliable.’ Nicola’s smile was faint, and she looked in contrast to her aunt’s blazing air of vitality a trifle pale and dispirited. ‘Our arrangement was quite flexible. We agreed that if either was prevented from coming the other would quite understand.’
‘And she just didn’t turn up?’ Torelli made the sound usually indicated as ‘tch, tch.’ But she gave to it such a depth and richness that it sounded darkly significant.
‘As a matter of fact, she was there,’ said Nicola in all fairness. ‘But — ’
She hesitated, and Torelli exclaimed, ‘Don’t leave your sentences unfinished, child. It’s an irritating habit, unless done deliberately — and with faultless timing — in order to make a particular effect.’
Nicola laughed reluctantly at that.
‘I wasn’t striving for a particular effect,’ she admitted. ‘I was just wondering how much I would tell you.’
‘The lot,’ her aunt advised her forcefully. ‘I’m in the mood for gossip and relaxation. It was all very gratifying to one’s ego, being treated like a deity at the Allerton-Bennetts’, but a bit exhausting throughout the afternoon and evening. Like a Wagner opera, you know, when you have to hold the role for hours. I’m ready to put my feet up — ’ she did so literally, pulling a brocaded stool towards her for the purpose — ‘and be natural. Put that stole on a chair, dear. You look awkward just standing there holding it. Like a minor character who doesn’t quite know how to get off the stage at the right moment. Now sit down and talk to me.’
Smiling more naturally now, Nicola did as she was bid, and took a chair near her aunt.
‘There isn’t very much to tell, really. I was walking down the Avenue — ’
‘Which one?’ inquired Torelli, who was very exact in the setting of a scene.
‘The Champs Elysées. I was meeting Michele at Fouquet’s. And suddenly I saw, walking in front of me, Julian Evett.’
‘Oh!’ Torelli gave an amused and understanding laugh. ‘I see why you ditched your appointment with Michele.’
‘I did nothing of the sort!’ Nicola was indignant. ‘I didn’t want to spend any time with Julian Evett. I slowed my pace, to avoid overtaking him — ’
‘Very foolish,’ commented Torelli. ‘The company of an interesting man is always more stimulating than the company of a self-absorbed girl.’
‘I thought,’ retorted Nicola rather crossly, ‘you said just now that one should always keep appointments.’
‘You’re getting away from the story, dear,’ observed Torelli severely.
‘Well, then, I followed — I mean I walked behind Julian Evett until we came in sight of Fouquet’s. I could see Michele was already there, sitting outside. I recognized that green dress she wore yesterday.’
‘Yes, the wrong shade for her, with that carroty hair,’ interjected Torelli unjustly.
‘I thought it very becoming,’ replied Nicola, at which her aunt smiled and said she had almost too beautiful a character.
‘Anyway, as he reached Fouquet’s, she got to her feet — ’
‘Naturally.’
‘And he obviously saw her and, after a moment’s hesitation, joined her. I didn’t feel I wanted to make it a three-cornered affair, so I turned up towards the Avenue Marceau.’
‘That was rather poor-spirited of you, dear,’ commented Torelli. But when Nicola went on to say that she had merely gone round the block and back to the restaurant, she laughed and remarked, ‘That’s better!’
‘By that time,’ Nicola said, ‘Michele had gone.’
‘So soon? You surprise me. I should have said she was more of a sticker. How long had you given them?’
‘About a quarter of an hour, I suppose.’
‘Well, well — ’ Torelli frowned consideringly, as though all this were of real importance. But then, as Nicola well knew, where other people were concerned, she was always either brutally indifferent or inordinately and almost childishly interested. It was simply a question of mood with her, and at the moment she was in the mood for trivialities. ‘Had they both gone?’
‘No. He was still there. I didn’t notice him until I came level with him — ’
‘Dear child, you do have a talent for overlooking essentials, don’t you?’ protested Torelli.
‘I don’t regard Julian Evett as an essential,’ replied Nicola drily. ‘Anyway, I joined him then and we — talked a bit.’
‘About what?’ inquired Torelli, who considered curiosity a natural and acceptable reaction when applied to herself.
Again Nicola laughed reluctantly and a little protestingly. But she said, ‘He told me he had seen Michele, and that he understood you had auditioned her for Pamina and found her acceptable.’
‘Oh! I suppose he was annoyed about my taking things into my own hands?’
‘No, I don’t think so. He said he was withdrawing his opposition, and that if she were cast for the role he would accept her.’
‘What on earth made him change his mind so completely?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Nicola stiffly. And then, as though she could not help it — ‘I think whatever differences there had been between them were now made up.’
‘In a quarter of an hour?’ Torelli looked sceptical.
‘It seems one can do quite a lot in a quarter of an hour.’
‘Well, of course. One can change one’s life in ten minutes, come to that. But,’ added Torelli reflectively, ‘it is unusual to do it at a café table in the open air.’
‘I don’t think any lives were changed,’ Nicola said, with a faint smile. ‘But at least he decided to let Michele have her chance if it came along.’
‘Which doesn’t seem to have pleased you as much as it should.’ Torelli gave her niece a shrewd glance.
Nicola looked slightly startled and said, ‘Should I have been so specially pleased?’
‘Well, of course, darling. Don’t you remember? You were blazing with missionary spirit — which is always tiresome — when Michele looked like being pushed aside. I thought you felt it was a sacred trust to further her interests, since Brian Coverdale had recommended her. It seemed a little exaggerated to me at the time. But now you have got what you wanted, you might look a little more elated about it.’
‘I am elated — I suppose,’ said Nicola defensively.
‘Then you have a singularly inept way of projecting it,’ replied Torelli tartly. ‘Now when I am elated the whole atmosphere crackles around me and everyone feels more intensely alive just because of it.’
‘But then you are unique,’ Nicola told her, amusedly but sincerely.
To which Torelli replied, with simple satisfaction, ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’
She then, to Nicola’s relief, switched to her own affairs and announced that she intended to return to London in a couple of days’ time, as Oscar Warrender was coming from South America a few
days earlier than expected.
‘You haven’t met Oscar yet, have you?’ She smiled musingly.
‘Not personally — no. Though I’ve heard him conduct quite often, of course, and admire him immensely.’
‘It is impossible to do otherwise. There’s someone unique, if you like!’ It was seldom that she accorded anyone else such uninhibited praise. ‘Well, it will be a great experience for you, Nicola, to see him and me work together. I’m looking forward to the “Macbeths” and “Trovatores”.’
‘So am I!’ exclaimed Nicola sincerely. ‘And the “Magic Flute”,’ she added involuntarily.
‘Well, that comes later, of course, and will have a different sort of interest. In the first case you have the combination of two top-grade, experienced artists.’ She spoke impersonally, as though she were not one of them herself. ‘In the second case there will be the interest of seeing how a tremendously gifted young conductor shapes up to a great artistic challenge. If he is wise he will come to most of Oscar’s rehearsals.’
‘Shall — shall I be at most of the rehearsals too?’ Nicola inquired.
‘The later ones certainly. Probably not the studio rehearsals, which are intimate work-sessions. You would only be in my way there.’ And Torelli took her feet off the stool and stood up, to indicate that the discussion was over.
In actual fact, Nicola met the famous Oscar Warrender for the first time on their arrival at London Airport. It seemed he had just come in from Buenos Aires and, on hearing from Dermot Deane that Torelli was expected in half an hour, had insisted on coming across to the European Building to meet her.
She was indescribably flattered and pleased — Nicola could see that — and she flung her arms round the tall conductor and embraced him, while his wife stood by and smiled understandingly.
‘Oscar thought she would like the attention,’ Anthea whispered to Nicola as she claimed acquaintance with her again. ‘It’s rather touching to see anyone so famous delighted by so small a thing, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. But she’s like that,’ Nicola said, smiling in her turn. ‘It’s that childlike streak which makes her so lovable.’ She did not add ‘in spite of everything’. But perhaps the words were implicit in her tone. At any rate, Anthea laughed softly and very kindly.
Then Torelli introduced Nicola and, to her surprise, Nicola heard herself described for the first time as ‘my niece’.
The great conductor took Nicola’s hand briefly, smiled and said, ‘One doesn’t think of you as having anything so domestic-sounding as a niece, Gina.’
‘By marriage, of course,’ replied Torelli, as though in some way that made the connection almost non-existent. ‘And we don’t emphasize the relationship, do we, Nicola?’
‘In point of fact, we never mention it,’ said Nicola with a laugh. ‘I’m flattered to hear myself so described.’
‘Oh, well, one doesn’t pretend with Oscar,’ explained Torelli simply. ‘I’m not quite sure why.’
‘Because he usually finds things out anyway,’ interjected Anthea, with an air of amused resignation. ‘He calls it inspired guesswork, but I believe it’s a sixth sense.’
‘Take no notice of their nonsense, Miss Nicola,’ said the conductor, as they moved slowly towards the exit, past press photographers flashing bulbs and manoeuvring for good positions. ‘I’m a hard-working musician with no sure instinct about anything else. But I’m glad to meet Peter Denby’s niece. He is an old friend of mine. By the way, Gina — ’ he turned once more to Torelli — ‘I saw him for an hour or two on my way out. His ship put into New York for a few days.’
‘You saw Peter?’ For a moment the strong lines of Torelli’s face softened. ‘How did he look?’
‘Extraordinarily well. I haven’t seen him look so rested and relaxed for years. He was missing you, though.’
‘Don’t tell me that, or those wretched photographers will get a shot of me crying,’ said Torelli, smiling into the lens of the nearest camera. ‘I miss him too — terribly. And would do so more if it were not for Nicola.’
‘Oh, darling!’ exclaimed Nicola, sufficiently touched to use what was for her an extravagant term of endearment.
‘He told me that his niece was holding the fort for him,’ began Warrender. Then he stopped, laughed and made a deprecating little gesture with his expressive hand.
‘You see what I mean,’ exclaimed Torelli resignedly to Nicola. ‘I told you Oscar always knows somehow.’
They all drove back to London together. And although Nicola took little part in the conversation, she was fascinated by the musical and professional talk which eddied round her. Inevitably, Julian Evett’s name came up eventually, though not until they were near their journey’s end.
‘I was genuinely sorry not to conduct for you at your London concert, Gina,’ Oscar Warrender said. ‘But I hear Julian made a splendid job of it.’
‘He was very good indeed,’ Torelli agreed graciously. ‘So good that I am suggesting — ’ she paused, considered that word and changed it to — ‘insisting that he should conduct “The Magic Flute” at the Garden. Did you know that they want me to sing the Queen of the Night?’
‘Dermot Deane told me so. It’s an inspired piece of casting. Is the rest of the cast to be from the resident company?’
‘Largely so, I imagine. Except that I should like to have Michele Laraut for the Pamina. You remember her in Canada?’
‘Of course. She’s good.’ Then he smiled drily and said, ‘That suggestion did not come from Julian, I presume?’
‘No. But he has agreed — after persuasion. And you needn’t look as though you’re the only one who knows a thing or two about that situation,’ Torelli added, as the car drew up outside the block where she had her flat. ‘I also can do my inspired guessing. But, however much he may have been infatuated and then snubbed — ’
‘My dear Gina! Wherever did you get that story?’
Amusedly, the conductor leaned over to open the car door.
‘I drew my own obvious conclusions,’ said Torelli in a dignified sort of way.
‘Well, you drew the wrong ones,’ Warrender assured her flatly. ‘Whoever Michele Laraut dragged at her chariot wheels, it was not Julian Evett, I assure you.’
‘Who was it, then?’ Torelli challenged, with irresistible curiosity.
‘Never mind now.’ He laughed, handed her out of the car and kissed her with obvious affection on both cheeks. Then, as the car bringing Lisette and all the luggage drew up behind, he bade Nicola good-bye and, getting back into the car with his young wife, drove away.
‘Men always think they know everything,’ observed Torelli vexedly as they went into the apartment block. ‘But I’m perfectly sure I am right.’
Then she dismissed the matter as quite unimportant. An opinion with which Nicola agreed just a trifle too emphatically.
During the next week or ten days Nicola was very busy indeed. A considerable amount of mail had piled up while they were away, and there were all kinds of things to arrange in connection with costume-fitting, wigs, press releases and so on. Torelli remained in an excellent humour throughout, so Nicola guessed that everything was going well, though she herself was not able to attend the earlier rehearsals.
Lisette, who went with her everywhere, reported only meagrely. Though she did deign to say once, ‘Madame is in what you call the good form.’
‘She loves singing under Mr. Warrender, doesn’t she?’ Nicola responded. ‘Though I suppose anyone would.’
‘Not unless they know their job,’ replied Lisette darkly. ‘He is a monster, that one, if he is angry. I have seen him assassinate an over-confident amateur.’
Presuming that this need not be taken too literally, Nicola said, ‘Oh, indeed?’ and waited more impatiently than ever for her own chance to go and hear a rehearsal.
This did not come until the dress rehearsal itself. And by that time her aunt was under some nervous strain and not in the best of tempers. She was, however, very clear
about Nicola’s part in things.
‘Go into the auditorium,’ she ordered, ‘and use what sense and judgment you have. If anything is inaudible, obscure or out of line with the character as an organic whole, make a note of it and let me know afterwards.’
‘Are you asking me to criticize you?’ Nicola was a good deal shocked.
‘Of course. How else can you be of use to me?’
‘But I don’t know that I’m qualified to do so,’ objected Nicola.
‘Nor are eighty-five per cent of the fools who will nevertheless do so very confidently after the first performance,’ was the acid reply. ‘Go and do your best. An ignorant opinion is better than none. Provided, of course, that one knows it is an ignorant one.’
So with this doubtful encouragement ringing in her ears, Nicola made her way to the big, darkened, almost empty auditorium. Far up in the amphitheatre crowded a number of privileged public with special passes to the rehearsal, but downstairs there was hardly anyone, except the producer at his desk, his over-anxious expression clear in the lamp fixed over the desk.
Just before the performance began, while there were still exciting premonitory little runs and trills coming from the orchestra tuning up, someone came into the row in front of Nicola and sat down a few seats away. She turned her head quickly and discovered, slightly to her agitation, that it was Julian Evett.
But he had obviously not noticed her, and at that moment Oscar Warrender came to the conductor’s desk, tapped slightly with his baton, and the performance began. After that, although with one layer of her mind Nicola was acutely aware of the man sitting only a yard or two away, most of her attention and all her emotions were almost savagely gripped by the drama on the stage.
She knew the play quite well, and knew that the opera followed the story closely. But it so happened that she had never until now seen a really great Lady Macbeth. That Torelli could sing superbly, colouring her magnificent voice with any emotion she wanted, Nicola already knew. What was a complete discovery to her was the amazing stagecraft and, above all, the complete oneness of music, word and gesture.
The Curtain Rises (Warrender Saga Book 4) Page 9
