Music of the Heart (Warrender Saga Book 6)

by Mary Burchell

  ‘I shan’t be a minute,’ Gail said as he went out. Then she called after him, ‘Where is Mr. Warrender?’

  ‘In the front of the house. Why?’ called back the pianist.

  But Gail chose not to reply, and a few seconds later she heard the stage door swing on its rusty hinges.

  She flung on her coat and, with only a moment’s hesitation, went through once more to the front of the house. And there was Oscar Warrender standing by the orchestra rail, writing something on a sheaf of papers, his strong, handsome, rather forbidding face very clear-cut in the light from the one lamp near the piano.

  ‘Mr. Warrender.’ She stood a few feet away from him.

  ‘Yes?’ he said without looking up. ‘Do you want to lock up?’ He evidently mistook her for one of the theatre staff.

  ‘No. I want to speak to you.’ She caught her breath on a frightened little gasp, and he did look up then and recognize her.

  ‘What is it?’ He didn’t sound specially pleased to see her. ‘There’s nothing more to say about the audition, if that’s what you want. I told you — we shall be writing to you.’

  Suddenly, what she must do was crystal clear to her, and she said, with hardly a tremor in her voice, ‘I just wanted to say that I suppose — like me — you are well aware that Erna Spolianska is much better than I am.’

  If she thought to startle him into a reply she was mistaken. Oscar Warrender was too old a hand for that. He glanced down at his papers and made a brief note — a trick he had when he wanted to disconcert anyone, as Anthea could have told her.

  ‘Miss Rostall, are you asking for my personal opinion?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Well, naturally, I’m not going to give it to you. Why should I? In due course you will be told the final decision of the auditioning committee. To try to jump the gun with any individual member beforehand is highly irregular. But as you’re young and inexperienced I won’t hold that against you. Now run along.’

  ‘No,’ said Gail. ‘I ha-haven’t finished.’

  Few people ever ventured to say ‘No’, when Oscar Warrender issued an order, and he gave a grim little smile, as though he found the experience novel — which he did.

  ‘Then finish what you have to say quickly. You’re being rather a nuisance, and I don’t usually allow that.’

  ‘Mr. Warrender, that girl knows more about the way Anya should be done than I shall ever know. She has a voice at least as good as mine. She doesn’t use it quite so well —’

  ‘No, she doesn’t,’ Warrender interjected, but Gail went on.

  ‘That hardly matters, though. Her whole presentation of the part is stunning. Almost literally. It — it hits one, so that one can’t think of anything but what she is singing. The work will be far more of a success with her than with me. Oh, I know both the Bannisters have voted for me —’

  ‘How do you know?’ inquired the conductor drily.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. As a matter of fact, Quentin Bannister backed me all along. He even coached me personally for the part.’ That did make Warrender look up, she realized with some satisfaction. ‘His pride in his own infallibility is mixed up with my getting the part. As for Marc —’ her tone softened instinctively, though she was not aware of it — ‘he made the friendly mistake of telling me some days ago that the part was mine. We even drank a champagne toast to my success,’ she added wistfully. ‘He feels he will be letting me down terribly now if I don’t get the part.’

  ‘He had no right to say any such thing,’ said the conductor impatiently.

  ‘No, of course he hadn’t. But people are human, and make mistakes. At least some people do,’ she muttered resentfully.

  ‘I also make a few mistakes — if I take your point correctly,’ Oscar Warrender told her sardonically. ‘But not that kind of juvenile mistake. Well, what do you expect me to do about all this?’

  ‘N-nothing. I just want you to know —’ she took a deep breath and swallowed hard — ‘I just want to tell you that I’m withdrawing from the contest. I don’t intend to accept the role of Anya, even if it’s offered to me.’

  ‘No? Well, I think I must tell you, in return, Miss Rostall, that successful careers are not usually based on altruistic gestures to one’s rivals. Is Miss Spolianska a friend of yours?’

  ‘No.’ Gail looked surprised. ‘I’ve never spoken to her.’

  ‘Then why —’

  ‘Oh, it’s not for her! At least, not primarily so. It’s Marc I’m thinking of. I want his opera to be the most tremendous success.’ And suddenly she smiled, as though she were already visualizing that success.

  ‘I see,’ said the conductor, and rubbed his chin meditatively. ‘Is that the explanation you are going to give to other people? It won’t go down well with Quentin Bannister, I assure you.’

  ‘No explanation will go down well with him,’ replied Gail resignedly. ‘He’ll be furious. But if I absolutely refuse to go on with it there’s not much they can do about it, is there? And Erna Spolianska will undoubtedly get the part, won’t she?’

  ‘Undoubtedly. And what will you get? Apart from the satisfaction of knowing that you have served Marc’s interests very generously.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about that,’ Gail admitted candidly.

  ‘That doesn’t seem very fair, does it?’ The great conductor smiled at her suddenly. ‘Besides, I think you would be in a stronger position if you could put forward the argument that you had been offered something else which appealed more to you.’

  ‘But I haven’t,’ said Gail practically.

  ‘One can always arrange these things.’ Oscar Warrender spoke with the easy authority of someone who was used to pulling the strings in his own particular world. ‘Once you have made — and announced — your decision, you had better be out of London. You are a first-class oratorio singer, Elsa Marburger tells me.’

  ‘I’m rather good — yes,’ Gail admitted.

  ‘Never under-estimate yourself. It’s just as affected and silly as showing off,’ the conductor told her brusquely. ‘I will send you to my friend Paul Winter in Hamburg. He is one of the few reliable agents, and has just been let down by the contralto he usually supplies for quite a number of secondary engagements throughout North Germany. It will be good, sound experience for you. You won’t be singing with the top orchestras, but none of them will be bad.’

  ‘Mr. Warrender, I — I can’t thank you enough —’

  ‘Don’t thank me,’ was the curt reply. ‘You’ll probably hate my guts when you’re singing “Gerontius” in a small German town and you read of Spolianska’s success in “The Exile”.’

  She did wince then. And he said, ‘You’re quite sure you want to do this?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ she insisted.

  ‘Well, you’re a good girl.’ He suddenly held out his hand to her. ‘If it’s any joy to you, you have probably made the most handsome contribution to Marc Bannister’s career that anyone is ever likely to make.’

  ‘Do you mean that?’ She stared at him wide-eyed.

  ‘Yes, I do. In my view Marc Bannister has written a very fine opera, possibly a great one. But it needs careful casting. I would have been prepared — reluctantly prepared — to accept you in the part of Anya, because everything you do is musical and tasteful. But when I heard the Spolianska girl I knew she was a gift from heaven. Marc would be a fool to turn her down in any circumstances, and I can’t think he doesn’t know it in his heart. If I’d written a work like “The Exile” and was offered Spolianska, I’d have done murder, I think, to secure her.’

  ‘But then Marc isn’t ruthless, is he? And you are, where your art is concerned.’

  ‘So they tell me,’ replied Warrender indifferently. ‘Now we must decide how we’re going to handle this. How frank are we going to be with Marc himself?’

  ‘We can’t be frank at all,’ cried Gail in great alarm. ‘He’d be furious — and perhaps reject the whole idea — if he knew you and I were concocting
something we thought was for his good. He’s almost pathological about being allowed to make his own decisions in his own way. You see, his father —’

  ‘We won’t go into any father complexes,’ interrupted the conductor, holding up his hand. ‘Nothing is more boring. I think you must let us offer you the role. Probably the Bannisters have pretty well got a letter in the post already. You reply, saying you are honoured — or whatever term you like to use — but that you must reluctantly decline as you have unexpectedly been offered something you prefer —’

  ‘Oh, Marc is going to hate that!’ Suddenly she put up her hands to her cheeks.

  ‘No one is going to like any of it much,’ replied War-render impatiently. ‘But then we’re not out to please people. We’re out to save Marc’s opera — and, incidentally, Marc himself from his own romantic foolishness in handing you the part before he had any right to do so.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Gail humbly.

  ‘He’ll be relieved, really. And while he’s trying to conceal his relief, and his father is airing his disappointed fury, I shall say frankly that we are well out of a tricky situation and that in my view Spolianska will make the work.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gail again, though she bit a trembling lip. ‘That seems the best way.’

  ‘Meanwhile,’ went on the conductor not unkindly, ‘I shall telephone to Hamburg tonight, and you will be hearing from Paul Winter within a day or two. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed,’ Gail said rather forlornly.

  ‘Then go along now.’

  She turned away, but almost immediately he said, ‘Miss Rostall — and she turned back. ‘Good luck. You deserve it.’

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ said Gail. And she went out of the theatre feeling just a little less wretched than she might have done.

  The next few days, however, were the most difficult she had ever spent.

  The letter offering her the role of Anya arrived the very next day. And she spent a couple of feverish hours concocting her refusal. Short of stating the real truth, and having both the Bannisters challenge her on every point, she could find no way of putting her refusal which was not either weak or offensive or both.

  In the end, she made her letter brief and businesslike. But it seemed to her that her regrets, though politely expressed, rang hollow. And, once she had posted the letter, she lived in a state of near-panic lest either of the Bannisters should telephone or even call.

  When the telephone did finally ring, two or three evenings later, she hardly dared to lift the receiver. But she need not have worried. It was Paul Winter, telephoning from Hamburg to ask if she could come across to be auditioned at the end of the following week. On the strength of Mr. Warrender’s recommendation, he had several things in mind for her but must, naturally, hear her for himself.

  Recklessly deciding to spend her small savings on the trip, Gail eagerly agreed. It was, of course, just the kind of chance that any aspiring singer would welcome, and at any other time she would have been ecstatic at the thought of going to sing for one of the leading German agents, on the recommendation of Oscar Warrender.

  Indeed, for some hours her spirits rose to cheering heights. But then she thought of ‘The Exile’ and all she had thrown away, and she was immediately plunged into the depths again, as she wondered distractedly if she had really made a terrible mistake.

  After all, she was good in the part. If Erna Spolianska had not turned up they would all — Warrender included — have moved heaven and earth to create a great performance, with Gail as the pivot. Could anyone say with certainty that they would not have succeeded? That was probably the way Marc had argued. And he had said he wanted her. He had said so.

  But then she remembered Marc watching the Polish girl as she sang her way through her big scene, and she knew she had been right to make this sacrifice. Not that Gail thought of it as a grand sacrifice. She thought of it as the only thing to do in the circumstances. Only she did wish she could have done it with Marc’s friendly approval.

  It was then that he telephoned. And the strange thing was that, though she had feared his call for days, when it came, for some reason or other, she thought it was Paul Winter once more from Hamburg. So her ‘Yes?’ was extremely eager. And her ‘O-h —’ when she realized who it was sounded chill with dismay.

  ‘I — I can’t argue about it, Marc,’ she said quickly. ‘I feel terribly badly. But I’m sure I am doing the right thing. And I know Erna Spolianska will do the part beautifully.’

  ‘Thank you for the reassurance,’ retorted Marc coldly, ‘but I happened to want you in the part. However, as you say, there is no point in arguing about it now. All I want to know is — what is this dazzling offer that you prefer to the part of Anya?’

  Momentarily she blessed Warrender for providing her with a real excuse.

  ‘It — it’s an offer from Germany. The kind of thing I never even hoped for. It will mean quite a lot of engagements in different towns. The experience will be invaluable. Mostly oratorio — which is really my line, of course. Different orchestras and different conductors —’ She stopped suddenly, realizing she had been running on with feverish rapidity.

  And Marc’s voice said quietly, ‘Who is arranging all this for you, Gail?’

  ‘Paul Winter, of Hamburg,’ she told him, with even a touch of innocent pride. For it was a pretty good offer, when all was said and done.

  ‘Paul Winter? — of Hamburg?’ He sounded incredulous for a moment. ‘You don’t say!’ Then he gave a bitter little laugh and rather deliberately replaced the receiver.

  At first she thought they had been cut off. She stared at her own receiver for a moment. Then she replaced it and waited.

  But nothing happened. She even thought of phoning him back. But she had no idea where he was. And anyway she had the distinct and dreadful impression that he had no wish to speak to her again — ever.

  The next day, at her lesson, she told Madame Marburger as much of the story as she felt she could. With her, of course, she had to be considerably more frank than with Marc.

  ‘I refused the role,’ she stated almost defiantly. ‘I just couldn’t take it after hearing and seeing what that girl could do with it. It wouldn’t have been fair to anyone. Not to her, or Marc — or even to myself, I suppose.’

  ‘But you were offered the role, Gail?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Partly because there was a lot of pressure from Mr. Bannister, I imagine. But Oscar Warrender wanted Spolianska.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Her teacher glanced at her quickly.

  ‘I had a word with him alone. The chance offered, and I took it. He didn’t want to commit himself at first, of course, but in the end he admitted it. He thought I was right to refuse. And — and he arranged for me to have something else instead.’

  ‘Something else instead?’ Madame Marburger looked astonished. ‘As a bribe, do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, no! As a sort of reward, I suppose.’ She laughed slightly but without much real amusement. Then she explained about the offer from Paul Winter, and immediately her teacher’s whole manner changed.

  ‘Well, Gail, I can’t say anything but that I’m glad,’ Madame Marburger stated emphatically. ‘It will give you just the sort of experience you need at this juncture. Whereas, good as you were in Marc Bannister’s opera, I am bound to admit the other girl was much better. You must forgive my frankness. A good teacher, like a good friend, should sometimes be impersonally candid.’

  ‘I don’t mind a bit,’ Gail assured her. ‘In fact, I’m rather relieved, I suppose, to have you confirm my own view. It makes me feel less as though I may have thrown away the chance of a lifetime.’

  ‘There will be other chances,’ her teacher assured her with a smile. ‘You are too good for there not to be.’ And Gail left the studio feeling cheered.

  She had hardly gone more than twenty steps, however, before someone caught her lightly by the arm, and Oliver’s half amused, half reproachful voice said, ‘You’ve set the cat among the B
annister pigeons, haven’t you?’

  ‘Oh, Oliver —’ she was relieved at the friendly greeting, though alarmed at the thought of what he might have to tell her. ‘Was there an awful to-do after I refused the part?’

  ‘Frightful,’ Oliver assured her cheerfully. ‘Father was in such a rage that he even let slip the fact that he’d spent hours of work coaching you himself. And that didn’t go down well with Marc, I can tell you.’

  ‘I never meant Marc to know that,’ she exclaimed in great dismay.

  ‘Well, he knows now, and your copybook is well and truly blotted. Forget about it, love! There are some things one never can explain away, and this is one of them. Don’t worry about it. Just write it off. There’s nothing else to do. What I really want to know is — what on earth was this glorious alternative which made even the leading role in Marc’s new opera seem small beer?’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate,’ said Gail nervously. ‘It’s not so glorious as all that. It just happens to be the very thing I need at my present stage of development.’ She was grateful to Madame Marburger for having pointed that out to her. ‘Paul Winter, the big Hamburg agent, is arranging a series of appearances for me in North Germany, and —’

  ‘Paul Winter,’ repeated Oliver, and he whistled. But in protest rather than admiration, she thought, and she asked sharply,

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Don’t you really know?’

  Gail shook her head.

  ‘Why, it was Paul Winter who gave such a boost to Lena Dorman’s career just after she’d given Marc the brush-off. It’s not the nicest way of making history repeat itself, is it?’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  OLIVER was quite right, of course. There were some things one could never explain away. And to Gail it seemed that, even if she could bring herself to try to explain to Marc (an inconceivable thought, in any case) there was absolutely nothing she could say which would make him think her conduct anything but deplorable. She had, however unwittingly, hurt and humiliated him beyond bearing. And when she thought of that she could have buried her face in her hands and wept.