By now, David had enough. He turned around and punched the man in his mouth. The drunk lost his footing and he fell backwards into the crowd. People began to topple over like dominoes. It only took one punch, and the whole group started to brawl. Suzanna stood on the stage, a timid, terrified creature. She saw a man jump onto the small stage and her instincts told her to run—now.
David caught up with her and grabbed her arm.
“No,” she cried out before she recognised him. “David!”
“I need to fetch my bag,” she shouted.
“Leave it. We’ll get crushed by that mob, run!”
David pushed her up the stairs, a little rougher than he would have liked, but now was not the time for polite indecisiveness. She turned back to look to him for reassurance.
“Go! Now!” he bellowed giving her another shove.
Tim, the landlord, was standing at the top of the steps, furious. The racket from the brawl was clearly audible above the noise in the main bar.
“You are going nowhere, Missy,” Tim growled at Suzanna. “Someone’s going to have to pay for the damage to my boozer!”
David sidestepped past Suzanna and grabbed Tim by the throat then stared into his eyes threateningly.
“She is coming with me, and she doesn’t owe you any money. You’re lucky I don’t speak to the plod.”
He pushed Tim aside, grabbed Suzanna’s hand and pulled her out of the dive of a pub. The heavy swing doors flapped closed behind them. Even though it was quiet enough to talk now, neither one of them wanted to. The night was icy, and Suzanna’s skimpy outfit meant she was barely dressed. David made her put on his heavy overcoat as they ran all the way back to the safety of The Songbird. They took one of the old service routes into the building to avoid attracting attention at the stage door. An apoplectic David dragged Suzanna to the attic and shoved her into her tiny room.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he roared at her.
Suzanna was too distraught to explain. She began to cry, and her makeup dribbled embarrassingly down her face.
“They would have killed you or worse.”
The girl was sobbing her heart out as David paced up and down the room in silence for a few minutes.
“Come here,” he said eventually, hoping a show of empathy might calm her down, but he was wrong. “Please, Suzanna, stop crying. What’s done is done. At least you are safe now. And we got back without drawing attention to ourselves. It can be our secret. Just promise me you won’t have another go at entertaining the rabble in a dockers’ pub!”
Reassured that David was at least speaking to her again, she nodded then rubbed her face in an attempt to clean it, but ended up making the smears worse.
“Look at the state of you! Let me fetch a cloth.”
David looked around for a flannel and some water as she stood in his large coat, looking like an orphan.
“Come here. Let’s get you cleaned.”
He took the rough and scratchy cloth and began to wipe her face until he had removed all the thick powder and paste. Then he cupped her face in his hands and laughed. Lightly. he prodded the tip of her nose with his forefinger and winked.
“You’re much nicer without all that stuff on your mug.”
Suzanna laughed weakly. She looked a complete quivering wreck. David put his brotherly arms around her and hugged her tightly.
“We will find a better way to make you famous,” he whispered as he smoothed her matted and tear-soaked hair off her face.
Suzanna nodded, mortified by how her first night as a singer had turned out.
“Thank you,” she said, sniffing loudly, as she handed back his coat.
“Now, get out of that horrid costume. Get a good night’s sleep and we will laugh about it in the morning.”
“Promise me you’ll keep this matter to yourself, David? I couldn’t bear the shame of it.”
“You have my word. It is our secret.”
“Max kept saying he would book me for a Saturday night, but nothing came of it. You know how he flits from one idea to another all the time.”
David gave an exasperated sigh and a nod.
“All too well.”
“I got impatient and I took the first opportunity that came my way. I’ve been such a fool. Now, I’ve made things worse. If he does offer me a slot on the bill here, I don’t see how I can relax, David. Not after tonight’s ordeal. The pub was supposed to be a way to get some experience and build my confidence. Now, I am terrified at the mere thought of appearing before a live audience again.”
“Let’s talk about it tomorrow when you are feeling better, shall we? Tonight is not a good time.”
“Alright. Thank you for being there for me.”
David kissed Suzanna on the forehead and bade her goodnight. He closed the door softly behind him and tiptoed downstairs. What a night!
*
In the morning, Suzanna’s shame was unabated, and she did her best to avoid David all day. She had never suffered as much embarrassment as she did on stage at The Crown and Cushion. She felt violated by the incident and ashamed that the man she looked upon as a brother had seen her half-naked trying to titillate a room full of vile men.
By lunchtime, David knew he would have to break the ice with her. He ordered lunch for them from the kitchen and rescued her from Max’s office and his never-ending list of errands.
“Come and eat with me. Cook’s put our lunch in my office already.”
Susanna froze.
“Hurry up, or it will get cold.”
David tucked into his roast chicken and potatoes while Suzanna pushed her food around the plate.
“Do you want to be a singer?” he asked bluntly.
“Yes, and I wanted to do it without riding on Max’s coattails.”
“I admire that,” David announced.
“You do?”
“Of course, it shows your character.”
“Really?”
“Of course. You were brave enough to take a chance. It’s just a pity you chose to start in a place where nobody could appreciate your singing voice.”
“Do you think so?”
“I’m convinced of it. Tim knew those men wanted more than a song from you. You placed your trust in the wrong man. You know you can trust my father. He has a heart of gold. I’ll speak to him. The best thing you can do is get on the stage here on Saturday night and sing your heart out. Show people your talent and what you’re made of. If you don’t do it now, you never will.”
“What if someone recognises me from the Crown?”
“Trust me, Suzanna, I hardly recognised you in your Milly Martin stage outfit and we’ve known each other for years. I only knew it was you when you began to sing. Get out there and do it or you will always be sorry.”
“I’ll think about it. Please excuse me, but I don’t have much of an appetite today.”
She pushed the plate away from her then got up to leave. David watched her hips gently sway as she glided out of his office. She was stunning. After seeing a lot more of her flesh as Milly Martin, he realised she was a woman now—not the little girl who used to shadow him all over the theatre.
4
The French diva
Mademoiselle Monique de la Marre, The Songbird’s irascible diva, stood in front of the gilt-edged mirror admiring herself. Her blonde hair was perfectly coiffured into the latest sophisticated French style, and her midnight blue sequined dress was simple but tailored enough to display her sensuous curves. Her large blue eyes were the same colour as the dress, and her pale skin was flawless.
She was surrounded by so many women indulging her pre-show demands that the room looked like the boudoir of Marie Antoinette at Versailles.
“This needs to be parfait, oui?” she instructed her hairdresser, jabbing at the offending tress of hair that had tumbled out of place.
“I am not happy with this corset, Maria! How many times must I tell you that I am one size smaller? And the dress does not do
my figure any justice,” the prima donna hissed.
“Dear God!” Maria would explode when she was safely back in the sewing room. “Does she want her bloomin’ bosom popping out during the show? Her thruppennies are barely contained by that bodice as it is. They are like caged animals fighting to escape. Mind you—it would be a good laugh if they did, wouldn’t it? It’d bring her ladyship down a peg or two.”
The seamstresses would burst out laughing as they imagined the furore such a display would cause. Every journalist in the city would be publishing it in the social columns the next morning.
Once Monique was satisfied her entourage had fussed around her sufficiently as she preened herself lovingly in the mirror, the shouting would recommence.
“Out! All of you, out! Allez! Vite!” Monique would yell in her French accent. “I need to be alone.”
Everybody would scatter, relieved that they did not have to tolerate the ill-mannered woman any longer. Left alone, Monique dabbed her face with some powder for the umpteenth time and took a step back to admire herself in the mirror once more. In her mind, at last, she looked perfect. The moment was spoiled as her door creaked open.
Young Lord Peter Ashwood walked up behind her, putting his arms around her waist. He looked over her shoulder and studied her in the mirror, stroking his fiancée’s bare arm tenderly.
“You are the most beautiful woman that I have ever known.”
Perfunctorily, Monique smiled at him. So many men had said that to her that it made no impact anymore.
“I remember the first night that I saw you,” he purred in her ear, doing his best to sound seductive.
“It was at a party, and I thought that you were the most magnificent creature. I sent you one hundred red roses the next morning, but I had no response from you. It all became clear when I visited you, and I realised that you had a room full of flowers from admirers already.”
Monique ignored Lord Ashwood’s loving words. Suddenly, he felt himself almost jumping out of his skin.
“Madeleine!” the diva shrieked at full volume. “Come in here at once! Where are you, you wretched girl?”
The sound of some sprinting footsteps skipped up the stairs, and the door swung wide open to reveal the breathless girl awaiting her latest set of instructions.
“I have to be on the stage in ten minutes. Find my diamond necklace and hurry up, oui? I expect Max has it in the safe,” Monique ordered her maid. “Then go and see Maria and make sure the lining on my fur coat is repaired. Lord Ashwood and I are going to dinner after tonight’s show.”
Monique never—ever—said please or thank you. It was as if the words burnt her mouth.
“Yes, Mademoiselle,” answered the harassed but attentive Madeleine, who quickly found the necklace on the dressing table already in front of her mistress.
Lord Ashwood looked on, stunned at the news that his fiancée would be dining with him, finally. She had rejected all his numerous advances of late, preferring to schmooze into the wee hours with her star-struck admirers.
“At the interval, tell Max there must be more bottles of chilled champagne in my dressing room that I can share with my visitors,” demanded the shrew. “I want crystal glasses. Oh, and tell him to make sure that it is the vintage Dom Perignon, not that awful plonk Max seems to think is acceptable.”
“Yes, Mademoiselle.”
“And get the place tidy. It looks like a pigsty. I cannot entertain in this mess, d’accord?”
The young maid nodded, while the smitten Peter Ashwood stood in the background, watching Monique in adoration, accepting her rudeness as a case of Gallic nerves before her performance. He looked at the room around him. It was more of a salon than a dressing room. It was decorated in the palest pink and lilac, and the French furnishings were delicate. A large velvet chaise was strategically placed in the corner, allowing Monique to drape her curvaceous body over it while she held court. There was already expensive champagne on ice and a tray full of flutes stacked on a gilt table. Every available surface was covered with bouquets of blooms with sycophantic messages from her fans.
Peter Ashwood considered himself a lucky man to have met the young French beauty. Not only was she the most talented singer in London, but she came from a wealthy aristocratic family, with ties to the Austrian monarchy. What more could he wish for? She was not only beautiful, but she was rich as well. For the first time in his dull thirty-one years, thanks to his new sweetheart, the often-overlooked Peter Ashwood was now the talk of London’s social set. He went to great lengths to ensure that the couple attended every public function that they could, a difficult task with someone as headstrong as Monique.
When he escorted the chanteuse to the stage, he heard the compliments and sighs of everybody who observed her. Peter knew that if she were to finally agree to a wedding date, he must become accustomed to all the attention she reciprocated to her admirers. He need not have worried too much, however, Monique believed that anyone Max employed or admitted to his theatre was a peasant and she was just going through the motions.
The French starlet stepped onto the stage, and the red velvet curtains swung open, their gilt-edged fringing lightly brushing the floor. The grand auditorium thundered with applause. The audience had come to The Songbird to listen to her angelic voice. She stood illuminated by the stage lights and started to sing, curiously feeding off the adoration of an English audience that she held way beneath her.
Suzanna stood in the wings, taking in Monique’s flawless performance. She had spent months studying the confident young French woman. Although they were the same age, Suzanna thought Monique seemed so much older and more sophisticated.
As a lowly theatre assistant and a keen amateur singer with no formal training, Suzanna had been terrified to perform in front of Monique. It was only when her singing tutor, Mr Hoffman the theatre’s conductor, threatened to cancel her practise sessions if she continued to shy away from performing that she had a change of heart. Firmly, he advised her that there would be no more training since other—more confident performers—needed his tutelage and she was wasting his time. Never would he have considered mentoring Suzanna if it were not for Monique openly criticising the girl’s ambitions, and that Max seemed to dote on her like a daughter.
The compère took to his feet and began to announce the next act of the night, the comedian Champagne Charlie.
*
David stood in the wings at the other side of the stage, watching Suzanna prepare to perform. They had been friends since she learned to walk. Until now, David had always thought of her as a little sister, but imperceptibly for him, his feelings were slowly changing. For her, he was the big brother that she worshipped since childhood. As a youngster, the lad allowed her to follow him closer than his own shadow, never losing his patience, answering her endless barrage of questions about the theatre.
“You are performing tonight, oui?” Monique whispered to Suzanna as she drifted backstage towards her dressing room.
Suzanna nodded silently, not in the mood for a confrontation with the diva before singing in front of an audience for the first time since her disastrous appearance at the pub. Monique looked the nervous girl up and down, critically appraising her appearance.
“Why did you choose that plain white dress to wear for your debut?” she asked disparagingly.
Suzanna ignored her.
“It is so very—dull!” the egotistical singer prodded again, annoyed that she was getting no response out of the girl.
“I disagree,” said Peter Ashwood, smiling at the dark beauty. “You look lovely, Suzanna.”
For a second, Monique’s temper flared, and she had to fight hard to contain her jealousy.
“Oh, Peter,” she laughed. “You are such a kind man. How lovely it is that you try to make Suzanna feel better about herself.”
Lord Ashwood frowned, not sure if the comment was a compliment meant for him, or a barbed insult directed at Suzanna.
Wondering what Monique wa
s up to, David made his way over. He was perfectly groomed and looked striking in his immaculate black dinner suit.
“Well, David, you look handsome tonight! Are you going out with friends after the show?”
“Thank you, Monique. I am hoping to have dinner with a beautiful singer tonight. I have a table booked at The Ritz.”
Monique giggled.
“Oh, that is so sweet of you. Unfortunately, Lord Ashcroft and I have plans for the evening,” said Monique presumptuously. “Do you mind if David comes with us, Peter?”
David smiled charmingly before putting the poisonous woman in her place.
“Oh, there’s no need. I am sorry for the mix-up, Monique. I was talking about Suzanna.”
Suzanna heard the exchange and smiled. David was his overprotective self as usual. One rare thing Suzanna did agree with was Monique’s assessment that he was looking dashing that night. As she studied David, she realised that she was jealous of the attention Monique was wallowing upon him. Having never felt that way before, it took Susanna by surprise.
Monique glared at David for the snub. He had humiliated her time and time again in the past. Like all attractive men she encountered, she had desired to seduce him from the first moment that they met. Despite unleashing a full charm offensive, David had never given her any attention. His distancing forced her to be satisfied with the likes of the pleasant dullard, Ashwood.
Max Liebowitz had infuriated Monique when he informed her that Suzanna was to feature regularly in the variety show. The French starlet did her best to persuade him he was mistaken.
“You are such a sweet man, Max, but why are you giving the girl false hope?” cooed a patronising Monique. “You have the best show in London, and now you want to spoil it because you feel sentimental towards a young woman, just because she has lived like a stray cat in your attic since she was a child?”
Max frowned at her protestations. In his mind, Suzanna had talent, and he felt no need to explain himself to Monique. The celebrity chanteuse might be a big draw for the audience, but backstage, she was exhausting with her constant petulance.
The Christmas Songbird Page 4
