“Max, mon cher, the girl has been your secretary, and now she wants to be your singer as well. Perhaps, one day, she will become your spouse, oui?”
The remark infuriated Max, but he did not react to it. Everyone knew responding always added fuel to Monique’s abrasive fire.
“She is the same age as you are, Monique. You and I have discussed this before. The girl has talent. She can sing. And with hard work—she may become as famous as you are.”
“Sacré bleu, Max,” drawled Monique. “It is not good enough to be talented. She has to dazzle her audience. I have trained at the Paris Opera under the tutelage of the finest maestros in Europe. Little Suzanna is reaching too high too soon, Max. She is bound to humiliate herself. She will be devastated, and you will be the laughing stock of London.”
Max sighed and broke his golden rule of ignoring Monique’s spiteful and selfish comments.
“Perhaps you can to teach her how to dazzle them, then?” he said, knowing full well that she would refuse, which would also annoy her. “Perhaps you can mentor her, Monique. You have nothing to fear, after all, you are the star performer—”
“—Oh Max, my darling,” she interrupted swiftly, “that is a nice thought, but I am a performer, not a teacher. Besides, I cannot teach the girl something that comes to me so naturally.”
Enthusiastic applause filled the theatre. Charlie skipped off stage, and the compere announced Monique de la Marre was about to appear.
“Please excuse me, Max. It is time for me to delight the crowd,” the prima donna whispered before gliding onto the stage.
Max stood in the wings and watched the singer perform her much-loved repertoire. It was true that she had gained much popularity in London. The women paid particular attention to her beauty, while none of the men Max knew would have refused an invitation into her bed if they could keep it from their wives.
Thomas also watched Monique. He had worked with her for a long time, and he had never met anyone so beautiful and talented, and yet so nasty. The audience rose to their feet in appreciation of her imminent performance. They had applauded so loudly that Thomas could feel the floor vibrating beneath him. He wondered if they would still celebrate so much if they had been on the receiving end of her cruel streak. He, Max and David made their way behind the stage and off to the other set of wings to check everything was in order for Suzanna’s debut at The Songbird.
Monique sang her last song of her show, a lively piece from a famous opera. It ended in a magnificent crescendo which demonstrated her powerful voice wonderfully. The audience were on their feet before the music died. The chanteuse wallowed in their admiration and congratulated herself on her stellar performance. The newspaper columns are bound to give me a glowing review. Why wouldn’t they? After all—I am, without doubt, the best singer in London.
She made a beeline for Suzanna as she left the stage. David had a sense of foreboding and hurried off to intervene. Thomas and Max looked at the two ladies. It was clear from their body language that the diva was speaking at Suzanna and not to her.
“Max, I do not think that she is encouraging Suzanna.”
“Fear not, David is with her now, Thomas, and she will be fine with him. Suzanna has great courage. Don’t underestimate her.”
Thomas smiled. Max was ever the optimist.
David was disgusted by Monique’s behaviour. As he stood quietly in the shadows, his eyes were riveted on Suzanna. She seemed terrified, wringing her hands over and over while she waited for her turn to perform. He moved over to Suzanna and stood at her side.
Despite the angst contorting her face, to David, Suzanna looked beautiful. The little girl who had followed him everywhere had definitely become an elegant lady, and he could not take his eyes off her.
“Don’t be afraid, Suzanna,” he said gently.
She turned her head and looked into his bright blue eyes.
“I should never have agreed to do this,” she muttered and hid her face in her hands.
“I have an idea,” he said reassuringly. “Don’t sing for the audience—sing for me. Forget about them. Focus on me in your mind’s eye. I will be looking at you, encouraging you from afar. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”
She nodded, doing her utmost to compose herself.
“I have heard you practising with Mr Hoffman, and I believe in you,” he said as he softly lowered her hands then tilted her chin towards him, his blue eyes boring into her soul.
She nodded again, still too anxious to answer him verbally.
“Go on, Suzanna,” he urged, “ I am here, right behind you. I will not leave this spot.”
Suzanna closed her eyes for a few seconds, took a deep breath and then gave him a dazzling smile. She squeezed his hand as she lowered it from her face, and in turn, he pushed her forward.
“Go on, my girl, break their hearts. I believe in you.”
Alas, despite David’s pep talk, Suzanna’s confidence floundered as she stepped out onto the stage to a dismal ripple of weak applause. A couple of people in the audience walked out before she had even sung a note.
Since it would have been more of an embarrassment if she ran away, she stayed rooted to the spot. All she could think of was how unprofessional she must appear to the sophisticated audience, particularly after Monique’s stellar performance earlier. If only Suzanna had known the extent of her talent, she would have spent more time perfecting her skill than paying attention to the nasty French woman.
Staring out into the inky-black auditorium, she heard a few dresses rustling and she could make out the shadows of dark figures leaving. The spotlight swung on her as the audience fell completely silent. Suzanna interpreted all these things as an indication of failure. It was time for her to fight off the terror that all artists face at one time or another, rejection. She remembered David’s words and closed her eyes. She started to conjure up an image of his reassuring face in her mind, and the sound of his calming words in her ear: ‘I believe in you.’
Now in the limelight, Suzanna was emblazoned with a warm golden glow. Her white dress twinkled with shiny sequins and beads and made her look like an angel. Although the dress was spectacular, it did not detract from Suzanna’s natural beauty. It was stylish without being provocative—unlike Monique’s stage outfits with the daring low-cut bodices.
Her long hair hung to her waist and was tucked back with combs that her mother Maria had proudly given her. Her rich and exotic Gypsy features which she had inherited from her father, contrasted with the white dress, ensuring that she was the focus of the performance, and not her clothing.
Suzanna heard the orchestra shuffle in the pit, and she watched Conductor Hoffman raise the baton. The first bars of a haunting melody flooded the theatre. With perfect timing, she began to sing the opening line of the soulful song. Thankfully, those members of the audience who had considered leaving remained seated. Others who were waiting in the foyer for their coaches crept back into the theatre. From the instant that Suzanna opened her mouth to sing, she forgot her fear and became the music and the song. Unlike Monique, there was no provocative parading, no suggestion and no attempt at showmanship, yet, her understated performance had the audience in the palm of her hand.
Suzanna heard no applause for five long seconds after she stopped singing. That’s it. I have failed. Then, in one collective movement, the audience rose to their feet and gave a thunderous ovation. There were shouts of bravo and demands for an encore. The atmosphere was one of celebration and the delight of discovering a new performer to enjoy. Old favourites on stage were always popular, of course, but a breath of fresh air was welcome too.
The novice singer was taken aback by the reception. She didn’t know it at the time, but it was something she would become accustomed to. Overwhelmed by the warm and heartfelt response from the crowd, tears welled up in her eyes, then she ran off the stage in a panic, straight into the comforting arms of David, who was smiling from ear to ear.
“What did I tell you? The
y love you,” David laughed.
“I was so scared,” she gasped, overcome with emotion.
“It’s natural to be scared,” he reassured, “It was your first proper public performance.”
Suzanna looked up at him and smiled. This gentleness was a side of David that he seldom revealed, preferring to be hidden in an office behind a pile of books.
“Go, Suzanna. Go and find your mother and celebrate. I can feel in my bones that you are going to be very famous one day.”
“Thank you,” she replied earnestly. “I would not have had the courage to walk out there if it hadn’t been for you.”
David smiled and squeezed her arm. Suzanna realised that David was his father’s son. He was as kind as Max. Just a little bit better at juggling the theatre’s books, perhaps. Back in the dressing room area, everyone congratulated Suzanna on her inauguration at The Songbird—except Monique. She intercepted the girl on her way to the sewing room.
“Now you are famous, oui? Just like that?” said Monique snapping her fingers in the air. “I do not think so. You have no talent little one,” the diva continued. “They love you because you are so immature and inexperienced. They feel sentimental thinking back to their own children singing at home, clapping at the end of the song, come what may.”
Peter stared at Monique, bitterly disappointed by her response to Suzanna’s first-night success. Now the cheering had subsided, all Suzanna could hear in her mind was the hurtful criticism from the spiteful woman.
“Tomorrow, they will remember the poor child, not the voice, oui?” Monique continued. “Your heart will be broken when they forget you, but do not be dismayed. It happens to so many hopeful artists who fail to reach the heights of fame.”
Suzanna fled to her bed in the attic. Instead of pure joy at her success, she now felt deflated and defeated. The stinging pain from Monique’s comments was all-consuming. She was unable to console herself by imagining that her bed was a golden gondola floating under the Venetian bridges painted on the disused set that surrounded her. In Suzanna’s mind, she was a failure.
She heard a soft knock on the door and, dejectedly stood up to open it. As it creaked open, David came into view, stood in the doorway with a large bunch of flowers.
“I thought you deserved these,” he said, smiling.
“And no, I did not steal them from Monique’s dressing room. I bought them from the costermonger who sits in front of the theatre at night.”
Suzanna laughed and took the bouquet. She counted two dozen enormous yellow roses. It was the first time that she had ever received flowers, and she had no idea how to react.
“Thank you,” she said with a big smile, “I love them.”
And I love you, my dear Suzanna.
“You know I’ll always be in the wings watching over you, I promise. You need never be afraid.”
She nodded, innocent of the knowledge that he was no longer feeling brotherly love but was falling in love with her instead.
“The coach is waiting for us, you’d better hurry up.”
Suzanna looked confused.
“Coach?”
“Yes. Did you think that I was joking when I told Monique that I was taking you to The Ritz?”
“Err, yes. Oh my!” she chirruped with delight at the idea.
“Hurry up, or they won’t feed us,” prompted David with a chuckle.
5
The meal at The Ritz
The Ritz sparkled like a bright gem in the heart of Piccadilly. David’s coach stopped at the front entrance, and he escorted Suzanna through the arched gates and into the luxurious hotel. Suzanna did not know what to concentrate on first. There was so much to see. The premises were full of late-night revellers who had come for dinner or drinks. Almost everybody recognised David as Max Liebowitz’s son, and those who had been at The Songbird for the evening recognised Suzanna as the beautiful young singer who had stolen the show. Their eyes followed the couple as David led his guest to their seats at a quiet table for two.
Sitting at a crowded table nearby were Mademoiselle Monique and Lord Ashwood, surrounded by her fawning admirers. Earlier, The Ritz juddered to a discreet halt when Monique arrived. People loitering in the foyer flooded into the dining room to say that they had eaten in the same hall as the famous singer. Peter often wondered why she had never risen further and gone onto a more luxurious and lucrative life in Germany or Austria. Still, he consoled himself with the idea that he would never have met her if she had not focused her sights on London.
As David steered Suzanna to her seat, Monique did not notice the pair until the last minute. Even then, she pretended not to see them. As they passed by Peter Ashwood, he stood up to shake David’s hand and offer Suzanna congratulations on her successful debut. Suzanna smiled, and her face lit up. David watched her with delight. He was so proud of her. After witnessing her the ordeal at the Crown, the success was all the sweeter.
“Suzanna made her stunning debut at The Songbird tonight, and she is the new talk of the town,” toasted Peter Ashwood graciously. “Let us raise a glass to the lovely lady.”
Monique looked at him through narrow eyes, and her face reddened under the powder. Ashwood saw her expression and ignored it. Monique was an ungracious loser at the best of times. The two singers’ styles and acts were very different. In his mind, there was no need for jealousy to boil over. Monique, however, did not share that opinion.
The crowded table got to their feet, chinked their glasses together in celebration, then applauded softly. The men bowed and the women offered congratulations. Fuming and side-lined, Monique was no longer the centre of attention, and she could not bear it.
“Thank you,” answered Suzanna sincerely.
“We were in the audience, Suzanna my dear,” one of Monique’s entourage blurted out, “and I must tell you that we were caught completely off guard. It is the best performance we have seen in a long time. Your angelic voice tugged at our heartstrings when you started your opening song. Then, you had us rolling in the aisles with your version of Marie Lloyd’s ‘What Did She Know About the Railways?’ You have excelled on your first night.”
Monique sneered at the man, wishing she could put her steak knife through his ribs to silence him.
“She was terrified at first,” David explained. “She didn’t believe me when I said that she has talent.”
“I hope that you’re going to perform regularly, Suzanna. Max won’t be able to keep the crowds at bay.”
Monique laughed, desperate to be the centre of attention once more. Getting up, she went to stand next to Suzanna, and wrapper her floaty feather boa around both their necks in an attempt to feign sisterly love.
“I am so happy that my protégé has followed in my footsteps. Together, Suzanna and I will fill The Songbird every night. Then, I might retire to Italy.”
“Italy?” an admirer piped up.
Everyone turned to look at Monique for clarification.
“My dear, you cannot possibly leave us!” whined the voice.
Monique’s smug smile confirmed she felt the centre of attention once again. David, however, was determined not to let her steal Suzanna’s moment of glory.
“Suzanna will be singing regularly now, considering that she is our new ‘songbird’. Since you enjoyed this evening so much, I am sure my father would be delighted to offer you free tickets to her next solo concert.”
“Suzanna is going to have a concert?” Monique sneered at David incredulously.
“Of course, my dear,” he whispered with a Cheshire cat smile.
“How dare you!” Monique hissed under her breath.
“No, Monique! How dare you. Stay away from Suzanna. Don’t poison her with your bad character.”
Peter watched the exchange between David and Monique. He did not know what David Liebowitz was telling her, but by the look on Monique’s face, it wasn’t going down well.
“Would you like to join us, David?” asked Peter, ever the gentleman, trying
to smooth things over between the warring factions.
“We don’t wish to intrude, Peter. But thank you for the invitation.”
Peter watched them walk away. The dark-skinned girl was exquisite. He looked at Monique, covered in powder from forehead to bosom and he compared her to Suzanna, fresh and natural. Peter was beginning to have doubts over his feelings for his beloved famous fiancée. She might be able to charm an audience, but she is becoming far less charming to me.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Suzanna?” David enquired with a hopeful smile.
“Yes, of course! We should come here more often. As long as you are paying!”
David laughed at her.
“It’s a deal. Every time you have a standing ovation, I will bring you here.”
“But we will be here every night? We’ll end up as fat as foie gras geese,” she teased.
“Ah, yes. I didn’t think of that, did I? I will be broke and you will be as round as a Christmas pudding!” David joked before they broke into fits of giggles.
David could not put his finger on it, but something had definitely changed between them. There was a curious tension between them that had never been there before. The two young friends were noticing that romantic love was slowly replacing the familiar, familial tie they used to feel. However, neither wanted to act upon their secret urge for fear of losing their lifelong friendship.
Suzanna was in awe of her surroundings. She had never been to such a sophisticated hotel, and she was overwhelmed by the beauty of it. There were beautifully shaped mirrors on all the walls, and the most delicate regency furniture filled the rooms. The carpet in the dining room was plush, and she could feel her feet sink into the pile. The chairs were upholstered in fine regency striped upholstery that matched the voluminous curtains and swagged pelmets. Large Christmas trees lined the hallways, decorated with rich red and gold glass kugels. Swathes of holly and ivy were tastefully wound around the pillars, studded with the latest fashion—small electrical lights that twinkled brightly. Together, the decorations created a magical atmosphere.
The Christmas Songbird Page 5
