by Jenny Kane
Jo held up a placating hand. ‘OK, I get it.’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘I don’t suppose you can think of anyone who could fill in the role of soprano, can you?’
‘Is it essential that we find one? Isn’t it the choir master’s job to find replacements?’
‘David has a list of people dying to join them, but it is unlikely they’d be happy with only a one-off performance. At the eleventh hour like this we need to find someone who can sing the parts, without much rehearsing and wouldn’t be offended if they were told it was their one and only chance to perform – at this stage of things anyway.’
‘We?’ Megan looked at Jo enquiringly, ‘You said “we need”.’
Jo flapped her query away. ‘David Healey is an old friend of mine. I’ll help him look. Although he’s OK with the choir performing one member down, it would sound much better with a trained voice filling the gap. Izzie has worked so hard to make this work. I’d like it to be just right for her. ’
He’d hit Megan’s weak spot, and she was pretty sure Jo knew it. She wanted this all to work for her friend as well. But there was still a roofer to be found, and a glazier to book, and despite Megan’s best efforts with the Yellow Pages, the telephone, and a hunt through the internet to find local tradesmen, no one wanted to take on the work this close to Christmas.
‘Jo, I can’t see how it’s going to happen. I can’t get the other workmen we need to finish the roof, let alone the electrics, and …
‘Oh, that’s no problem. Finding the tradesmen I mean. Leave that to me. As I said, the temporary generator will be here tomorrow, and I think I’ve got us an electrician to at least take stock of the situation. The only snag is that he can only come after work. Jim owes me a favour, so he’ll have to do it in the evening.’
‘Oh, Jo, that’s fantastic. Izzie will be so pleased!’
‘Have you told her that the electricity has gone off then?
‘Well no, I didn’t want to add to worries she can do nothing about, but I’m sure she’ll be chuffed when we tell her afterwards.’
‘I’m not so sure she will.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because the only evening Jim can come is the twentieth, the night before the show, which was the evening scheduled for the dress rehearsal. David can’t change the date and so that means …’
Megan groaned, ‘We need to find a new final rehearsal space.’
‘Exactly.’
Squeezing her eyes tightly Megan didn’t bother suppressing her groan. Every time they worked through one crisis another one arrived to replace it. ‘Where do they normally practise?’
‘At the hall in Chipping Camden, which is where they normally perform as well, but this year it’s being renovated, hence coming here. The choir has been taking it in turns to cram into each other’s living rooms to practise. Not an ideal situation, as I’m sure you can imagine, and no good at all for a dress rehearsal.’
Megan knew the answer to where the choir could rehearse was staring her in the face. She also knew that Izzie would hate it. ‘I guess we could ask Lady Spencer-Harris if we could use Harris Park. She did offer Izzie the use of the orangery for the choir rather than the church. Izzie won’t be keen though.’
‘Izzie isn’t here, and if she wants her show then her pride is going have to be swallowed.’ Jo spoke with a confidence that Megan could only envy. ‘I’ll phone David in a minute. So now all you have to worry about is getting this place ready for the big night.’
‘And magically find a soprano from out of the woodwork!’
As if on cue Mrs V, humming happily, appeared behind them, ‘I had a feeling that a cup of something sustaining might be just the ticket before you head out into the night. It’s already frosty out there.’
‘Oh, Mrs V, you truly are an angel.’ Jo wrapped his large palms around the offered mug. ‘I don’t suppose you know anyone who can sing soprano?’
Mrs V’s face creased into a laugh, ‘Of course I do, dear. You need to ask Lady Spencer-Harris. She’s classically trained. I believe she was a soprano in her finishing school choir.’
‘Perfect!’ The satisfaction on Jo’s face died as he caught Megan’s expression.
‘Are you serious? Izzie will kill you if you ask her mother to do that as well!’
Chapter Six
December 18th
Megan needed time to think practically, and to do that she had to escape the church for a while. With Mrs V coping womanfully with the customers, and Jo happily tapping and shaping his wooden joist, Megan climbed into Nick’s car and headed to the nearest town.
It was no use denying that nerves buzzed around her stomach each time she wondered how Jo had got on the night before. Asking Izzie’s mother for any sort of favour that might help her daughter’s business was fraught with pitfalls. Megan had warned Jo three times to make sure David was careful in the phrasing of his request to use the orangery as a one off rehearsal space, or Lady Spencer-Harris would take it for granted that she was taking over the whole event.
‘Still,’ Megan started talking to herself as she pulled into the shopping centre car park, ‘I’ll have to worry about Jo and his contingency plan to make sure the concert goes ahead later, right now I need to make sure we have enough devices to provide lighting and heat, festive or otherwise, that I can run off the generator Jo has found us, so we can all work, so customers don’t freeze to death, concert or no concert!’
Her resolution didn’t make Megan feel any better about concealing the lack of electricity, and its associated problems to Izzie when she’d visited her last night. She just hoped Izzie would understand they were trying not to worry her about things she could do nothing about.
Megan couldn’t help but wonder if Izzie had noticed the way Jo had looked at her on their first all-too-brief meeting, as she’d hung monkey-like from her ladder. Although Megan had no doubt that Izzie’s parents, well her mother anyway, wouldn’t approve of Jo as a “prospect” for her daughter; Megan was increasingly convinced that they’d make a good pair.
Grabbing a basket as she walked through the door of the nearest discount store, Megan told herself off. She had hated it when people had played matchmaker with her, so she must not do it for her friend. ‘But’, a little voice at the back of her head wouldn’t let go of the idea, ‘you and Nick met at Christmas, and look how happy you are. And Jo did go to all the trouble of reassuring Izzie about the choir still wanting to come, and he visited her in hospital when he didn’t have to …’
Scooping up armfuls of tinsel and fairy lights, Megan scanned the shelves for anything seasonal that might provide light, when her gaze fell on a basket of tea-light candles. She could imagine them sending a comforting flickery glow all around the church. But how to stop them from burning small fingers?
Thinking hard, glad that at least she didn’t have to worry about heating after Mrs V had relieved everyone she knew of their fan and oil-fired heaters, Megan threw several dozen of the mini candles into the top of her already overflowing basket anyway, deciding to tackle the safety part of the problem later.
The relief of waking up without even the faintest hint of a headache, to find the world had finally stopped spinning, made Izzie determined to try walking on her ankle. Feeling more hopeful than she had done in days, she pushed back the duvet, and hooked up her right leg so she could examine her ankle. Surely it wasn’t quite as swollen as it had been?
Swinging her legs to the floor, Izzie ignored the crutches that she really needed to make the short but painful trip to the little ensuite bathroom. Gingerly supporting her weight on the side of her bedside table, Izzie tested her weight on her ankle very slowly.
Cursing, Izzie sat back down on the side of the bed. The swelling may have gone down, and it certainly wasn’t as bruised as it had, but the pain was not much better. She almost wished she’d broken it, at least that way the casualty department would have just been able to plaster her up and send her home. She may not have been able to clim
b ladders, but at least she’d be there.
Even though Jo had reassured her about the choir, as had Megan when she’d come to visit her on the way home last night, Izzie wasn’t convinced everything was going as well as they claimed. She was sure they were both holding out on her so she wouldn’t worry – but as she was worrying anyway, their good intensions weren’t working.
Now Izzie came to think about it, Megan hadn’t directly talked about the centre at all, but only about how wonderful Jo had been, and how gorgeous he was, how many useful people he knew, and how he’d found them a roofer and a glazier. If she hadn’t known that Megan was nuts about Nick, she’d have felt a little jealous.
Jealous? The thought caused a burst of disquiet to run up Izzie’s spine. There was nothing to be jealous of, and yet she couldn’t help resenting her ankle just a little bit more. Not only had it jeopardized her first Christmas at the Cotswold Arts Centre, but had robbed her of the chance to get to know the only man who’d caught her interest in years.
Izzie smiled as she thought about Jo. He’d stopped by to see her twice yesterday, once in the morning, and then again late in the evening, a fact that had earned him a disproving tut from the nurse for disturbing her patient so late.
After yesterday’s early morning reassurance session concerning the choir, in the evening he’d nipped by to bring her up-to-date. Telling her that, as he’d originally suspected from his brief look before she fell on him (a fact that had made Izzie uncharacteristically blush, as an image of his body beneath hers arrived in her head, with every intention of staying there) that only one beam required replacing, and two others had merely been splintered and could be strengthened in situ.
Izzie would’ve liked Jo to stay longer, to learn more about his defection from lawyerdom to carpentry. Izzie had been about to offer him a seat and a coffee when he’d apologised for his visit being a hit and run, as he had to be somewhere. Off out with his girlfriend, she supposed. Izzie had been surprised by how much she hadn’t liked that thought. If she was honest, Izzie knew she was secretly hoping Jo would pop in on his way past the hospital again that morning, although she knew it was foolish. After all, if he was here, he couldn’t be fixing her chancel.
An hour later, having consumed a helping of scrambled egg on toast, Izzie picked up both crutches, and prepared to have a practice walk. Adamant she’d be mobile enough to go back to work first thing tomorrow morning, Izzie was about to test drive her ability to walk more than a few feet with the crutches for the first time when the door to her room opened and her parents came in.
One glance at her mother’s face, flushed with success, and her father’s look of placation, told Izzie that her guard should certainly be up.
‘Good morning, darling Isadora, how are you feeling?’
If Izzie hadn’t been wary before, her mother’s effusive enquiry after her health certainly aroused her suspicions. ‘Very much better, thank you. I was about to give these a proper go. They take a bit of getting used to.’ Izzie signalled to the crutches.
‘Oh there’s no need to hurry to get better, darling, everything’s in hand. The choir are going to have a dream location, and all will be well. We’ve paid for you to have a full week here, so you may as well make the most if of it.’
Izzie’s eyes narrowed as her mother pulled up the guest chair, ‘What have you done?’
‘Now Izzie, it’s for the best really, you aren’t in any position to hold the concert in your old church now there’s no heat or light, so after a chat with David Healey, we’ve …’
The colour drained from Izzie’s face, and she found she was gripping the side of the bed, ‘What do you mean no light or heat?’
‘Don’t over-react, Isadora, we’ve only got your best interests at heart.’
Ignoring her mother, Izzie turned to her father. ‘Please will you tell me what has happened to my art centre.’
Not allowing her husband to get a word in, Lady Spencer-Harris’s voice dripped satisfaction. ‘Didn’t that nice carpenter chap tell you?’ It obviously pleased her that a mere tradesman, albeit a personable one who evidently knew the ‘right’ people, such as the choir master of the Cotswold Choir, had proved as unreliable as his station in life suggested he should be.
‘Mother,’ Izzie bit off the word, not yet wanting to think that Jo had been lying to her about the state of her church, ‘tell me what you’ve done.’
‘We’re saving the day, darling. We’re helping you out by hosting your concert for you. Joseph brought that nice David to the Hall, and he just loved the orangery. Apparently it is the perfect space for his choir. And, to make up for your disappointment, we’ll get a proper craftsman to mend your church after Christmas. It’ll be better than ever!’ Lady Spencer-Harris clapped her hands as if the matter was closed.
‘David Healey has been to Harris Park?’ Izzie felt as though her voice was coming from far away. Why hadn’t Megan told her? Why didn’t Jo? ‘What happened to the electricity?’
‘Oh don’t be dim, darling!’ Izzie’s mother leant forward, evidently still bursting with further news, ‘you blew the electricity when you cut the wire.’
‘I did?’ Izzie’s lips moved, but the words barely left her mouth.
Her mother was still talking, but Izzie only heard snippets of what she was saying. Something about how ungrateful she was for not seeing what a sacrifice it was for her parents to give up the orangery when she’d so rudely turned down their offers of help in the past … All Izzie could think about was why Megan hadn’t told her about the electric going off.
She probably didn’t want to worry me, and had plans to get it turned back on before I returned … plans that obviously haven’t worked. So she should have told me.
It was no good; Izzie couldn’t square Megan with wilfully withholding information…so it had to have been Jo telling her not to say anything. Was that possible? Had he convinced Megan that he could fix it all, and that she shouldn’t worry Izzie? Another thought overtook the ones she was already having …
Izzie interrupted her mother who was still in full flow. ‘Did you say David Healey had been to see the orangery?’
‘I wish you’d listen, Isadora. I told you. Joseph bought him over to see it. After all, now that I’m part of the choir it’s the least I can do, and …’
‘You’re part of the choir?’
‘Oh, do keep up! Yes! That’s why Joseph bought David to see me. I had to do a little audition, but that was a formality really. The choir was without a soprano. You knew that, surely?’
Nodding, Izzie remembered Jo asking her, but she couldn’t believe that Megan would have let him ask her mother. ‘Yes, but I thought Megan would do it.’
‘Megan?’ Lady Spencer-Harris was incredulous, ‘Megan is a nice girl, Isadora, but I hardly think she has received the formal training required for singing in a choir of the calibre of the Cotswold Choir.’
‘She has a beautiful voice. Although I grant you, she doesn’t really like people looking at her so …’
‘Well there you go, then!’ Her mother was triumphant, and pushed her point home, ‘and as David and Joseph were there, I showed them the orangery. They are keen to rehearse there, but I fully expect to be hearing from them soon, and then hosting the whole affair from now on. I mean, you can’t expect such a choir that has sung for Her Majesty to perform in sub-standard premises can you?’
So it was Jo. What must he have said to Megan to make her keep quiet? He must have convinced her it was best for the choir to abandon the craft centre … Izzie let out a long ragged breath, and pulled herself upright. She’d truly thought he understood how important it was for her to fight her own battles, and not let her parents bail her out. It seems she was wrong.
Grimacing as a hit of pain shot through her leg, Izzie clumsily hobbled towards her suitcase, and began to throw her things into it.
‘Thank you both for coming to visit me. Now,’ Izzie gritted her teeth in an attempt to disguise the pulsing a
che in her ankle, ‘if you would be so kind, I need to get back to my craft centre. Right now.’
Chapter Seven
December 18th
‘That girl is impossible.’
‘Yes, dear.’ Lord Spencer-Harris raised his eyebrows knowingly at Megan who, with her entire body draped in the fairy lights prior to decking out the church, had frozen in the face of Izzie’s unexpectedly angry entrance.
Not having missed the eyebrow exchange her husband had had with Megan, Lady Spencer-Harris diverted her steely attention from her daughter, who was marching as fast as her crutches would allow her towards the chancel. ‘What is it, Anthony?’
‘I was just thinking how much like you Isadora is.’
‘Oh, really!’
His lordship looked lovingly at his wife, ‘She is every bit as stubborn, strong-willed, and just as attractive. Now, shall we let the girls get on, I’m sure they’d be much better off without us in the way. You’ll be able to hear about how they’re getting on at the rehearsal. I suggest we get you home so you can rest your voice in preparation.’
Megan looked on with bemused relief as his lordship discreetly wriggled his eyebrows at her, before manoeuvring his protesting wife from the premises.
With the echoing close of the main door, Megan rushed over to where Izzie was shouting at the carpenter to come down off the ladder. Jo, his hands full of tools, was busy passing them to the glazier further up.
Desperate to placate her friend, kicking herself for not obeying her instincts and telling her the whole truth, Megan pleaded, ‘Izzie, please calm down! I’m sorry we had to ask your mother to sing. If we couldn’t help the choir find a replacement for their soprano, then they might have stopped the concert, and we’ve all worked so hard, I …’
‘But Megan!’ Abruptly, seeing the horror cross Megan’s face at the thought that she may have upset her friend, Izzie sank back against a stone pillar to rest her throbbing ankle. ‘You knew how important it was for me to do this without her help. Mother has been longing for me to fail so she can rescue me and show the bachelors of the county set that I need looking after!’
