Secret of the Song

by Cathie Hartigan

  ‘But I wasn’t really thinking of the singing.’

  ‘Oh?’

  She pulled the duvet up under her chin. ‘It’s just that everything’s been weird lately what with you being in hospital and not being friends with Jon. Dad said …’ she hesitated and I felt an odd sensation in my stomach, like something scraping – a match maybe.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘He said I could go and live with him if I wanted.’

  ‘Oh, did he now?’ Throws match in petrol tank.

  Alarmed, she said hastily ‘But I told him I didn’t want to. Besides, even when you were bad, you still let me watch Hollyoaks.’

  ‘Is that supposed to mollify me?’

  She frowned ‘I don’t know what you mean, Mummy. Is that a joke?’

  I hadn’t meant it to be. ‘No, darling, Not really. Everything’s going to be fine, Mollie. Just you wait and see.’

  ‘Will you and Jon get married?’

  ‘Go to sleep.’

  ‘Shouldn’t these have gone back to the library by now?’

  Mum had her arms full of the books I’d borrowed about Gesualdo.

  ‘God, yes,’ I said. ‘I’d forgotten all about them. How stupid. Here, give them to me, I’ll take them tomorrow.’

  When Mum’s mobile rang, I assumed it would be Charles, but the call was short and, from the sound of it, formal.

  ‘Guess what?’ she said, afterwards. Her eyes were shining so I thought the worst.

  ‘Charles is coming and you’ve invited him to stay here? There’s a book missing. Have you seen it?’

  ‘No he’s not and have you looked under the sofa?’

  I got down on my knees and peered into the gloom of under-the-sofa-land but couldn’t see anything.

  ‘Not there. That’s a bugger.’

  ‘No, even better. The tenants have given me notice.’

  It took me a moment to twig what she was talking about.

  ‘I’ll have the flat back next week,’ she said. ‘Then you can have your room back.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good,’ I said. Hallelujah!

  ‘That’s assuming they leave it okay, of course. I might have to stay here until I’ve cleaned it up.’

  ‘Mollie and I will help,’ I said, trying to sound level and not too jubilant.

  ‘Although,’ she said, with a sigh, ‘it won’t be in time for when Charles is coming.’ She perched on the windowsill. ‘You won’t really mind if he stays, will you? I thought perhaps you and Mollie could share the sofa?’

  ‘What? Are you kidding?’ I thought she must be, but astonishingly, she was serious. ‘No. Totally, no,’ I said. ‘Completely out of the question.’

  ‘He’s a very nice man. I’m sure he’d be no bother.’

  ‘You’re mad,’ I said. ‘He won’t want to stay here. With any luck he’ll whisk you off to a posh hotel. Give him the number of the Clarence.’ I shooed her off the sill. ‘You haven’t come across an old blue hardback, have you?’

  ‘I think it might be in Mollie’s room.’ She went and sat down at the other end of the sill. ‘What about Duncan?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Is he going to stay here?’

  ‘Of course not. I don’t know where he’ll be staying.’ I didn’t know. In fact I’d forgotten all about him. The postcard was somewhere in the bottom of my bag. At least I thought it was. ‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘What were you doing looking in my bag?’

  She looked aggrieved. ‘I wasn’t, dear. I knocked it off the table and everything fell out. I couldn’t help catching sight of it. That’s all.’

  ‘Oh, really.’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Does Jon know about Duncan?’

  ‘Yes, of course he does. Err …’ I’d said it much too quickly. He probably didn’t know. A memory flashed up of Jon and I almost bashing our heads together in the hall. The postcard on the floor.

  ‘I think you should tell him, Lisa,’ said Mum. ‘Otherwise he might get the wrong end of the stick.’

  ‘Stick?’ I said. ‘There is no stick. Duncan’s a married man and miles too old for me. It’s Charles that should be worried, not Jon.’

  ‘If you say so, but I still think you should tell him.’

  ‘I will, I will. Honestly, Mum. There’s nothing to worry about on that score. Just you wait and see.’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Napoli 1591

  The only thing that moved in the print shop was the flickering flame in the lantern. A draught from under the door; the wind was still strong. It wasn’t so loud that it drowned the sound of our breathing, though, as we were standing close together. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but Salvo’s eyes glittered in the light.

  Louder than both the wind and our breathing was the pounding of my heart.

  ‘Salvo,’ I whispered. ‘I’m so afraid.’

  I was not in fear of my life, but my love was in the greatest peril. They say that when you’re about to die, all of your life spills before you in a moment. It seemed to me then that I remembered too much at once. A great jumble of memories, recent and from a long time ago, like a patchwork of all the fabrics I had ever worked, put together without a pattern.

  Brightest of the memories was my looking down at Salvo’s face from my seat in the wagon when I left Gesualdo. How he smiled, how his eyes twinkled, how much he cared for me. In my pocket I could feel the familiar sensation of the little wooden carvings. They had been with me ever since he placed them in my hands. Oh, Salvo! How had it come to this?

  ‘I’m afraid too, Silvia,’ he said, and I believed him, for his voice trembled. ‘Shall we leave here now together? That would be my dearest wish.’

  My mother’s face appeared in my mind’s eye. Why did I have a disobedient child, she would say, whenever I went my own way. She’ll come to no good.

  ‘How I wish,’ I said, with an equal quiver of meaning in my voice, ‘that you’d asked me to trust, rather than obey you, Salvo. I would not be your Silvia if I was a meek, compliant girl. Don’t you remember how we played as children? How curious we were?’ I wiped away a tear that fell of its own accord. ‘How disobedient?’

  ‘I do, I do.’ He groaned and stepped away from me to sit on the bench, head in hands. ‘It is your choice, Silvia. It’s all up to you.’

  I could hardly bear to see him so unhappy. I looked into the darkness and then back at the curls on the top of his head. What did it matter that I didn’t see whatever it was? I was never meant to. Why, if it hadn’t been for a candle end, Salvo wouldn’t have blundered about in the dark and knocked over whatever it was. We would still be happy. Did I really want my whole life to be changed because of a candle end?

  ‘Let’s go now, Salvo,’ I said. ‘I don’t need to know, whatever it is.’

  Slowly, he raised his head and because our places had changed about, his face was bright in the lamplight.

  ‘Do you mean that?’ he said, and when I nodded, saw the whole transformation from despair to joy. There was my Salvo again. The boy I remembered and the handsome man. He took hold of my hands and kissed them all over. Then he jumped to his feet, and once again I was enfolded in his velvet cloak.

  ‘I love you very much, Silvia Albana,’ he said. ‘And don’t you forget that while I’m away. I don’t want you taking up with anyone else.’

  I laughed and snuggled against his chest. Such relief I felt!

  ‘Come then,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we go back to my uncle’s house? We’ll tell him that we wish to wed very soon. If we’re lucky, the musicians might still be there and I can teach you the sfessania.’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘Learn from someone as clumsy hoofed as you?’

  His stomach rumbled with laughter. ‘We’ll see about that. Now, before we go.’ He lifted my chin and pressed his lips to mine.

  Eventually, he released me from my warm and comfortable prison.

  ‘We’ll need this now it’s dark,’ he said, picking up the lantern and opening the doo
r. We went out into the street. ‘Here, hold it for me while I lock up.’

  The wind had dropped to a breeze but the air was still cold. I took a deep breath, cleansing myself from the cloy of ink and soot. The lock complained for the lack of oiling and Salvo struggled with the key. I determined that if I could avoid it, I would never set foot in there again.

  ‘Oh, damnation,’ Salvo said, just when he had secured the door. ‘I’ve only left my tinderbox in there. Sorry, Silvia, but I’d better get it. Wait there. I’ll be very quick.’

  He unlocked the door again amidst much cursing and then took the lantern from me. I resolved to stay by the door but a moment later from around the corner came a group of men, five or six of them, carrying torches and loud with jeers and drunken laughter. I did not want to be seen standing alone by a doorway in my best gown so I stepped inside and pulled the door closed behind me.

  When I turned round I saw the tinderbox straight away. Salvo was holding the lantern up high and the metal shone in the light. It was on the trestle table just by where I’d been sitting on the bench. I couldn’t understand why Salvo hadn’t seen it, but then realised that he wasn’t looking in that direction. His gaze was towards where the calamity had been.

  I did not mean to look.

  It wasn’t much of a look even – more like a glance. A glimpse.

  But it was enough for me to see.

  Several printed pages had fallen to the floor as well as a bottle of ink. That had splashed about and the glass fragments too lay scattered, as if a jewel case had been upturned. But the pages were mostly unmarked. The images clear. The skill of the artist obvious. I knew an engraving by Salvo Carlino when I saw one.

  I was not so feeble as to faint at the sight. Why, my lady was very free with her nakedness from the very first time I saw her. Nor was I amazed by the acts of coupling so explicitly demonstrated.

  But Salvo … my Salvo. Where was the tender heart of my Salvo? The man I was to trust and obey. Where had he learned of such things – in such detail – and in such variation? Where, when and with whom? No wonder he looked so accomplished on the dance floor, so lavish in his dress. I thought of Don Carlo. Was Signor Marenzio similarly strange? Were all musicians debauched? Or had Salvo made these engravings for his own pleasure?

  Although the air was cold, it was aflame compared to the inner chill I felt. Had all the workings of my body come to a standstill? Certainly I had no power of speech. My ears worked though. I heard the men outside go by and their voices recede, but my eyes were not my own, for they would not look away from the pages on the floor.

  I must have made some small noise for Salvo turned then, saw me and knew at once what I had seen.

  I did not cry or speak. What Salvo actually said, I do not remember, although he talked all the way back to San Domenico, pleading with me for forgiveness.

  I left him at the door, closing it behind me without looking back. In the chapel the nuns were singing, their high, clear voices stretching into a distant tranquillity far away from all the tumult of the world.

  For the second time I was seeking refuge at the convent. This time I would stay.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The librarian checked in the books and then, to my surprise, winked at me. I took a step back.

  ‘Good luck tonight,’ he said, gesturing towards the wall where all the event posters were displayed. ‘That is you, isn’t it?’

  I nodded. There we were. All in a frozen moment of terror. Except Mollie of course. Sold Out was scrawled in big black letters diagonally across the poster.

  A large outside broadcast truck took up most of the museum car park, and cabling reminiscent of that in the London Underground snaked across the tarmac. Mollie’s high-stepping, high spirits got spooked and she sidled past as if they were actual snakes. From then on, she remained quiet and glued to my side, in a way she hadn’t done since she first went to school. The reality of an actual concert on the actual telly, singing in front of lots of actual people gave me the collywobbles too, but I wasn’t going to admit that in front of my daughter.

  We had an hour to go. I sent Jon a text.

  I’d arranged to meet the curator at the rear entrance and she was standing at the top of the steps when we arrived. I was her best friend at last, if the smile was anything to go by. I was amazed her face could go that wide.

  ‘Do call me Lorraine,’ she whispered, with a coy look over her shoulder. There was nobody else about and I wondered whether Lorraine was a euphemism I should know about.

  The staff at the museum had greeted my latest request with enthusiasm. In fact, they were cock-a-hoop. Something about reaching a wider demographic, being inclusive and altogether more accessible. In other words, more bums on seats.

  ‘Oh, absolutely,’ I’d agreed. ‘That’s exactly what I had in mind. Better for everyone.’

  The additional subterfuge that was required proved to be no problem at all. It would be such excellent publicity. In what way could they help?

  We were to sing in the new extension at the back. I thought that sounded rather like being asked to use the tradesman’s entrance, but when we saw the transformation that had taken place inside, that idea fizzled into nothing, rather like the amaretti biscuit wrappers.

  Although the front entrance retained its gothic staircase – albeit painted pink – and the statue of a rather stern Prince Albert, the back of the museum was entirely modern. A tall glass door swished slowly and silently open and once inside, we stood in a foreign land. Surely it wasn’t bumbly old provincial Exeter. A London gallery or Paris maybe?

  ‘Is this all right for you?’ Lorraine led us to the corner of the first gallery.

  How could it not be all right? The walls were lined with Renaissance masterpieces. Even Mollie gasped and I’d never reckoned art appreciation amongst her many attributes.

  ‘There’s a socket there,’ Lorraine said, pointing at the far end of the gallery, ‘and you won’t have any late-comers barging in on top of you. You can put your stuff in …’ we went through to the next gallery, ‘here. Is that okay?’

  ‘Lovely, thanks.’

  She left us to it.

  ‘Okay?’ I said to Mollie.

  She nodded but only very slowly. I saw her swallow.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ I said, giving her a hug. ‘You’ll be fine. We all will be.’

  I looked at my watch. There was still another forty-five minutes to go. Too long really. When Noteworthy dressed up in costume, it was better. We could spend the time changing, but since appearing in our tableau outfits wasn’t an option, we’d decided to stick to our safe black all over uniform and off-set it with a hint of pink: jewellery, scarves, shoes, something to jolly it up a bit. Mollie had quite a few pink accessories.

  ‘No Jon then?’ Sophie said, when she arrived with Robert.

  ‘Not yet,’ I said, checking my phone for a reply again. ‘I know he had a work meeting this afternoon but that was ages ago.’

  I’d not heard a thing from Duncan since the postcard. Oh, well. Perhaps Exeter was a step too far.

  At five to seven I looked at my phone. Still nothing. Jon’s phone went straight to voicemail.

  The audience began to arrive. Dribs and drabs – quite a lot of people I knew of course, and I waved and nodded, but kept my distance. There’s probably a doctorate to be had for someone on the behaviour of humans filling a hall full of chairs. What personality type sits where, etc. I didn’t usually spend time checking out the audience before a concert, but I couldn’t take my eye off the door.

  Where was Jon? For a person who was late for almost everything else, I had never known him late for a gig. And by late, I meant less than half an hour before kick-off. I remembered him telling me he was pathologically early for concerts precisely because he tended to be late for everything else.

  The make-up man came and powdered our noses at seven o’clock. I thought the extra eyebrow pencil made us all looked rather surprised, except Robert, who
didn’t need any.

  At ten past seven we were checking our watches every few seconds when we thought the others couldn’t see. Mollie didn’t bother with her watch. She kept her gaze fixed on the door intoning the names of those we knew when they came in.

  Shortly after she announced Mum and Charles, Mum put her head round the corner.

  ‘Good lu—oh,’ she said, frowning. ‘Where’s Jon?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘He’ll be here,’ she said. ‘When has he ever let you down?’

  I didn’t say it, but Robert did. ‘There’s always a first.’

  ‘He’s here. He’s here.’ Mollie clapped her hands together and jumped in the air. A spring lamb suddenly. The rest of us breathed out. Sophie and Robert picked up their folders of music for a last minute check and Mollie actually agreed to let Mum brush her hair. The age of miracles had not passed

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve just had a smackeroo in the car.’

  My hand was on his before I thought about it. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, fine. I was only doing two miles an hour, thank God. Not my fault. Had to fiddle about with names and addresses though. My front wing’s a goner. Here, can you do this for me?’

  He fished his pink bow tie – it was pink even though he insisted it was maroon – out of his pocket. Why he didn’t have the clip-on sort, I don’t know. Sophie was much better at bow ties than me, but I wasn’t going to let her do it. Besides I’d seen her tie Robert’s and paid close attention.

  I slid my hands round Jon’s collar and stood it up straight before laying the bow tie flat against the shirt and folding the collar back down. I felt his breath on my forehead and the rise and fall of his chest as I positioned each end, one slightly further down than the other. I couldn’t resist smoothing the fabric before tying the bow.

  ‘We were beginning to worry,’ I said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, Mollie kept watch.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Yes, I think she was more worried than any of us.’