A Remembered Serenade

by Mary Burchell

  'You couldn't wait to get here and find out whether I'd stolen a march on you or not,' suggested Joanna.

  'Not at all,' he replied stiffly. 'It had nothing to do with you at all. In fact, until I actually saw you there in the drawing-room I hadn't thought again about our conversation.'

  'That wasn't the impression you gave.'

  'Look here, I thought we'd agreed on a sort of peace pact,' he said protestingly.

  'I'm sorry!' she laughed, but with a touch of genuine contrition. 'Go on about Sara. She was annoyed be­cause you wouldn't wait for her and come down this morning.'

  'Whereas I - who really could get away - looked forward to an evening with my uncle and the War-renders. So I went. But I imagine she'll take the morn­ing train down. She has a week-end cottage near here, you know.'

  'Yes, I remember,' said Joanna, not adding - though she thought it - that no doubt this was a very useful way of keeping a hand on him. 'So I suppose,' she added after a moment, that you'll drive her back to town and all will once more be well,'

  'For the time being,' he agreed rather moodily. Then a nearby church clock struck the half-hour and he said, 'That sounds like breakfast time. Shall we go in?'

  They went towards the house together, Joanna reflecting, not without pleasure, on what he had said about a peace pact.

  Well, at least she had had some opportunity to jus­tify herself, and she felt quite amazingly happier be­cause of that. Inevitably, Oscar Warrender's verdict on her voice lingered unhappily in the back of her con­sciousness. But somehow even that seemed less shatter­ing when she reviewed her talk with Elliot Cheam in the garden.

  He was quite right about Sara. Just before lunch she drifted in, looking absolutely lovely and displaying a deceptively soft and friendly mood. She knew the War-renders slightly, it seemed, and they were all agreeable to each other, in the way people are when they have a certain amount of professional interests in common but no special personal rapport.

  She seemed to have some difficulty in recalling who Joanna was, although Joanna did not doubt that she remembered perfectly their first meeting, and also the dress rehearsal which had ended with Elliot taking her out to dinner instead of Sara.

  To Mr. Wilmore Sara was specially affectionate and even respectful, and twice she called him Uncle Justin, which Joanna privately thought excessive, especially when she recalled what Mrs. Trimble had said. Elliot, however, seemed to find nothing remarkable in it, and Joanna reminded herself that it was really not at all her business how any of these people chose to address each other.

  During the afternoon the Warrenders went with their host to see some recent additions to his famous collection. Joanna would really have liked to go too, but no one made the suggestion. And, feeling con­siderably less than a professional after what had hap­pened last night, she hardly liked to make the suggestion herself, lest she should find herself some­thing of an intruder in a conversation between experts. So she stayed in the long drawing-room, occupying herself quite happily with a splendid musical reference book which she had never had a chance to examine before. She was deep in this when she realized from approaching voices that Elliot and Sara were crossing the hall towards the room where she was. Her instinct was to escape and leave them the place to themselves. But she had only just reached one of the french windows which opened on to the terrace when they came in.

  To depart now would look too self-consciously like flight, so she paused by the window, as though looking out at the remarkably beautiful view, determined that in a few minutes she would make good her escape.

  The other two were speaking of their play and Elliot, catching sight of Joanna said, 'Joanna went during the second week and tells me she thought you brilliant, Sara.'

  'Really?' Sara's slight smile was no more than a con­ventional flick of attention in Joanna's direction. 'How did you like the play itself?'

  'Enormously,' Joanna said sincerely. 'I imagine it's in for a long run, isn't it?'

  'We hope so,' observed Elliot. 'I think I hope so,' amended Sara. 'Doesn't one always hope for a long run?' Joanna looked surprised.

  'Oh, in a way - of course,' Sara shrugged. 'It's what one prays for on the first night. But the moment you've settled down to it you realize afresh what a ruthless tie it is. Every single night except Sunday gone for heaven knows how long. It's penal servitude if you're one of the principals. For the producer it's not so bad.' She glanced across at Elliot under her long lashes. 'He can get away, once the whole thing is running smoothly. But for the cast, particularly in the early part of the run, there's no let-up. The public don't take kindly to understudies,'

  'Point taken,' said Elliot, sliding down a little further in his chair and grinning across at Sara in a slightly placatory way.

  'Well—' she laughed charmingly - 'now you know why I felt deserted last night. But you're forgiven. I take it we're driving back to town together tonight - or tomorrow morning.'

  'Cat on the wall,' said Joanna quite distinctly, as she stared out of the window with apparent con­centration.

  'What?' Sara glanced over at her, surprised and not too pleased at this interruption.

  'The cat we saw on the wall this morning, Elliot -remember?' Joanna flashed him a quick smile, :

  'What about it?' he asked defensively. But he got up and came over to where she was standing.

  'It ran across the lawn just a moment ago,' lied Joanna smoothly.

  'Who cares about a stupid cat?' exclaimed Sara in the room behind them. 'I said - I suppose you're driv­ing me back to town, Elliot?'

  There was an infinitesimal pause and then Elliot said deliberately, 'I'm sorry, my dear, I've already promised to drive Joanna home. And as you know, three makes rather a crush in my car.'

  Sara was the last woman in the world to submit to being a crushed third in anyone's car. She gave a slight laugh which, however, to Joanna's ears, carried a faintly startled note.

  'That's all right,' she said coolly. 'I'll take the morn­ing train back. It's quicker anyway, and will give me at least one peaceful, relaxed night in the country. You're going back tonight, I take it?'

  Again that tiny pause. But this time, Joanna re­alized, Elliot was in the dilemma of not knowing what her plans really were. So she answered quite sweetly and firmly for him - 'Yes, we're going back tonight.'

  'After dinner,' Elliot amended.

  ‘I see.' Sara sounded goodhumoured indifference personified. But just for a second she gave Joanna the kind of glance a Borgia might have given when measuring the next victim for a poisoned ring.

  'Too stupid of me to get myself involved in this,' Joanna told herself, as she strolled out on to the terrace and down to the garden^ 'What are they to me, anyway? Except that he's too nice to be a meal for a man-eating tigress. At least, I suppose he is.'

  Later, when she was putting the few last things into her case before going down to dinner, Mrs. Trimble came to ask if she would be catching a train or a bus back to town, as the Sunday timetables might not be familiar to her.

  'Neither, Mrs. Trimble. I'm being really spoiled, in­stead,' Joanna explained. 'Mr. Cheam has very kindly offered to give me a lift back to town.'

  'Has he, now?' Mrs. Trimble looked interested, and even a trifle amused. 'But he hasn't got his bigger car with him, has he?'

  'I don't think he can have,' replied Joanna de­murely. 'He told Miss Fernie it only took two comfort­ably.'

  'Well, well,' said the housekeeper. And it occurred to Joanna that a surprising amount of significance, not to say satisfaction, could be crammed into that simple repetition.

  Sara stayed to dinner, giving very much the im­pression that she was virtually a member of the family and assuming - quite correctly, as a matter of fact -that Mr. Wilmore would drive her over to her own place when his guests had departed. The Warrenders were leaving at the same time as Elliot and Joanna, though they were driving straight to their Thames side home and not actually to London .

  In the flurry of
final good-byes, Joanna was touched and a little surprised to be kissed by Anthea, and not at all surprised to be more or less ignored by Sara. Mr. Wilmore bade her a very kind good-bye, telling her that he looked forward to her making other visits to the Manor, and adding that he intended to come to London to be present when she sang in 'The Love of Three Kings'.

  'Oh—' with a conscious effort, Joanna gathered together something of her one-time enthusiasm about that event - T shall do my very best if I know you're there.'

  'You will do your very best anyway,' said Oscar Warrender sternly behind her. 'No real artist must ever do less than that.'

  'But of course.' She turned eagerly to speak to him. 'And, Mr. Warrender, though you had to tell me some unwelcome truths, I promise you it won't make me work any less hard for the performance.'

  'I'm glad to hear that. I shall be there,' he added, almost as an afterthought.

  ' You will?' She gazed in astonishment at the great conductor. 'But why?'

  'I happen to like the work,' he replied, in a tone which did not encourage further questions.

  'Oh? - oh, yes, I see.'

  She said good-bye then and went across to where Elliot was sitting in the driving seat of his ear. She already had one foot on the step when suddenly a thought struck her, and she ran back impulsively to where the Warrenders were still exchanging a last few words with their host.

  'Sir Oscar,' she said breathlessly, 'if you don't mind my telling you, I'm in the second cast.'

  'I know.' He looked down at her from his con­siderable height. 'That's why I shall be at the second performance.'

  'Oh—' she swallowed a great, excited lump in her throat - 'but you as good as said I wasn't interesting material.'

  'No, I didn't say that at all. I said you had not got a great or memorable voice. I never said you did not interest me. On the contrary, it is just possible that you might interest me profoundly. But to decide that I should have to hear you - and see you - on a stage.'

  'You mean—?'

  'I'm not going to tell you what I mean,' stated War-render unequivocally. 'There may be absolutely nothing in the idea I have. But, unlike our friend Elliot, I am prepared to follow my professional hunches wher­ever they may take me. Even,' he added a little dis­tastefully, 'to a students' performance. Now run along.'

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Obedient to the conductor's injunction, Joanna 'ran along'. Or rather, she walked slowly and not quite steadily across to the car and silently got in beside Elliot.

  'What did Warrender say that gave you such a shock?' he wanted to know, as he started the car.

  'It wasn't a shock,' said Joanna. 'At least, it was a very nice kind of shock. He said he would be coming to the performance. My performance! "The Love of Three Kings". And he said specifically the second per­formance, so that he could hear me,'

  'But I thought you said it. was more or less a students' performance,' Elliot sounded incredulous. 'I never heard of Oscar Warrender going to an end-of-term college show. He can't have been serious.'

  'He was very serious.' Joanna was insistent on that. 'In fact, he said that, unlike you - his words, not mine -he was prepared to follow his professional hunches wherever they might take him. Even to a students' performance. What do you think he meant by that, quite?'

  'I have no idea. But—' Elliot grinned suddenly - 'I begin to think I ought to come to this show too.'

  'No, please don't. You'd make me nervous.'

  'And won't Warrender make you nervous?'

  'Not in the same way.'

  He teased her a good deal about the way in which he made her nervous, but she refused to be drawn, and presently put an end to the subject by saying, 'I haven't thanked you yet for giving me this lift home.'

  'Shouldn't I be doing the thanking?' he countered. 'I thought I was the object of a rescue operation.'

  Joanna laughed and said, 'It was just a spur-of-the-moment idea, really. If you didn't want to be rescued, I suppose you could have left the conversation at no more than a discussion about cats.'

  'I was too much intrigued to do that,' he declared. 'I felt I must at least try out your theory, I'll let you know if it works.'

  She was silent at that. On the one hand, she had no wish to be involved in any difficulty between Elliot and Sara, whom she judged to be dangerous; and, on the other, she found she very much liked the idea that Elliot intended to keep in touch.

  They drove for some time without further con­versation, but the silence was oddly companionable. Then Joanna said, 'You needn't drive me right home, you know. If you drop me at a convenient Tube station, I can quite easily—'

  'I'm driving you right home,' he assured her. 'Where exactly is "home", by the way?'

  She told him, and added, 'I live there with my mother.'

  'Yes, I remember. You told me,' he said, and she felt disproportionately gratified that he had remembered that detail about her. 'You brought her with you to the theatre, didn't you? You should have come backstage with her and introduced us.'

  'It was raining, otherwise I might have. But, if it interests you, she noticed you when you came on the stage with the author at the end.'

  'Did she?' He looked gratified in his turn. 'What did she say?'

  'She asked if you were the bald one—'

  'Oh!'

  '—or the good-looking one.'

  'Come, that's better. And how did you answer that?' he inquired with interest.

  'I said you were the good-looking one, if one would call you that.'

  'That's a nasty crack.'

  'And my mother said that most women would.'

  'I like the sound of your mother,' he declared. 'Will it be too late to come in and meet her when we arrive?'

  'I expect so,' said Joanna in her least encouraging tone.

  But when they arrived at the small, pleasant house where Joanna and her mother lived, fate obligingly played into Elliot's hands. For Mrs. Ransome, looking extraordinarily pretty and appealing in the lamplight, came running out to lean her arms on the gate like someone in a charming, if slightly old-fashioned musi­cal comedy.

  'Hello, darling,' she called eagerly,; 'Did you have a wonderful time?'

  'Wonderful,' Joanna assured her. 'This is Mr. Elliot Cheam, Mother. You remember seeing him on the stage the other night.'

  'I was the good-looking one, Mrs. Ransome, not the bald one,' Elliot amplified, smiling down at her. Whereat she fluttered her long eyelashes at him. And he was so delighted by this demonstration of an almost completely lost art that he exclaimed, 'Do that again!'

  'Do what again?' Mrs. Ransome asked, while Joanne almost gaped to see this immediate rapport established between her charming, silly mother and the not very approachable Elliot.

  'Flutter your eyelashes. The only other woman I know who can do that is my own mother,' Elliot ex­plained. 'And it doesn't come naturally to her as it does to you.'

  'Don't be silly,' said Mrs. Ransome, enchanted. 'Would you like to come in and have some coffee after your long drive?'

  Elliot said he would love to, before Joanna could intervene. So they all went into the house where, in point of fact, Joanna made the coffee while her mother and Elliot Cheam discussed whether the old-fashioned feminine grace of the past were instinctive or carefully cultivated.

  Over the coffee Mrs. Ransome noticed her daughter again and asked about her meeting with the War-renders.

  'Did you sing to him, dear? and what did he have to say?'

  'I did sing to him,' Joanna admitted. 'And,' she added with grim accuracy, 'he said mine was not a great or memorable voice. Perhaps not even an oper­atic voice at all.'

  'Stupid man,' said her mother, dismissing one of the greatest conductors of the day with splendid sub­jectivity. 'No need for you to think any more about him,'

  'Joanna has to think about him,' put in Elliot firmly. 'He is coming to hear her in "The Love of Three Kings".'

  'Why? if he can't appreciate her?' Mrs. Ransome asked.


  'We don't know,' explained Elliot, as though he and Joanna were as one in this. 'We find it most intri­guing.'

  'Probably he really thinks she is good, but is jealous because she is better than his wife,' suggested Mrs. Ransome, reducing both her daughter and Elliot Cheam to momentary silence by this staggering theory.

  'I hardly think it could be that,' murmured Elliot finally. While Joanna said indulgently, 'Don't be rid­iculous, Mother. He said that in some way I interested him. As an artist, of course,' she added hastily, before her mother could put forward any further absurdity. 'But he wouldn't say in what way. He put it that he would have to see me on a stage first, and that's why he's coming to the performance.'

  'A lot of mystery about nothing, it seems to me,' declared her mother cheerfully, 'But I suppose if you are Oscar Warrender you feel you should behave like the Oracle of Wherever-it-was from time to time. Anyway, we shall see for ourselves on the night, shan't we?' She appealed smilingly to Elliot, who said re­gretfully,

  'I shan't, I'm afraid. Joanna says I can't come.'

  'Nonsense! Of course you can come,' replied Mrs. Ransome. 'J invite you - and I shall expect you.'

  'Mrs. Ransome,' said Elliot, getting up, 'if you hadn't already made my evening by fluttering your eyelashes at me, you would have made it now. I must go, but thank you for the coffee, the welcome and the invitation.'

  Then he kissed Mrs. Ransome's hand with great panache, said a more casual good night to Joanna and took his leave.

  'What a nice man!' Joanna's mother said when he had gone. 'I don t know why you started by disliking him and criticizing him.'

  'It's too long a story to recapitulate now.' Joanna smothered a yawn. 'But he did suggest a peace pact earlier today, and I admit I'm glad to be on good terms with him, after all. Do you really like him, Mother?'

  'Yes, very much. Don't you?'

  'I think—' Joanna smiled slowly - 'that perhaps I do. I didn't really mean him to come to the per­formance, and his being there will make me nervous. But somehow I'm glad you asked him.'