Child Of Music

by Mary Burchell

  She took a deep breath and looked Stephen Tarkman full in the face.

  'I don't want to seem difficult about this, and I certainly don't want to make a personal issue of it. But I'd be lacking in professional integrity if I didn't fight for Janet and her chance of full development. She is, quite simply, the most remarkable pupil I've ever had through my hands — and that goes for the amazingly gifted children you have at Tarkmans too. If I agreed to desert her cause I wouldn't be worthy of the trust you have placed in me.'

  He frowned and was silent for almost a whole minute. Then he said moodily, 'I told you once before, you let your sympathies with this rather pathetic little girl run away with your judgment.'

  'No, you didn't say that,' she told him drily. 'Her aunt did — in front of you. What you told me was that I had allowed myself to become too emotionally involved to be a real support to her. You were both wrong, as it happens. I'm attached to Janet, for she's a likeable child. But what interests me — excites me — is the incredible degree of her musical feeling and understanding. To any teacher a child of that calibre is like a diamond. You can't believe you've really found it. Then you're overwhelmed by the responsibility of bringing it to perfection. Don't you see? -I couldn't let her be dismissed, along with other gifted children, as someone who wouldn't make the grade. I'd reproach myself for the rest of my life for failing the person I should have helped.'

  'You're a very persuasive advocate, Felicity.' He smiled.

  'I'm deeply convinced of the justice of my cause.' She also smiled, but her eyes were still anxious.

  'I'll see what can be done about it.' He reached for the bottle of wine and refilled their glasses, as though that settled the matter.

  'Can't you give me something a little more positive than that?' she asked.

  'No, I can't, my dear.' His tone was rather curt now. 'What's the hurry anyway? The child is young.'

  'If I tell you what the hurry is, will you promise not to be annoyed?* she said impulsively.

  'No.' But his smile was decidedly indulgent that time. Then, with a hint of curiosity, he added, 'Tell me, all the same.'

  She was afraid she had overreached herself, but there was no going back now, and in a half-nervous effort to soften what she was going to say, she put her hand on his arm.

  'I'd like Janet to have a quite unprejudiced hearing from you,' she said steadily. 'And I think she might get that more easily now than — than later.'

  'What do you mean by "later"?' He spoke abruptly, but he glanced down in a slightly startled way at the hand on his arm and made no move to withdraw from her touch.

  'I mean—' Felicity swallowed nervously — 'that when you are married to Julia Morton it might be more difficult for you to—'

  'Who says I'm going to be married to Julia Morton?' he interrupted harshly, and he brushed her hand from his arm then with an impatient movement.

  'Why, you did!' For an appalled moment she wondered if she could possibly have been mistaken in what he had said. But he had been quite categorical. It had been the most emphatic — and painful — part of his rebuke. 'It was the — the night we found Janet sleepwalking,' she reminded him, steadying her voice with an effort. 'You reproved me for being prejudiced about Janet and I — I said you were prejudiced about her. About Mrs. Morton. And you told me you had a right to be so, because you were going to marry her. I'm sorry if—'

  'Forget it,' he told her curtly.

  'You mean it's not — true—' By a tremendous effort she kept her tone unemotional, almost incurious, though she felt half suffocated by the wave of pure joy which engulfed her.

  'Let's say I jumped the gun rather.' He gave a grim, unamused little laugh. 'It's a habit of mine — a bad habit. I'm over-sure of myself. Didn't you once tell me that? Or perhaps you only looked it. Anyway, that's how you'd describe me, I don't doubt. Over-sure of myself.'

  She had too! — but to Anthea, not to him. Now, however, joy on her own behalf and sympathy on his were intermingled in the most inexplicable way, so that she longed to say something comforting to him and snatched at the recollection of Anthea's words.

  'People like you don't get where they are by being unasure of themselves,' she told him. 'Anthea once said that about you, and it's perfectly true.'

  He laughed at that, patted her hand sharply but not unkindly and said, 'You're sweet. Let's go, shall we?'

  So they went, even Felicity realizing that this was hardly the moment to prolong any argument about Janet. Besides, if he were indeed not going to marry Julia — oh, wonderful, wonderful thought! — the urgency about settling Janet's affairs no longer existed.

  Beside him once more in the car, she managed to chat casually, so that he might not be put out by the realization that her thoughts and feelings were totally engaged by what he had just told her. But presently they fell quite naturally silent, and she was able to examine that curt admission more thoroughly.

  That he had spoken of marrying Julia as a fact when it was no more than his intention was obvious. But what happened after that? Was it he who had had second thoughts, or, inconceivably, had she refused him?

  He had not spoken like a man who had made the decision. In fact he had said he had been too sure of himself. That meant a rebuff of some sort, surely. Then — she had refused him. Or perhaps tried to make terms which he found unacceptable?

  Yes, that was more likely.

  A refusal would be contrary to everything one knew or guessed about Julia Morton. She meant to marry Stephen. Even Janet's father had said as much. And by her own observation Felicity could not doubt the fact. A flat refusal was out of the question. But - unacceptable terms? That sounded more like Julia.

  For a few minutes Felicity taxed her powers of judgment and invention with the effort of deciding what possible terms Julia could have tried to impose. But the question was an academic one, so she gave it up and luxuriated instead in the single fact that the marriage between Julia and Stephen Tarkman was no longer a certainty. The realization of this brought a fresh wave of such inexplicable happiness that she shivered involuntarily with sheer excitement.

  'Gold?' He glanced at her inquiringly.

  'Oh, no! It's just — I'm excited about tonight, I suppose. It's so long since I heard a full-scale operatic performance and, judging from the reviews, Anthea must be wonderful in this.'

  'Warrender too, I don't doubt. It should be quite an occasion. You're coming to the supper party afterwards, of course.'

  That was a statement rather than a question. But she said diffidently, 'I don't know. I haven't been invited.'

  'I'm inviting you. The supper party is mine, as it happens.'

  'Oh!' She turned to smile at him. 'How absolutely perfect !'

  He laughed, as though her naïve delight gave him real pleasure, and said, 'It will be at the Gloria. You're staying there, aren't you?'

  'Yes. I thought I'd be madly extravagant just for one night. And as the Warrenders are there it seemed the easiest way of seeing something of Anthea. Not beforehand, of course. But perhaps after the performance.'

  'Do you know your way round backstage?'

  'I think so — yes. I went there once or twice in my student days. Though usually we got no further than standing breathlessly round the stage door,' Felicity admitted with a laugh.

  'I'll look out for you in the house, and you can come round with me,' he told her, as they drew up in front of the Gloria Hotel, and Felicity felt that nothing could have more fittingly signalized the beginning of a magical experience than those words.

  Her room — though doubtless one of the most modest that the Gloria provided — was in keeping with the glamorous unreality of the occasion, and she walked round it once or twice, savouring its charm. The unusual colour-scheme, the velvety thickness of the carpet, the discreetly luxurious appearance of her bathroom, and finally the view of the river from her wide window.

  And all the time, at the back of her mind, was the thought that she was to spend most of the even
ing with Stephen Tarkman, and that he was probably not going to marry Julia Morton after all.

  Anthea had promised that her ticket would be waiting for her at the box office, so it did not occur to her to try to make any contact before the performance, for she was well aware that undisturbed rest was essential to an artist at such a time. Felicity was therefore astonished when, on answering the summons of her telephone bell, she heard Anthea say at the other end of the wire, 'You got in all right, then? Did Stephen bring you?'

  'Yes. And thank you for arranging everything so marvellously, Anthea. I thought you weren't supposed to open your mouth before a performance.'

  'I'm not. But I sometimes do. Was it a nice drive up?'

  'It was wonderful!' declared Felicity with such a lilt in her voice that the other girl laughed and asked mischievously.

  'What did you talk about?'

  'Oh, all sorts of things. Janet, for one. She's the little girl I think so highly of, you know. Stephen heard her once, but very much at a disadvantage because her beastly aunt was there. She's the niece of Julia Morton who—'

  'Means to marry Stephen.'

  'You think so?'

  'I'm sure of it.'

  'Suppose I tell you that he tried his luck and was turned down?' said Felicity before she could stop herself.

  'I'd refuse to believe it. Who told you such a thing?'

  'He did — Stephen. He made fairly light of it, but obviously had taken a bit of a knock. He said he had been over-confident. I can't believe she actually refused him, any more than you can. My guess is that she possibly put forward conditions he wasn't prepared to accept.'

  'Such as turning you down for Tarkmans?'

  'Oh, no, my dear! Of course not. I don't imagine that I came into it anywhere?'

  'Why not?'

  'Well, for one thing, I wouldn't rate as specially important to either of them,' Felicity said candidly. 'Certainly not important enough for them to have any sort of dispute about me.'

  'Don't you believe it!' She heard Anthea laugh. 'She very much wanted you out of the way. I know that from the way she spoke to Oscar. If she was silly enough — and nothing is sillier than a jealous woman — she just might have tried to force Stephen's hand.'

  'But he wouldn't have bothered to stand out over me,' Felicity protested. 'He didn't even know me very well at that point.'

  'Oh, he wouldn't fight it on personalities,' Anthea said. 'Simply on the principle that he wouldn't have any woman trying to dictate policy at Tarkmans. And quite right too. I don't say it was that, but it could be.'

  Felicity was silent for half a minute, and then Anthea said, 'Why does she dislike you so much, Felicity?'

  'I've told you, I think her niece is a near-genius. I know she is, and I'm determined to get her into Tarkmans if I can. Julia hates her, and I think hates me even more for pushing her claims. She'd love to set Stephen against both of us and—'

  'You're sure the child is really good?'

  'As sure as I've ever been of anything.'

  'Leave it to me, then. I'll see what can be done. Julia Morton isn't the only interfering woman around Tarkmans when it comes to the crunch. I also can exercise a little pressure.'

  'Anthea ! What do you mean?'

  'Never mind. I can't talk any more now. I think I hear Oscar coming along the corridor and he'll be mad if he finds me yattering on the phone just before a performance. I'll see you later. But just one more thing, Felicity—

  'Yes?'

  'Is all this terribly important to you?'

  'About Janet Morton, you mean?'

  'No, about Stephen Tarkman. Is it important to you that he might not marry Julia Morton after all?'

  In the background Felicity thought she heard the sound of a door opening, and she knew suddenly that she had only a few seconds in which to decide on one of the most vital statements of her life.

  'Yes,' she said steadily. 'Yes, it's terribly important, Anthea.'

  And then the telephone went dead.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  To Felicity a seat in the stalls on what was virtually a gala occasion was still sufficiently a novelty for her to derive a good deal of naïve pleasure from the experience. She arrived at the Opera House early, lingered for a few minutes in the crowded foyer, and then went into the still half-empty house.

  With a pleasant twinge of nostalgia she glanced up at the gallery where she had often sat in her student days. Now it was dignified by the name of 'amphitheatre', but the hum of conversation which drifted down from it held the same note of shared enthusiasm as in her day.

  She felt almost lonely at first in her unfamiliarly exalted position. Then a steady stream of people began to come in from both sides of the auditorium and she watched with interest. But although she noted one or two well-known personalities among them, the one for whom she was looking was not there. So, having failed to discover Stephen Tarkman, she addressed herself to her programme and read the excellent résumé of the story which seemed tragic and complicated enough to satisfy any opera-lover.

  It was faintly disappointing to have the seats on either side of her occupied by strangers. But she had hardly hoped that Stephen's seat would be actually beside her, and he had promised to look for her when the evening was over so that he could take her backstage with him. Until then the performance would be enough to engage every scrap of her interest, she felt sure. And, even as she thought that Oscar Warrender came into the orchestra pit. He threaded his way among music-stands and players to a gathering volume of half affectionate, half respectful applause, took his place at the conductor's desk and raised his baton.

  Even years later Felicity was to look back upon that performance of 'Adriana Lecouvreur' with undiminished wonderment and pleasure. For to see Anthea, whom she dearly liked, flower into superb artistic fulfilment was something which moved and excited her beyond measure.

  She was not uncritical, even where her affections were deeply engaged. Her musical sense was too highly developed and her natural taste too fine for that. But just because her standards were high she was able to savour to the full the achievement of the girl who had once been her fellow student, and her own generosity of spirit enabled her to assess and enjoy someone else's triumph as though it had been her own.

  It is not unusual, Felicity knew, to hear a beautiful voice. But to hear a beautiful voice which has been developed instead of exploited, nurtured instead of forced, is a joy which warms the heart and enriches the spirit. She looked at the strong, intelligent, rather hard face of Oscar Warrender in the light from the orchestra and she thought, 'No wonder she loves him if he really did all that for her.'

  Then she was lost again in the absorbing drama taking place on the stage, for Anthea — a fine actress in her own right — was supported by one of the few great singing actors of the age in the part of the ageing stage director who loves Adriana without hope of return.

  In the first interval Felicity wandered out and up the great main staircase to the crush-bar, and here she almost immediately ran into Stephen Tarkman. He, whom she had always regarded as rather difficult to move, was as enthusiastic as she was, and they were discussing the first act with mutual enjoyment when she saw his gaze shift fractionally from her face, and he looked beyond her as though something or someone had riveted his attention.

  She was not entirely surprised when, a second later, Julia Morton's voice said behind her, 'Hello, Stephen. I thought you might be here tonight. Especially as you didn't manage the first night.'

  'No, I couldn't get to town until today. Miss Grainger and I drove up this afternoon,' explained Stephen, drawing Felicity into the conversation.

  'Miss—? Oh.' Julia registered Felicity's presence with a cool, sweet smile which so entirely dismissed her from the scene that, against all her inclination or intention, Felicity found herself giving a careless little nod and then moving off, as though she had seen someone else she knew.

  As she did so, she heard the other woman say, in a pleasantly
warm and intimate tone, 'What about supper afterwards, Stephen? I've been — missing you.'

  The slight catch in her voice was extremely effective, and Felicity would not have been human if she had not lingered to hear Stephen's reply.

  'I'm giving a party afterwards for the Warrenders,' she heard him say. 'I hope you'll join us.'

  'And I hope she won't!' thought Felicity, angry and disappointed. But she could not imagine Julia passing up a chance like that. She would come all right — and half Felicity's pleasure would be gone.

  She returned to her seat in somewhat sombre spirits. Gone was her chance of being taken round backstage, she felt sure. Having found him, Julia would see to it that he remained her escort for the evening. Indeed, glancing up and to the side, Felicity saw that Stephen and Julia Morton were entering a box on the first tier. She could not decide if he were joining her, or she him. But in either case her own chances of a happy evening in his company had vanished.

  Better concentrate on drawing all the enjoyment she could from the performance, for she could not imagine that she would see much more of Stephen that evening. This she did to such good effect that her eyes were full of tears during the last scene — partly because Anthea was so truly moving and partly, it must be admitted, because of her own disappointment. With Anthea dying on the stage, poisoned by a jealous rival, and Julia Morton sitting triumphantly beside Stephen Tarkman in the box, it really did seem that the unjust were having it altogether too much their own way.

  Fortunately, however, good sense dried her tears before they could actually spill over, and Felicity found herself clapping madly for Anthea and Warrender and the baritone and the tenor — but most of all for Anthea, who restored her morale in the most engaging way by picking her out in the audience and smiling at her from the stage.

  Sufficiently sure of herself now to go backstage on her own, she joined the slowly moving crowd now making their way out. But in the foyer Stephen Tarkman came up to her, took her evening wrap from her arm and put it round her shoulders and said, 'You're going to need that. It's turned chilly, and we have to go outside to reach the stage door.'