‘“Mi chiamano Mimi,”’ she replied. ‘From Puccini’s La Bohème.’ She blushed as the panel smiled at one another. Of course they knew what opera it was from, how stupid she was. She turned and walked over to the piano, her legs trembling with panic, her thoughts flying in all directions. She couldn’t remember the words, had forgotten the phrasing and even the first bars of music. If only Mam had come with her.
Then she caught the smile of the pianist, and saw her encouraging nod. The woman’s hands hovered over the keys and Catriona took a deep breath. The words came back to her and she was soon lost in Mimi’s world of embroidered flowers which transports the consumptive girl out of her narrow room into the fields and meadows outside the Latin Quarter of Paris.
As the last note died the elderly gentleman spoke again. ‘Thank you, my dear. Would you please wait outside?’
Catriona glanced across at Peter. Had she failed? Were they going to turn her down? She looked back at the ten people behind the table. They were deep in hushed conversation and it looked as if they had already forgotten her.
Peter led her from the room and sat her down on a chair in the broad corridor. ‘It won’t be long,’ he said softly. ‘But they have a lot to discuss. This is a vast enterprise and there are very few scholarships for students who cannot afford the fees. They have to be certain they make the right decision, for you weren’t the only one being auditioned today.’
Catriona finally became aware of other young people waiting in that corridor. There were several boys and three other girls – some of them held instruments, others held sheets of music. All of them looked pale and drawn, and as terrified as she was. She caught the eye of the girl opposite – a pretty girl with fair hair and blue eyes, wearing a dress that must have cost a fortune – and smiled. The girl regarded her coldly and after a swift, appraising glance over Catriona’s shabby clothes, looked away. But the boy with the violin next to her grinned, and that made her feel a little better.
‘Are they all wanting a scholarship?’ she whispered to Peter. Some of the others didn’t look as if they were poor, especially the blonde girl.
He shook his head. ‘It’s the beginning of a new year,’ he replied softly. ‘They are choosing this year’s intake from other academies and musical establishments.’
The waiting seemed to go on for ever as one by one the students were called back into the room. She could tell if they had been successful or not by their expressions when they returned to the corridor. The blonde girl strode out, a triumphant gleam in her eye as she picked up her expensive coat and slipped it around her shoulders. With a sneering glance at Catriona, she swung her hips as she walked along the corridor, then broke into a run as she raced down the stairs.
Catriona heard her name and she stood up. ‘Wish me luck,’ she breathed.
‘You don’t need it,’ he said. ‘But you have it anyway.’
She walked into the room and stood before the table. The bespectacled gentleman sifted through the papers in front of him. ‘You are very young,’ he began, and her spirits fell. ‘But there are possibilities here which are rather marvellous. Your voice is untutored, and the tone is unequal. Yet you have made a tremendous impression on the panel. The mood was imaginative and stirred the soul, while the rough beauty of your voice shone out like a beacon.’ He eyed her over his spectacles. ‘You are a true soprano, Catriona. With a most artistic perception of what the music conveys.’
Catriona didn’t dare move, couldn’t have stirred an inch she was so tense.
‘Therefore, Catriona, we are willing to offer you a full scholarship for three years. Term begins in two weeks time.’
Catriona could finally breathe. The air escaped in a long, drawn-out sigh. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
‘We expect great things of you, Catriona. I hope you will not let us down.’
‘Never,’ she breathed. ‘Thank you, thank you.’ She wanted to kiss each and every one of them, but knew that such behaviour would be frowned upon, so she hurried from the room and threw her arms around Peter Keary instead. ‘I’ve got it,’ she said through her tears and laughter.
‘Told you,’ he replied as he hugged her. ‘Come on. We’ve got some shopping to do, and after that I’ll treat you to a slap-up tea.’
*
The tall, cool-eyed blonde girl was called Emily Harris. She was the daughter of a wealthy beef exporter and had the most beautiful contralto voice. Catriona thought she was terribly sophisticated and envied her beautiful clothes, but Emily was a bitch, and she caused Catriona a great deal of hurt in the first few months at the Academy.
Catriona would arrive each day having walked from the boarding-house in the hills. Emily would be dropped off by her mother in a sleek car. At first, Catriona had tried to make friends with her; she was a sociable person and unused to hostility, especially when there appeared to be no reason for it. But her advances of friendship were snubbed, and Catriona had to accept that Emily considered herself, at eighteen, to be far too grand.
Coming out of the music room one morning, she saw Emily and two other girls giggling behind their hands. They had obviously been talking about her for they fell silent and watched her with almost greedy anticipation. ‘G’day,’ she said brightly. ‘How ’ya goin’?’
‘Will you listen to that,’ drawled Emily who’d had the benefits of a private education in England. ‘The standards of this place must have dropped. Fancy letting a gypsy in.’ She turned to the others, and in a stage whisper, said. ‘Her mother works as a waitress. Can you believe it?’
Catriona reddened as the girls giggled. She’d had this kind of treatment from Emily before and she knew her pernicious gossip would one day reach the tutors. Well, she decided, she wouldn’t stand for it any longer. ‘I heard you still have that break between your head and chest registers,’ she said coldly. ‘You want to watch out,’ she warned. ‘End of term exams are next week, and you could find yourself out on your ear.’
‘Common little guttersnipe,’ hissed Emily. ‘What does she know?’
Catriona watched the girls stroll away arm in arm. Her comment had hit its mark, for Emily was aware of the insecurity of her voice between the two octaves of bottom G to top G, and the glint in those blue eyes had revealed she was still struggling to cure it.
Catriona walked slowly down the corridor after them. Emily and her coterie of friends were welcome to each other. There were boys and girls at the Academy who were friendly and kind and although she had a wealth of life experience that the others couldn’t even imagine, she was beginning to make friends and settle in.
The days passed one after the other, every minute filled with music lessons, voice coaching and tutorials. They pored over books illustrated with photographs of the great names of the opera world – Ludwig and Malwina Schnorr von Carolsfeld, Rosa Ponselle, and of course Dame Nellie Melba – and discussed stage-sets and costumes and the different interpretations of the great operas. Catriona, having such a good grounding in stagecraft, dancing and singing, optimised her advantage and threw herself wholeheartedly into the lessons. Even her piano playing had advanced in leaps and bounds.
As the first year drew to a close, she had studied most of the older Italian arias, as well as the songs of Purcell, and Handel and excerpts from the Choral Cantatas. Her tutors were now concentrating on building a repertoire for her, for soon she would take part in the soirées the Academy held once a term.
Catriona enjoyed the camaraderie of the other students and loved joining in when they gathered in the drawing room after lessons. This was their time to relax from the strictures of their education; to play popular songs on their instruments, to sing together, their voices rising in harmony so sweet it sent Catriona home each night to that crowded little room with a sense of fulfilment.
Velda still worked in the hotel, but her demeanour hadn’t changed despite Catriona’s successes. She remained silent and stern, her wiry body constantly on the move, her hands always restless. Yet she de
manded Catriona told her about each day, about what she’d learned, and what she’d achieved. It was as if she’d given up on her own life and was living through her daughter.
The Academy staged many performances for the public. They were show-cases for their best students, and there was great rivalry among them to take part. Catriona was the youngest there, and so had to be content with minor roles and the occasional duet. But as the second year ended and her voice strengthened and matured, she was finally given the chance to perform her first solo in public.
Her aria was from Act I of Purcell’s Dido and Aeneas. The song, a magnificent expression of sorrow, had to be delivered in a dignified and restrained manner as befitted the Queen of Carthage. Yet it had to be worthy of the tragedy it foreshadowed and at no point could it belie the conflict implied in its final words, ‘Peace and I are strangers grown.’
Catriona waited in the wings as her friend Bobby finished his violin solo. The music soared to the rafters of that great stage, swept through the curtains and overhangings and deep into her soul. He was a wonderful musician, and she’d liked him from the moment he’d winked at her after her first audition.
He came off the stage, flushed with pleasure. ‘Good luck,’ he whispered. ‘You look gorgeous, by the way.’
She grinned back at him. The dress was gold and it clung to her like a second skin. The cape of gossamer lace sparkled with thousands of sequins, and the paste jewellery sparked in the overhead lights. Her hair had grown to her waist, and today it had been piled high and fixed with glittering pins. She felt regal and as she was introduced, she took a deep breath and walked confidently onto the stage. This was her moment to shine.
The music began and her voice filled the auditorium with its purity and sadness. She held the audience in thrall as she portrayed the tragic Queen of Carthage, and when the last note drifted away there was a stunned silence.
As she bowed low she was deafened by the storm of applause. People were standing now, calling for more, clapping and cheering. She bowed again, overwhelmed at their response, and unsure what to do next. They had been forcibly reminded that time was of the essence and no performer was to do an encore. But Catriona came from a theatrical family and it was hard to fight the instinct to sing again.
The Principal of the Academy came on stage to join her and present her with a bouquet of flowers. ‘Well done,’ he said beneath the roar of the audience. ‘How does it feel to be a star?’
‘Wonderful,’ she breathed as she looked down into the audience and saw her mother sitting in the front row next to Peter. Velda’s hands were tightly clasped to her narrow chest, her eyes glistening with tears. The pride in her expression said more than all the applause and Catriona could feel her own tears well in her eyes, for without Velda’s determination and steadfast belief in her, she would never have come so far.
*
There had been rumours of war over the months before Catriona turned eighteen. Several short weeks later war was finally declared in Europe. The Academy was buzzing with the news, the radio was on constantly, the talk always about the German advances and the part Australia would be expected to play.
She noticed how the boys listened avidly to the news from Europe, how they talked of going away to fight, to join up and show the world Australia was a proud country full of brave men willing to fight a just cause. Catriona listened and didn’t dare voice her loathing for such talk. Her da had told her about the Great War and the carnage in the fields of France – how could anyone wish to take part in such a terrible thing?
‘They’re so young,’ she said to Peter that evening. She and Velda had joined him for a late supper in a smart restaurant just down from the Sydney Town Hall. ‘Bobby seems determined to throw in his music and join up. Nothing I say will persuade him otherwise.’
‘He’s a young man,’ replied Peter as he put down his knife and fork. ‘If it wasn’t for my weak chest, I’d join up too.’ He saw their surprise. ‘I contracted pleurisy as a child. The slightest chill and my lungs seize up and I’m in bed for days.’
‘Thank goodness,’ breathed Catriona. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose you as well as Bobby.’
He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘It seems this young man occupies your thoughts a great deal. I hope there’s nothing serious between you. You are on the brink of a fine career; you haven’t time for that sort of nonsense.’
Catriona blushed. Bobby had kissed her the night of her triumphant first performance. It had been a soft night, she remembered, as they’d stood outside the Academy theatre and looked up at the stars. His kiss had come as no surprise – he’d been angling for one for ages – but she’d been warmed at how tender he’d been, how hesitant. Yet she’d gently pulled away when his hands threatened to crush her to him – she wasn’t ready for that kind of intimacy again.
‘Catriona would never do anything to damage her career,’ said Velda as she gave up on the food and pushed the plate away. ‘She’s worked too hard and too long for it. We both have.’
To Catriona it sounded like a veiled threat to remember the sacrifices they had both made to get this far. The warmth of the restaurant closed in on her, smothering all joy she’d garnered from a pleasant evening. The memory of her child kept her focussed – for once she was established she could begin her search – and yet she was fully aware it could take years.
*
Catriona graduated from the Academy with the highest honours, and Peter set about arranging a busy concert schedule for her. It would be impossible to launch her international career while the war was on in Europe, but he was determined to do as much as he could within Australia. There were no theatres large enough to stage a full opera, and apart from the Town Hall in Sydney and the Conservatorium, there were only the concert halls and oratories big enough to stage solo performances.
Catriona was deeply saddened by Bobby’s enlistment into the army, and she’d skipped rehearsals that morning to wave goodbye to him on the station platform. Peter found her in tears and he put his arm around her shoulders as they walked back to his car. ‘He’ll come back,’ he said.
‘But he’s my friend,’ she sobbed, dabbing at her face with his handkerchief. ‘I’m going to miss him terribly.’
‘Oh, dear,’ he sighed. ‘So that’s the way of it.’
‘What do you mean?’
He took the handkerchief and gently wiped away the tears that were still streaming down her face. ‘First love is always the hardest,’ he murmured.
She looked at him in amazement. ‘I don’t love him. He’s a friend, a very dear friend. I can’t believe he was stupid enough to fall for all that old propaganda and warmongering.’ She snatched the hankie back and blew her nose.
He didn’t start the car, merely sat back and watched her.
‘What?’ He was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable.
‘I was just wondering how you feel about me,’ he said softly.
Catriona blushed beneath his scrutiny. She adored him. He was her mentor, her Svengali. His dark eyes and gentle Irish brogue reminded her of Da, and despite the fact he was almost twenty years older than her, she couldn’t imagine life without him. ‘I think you know,’ she whispered.
His finger softly traced the curves of her cheekbones and came to rest in the dimple at her chin. ‘I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you in that ridiculous cocktail bar. You were beautiful then, but now you are truly the most glorious of women.’
She felt as if she was drowning in his eyes.
‘Will you marry me, Catriona?’
‘You’ll have to ask Mam,’ she whispered.
He laughed, tilting back his head and filling the car with the sound. ‘Of course,’ he said finally. ‘I forgot how young you still are.’ He grew serious. ‘You have a maturity about you that is way beyond your years and yet at times you are like a child. Are you sure you can marry an old man like me, Kitty? I will be forty soon, and I’m not the fittest of men. You could have your pick of any man in Aus
tralia …’
She silenced his protest by putting her finger to his lips. ‘Then I pick you,’ she murmured.
He crushed her to him and kissed her, and she responded, ready and willing to trust this man with her life, her career and her heart.
*
Velda gave her consent and they were married in the Catholic Church in Macquarie Street. Catriona’s dress was a gossamer confection of lace and silk, and she carried a bouquet of the palest yellow roses. There was no time for a honeymoon, her busy schedule didn’t permit it, and Peter had to travel to Melbourne to be with one of his other clients. Yet Catriona was happier and more content than she had been for years. They had the rest of their lives to be together, and soon, very soon she would begin the search for her baby.
The thought of the child she’d given away was the only shadow on her horizon. She should have told Peter right from the start, in fact, she should have told him the moment he proposed. But it had never seemed to be the right time for such a confession, and she suspected it was her own fear of his reaction that kept her silent. Now, after six months of blissful marriage she made the decision to tell him. It would take courage, but she was confident enough in Peter’s love to believe he would understand.
Their rented apartment was on the ground floor of an elegant Victorian mansion which backed onto Hyde Park, and was a short walk down into Sydney’s main shopping area. The rooms were big, the ceilings high and the sun poured in through the long bay windows. Catriona had enjoyed shopping for furniture and curtains and was blissfully happy. Her career was blossoming, her marriage was a success, and her husband was a kind and patient lover. It was as if he’d understood her fears even though she had never voiced them, and his lovemaking was always gentle.
Catriona hadn’t been this content for years and she rushed back from rehearsals to change her clothes and prepare a special dinner. Peter’s agency had gone from strength to strength, his reputation growing in stature as he represented some of the best theatricals in Australia. Her career was beginning to take off too, and at last she felt confident enough to speak out. The time had come to tell Peter about her baby.
Dreamscapes Page 19
