by Claire McNab
The curtain slowly rose to show a vast columned hall with pyramids and temples in the background. Spontaneous applause broke out at the designer’s achievement and at the hypnotically splendid Egyptian costumes. Carol was fascinated to see Lloyd Clancy stride to center stage. Gone was the cultured rogue with the ready smile and the wry humor she had encountered in the dressing room. He had been transformed into a young soldier, Radames, chosen by the goddess Isis to lead the Egyptian armies to victory against the Ethiopians. He sang with youthful joy the meltingly gorgeous “Celeste Aïda.” Carol found herself holding her breath. “Wow,” said Anne beside her as the last notes died to a rumble of applause.
A subtly glowing strip above the stage contained the subtitles, a continuous translation of the Italian into English as phrases were sung. “Ritorna vincitor!” sang the chorus with thrilling force: “So conquer and return!” the subtitles declared. At first Carol found the continuous translation distracting, but soon she seemed to absorb the words automatically, so that it was almost as if she understood Italian.
Initially Carol thought Alanna Brooks too mature and heavily built for the role of the young Aïda, but the moment she began to sing, her voice, pure and piercingly beautiful, overrode this impression. She was Aïda, daughter of the king of Ethiopia, sold into slavery to the pharaoh’s daughter, Amneris, who loved, as did Aïda, the young soldier, Radames.
After the Grand March an overwhelming mass of choral sound arose as the solo singers strove to be heard above the chanting of the priests, the cries of the captives and the shouts of the crowd. The descent of the curtain and the buzz from the audience as the lights came up for an interval was an unwelcome intrusion into the intoxicating world that the opera had created.
Resenting the return of reality, Carol remained almost silent, as Binns and Anne chatted about the gratifying fact that, for once, Edward Livingston had not tried to modernize or change the opera. As she sipped the champagne Binns had provided with somewhat self-satisfied facility, Carol wondered if the love triangle in Aïda had disturbing parallels with her own life. Unwillingly she thought of Madeline and Sybil as two points of a triangle of which she was the third. But wasn’t she just romanticizing what was merely a disconcerting physical response to Madeline Shipley? Her thoughts moved on to the investigation. Had Collis Raeburn been one point in a romantic triangle? Was the key to his death held by a jealous lover?
As the third act began, Carol was preoccupied with the motives that might lie behind Collis Raeburn’s death. Who, male or female, had loved, and then hated him enough to murder him? A sudden thought intruded: could he have actually killed himself in remorse for unknowingly infecting someone he loved with AIDS?
She was swept back into the music. In the moonlight on the banks of the Nile by the Temple of Isis, Alanna Brooks began to sing an exquisite lament. “Oh native skies… never shall I see thee more,” declared the subtitles. Carol shut her eyes, surrendering to the sensuous beauty of the melody.
Later, following Binns through the warren of corridors with Anne, the magical world created by the performance was dissipated. Robed priests, who a few minutes before had been singing sonorous condemnations as they lowered the slab of stone that would forever entomb Radames and Aïda, were now a motley crowd engaged in mundane conversation as they made their way back to the dressing rooms.
The cream-colored door to Alanna Brooks’s dressing room was open, with noise and people spilling out into the wide corridor. Binns efficiently, and officiously, shepherded everyone out, and then ushered Carol and Anne in.
The earlier meeting had been so brief that Carol had formed only a faint impression of Alanna Brooks, so she was fascinated to meet her now, particularly after seeing the ravishing performance she had given in the opera.
The diva sat at a mirror taking off her makeup. Seen close up, the illusion created on the stage dissolved. Shorter than Carol had remembered, she was big-busted and a little thick around the waistline. Her hair was reddish-brown and her skin pale and lightly freckled. Although laughter lines fanned from the corners of her eyes and her skin had coarsened a little, she had an amused confidence that made her seem much younger. “Inspector Ashton. At last! I’m so sorry to have been so difficult about this interview.”
Carol was struck by the dark, husky timbre of her voice. Obviously Anne was too, as she said to Alanna, “You have a deep voice…”
“And I sing so high.” She smiled warmly. “People often mention that. Speaking voices don’t always indicate a singer’s range. I started as a mezzo-soprano, and then, with training, extended my upper register. It’s not that unusual-Joan Sutherland wasn’t a soprano to begin with, either.”
Carol wanted to get down to business. She glanced at Anne, who took out her notebook. After refusing a drink, Carol made the appropriate compliments about the opera, then said directly, “Can you tell me anything about Mr. Raeburn’s death?”
“Poor Collis. That was a dreadful thing for him to do.”
“Did you have any suspicion he might suicide? Did he say or do anything in the days before it happened?”
Alanna had turned back to the mirror and was creaming her face. “No more than usual. Collis was always moody.” She turned to smile at Carol. “We opera singers are all a little crazy, you understand. We spend our working time plotting, killing, being raped, deserted, murdered and/or suffering the pangs of unrequited love, so is it any wonder we’re unbalanced at times?”
Carol didn’t return her smile. “Are you saying Mr. Raeburn was unbalanced?”
Her smile vanished. “Of course I’m not!” A pause, then, “Well, he must have been… to do that.”
“You’re assuming it was suicide.”
Alanna stared at her. “Wasn’t it?”
Carol said, “We don’t know… yet.”
“Kenneth Raeburn assures me it was an accident. He’s persuaded you of that too, has he?”
The hint of contempt in Alanna’s voice stung, but Carol merely said, “I didn’t realize you and Collis Raeburn’s father were friends.”
“Friends? Hardly, Inspector. He wanted Collis to ditch me for Corinne, and he was furious when Collis wouldn’t.”
“Ms Jawalski gave me the impression that she was sure she was going to replace you.”
Alanna threw back her head and laughed. “Gorgeous voice and a brain like a split pea-that’s our Corinne!”
Her amusement seemed quite genuine. Carol said, “Might it be possible that Mr. Raeburn was telling you one story and Corinne Jawalski another?”
Still smiling, Alanna said, “No. I’d had it out with Collis and he’d agreed to ring Corinne and tell her she had no hope of replacing me.” Carol’s skeptical expression made her add, “I knew Collis very well, Inspector. When he said he would do something, he did.” She smiled wryly. “Of course, the trick was to get him to commit himself. He could be slippery as an eel, but once he’d promised, he’d carry it through.”
“You knew him when you were both starting your careers.”
Carol’s statement brought a sudden stillness. “We knew each other when we were young.” She smiled in self-derision. “He was rather younger than me, actually.”
“You were lovers?”
Alanna Brooks cocked her head. “Just what are you getting at, Inspector? That’s old news. I hate to tell you how many years ago it was.”
“I’ve been told that rather recently you renewed the relationship.”
The diva made a derisive sound. “Sure, for publicity reasons. It always titillates the public to think we might be lovers off-stage as well as on. There was nothing in it at all. We both hammed it up for the media, not that they took that much notice, anyway.”
“So,” said Carol, “if your leading man had been Lloyd Clancy instead of Collis Raeburn, you would have been quite happy to play lovers for publicity with him?”
Alanna took a deep breath. “Not Lloyd Clancy, no.”
“What would be the difference? Publici
ty is publicity.”
“This doesn’t seem at all relevant.”
Carol let the steel show. “I’ll decide that, Ms Brooks. Am I to take it that you don’t like Lloyd Clancy?”
“Like him? I despise him.” She put up a hand. “All right, you’re going to ask me why. It’s a personality clash, nothing more than that.” Carol waited. Alanna went on reluctantly, her pale skin flushed, “I can see I’ll have to be frank, although it’s embarrassing for me. The fact is, I took a romantic interest in Lloyd that he didn’t return. He was quite brutal about it and…” She shrugged. “There you have it.”
Carol asked a few more questions about the relationship which Alanna parried with increasing composure. Carol said, “Have you read The Euthanasia Handbook?”
“No, but I was with Collis when he bought a copy.”
Anne’s head came up. Carol said, “When would that be?”
“About two weeks ago, I think. We were shopping together in the city and we went into several bookshops. I’m not sure which one it was, but Collis bought a copy. He said he was interested because of the court case.”
“Have you read it?”
Alanna looked puzzled. “Me? Of course not. Why would I be interested?” Her expression changed. “It’s strange, but Kenneth Raeburn asked me the same thing.”
“Why was that?”
“He came to see me before the performance tonight.” She moved her shoulders irritably. “Can’t stand the way he whispers, can you?”
Carol smiled faintly at this attempt to find common ground and so forge an ephemeral friendship, a tack familiar from many interviews. “Go on,” she said.
“He told me it was becoming quite clear that Collis had accidentally killed himself, but the fact that there was a copy of the handbook in the room was a problem. Asked me if I’d read it, and when I asked why, he said he thought it might have been mine, and I’d lent it to Collis to read.”
“Do you think he really meant that?”
“No,” said Alanna decisively, “he was telling me indirectly that he wanted me to say it was my book, Collis hadn’t gone out and bought it for himself. You see, Inspector, as soon as he’d made the comment, he began to talk about my career-how it could be helped or hindered.”
Carol was intrigued. “What did you read into that?”
“Why,” said Alanna, “that he was telling me if I cooperated it would be to my advantage, and if I didn’t, I’d be very sorry.”
“Did you take it seriously?”
“Of course,” said Alanna. “Kenneth Raeburn loves to pull strings… it’s Napoleonic, I think. If he’d been born taller, it’d have been easier for everyone.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Saturday morning was deceptively sunny, the brisk wind having enough bite to be unpleasant. Carol had got up early, gone for a run with Olga, her neighbor’s German shepherd, and come back to breakfast and The Euthanasia Handbook. She had just finished it when a car horn indicated Justin had arrived. Carol had always hated the way he’d sit in his car and imperiously summon people with long blasts from the horn. Swearing to herself, she put down the book and strode outside. David and Aunt Sarah had arrived at almost the same time, David leaping out of his father’s Mercedes, Aunt Sarah scrambling from a taxi.
As Carol saw her son, she was filled with an intensity of love that was almost terrifying. Away from him, thinking of him, made her gentle with affection, but when she actually saw David, she was always aware that she had no control over her feelings, and that she could-and would-sacrifice anything for him.
She hugged him and Aunt Sarah, gave the requisite wishes for a good trip to Justin and Eleanor, who were running late and so did not linger, and took her son and aunt inside out of the wind. David immediately went out onto the huge back deck to annoy Sinker and Jeffrey, who had found the only sunny sheltered spots available and were snoozing.
“Where’s Sybil?” asked Aunt Sarah, taking off a red cardigan to reveal a blindingly bright purple top.
Carol felt her throat tighten. She said unemotionally, “She moved back to her house. I would have called you, but I thought it was better to tell you in person.”
Aunt Sarah, short, plump and formidably energetic, snatched up the two fat bags she had insisted on carrying into the house. “Right, Carol. I’ll put these in my room while you make me a cup of tea-you’ve neglected to offer it, I might mention-and you can tell me all about it.”
Carol watched her aunt stride down the hall, her short white hair standing on end from the wind. With her tanned, wrinkled face and its mobile expressions, she was a beloved if sometimes exasperating person who had more affectionate power over Carol than she cared to permit to anyone else.
Carol had just finished pouring the mugs of tea when her aunt reappeared. “Before David comes in from teasing the cats-he shouldn’t be allowed to do that-you’d better tell me all about it.” She glared. “Don’t sigh, Carol. Just talk.”
Feeling uncertain how to broach the subject, Carol said, “Aunt, I’ve never spelled it out, but Sybil and I…”
“Are lovers. Or is it were lovers?”
She winced. “Are, I think. I’m not sure.”
Her aunt stirred sugar into her tea as though punishing the beverage. “Not like you to be unsure. If there’s one thing you are, my dear, it’s definite.”
She realized what an enormous relief it was to share this part of herself with someone she trusted, whose love was secure. “Sybil says we’ve grown apart. That I won’t keep up with her, won’t try. She wants me to change-and I can’t.” She could hear the echo of resentment in her voice.
Aunt Sarah marched over to the sliding door. “David, cats don’t want to play when they’re trying to sleep. That’s teasing. Don’t let me see you do it again.” Back at the kitchen bench, she said, “Is there someone else?”
“No, it’s nothing like that.”
“Your work has a lot to do with it,” said Aunt Sarah shrewdly.
Carol told her about the wedding invitation. “It only precipitated it, of course. Sybil won’t accept that I have to stay in the closet. It isn’t a matter of choice. If I want to do my job well, that’s just one of the ground rules.”
“Where’s Sybil?” asked David, coming into the room with a blast of cold air.
Carol felt herself softening as she looked at him. He had her fair hair and green eyes, but his father’s sturdy build. “She’s staying down at her house at the beach. When I spoke to her this morning she asked you and Aunt Sarah to go down for lunch. I have to go in to work, but I’ll drive you down and pick you up later this afternoon.”
“Can I go swimming?”
“Of course not,” said Aunt Sarah. “It’s far too cold. But we can try fishing, if you like. Have you got a line for me?” As David went off to find the fishing tackle he always left at Carol’s place, she said, “Carol, don’t take this so seriously. I left your uncle at least three times.”
“You’re making that up.”
Aunt Sarah frowned. “Are you calling your closest relative a liar?”
“I wouldn’t dare,” said Carol, grinning.
Sybil looked relaxed in a black track suit that emphasized the red of her hair. She welcomed David and Aunt Sarah with warmth, Carol with more restraint.
“I’ve told Aunt Sarah the situation.”
Sybil said with certainty, “She won’t take sides, Carol.”
Carol was immediately indignant. “I wouldn’t ask her to.”
Driving into the city, she wondered if that was true. What would she feel if her aunt said to her that Sybil was right, and that Carol must change? Thought was unprofitable-she felt baffled and angry. She walked into her office with a feeling of relief that she could slip into the role she played best.
Mark Bourke had just come into her office when the phone rang to announce that Kenneth Raeburn was waiting to see her.
He entered full of soft smiles. “Inspector Ashton, I do appreciate you seeing me.”
Introducing him to Bourke, she was again reminded of an aggressive bantam rooster. Bourke was much taller and more substantial, so Raeburn swelled his chest, stood almost on tiptoes, shook hands emphatically, then stepped away so that the height difference was not so obvious. “You’d like me to sit here, Inspector?”
Carol waited until both men were seated, then said, “I interviewed Alanna Brooks last night.”
“A very fine soprano. Collis thought the world of her.”
“She says she believes you were trying to persuade her to say that the book on euthanasia in the hotel room actually belongs to her. That it wasn’t your son’s at all.”
He was dressed in a dark blue suit and red tie. He picked an imaginary speck from the lapel as he said, “Alanna, of course, is mistaken. I didn’t try to persuade her of anything at all. We did, however, mention the handbook.”
“You saw her just before the performance of Aïda.”
“Yes?” His tone was polite.
“It was opening night, so hardly the time for an informal chat. Why did you want to see her?”
His soft voice became hostile. “I can’t imagine what this has to do with your investigation, but if you must know, I wanted her to tell me how Collis was when she last saw him.”
Carol glanced at Bourke, who said, “It’s almost a week since your son died, yet this is the first time you speak to Alanna Brooks?”
“Well, no. She rang me to offer her condolences earlier, but I felt I needed to see her face-to-face.”
Bourke was unimpressed. “It wasn’t a very convenient time, just before a major performance.”
Raeburn reddened. “My son is dead! Whether it’s convenient or inconvenient is of no interest to me.”
It was Carol’s turn. “Were Collis and Alanna Brooks lovers?”
“Years ago, when they were starting out-yes. But never after that. Besides, Collis was interested in Corinne Jawalski.” Anticipating the next question, he said so softly that Carol had to listen intently, “I don’t know if they were lovers. You’ll have to ask Corinne.”
