Song Cycle (Warrender Saga Book 8)

by Mary Burchell

  “Well, I suppose I would have done the same thing in your place,” said Mrs. Delawney unexpectedly. “But I still don’t understand why Jonathan reacted the way he did. Possibly he was so curious about the work that he was determined to hear it for himself at all costs. Such a pity that in the end he was prevented from coming last night.”

  “Yes, wasn’t it?” agreed Anna in a small voice.

  “Just one of those things that one can’t argue with, unfortunately. Fancy the old man dying just at that moment. I would have said he was tough enough to last another twenty years.”

  “Was Jon — Was Mr. Keyne so devoted to him, then?” asked Anna, as she had asked Rod.

  “No, I don’t imagine so. Nathaniel Bretherton wasn’t the sort of person to whom one would be personally devoted. It was the question of the money.”

  “The — money?” Anna simply could not keep a note of scorn and distaste from her voice. For to be left in the lurch for family devotion, however misplaced, was bad enough, but to be ditched on a vital occasion for money was simply not to be borne.

  “No need to use that tone, my dear,” said Mrs. Delawney reprovingly. “Money can be very important — as well as unimportant. In this case, the whole financing of Jonathan’s Canadian tour depended on it, you must remember. Which meant that he was committed on behalf of a good many other people too.”

  “You mean that he was just relying on the death of his grandfather at the right moment in order to finance his tour!”

  “No, of course not.” Mrs. Delawney laughed. “I forgot that you don’t know as much about the family as we do. Old Nat Bretherton must be worth — oh, I don’t know — but a very tidy fortune indeed. Like most men who make a great deal of money, he could be very nasty about it—”

  She paused for a moment’s reflection, and Anna wondered if she were mentally including her own husband under this general stricture or allowing him the status of an honourable exception.

  “There were only two members of the family who might inherit,” Mrs. Delawney went on after a moment. “Jonathan and a rather unlikeable cousin called, of all things, Saul. (Why do people christen their defenceless children by these ridiculous biblical names? It starts them off on the wrong foot right away.) Anyway, the old man felt it gave him a sense of power, I suppose, to dangle the prospect of a rich inheritance before first one grandson and then the other. Saul responded with gratifying anxiety, but Jonathan with maddening indifference. Then came this chance for him to do a Canadian opera tour. It’s to be some time in the spring of next year—”

  “I know,” said Anna, biting her lip.

  “Well, what Jonathan needed then, of course, was capital — and at once. So he boldly asked the old man for a pretty large lump sum, on the understanding that Saul should have everything else when it came to inheriting.”

  “Wasn’t that rather short-sighted of him?”

  “In some ways — yes. He stood to lose a great deal. On the other hand, Jonathan isn’t the sort of man to stand about waiting for dead men’s shoes. He saw this as his great artistic chance, from which he could begin to carve out an honourable career for himself. He needed support then. To most artists, money at the right time is usually the first vital step to a great career. Provided there is real talent there too, of course.”

  “So, if we pursue biblical parallels—” Anna smiled slightly — “he sold his birthright for a mess of potage?”

  “Well, it was a pretty handsome mess of potage, I don’t doubt,” Mrs. Delawney laughed. “You don’t finance an opera tour on less than a lot of money. Anyway, the old man agreed, rather pleased, I’m afraid, to have discovered something so important to Jonathan that he could put pressure on him. Having changed his will in favour of Saul, he tried to make his more independent grandson sit up and beg for the promised amount.”

  “He must have been an odious old man!” exclaimed Anna. “Even if one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” she added belatedly.

  “Certainly one should speak ill of the dead if they deserve it,” retorted Mrs. Delawney briskly. “Dying is not, in my view, an act which secures one immunity from criticism. After all, it is usually a purely involuntary action, and I’m certain it was in Nat Bretherton’s case.”

  “Anyway, what happened?” asked Anna anxiously. “Having accepted the idea of cutting Jonathan out of his will, the old man began to dither about handing over the sum he had promised. I suppose he enjoyed putting Jonathan through the hoops. But, anxious though he must have been, I don’t think Jonathan gave much satisfaction. He’s a proud man, and was determined not to show anxiety just to give pleasure to a mean old scoundrel. But he must have been through a pretty rough time lately. And then the old man died — and no one knows if he had completed the transfer of the money to Jonathan or not.”

  “Then you mean—” Anna was wide-eyed with horror — “that all Jonathan’s hopes and plans for the Canadian tour may be smashed, after all?”

  “Of course. Along with the hopes and plans of the friends and colleagues to whom he had made commitments. No wonder the poor fellow went rushing up to London to find out the truth.”

  “Oh, how awful for him! How awful. I just didn’t understand,” exclaimed Anna remorsefully.

  “Well, you couldn’t very well, until someone explained it to you,” replied Mrs. Delawney practically. “It’s a complicated position enough, heaven knows.”

  “But I meant—” But Anna could not say just what she meant, because she could think only of Jonathan saying that he hoped someone had explained the exact circumstances to her — and of her replying with indifferent airiness that they had, and so what?

  After a moment she brought her attention back to Mrs. Delawney and asked almost fearfully,

  “What will he do? If his grandfather hasn’t transferred the money to him in time, I mean. Will he have to cancel the tour?”

  “Of course. Unless —” Mrs. Delawney bit her lip thoughtfully. Then she gave a dry little smile. “Do you really want to know what I think?”

  “If you feel like telling me — yes.”

  “I think he’ll marry Teresa.” She apparently didn’t hear Anna catch her breath, for she went on calmly, “They like each other well enough. She’s her father’s favourite —” suddenly it was curiously obvious that she was not her mother’s — and I imagine any financial problem would be solved quite satisfactorily by my husband.”

  “Then you think —” again there was that touch of unhappy distaste in Anna’s voice — “that Jonathan Keyne is the kind of man to marry for money?”

  “That’s the second time you’ve spoken loftily about money, which is silly of you,” Mrs. Delawney told her realistically. “Money, properly spent, can do a lot of remarkable and admirable things. And plenty of reasonably nice people marry largely for money, even if they don’t always admit it. I did myself, come to that,” she added thoughtfully. “But at least I was frank about it.”

  “O-oh,” said Anna, somewhat nonplussed, and she could not help wondering if the frankness had extended to Mr. Delawney.

  “Now, how did we come to be discussing that?” the older woman laughed suddenly. “I suppose mostly because you’re a very good listener and a really nice girl. But understand, of course, that nothing which has been said should be repeated outside this room.”

  “That goes without saying!”

  “And don’t worry about Teresa’s reactions to what Marcus Bannister let slip at lunchtime. I shall tell her that I had a talk with you and am convinced you had nothing to do with the giving of information to the Daily Echo.”

  “But, Mrs. Delawney, do you suppose she will be satisfied with that?”

  “No, of course not. But when she questions you, you simply say you’ve been catechised enough already and you resent any further questions. Say it with that cool, off-putting little air of yours, and it will be difficult for her to take things further.”

  “Have I got a cool, off-putting air?” asked Anna, surprised.


  “Certainly you have. I imagine that’s what keeps Rod guessing.” And with this last enigmatical remark Mrs. Delawney went out of the room.

  Rod? — Oh, well, she couldn’t bother about Rod at the moment. What mattered was that she had deeply misjudged Jonathan and added to his anxiety and unhappiness just when he needed support. And all about a trifle!

  Incredibly enough, that was how his defection the previous evening seemed to her now. Just a trifle. Unavoidably, he had not been able to hear her sing then. But she could sing for him another time, surely? Specially for him, if that was how he cared to put it. She would have to apologise first, of course. She owed him that.

  For a chill minute or so she wondered if he would be in any mood to listen to an apology. But she must somehow make an occasion. The important thing was that he should not have his hopes and plans shattered — and that he should know it was only a misunderstanding which had made her so coldly unsympathetic.

  If she had known where to telephone him she would have called him then. But somehow Jonathan’s private London number had never appeared on any list Teresa had given her. Teresa knew it, of course. But she could no more ask Teresa for that telephone number than she could ask her the amount of her bank balance.

  Whatever Mrs. Delawney said to her daughter must have satisfied, or at least silenced, her. For she made no further reference to the Daily Echo feature, so far as Anna was concerned. Instead, she just threw herself with increased energy into the Festival arrangements, keenly aware — as they all were by now — that the first night was no more than ten days away.

  The opening event, which was to be on a Saturday night, was the first performance of the Bannister-Mallender review, “Past and Present”. It was to take place in the transformed Tithe Bam and be open to the general public. On Sunday there was to be a concert of chamber music at Coppershaw Grange for an invited audience, the concert itself to take place in the big drawing-room and be followed by a buffet party.

  Anna found, a little to her surprise, that both she and her father were among the invited guests, and again she realised how their status had changed since they had become Festival artists. Even, in view of the excitement over the song cycle, important Festival artists.

  She would have been less than human if she had not greatly enjoyed this transformation, and her pleasure was heightened by the delight of her mother, when she visited her at the convalescent home and described in full the triumph of the Fulroyd family, “Anna dear, what this must mean to your father!” exclaimed Mrs. Fulroyd, her face flushed and her eyes shining with family pride and joy.

  “I know. He’s like a different person,” Anna agreed. “And I’m so happy too, of course,” she added.

  “Really happy?” asked her mother unexpectedly.

  “Of course! What makes you ask?”

  “There’s a sort of gravity — anxiety — about you. Oh, I know you’ve been anxious about me. But that’s over now and you know it. I wondered —” she paused and then said — “I’m not trying to force any confidences. I just wondered if you’d been — disappointed in someone who mattered rather a lot.”

  “Mother, you’re a witch!” Anna gave a half vexed little laugh. “I was disappointed, temporarily. You see, the most important — and most interesting — man in the Festival was supposed to come specially to hear me, the evening they all came from the Grange to hear the song cycle. He told me he was coming specially and — and asked me to sing for him.”

  “Was he personally important to you, do you mean?”

  “Y-yes,” said Anna, reluctant to make the admission to anyone, yet strangely moved and excited to be putting the fact into words.

  “And what happened?”

  “At the last minute he didn’t come. He sent an excuse which sounded — paltry. And I was so angry that when he telephoned next day I let him know I was angry. Then I found out afterwards that he had every reason to be missing; he had been called to London on a matter that was absolutely vital to him and his career. I can’t help — worrying a little until I can put things right.”

  “But can’t you just telephone him and say there was a misunderstanding and that you want to apologise and put things right?”

  “I haven’t got his phone number,” said Anna slowly.

  “Haven’t got his phone number?” Her mother sounded astonished. “I thought you were implying that you knew him quite well.”

  “Oh, I do — I do. In a way. But there are complications.” She sighed, and then saw she must say more since she had got so far. “Teresa Delawney is keen on him too,” she said, and only when she saw her mother’s eyebrows rise did she realise that she had let slip that revealing word “too”. She coloured and went on quickly, “Perhaps I should say that Teresa is the possessive kind and wouldn’t like it if she thought — if she thought he and I were specially friendly.”

  “And are you specially friendly?”

  “Mother, I don’t know! I mean I don’t know how he feels.”

  “Do you know how you feel?” asked her mother practically. And for a whole minute Anna was silent, looking down at her hands which were clasped in her lap.

  Then she said slowly, “I like him — a lot. It could be more than that. But I dare not let it be in case — in case he chooses Teresa.”

  “You think he’s really fonder of her?”

  “No, I don’t!” cried Anna with sudden angry conviction.

  Her mother looked at her consideringly and said in a matter-of-fact tone, “Then I don’t really see your problem.”

  “No, I realise I’m not making this very clear.” Anna ruffled up her hair distractedly. “Mother, he’s a professional musician. Quite a brilliant conductor in his own right, but even more a director and organiser of near-genius. The kind of man who, given his chance, might become one of the great operatic directors, and there are few enough of them, heaven knows.”

  “I take it this is the man who wants you to go on an opera tour next year?”

  “Go on — ? Oh, yes. Yes, of course,” agreed Anna, suddenly remembering the mixture of fact and fiction with which she had reassured her mother about her leaving her London studies for so long. “It would be a Canadian tour in exceptionally good circumstances. The kind of thing which would mean a tremendous step forward in his career. The financing of it was all apparently secure. But now something disastrous has happened. It’s possible that the finance won’t be forthcoming after all. If he doesn’t want a fearful setback, he must find backing elsewhere.”

  She paused so long that her mother said, “I’m following you.”

  “If he married Teresa — and that’s what she wants — the Delawney fortune would be more or less behind him.”

  “And you think that would be too strong a temptation for him to resist?”

  “I don’t know, Mother — I don’t know.” Anna spread out her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “If things aren’t as bad as he — as all of us fear, then he would be independent of anything the Delawneys could or would do for him. But if not — well, there aren’t many fortunes like the Delawneys’, and he might feel it was — unrealistic to ignore that fact.”

  “Yours isn’t a very well-based romance, then, is it?” Her mother, with her natural inclination to face facts, spoke frankly.

  “No,” said Anna, though she winced a little. “That’s why I tell myself that — that there’s probably nothing in it for me.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, my dear. But I think you’re being wise.”

  “I think so too,” replied Anna, under the momentary impression that she was somehow coming to a vital conclusion during this talk with her mother.

  But during her long bus journey home she knew she was not being wise at all. She stared out of the window and thought of Jonathan kissing her, and how the world had changed because of it, and later she had sung as she had never sung before. It had been her innocent paean of triumph because for that very short time she believed he loved her.


  As the bus stopped right outside the Tithe Bam, and she could see, from the lights and the signs of general activity, that a rehearsal was still in progress, she got off and went in. There were quite a number of people connected with the company standing or sitting about in the improvised auditorium, and she slipped into a seat beside Mrs. Delawney in one of the back rows.

  “Has the rehearsal gone well?” she asked in a discreet undertone.

  “Very well indeed,” replied Mrs. Delawney in the same tone. “Gail Rostall really is a gifted creature, and it’s quite touching to see how willingly she and Marcus help the non-professionals. How did you find your mother?”

  “Making excellent progress. She won’t be strong enough to come to any of the performances, I’m afraid. But she greatly enjoyed hearing about all that has been happening.”

  “Good.” Mrs. Delawney spoke absently and then turned as there was a slight stir near the door and one or two other people came in. Anna turned too and saw, with a slight shock of excitement which set her heart thumping, that Jonathan was among them.

  She heard her companion give an exclamation, and she got up and went to him, while Anna, hardly knowing what she was doing, got up also and followed her, slowly but as though she could not help herself.

  She came up just in time to hear Mrs. Delawney say, “I’m not going to beat about the bush, Jonathan. How have things worked out?”

  “Very well for Saul.” He looked tired and strained, but he managed a wry little smile. “The old man had signed nothing so far as I’m concerned. Saul takes the lot.”