CHAPTER SEVEN
“Your cousin inherits everything?” Mrs. Delawney looked at Jonathan in consternation. “You mean you get nothing at all under your grandfather’s will?”
“That was the agreed arrangement, you remember.” Jonathan suddenly sounded as weary and dispirited as he looked. “My share was to come to me during the old man’s lifetime. He didn’t live long enough to complete the transaction, that’s all.”
“But surely — won’t Saul feel he has some sort of moral obligation towards you?”
“No. He isn’t very hot on moral obligations. We met and discussed things, of course. But he stands by the actual wording of the recent will, which states that everything of which Nathaniel Bretherton dies possessed goes to his grandson Saul. Let’s not bother to talk about it. I think someone over by the stage is trying to attract your attention.”
“Where?” Mrs. Delawney glanced over her shoulder. “Oh—” she turned and left him. And suddenly Anna knew that this was her moment.
“Jonathan” — she took his hand and was surprised to find it rather cold — “I know what I’m going to say can’t be very important compared with what has happened to you in the last few days. But I just want to tell you how truly sorry I am that I was so horrid to you on the phone. It was a mistake. I thought—”
“Were you horrid to me on the phone?” He smiled faintly, and returned her handclasp with unexpected warmth.
“Of course. You tried to apologise for not turning up to hear the try-out of my father’s song cycle. And I brushed you off and pretended it didn’t matter to me whether you were there or not.”
“And did it matter?”
“Yes. A lot,” she said simply.
“I’m sorry, my dear. I really couldn’t help myself.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter now! Not now that I know you had every reason not to be there. You said on the phone that you hoped someone had explained the circumstances to me and I said they had. But they hadn’t. It wasn’t until later that I heard about the significance of your grandfather’s death. It must have seemed that I was taking offence in the most ridiculous and unsympathetic way, just when you needed the support of — of your friends. I’m so very sorry. Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” For a moment he touched her cheek with the back of his fingers, in that light caress he had used once before. “Come and sit with me, Anna, and let’s hear Gail do the Spanish number. It looks to me as though she’s just about to do it.”
And, taking Anna’s hand in his again, he led the way to a couple of side seats, and there they sat, their hands still lightly intertwined, and listened to the song from “Past and Present” which had contributed so signally to the first night success of that now famous review.
Anna had never actually heard it before, and she listened in delight to the gay, provocative tune which Gail sang first as a girl who was trying unashamedly to attract every man who passed — and succeeding. Then someone who was obviously the only man who mattered to her came strolling past, giving her no more than one glance of contemptuous rejection. The girl on the stage stood staring after him for a moment, and then turned and went slowly in the opposite direction. As she did so, she sang her haunting tune again. But this time it was neither gay nor provocative. It had somehow become a sad little lament for everyone’s lost dreams.
“It gets me every time she does it,” declared Jonathan, his appreciation of Gail Rostall’s art having apparently made him almost forget his own problems.
“I’ve never heard her do it before. She’s wonderful!”
“People remember it long after they’ve forgotten all the things in the show that have made them laugh. It’s a stroke of genius. And, talking of genius, Warrender tells me that I have a real experience in store when I finally hear your father’s song cycle. I told him, by the way, about the Daily Echo incident.”
“Was he annoyed?” asked Anna rather apprehensively.
“No, I think he was a good deal amused. Anyway, he agreed to accept responsibility for having leaked information to the Press, so your criminal tracks have been safely covered.”
“They were very nearly completely uncovered by an innocent remark from Marcus Bannister at lunch some days ago,” Anna told him ruefully. “Not that it matters now, of course. But Mrs. Delawney guessed the truth at that point.”
“She did?” Jonathan sounded amused, and he added with something like a note of affection in his voice, “She’s pretty smart, Mrs. Delawney.”
And then Teresa came across the hall and he unobtrusively released Anna’s hand and stood up.
“I’m sorry, my dear! Mother’s just told me—” Teresa took him by the arm and they moved away, their heads close together in friendly, intimate conversation.
Anna went on sitting where she was for a while, telling herself that she hardly minded his going. She had had her wonderful few minutes, and there was no misunderstanding between them anymore. All the same -
“And how is my favourite festival artist?” enquired Roderick Delawney’s pleasant, gay voice behind her. “I looked for you most of the afternoon but couldn’t find you.”
“I went to visit my mother in the convalescent home.” She turned to smile at him with genuine pleasure. “It’s a long bus journey, you know, and takes quite a while.”
“Why didn’t you ask me to drive you through? I’d be happy to take you any time I’m home.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly let you hang about all the afternoon while I was visiting Mother! I don’t really mind the bus journey. But I am a bit tired now and I think I’d better go home.”
“Well, at least I’ll drive you home,” he insisted.
She thanked him, trying not to commit the unforgivable sin of looking round for one person while she was talking to another. Then she caught sight of Jonathan. But he was still with Teresa, and they were talking to the Bannisters now, so without making a determined interruption she could hardly say good-night to him.
She went out into the night with Rod instead, feeling more than a little frustrated. But, if she could not talk any more to Jonathan, she could at least allow herself the luxury of talking of him. And she said, as they drove away from the Tithe Barn, “Did you hear that Jonathan Keyne is not going to get the money due to him from his grandfather?”
“I never thought he would,” retorted Rod cheerfully. “Nat Bretherton was determined not to let him have it. He was a mean old cuss and always resented Jonathan’s independent air towards him and his fortune. He was determined to have the last word — if only from beyond the grave, as the saying is.”
“I think it was disgusting of him!” Anna’s voice trembled with the intensity of her indignation.
“Well, of course it was. But that’s the sort of thing his type does,” replied Rod philosophically. “Jonathan will find a way out of the mess somehow.”
“But how? He either has the money to back his opera tour or he hasn’t.”
“Money isn’t all that difficult to come by, if you know where to look for it,” declared Rod, with all the easy assurance of someone who has never had to worry about what tomorrow may bring.
“Of course it is! A huge sum like that, I mean. It costs — oh, I don’t know how much — to finance an opera tour. Even a modest one.”
“You don’t get it all from one source, Anna. Unless you’re dealing with someone as disgustingly rich as old Nat Bretherton. Or my father.”
The mention of his father silenced her, and it was a few moments before she could bring herself to ask, with desperate casualness, “Do you think your father would be prepared to help?”
“Only if he had some compelling reason for doing so. He’s let Teresa have a packet for this festival. She — or anyone else — would have to put up a very good case before he would give any more in support of the arts. Which are, incidentally, a closed book to him anyway, so why should he bother?”
“Then, you see, it isn’t so easy to get the mon
ey as you said at first,” she exclaimed almost irritably.
“There are other people besides my father.”
“Who, for instance?” she challenged him.
“Myself, for one,” he replied lightly.
“You, Rod?” She turned and stared at him. “But are you as rich as that?” she asked naively.
“Not all on my own.” He laughed. “But I always know where to put my hand on money in a big way. These things are largely a matter of book-keeping, you know,” he explained carelessly. “Firms and individuals set off one thing against another. And there are those who will do something for the arts, either for kudos or even profit.”
“And you really know that sort of person?” a very faint, excited hope began to stir in her.
“If I looked hard enough, I don’t doubt I could find them.”
“And would you do that for Jonathan, Rod?”
“I might. If there were someone in his company whose future interested me sufficiently, for instance.” He gave her a sidelong glance, but she was too deeply absorbed in her own thoughts to notice.
“You mean — other than Jonathan himself?”
“Oh, yes, other than Jonathan himself. I have quite a high regard for him, but I wouldn’t go to all that trouble and risk just for his blue eyes.”
And suddenly she had not the courage to ask for whose blue eyes he would do it. She just fell into a long and thoughtful silence for the rest of the short journey. And presently, when they arrived, Rod kissed her before she got out of the car, as though that had somehow become the natural way for him to take leave of her.
She tried not to think just what that conversation had implied; At first, the idea that he might possibly know how to come to Jonathan’s rescue had been so exciting that it remained the only consideration in her mind. But there was no mistaking where his line of reasoning led after that.
There had been nothing unpleasant or suggestive about his way of putting it. On the contrary, it had been an almost tactful way of letting her know that here was someone who might interest himself in her career, to the extent of helping to back some enterprise if she were in it.
If he had been an elderly patron of the arts in his own right, the position would have been much less tricky. But he was not. Far from it. He cheerfully declared himself to be something of a philistine, and he was, by any girl’s standards, an attractive young man.
“I can’t think about it just now!” Anna told herself desperately. “It’s too complicated. Besides, Jonathan himself may manage to find supporters. Other than — than Mr. Delawney, I mean. For the time being I must concentrate on my part in the Festival. Otherwise I shan’t do well, and then everyone will be disappointed and Dad’s triumph will be ruined. But how soon must Jonathan make a decision either to cancel or go ahead? How much time is left?”
This sensation of planning against time took on an extra sense of urgency now since the last days of preparation for the Festival were slipping away, and everyone seemed to be concerned with some deadline or other.
Then, all at once, it was the first night, and they were all gathering in the Tithe Barn for the opening performance of “Past and Present”. And from the very beginning the sweet scent of success was in the air.
The local performers were very good indeed. And the one or two imported “stars”, like Gail Rostall, were integrated into the company so skilfully that they gave an air of great distinction without drawing an embarrassingly sharp line between professional and semi-amateur.
The audience loved it all, and at the end there was a genuine ovation. Not only for the players, but for Teresa too. For without her, as everyone well knew, there would not have been a Festival.
She was looking lovely. Anna admitted the fact to herself wholeheartedly, as she studied the deceptively simple black dress which somehow made Teresa look much the most distinguished woman there. She said a few charming words from the stage, paying warm tribute to the help she had received from “my good friend, Jonathan Keyne”. Then he joined her, and they stood there, laughing happily and holding hands while everyone said what a delightful pair they made.
No one mentioned how signally Mr. Delawney’s cold cash had contributed to the success of the venture. But he sat in the front row, his glance resting so indulgently upon his daughter that Anna found herself thinking, “He wouldn’t hesitate to back Jonathan to the hilt if Teresa said that was what she wanted most in the world.”
She tried not to feel mean-spirited or jealous. But her heart ached almost physically, and she found some difficulty in giving the impression that she too was light-heartedly enjoying this great occasion.
That successful first night set the tone for the whole Festival. It was as though they could do no wrong, and public and critics combined to praise almost every event. While the more private occasions, which took place in Coppershaw Grange itself, attained such a height of social and artistic prestige that invitations to them were coveted by all and sundry.
However little she might like Teresa, however bitterly it hurt to see her and Jonathan constantly together, Anna could not in all justice withhold her deepest admiration for her vision and efficiency. And if she could feel like that, how must Jonathan view this clever, attractive girl, who made little secret of her preference for him?
Not until the end of the first week was there the slightest slackening of interest and happy tension. Then, as Teresa had herself predicted, people became almost used to enjoying themselves and began to look for something quite out of the ordinary to quicken their enthusiasm once more. And this was the point at which Teresa began to let everything centre round the attraction of the church concert, with the song cycle as its highlight.
Hints and promises were dropped here and there in the Press and among her own immediate circle. She let it be known that only now had the famous Warrenders come to see what the Festival could offer — sure indication that they were expecting something very special. Local pride and curiosity were stimulated to a quite astonishing degree, and Anna suddenly found herself a figure of interest to an extent she had scarcely anticipated.
She knew, of course, that it was not for any love of herself that Teresa was doing all this. It was merely that she had now become a valuable factor in Teresa’s whole project, and as such she must be “promoted” in the most effective way.
To her surprise, she received letters and telegrams of good wishes from quite a number of people, including some of her fellow students in London who had presumably read the advance publicity about her. But what moved and delighted her most was a box of exquisite roses from Jonathan, enclosing a card on which he had written:
“Forgive me for that other time and sing for me tonight instead. Love — Jonathan.”
Oh, she knew people in the theatrical and musical world used the word “love” when they didn’t necessarily mean anything of the kind. But just to see the word, followed by his name, excited and thrilled her, so that she could hardly wait for the moment when she was to sing specially for him, and justify all the hopes and plans which had gone into the arranging of this night.
As she walked with her father the short distance to the church, she was heart-warmingly aware that she was still the girl in her own home town, however much had been done to make her into something of a star for this occasion. For several people waved to her and called out greetings and good wishes as she passed.
She had never seen the church so full, nor so many unknown faces. And right there in the front, with his beautiful wife Anthea, was Oscar Warrender — with a faint smile and a gracious inclination of his head for her father. Beside them, clear for her to see this time, was Jonathan.
She had thought at that famous rehearsal that neither she nor the choir could ever do any better than they had then. But there is a subtle atmosphere about a really great occasion which sets a sort of electric current coursing between audience and performers, raising everything to a peak of perfection beyond the most optimistic expectations.
Whichever it was on this occasion, Anna knew from the moment she stood up that this was to be one of the great performances of her life. That Jonathan was there in front of her had something to do with it, of course — but not all. That the great Oscar Warrender had expressed his belief in her and her father also played its part. But, over
and above those two things, she drew on something within herself. That power to transport people, which Judy had spoken of long ago.
On that evening she knew for a certainty that she crossed the almost unbridgeable gap which lies between the admirable performer and the artist with a touch of greatness.
It is still a moot point whether a church audience should applaud or not, though for a non-religious work it is usually regarded as permissible. That night there was no question about it. The reception of the song cycle was sensational, and it was difficult to say for whom was the greater share, Anna or her father. The choir also stood for their well-earned applause, Tommy Bream even inclining his head from time to time in what, Anna greatly feared, was a splendid “take-off” of Oscar Warrender’s rather lordly bow.
It was over at last, and people were pouring out of the church, though many lingered outside to exchange comments and shower fresh praise on the artists as they came out. Anna was surrounded by old friends and neighbours, many of whom said warmly how happy her mother would be. And for quite a while she lost sight of the party from Coppershaw Grange.
All who had taken part in the concert — including the choir, right down to Tommy Bream himself — had been invited back to dine Grange for supper, and there was a great sorting out of cars and scrambling for places in the coach which was to take the choir members. In the flurry, Anna lost sight of even her father. Then he surfaced again beside her and said in a high, excited voice,
Song Cycle (Warrender Saga Book 8) Page 13
