by Katie Fforde
‘You can't sing on a full stomach and we've got to be there for the rehearsal at five. Now, glass of sherry, Mrs Stanza?'
‘Hermione, please, and sherry would be lovely.’
‘Flora?'
‘Yes, please, but could I possibly have a lump of ice in mine?'
‘Of course you can, my dear. And there's only raspberries and cream for pudding,' said Edie, opening a packet of crisps and putting them in a bowl. 'Do you need a hand, Geoffrey?'
‘Certainly not. You show Hermione the garden.’
While this was happening, Flora went into the house to find Geoffrey. 'Could I just check I've got my music in order?’
Together they went through their folders until at last Flora was convinced there was nothing missing and she wouldn't suddenly turn a page and find she was singing the wrong arrangement.
When Edie and Hermione had finished their patrol of the garden, Hermione had several plastic bags full of plants. 'We'll leave them here until after the concert,' she said, rather apologetically. 'And I'll put them in the garden tomorrow morning. Charles and Annabelle won't mind, will they?’
*
It was nice for Flora to go to Burnet House with Geoffrey. Apart from anything else, it meant that she would arrive at the right place at the right time. Edie had ironed her scarf for her and Hermione had Geoffrey's clear written directions how to get to the venue.
‘I'm so nervous I feel sick,' Flora said as she settled herself on the seat next to Geoffrey.
‘There's no need for all that. A few nerves are good, because it means you'll concentrate, but you don't need to go overboard with them. You're not singing a solo, after all.'
‘I know! But I'm afraid I'll mess it up for everyone else.'
‘You won't. Not if you focus and look at James, all the time.'
‘What about the words?'
‘You'll know them by heart, almost, by now.’
Flora sighed. 'I haven't been in the choir as long as you, Geoffrey.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Flora was so focused on the choir and her nerves about singing in it that she had almost forgotten about Henry. He had not forgotten about her, however. He was in the field designated as a car park, theoretically telling people where to park, but in fact waiting for Flora.
She did not feel at her best in her long black skirt and black blouse, but she smiled brightly at him as he helped her out of Geoffrey's car.
‘Hello, Henry. I do hope you don't regret this.’
He kissed her cheek and nodded to Geoffrey. 'I've had no reason to regret it so far. The hole in the orangery roof is fixed, the grass has been cut and I get to see you looking like . . .' He paused for the perfect metaphor. '. . . a nun without the wimple.' Something about him implied he did not find this look unattractive.
‘You remember Geoffrey?' Flora found his slightly lecherous glance both unexpected and extremely unsettling. She grabbed Geoffrey's arm so he couldn't abandon her.
‘Of course,' said Henry. 'We did spend an entire afternoon together. I was surprised there was so much value in that library.’
Geoffrey unhooked himself from Flora so he could lock the door of the car. 'There are a few nice early editions, and although I don't think there's anything there that's worth a huge amount of money on its own, put together, we should make you a tidy sum.'
‘Oh, look, there's Euan! He's one of the tenors,' she told Henry. 'He breeds Cavalier King Charles spaniels and is a bit eccentric,' she explained. 'He seems to be going in the wrong direction. Perhaps you'd better chase after him, Henry, before he gets lost.'
‘Euan never gets lost,' said Geoffrey after Henry had reluctantly gone to round him up.
‘Doesn't he? Well, never mind. I can't chat just now, I need to focus. I'm so nervous.'
‘You'll be fine,' said Geoffrey.
Flora thought she might very well vomit from terror, while those oft-repeated words were still echoing about her.
*
Carloads of choir members arrived in dribs and drabs. Almost everyone exclaimed at the beauty of the building and the pleasantness of the weather. They were all reluctant to leave the pleasantly cool summer evening to go inside to the orangery, which they knew was going to be on the warm side.
‘These black clothes get awfully hot sometimes,' explained Virginia. 'We keep thinking we should have a different summer uniform, but we can never agree on what to have. We don't want anyone fainting. Have you got your scarf, Flora?'
‘Yes, Moira gave me one. It's folded carefully in my bag. Edie ironed it for me. I don't think she trusted me not to burn it.'
‘Well, you do have to be careful. And is your mother coming?'
‘With Edie. They'll be along later. It's been lovely having her.'
‘It must have been a bit lonely for you here, not knowing many people. Now, how do we get in?’
‘This I do know. Follow me,' said Flora.
Henry came into the orangery just as they were going to start the rehearsal. He waved at Flora but she ignored him. It was hard enough to remember how they were walking in, where they were to stand so they could all see James, where the basses were going to be positioned so they could be heard by but not drown out the second sopranos. She fixed her gaze on James, waiting for the signal to start. How could people chat just before a dress rehearsal? Her palms were sweating and she still felt slightly sick.
But she couldn't ignore Henry in the break before the performance. Wine, soft drinks, tea, sandwiches and cake were laid on in a room off the kitchen. A woman in a black dress and white apron ushered them to it, saying Henry had arranged it.
The choir were thrilled and as they all wanted to thank Henry personally, it was some time before Flora could get to him. 'This is very kind of you, Henry' she said. 'A few soft drinks would have been perfectly adequate.'
‘I wanted to do something a bit better than that.' He looked down at her with a look that indicated he was hoping for some kind of reward.
‘It's for the choir,' she said firmly, making it clear that no reward would be forthcoming. 'But it is nice of you.' He appeared to accept this and shrugged. 'It seemed only fair to do something after they did all those repairs.'
‘Roof OK now?' asked one of the basses who had access to ladders and window-repairing skills.
‘Fine, thanks, David. Are you really sure I can't pay you?’
David shook his head. 'Nah. The materials didn't cost much and my boss gave me the time off work to do it.’
David had a wonderful voice and Flora loved it when they were arranged so she could hear it thrumming through her at the end of John Tavener's 'The Lamb', her favourite, but the most challenging piece they sang.
‘It's a lovely venue,' said one of the other choir members. 'You should rent it out for functions. You could charge quite a lot, I should think.'
‘Or get it registered so you could have weddings in here,' agreed another.
Henry became thoughtful. 'So I could. With the hole in the roof I never thought of it as being somewhere that could earn its keep.' He paused. 'So why am I doing it for you for nothing?' he asked, smiling at Flora.
‘Because before we came along there was a field instead of a lawn and a puddle the size of Lake Windermere on the floor,' she said. When she had last seen Henry, this reply would have sufficed. Now, he seemed different. Or was it just Flora's nerves making her over-sensitive?
‘That's a bit unfair. The puddle wasn't much bigger than the Serpentine.’
She laughed, to oblige him. 'You're doing it for the sake of charity and the good of your soul, which could probably do with improvement.'
‘You're probably right.' This time his smile was less calculating and Flora recognised how attractive he was.
Come on, heart, she said to herself. He's nice, he's single! Be attracted to him! Why aren't you? But she knew the answer and nothing she could tell herself could stop her wanting a rather stuffy man whose own heart belonged to another. Must try harder, sh
e told herself firmly, and if you can't fall in love with Henry, find another romantic distraction.
Henry put his hand on Flora's shoulder and was about to speak when James said, 'The audience are beginning to come in. Could we get ourselves together, please? And can I tell you once more? Don't forget to smile! Flora?’
Flora found it very difficult to smile when she was so nervous. She tried a smile now, but her cheek muscles seemed to be made of plaster of Paris, and wouldn't let her. She found Moira, whom she was following in, and stood behind her. Moira adjusted her scarf for her and gave her shoulders a little hug of encouragement. 'You'll be fine! Got your music? In your left hand? That's right.’
Moira turned away and, a moment later, they processed in, the women in black with blue scarves, the men in dinner jackets with matching bow ties. Flora hadn't liked putting on black clothes and black tights on a lovely warm evening, but she admitted to herself that they were smart when they were all together.
The orangery looked magnificent. Although too nervous to look around much, Flora couldn't help recollecting how it had been when she'd first seen it: empty and dank, with a puddle on the floor. Now there were chairs arranged in rows in one half. Some huge plants, one of them a genuine orange tree in a huge pot, stood in the corners; someone had done something clever with the lighting and all the floor-to-ceiling windows were open, so the breeze wafted in. They had been rehearsing there not long before, but the addition of the audience, bright in their summer silks, added colour and excitement.
‘Angela, in the altos, lent the plants,' Moira breathed to Flora out of the side of her mouth as they reached their places. There was no platform, but they had practised carefully where they were to stand so everyone had a good view of James, and could be seen by the audience.
Flora, terrifyingly, was on the end, in full view of everyone. 'Good luck!' whispered Moira as they settled in their positions.
Flora didn't reply. She could see her mother and Edie out of the corner of her eye. They were smiling encouragingly, but Flora realised she'd have felt happier if she hadn't known any of the audience. She wanted her humiliation to be kept private. There was Henry, of course. He was sitting at the back. She had no trouble forgetting about him.
James came into the room, turned to the audience and gave a short, witty introductory speech. The audience laughed. The choir laughed. Then he turned to his singers, regarded them all, then held up a sheet with a picture of a grinning face on it. Flora did her best to oblige him but didn't think it was a very good effort.
The accompanist played the opening bars of 'The Entrance of the Queen of Sheba'. The choir took a collective breath and opened their throats. 'Rejoice! Rejoice!' The orangery had lovely acoustics. Flora forgot her nerves and began to sing with joy. 'It's going awfully well,' said someone during the interval.
The choir were back in their room where a fresh lot of sandwiches and drinks had been laid on. Flora was sipping a glass of elderflower, not allowing herself wine until it was all over.
‘And there's a very good crowd,' said Geoffrey. 'Someone's done really well with the ticket sales.'
‘It's the venue, I'm sure,' said Moira. 'People are so curious. They'd listen to anything just to get the chance to get a look at a house like this.'
‘And there's been a fair amount of scandal, hasn't there? Does anyone know any details?'
‘Flora's going out with Henry,' said Geoffrey, to save Flora more embarrassment. 'It's how we've been allowed to be here.'
‘It's just coincidence. We've only been out a few times.' Flora, aware that everyone was looking at her, found herself blushing. 'I don't know any scandal, I'm afraid, except that his wife left him and got most of the money.'
‘Well, however we come to be here, we're very grateful,' said one of the altos whom Flora hadn't really got to speak to before. 'A "Stately Summer" from a church hall wouldn't have been the same.'
‘The sandwiches are jolly good too,' said Euan with his mouth full. 'Egg and cress, my favourite.’
Eventually everyone stopped eating and drinking, James gathered his flock, and they filed back into the orangery. Flora felt much more relaxed now and felt she could get into the rather complicated version of 'The Lord's My Shepherd' with her mind totally on the matter in hand. Then she foolishly looked up to see if her mother was happy and saw Charles. He was sitting at the end of one of the rows. She felt herself go pink and looked hard at James, trying to concentrate. James caught everyone's eyes, saw Flora, and held up his picture of the grin again.
Just forget about him, she told herself and forced her lips to smile.
Like a tongue constantly seeking out a sore tooth, Flora found her eye go to Charles often. Dragging her eyes away she saw something that caused her to miss a couple of bars and, very nearly, her place in the music. Sitting next to each other, a couple of rows behind Charles, were William and Annabelle.
What on earth were they doing here? Together? Flora sincerely hoped that some sort of sense of performance meant that her shock was kept private. She didn't dare look at the audience again, and smiled in between songs with a vacancy she feared might be the fast track to the Asylum for the Bewildered. What was going on? Could she possibly avoid seeing any of them afterwards? No, she realised. After all, if William and Annabelle were there with Charles, in full view of everyone, she had nothing to worry about.
While they sang an English folk song with words so suggestive Flora was almost embarrassed, she concluded that guilt was like attraction, you couldn't just turn it on and off. If there was something going on between Annabelle and William, she was convinced it was all her fault. And no matter how much she tried to make herself fancy Henry, who had so much going for him, principally his lack of a partner, she couldn't. 'Riddle fol di reel' she carolled, with feeling.
As the audience clapped enthusiastically, Flora tried to make a plan. James would say something, and then they'd do the encore. Then they'd file out, back to their room where they'd left their handbags and bottles of water and music cases. Could she dash out of the side door, steal a car and escape? No, she couldn't. Even if she delved into the handbags for a car key, it would take her ages to find out which car the key she stole belonged to. It was no good. She took a breath and prepared to sing 'Bobby Shaftoe', in parts, with complicated extras. Then after more clapping, she followed Moira out of the orangery, accepting her fate.
‘Thank you, everyone,' said James. 'That went very well, I thought. Lovely venue, Flora. Thank you very much for getting it for us.'
‘That's fine,' she said, hoping that the choir didn't all think she had had to sleep with Henry to get him to agree to let them use it.
‘Oh, but if you hadn't asked so effectively we wouldn't have got it,' said James, confirming, in Flora's view, that he definitely thought she had slept with Henry. 'And the evening wouldn't have been quite so "Stately", would it?'
‘I know Henry's very grateful for the repairs David did for him. He's done well out of it,' said Flora.
‘Oh yes, it's been good for him, too,' agreed James. 'I gather he might rent it out for functions.’
Flora nodded, not knowing what to say. Geoffrey came up. 'Are you coming out to meet our audience, young Flora?'
‘I suppose so.'
‘Come on! You were fine. They'll have loved it. I thought the Stanforth had never gone better, James.' James nodded. 'I knew you could do it, if you all just concentrated.'
‘Come on, Flora. Come and meet the crowd.’
Flora summoned up a smile and followed Geoffrey out of the room, clutching her music bag like a security blanket.
Long before they reached her mother and Edie, Flora spotted that they were chatting with Annabelle, William and Charles so there was no chance of avoiding them.
‘Darling! It was wonderful!' Her mother gave Flora a huge hug as she reached them. 'Were you terrified? You looked a bit scared at the beginning, but I thought the standard was so high! It's a super choir!'
‘T
he quodlibet went well, Geoffrey,' said Edie. 'You got it right at last.'
‘Is that the one when the men sang one melody and the women another?' asked Hermione. 'The conductor explained it?'
‘That's right,' confirmed Geoffrey. 'It's always a crowd pleaser.'
‘You must have wondered why the audience suddenly got bigger after half-time!' Annabelle laughed. 'Charles said he'd promised he'd come along, and so William, Beatty and I thought it would be rather fun to come too. We were at dinner at her house. Beatty's gone home now.'
‘To do the washing-up?' suggested Flora.
‘No. She has staff!' Annabelle regarded Flora as if she'd gone mad. 'And Hugo. He's her husband.’
Flora nodded. The Asylum for the Bewildered seemed both nearer and more attractive than ever.
‘You were awfully good,' said William, whom Flora hadn't seen for ages.
Flora smiled at him. He was very good-looking and seemed to have become very civilised since his days of living in the woods. And when had he become part of Annabelle's social circle?
‘Have you met my mother?' she asked him. 'Mum, this is Emma's friend, William.'
‘Who's Emma?' said Annabelle.
‘You met her at my dinner party,' said Flora firmly. 'The dinner party where you and Charles met William.'
‘Oh yes, I remember, the one Jeremy fancied.' Emma satisfactorily dismissed, Annabelle went on, 'Is there any chance we could get a look round the house, do you think? We did have that very jolly dinner with him. We're hardly strangers, after all.’
Henry was talking to James and a couple of other choir members, Flora could see. 'He's very touchy about letting anyone in. I was only allowed across the threshold myself because I knew him already.'
‘He knows me already, too. We all had that dinner together,' she repeated. 'I'll go and ask him. Are you coming, Charles?'
