Leading Lady (12 page)

‘Yes?' prompted his friend. ‘So, what happened?'

‘Napoleon! Oh, he was Bonaparte still, but a power to be reckoned with. Thinking dynastic thoughts. He proposed a marriage between me and his wife's niece, Minette de Beauharnais. I held out as long as I could, but – you don't know my father! The threats he used. Franz is wrong to think he can co-operate with him.' He realised this as he remembered the past. ‘He's mad; I must tell him, warn him.' He made as if to rise.

‘Not instantly!' said his friend. ‘You're in hiding, remember,
on his orders. Wait until I've seen Lady Cristabel, got a feel of things in town. I'll volunteer to do the Fathers' marketing in Lissenberg,' he explained. ‘Might as well, by the time I have been down to the opera house. That way I can pick up all the talk.'

‘Not come straight back?' Disappointed.

‘You'll have to possess your soul in patience, my poor friend. I may even spend the night in Lissenberg, drop in on a few acquaintances, hear what they have to say, do my errands in the morning. You'll just have to bear it! And don't, I beg you, for everyone's sake, do anything foolish.'

‘I won't. I promise. After all, I promised Franz.'

Doctor Joseph rode down the hill to the opera house on the flea-bitten old cavalry horse on which he had arrived in Lissenberg, and Max, watching him go, was amused at the contrast between his monk's attire and his military seat in the saddle.

In his note, Prince Franz had promised to tell Lady Cristabel the doctor was coming and leave it to her whether she chose to see him in her dressing-room at the opera house or at home in the hostel. Calling at the opera house first, Joseph drew a blank. Lady Cristabel had gone home early, the doorkeeper told him, with a knowing look.

At the hostel, as he had expected, he found Desmond Fylde awaiting him in the downstairs reception room. ‘Doctor Joseph?' He wasted no time on courtesy. ‘My wife can't see you, I'm afraid. She has enough on her mind, with the performance next week, without being troubled by quack physicians.'

‘Ah.' Joseph had seen the handsome tenor on stage often enough, but had never been close to him before and his acute eye was busy summing him up as probably ten years older than he looked in costume. Maybe more? No wonder he had decided to set himself up with a wife to support him. He said no more, but put down his instrument case on a table, reached leisurely into an inner pocket and produced a parchment scroll. ‘My qualifications, Herr Fylde.'

‘Latin!' Fylde looked at him with dislike.

‘Paris.' Pointing at the word. ‘Seventeen hundred and
ninety-six. I am afraid the date is in Latin numerals. But I can promise you it is all quite in order. Does Lady Cristabel perhaps read Latin?'

‘I've no idea.' It was obvious to Joseph that Fylde did not at all want to reveal to his wife that he could not. ‘Well,' he said now, grudgingly, ‘I suppose that is something. That you are properly qualified at least. But I still don't want my wife troubled. It's all in her mind, you know.' Man to man. ‘A case of nervous strain. She thinks she can't sing, then, of course, she can't.'

‘Very interesting,' said Joseph. ‘And, in fact, rather what I had thought myself from hearing her. I can see that you are a man of perception, Kerr Fylde. I wonder how you proposed to convince her that she can, in fact, sing?' And then, as Fylde hesitated, searching for an answer: ‘May I venture to suggest that if you were to let me see her, and I was to tell her that it was all in her mind, it might form just the kind of cure you suggest? The word of a medical man, you know? Husbands do tend to be partial judges, she may think you are sparing her feelings, while there is no reason why I should.'

‘And you'd do that?'

‘If I thought it was best for her. Naturally, I would need to see her, satisfy myself that there is no physical problem. But, frankly, I am convinced there is not. It is a question of medical ethics, you understand. I'd need to see her alone, just a few very simple questions, and then I could give her the reassurance she so badly needs. It would be a tragedy, would it not, if this anniversary performance which should be the cornerstone of her career should mark its end.'

‘That's what they are saying?'

‘I am afraid so, Herr Fylde. You know how it is, the nearest and dearest are the last to hear this kind of rumour. And, another thing, the expectation so often brings the fact. If the audience arrive convinced that Lady Cristabel is going to fail, the chances are very strong that she will. How sad it would be. Such an immensely promising career, such a future opening before her.'

‘A disaster?' Was Fylde facing it for the first time?

‘Whereas if I were to see her,' Joseph went on. ‘And go down into Lissenberg afterwards, as I mean to, and mention,
quite casually, here and there, that I have found out what was the matter and dealt with it. Well, do you know, without flattering myself, I think it might make a difference.'

‘Admirable man. She shall see you at once. I was only wanting to make sure that you would not do more harm than good, you understand?'

‘Of course I do.' Left alone, Doctor Joseph smiled to himself, rolled up the useful piece of parchment and put it back in his pocket.

Five minutes later Desmond Fylde ushered him assiduously into the big bedroom which showed signs of a rapid tidying. ‘This is Doctor Joseph, my dear. I am sure he will do you good.'

‘Joseph?' She was sitting on a
chaise longue
, dark hair curling loosely around the pale face, brilliant blue eyes summing him up. ‘Joseph what?' The extraordinary eyes moved to see the door close behind her husband.

‘Just Doctor Joseph, madame.' He felt as if the blue eyes were penetrating, layer upon layer, through to his naked heart.

‘Doctor Joseph.' She said it thoughtfully in French. ‘Would you be so good, monsieur, as to put back your hood? I cannot persuade myself to discuss my problems with someone whose face I cannot properly see. Thank you.' Blue eyes met blue eyes for a long moment. ‘And now, tell me how you persuaded my husband to let you see me alone.'

‘Easy, madame.' The laughter in his eyes somehow communicated itself to hers. ‘I blinded him with science and told him I would tell the world you were cured.'

‘And shall you?'

‘When you are.'

‘So easy?'

‘I rather hope so. I have been studying you a little, madame. I hope you won't mind this, but it's a dull life up with the Trappist Fathers.'

‘And you have enlivened it by studying me? Thank you, monsieur.'

‘It's been a pleasure. So –' His eyes held hers. ‘What has he been giving you?'

‘You know?' She put a hand to her heart.

‘I am a doctor, madame. And not a fool.' He took her hand, and felt the shock of it pass through them both. ‘You see, it is shaking.' He was holding it professionally, counting her pulse, ignoring the shocks that still ran through him.

‘Of course it's shaking. Who are you, monsieur?'

‘You are more honest than I am, madame.' He did not answer her question. ‘But – it was shaking before. Why was that?'

‘Because I stopped taking his drops.' It was the most natural thing in the world to answer him straight.

‘What were they?'

‘I don't know. He said they were handed down by the princes, his forebears.' Her tone proclaimed her disbelief in them. ‘I didn't like what they were doing to me. On stage. I couldn't remember, afterwards, how it had gone. And there was something missing, something wrong … I felt wonderful at the time. It's been hard …'

‘I'm sure. Does he know you have stopped?'

‘No. It's only been a couple of days. I've contrived to get rid of them … I'm surprised he let you see me, even with Prince Franz behind you.'

‘I think I managed to frighten him. Besides,' once again that instinctive, vital exchange of smiles, ‘I promised I'd cure you.'

‘Cure?'

‘Of the affliction of the nerves that is affecting your voice.'

‘That's honest, at least. You have heard me then? I thought –' What in the world had she been thinking?

‘That I was a Trappist, vowed to silence and the cloister? No, madame, I am merely a refugee whom the Fathers have charitably taken in. I'm Swiss, conscripted into the French army of Italy – a nobody – worse, a deserter.' He made it a challenge. ‘And my exile, here in Lissenberg, has been brightened by listening to you.'

‘You've been here some time, then?'

‘Since the spring. Long enough to have heard the change – forgive me, the trouble when you came back from your summer tour.'

‘I was so tired … He said it was just that … Gave me the drops … They made everything seem easy!'

‘And you sang brilliantly,' he told her. ‘I've never heard you better, technically.'

‘Technically? What are you trying to say?'

‘I was at a rehearsal of
Night of Errors
the other day. What a waste of your genius! But never mind that. You had every one of Franzosi's old-fashioned trills and shakes to perfection! And no heart in it, no life, nothing. You could have been a music machine. The audience felt it, of course.'

‘That's what it is! What I'm missing. The feel of the audience reacting. Oh, I do thank you for telling me. But what can I do? Without Desmond's drops I can't sing; with them I can't act! Does that sum it up?'

‘You're a remarkable woman. How long do you think before he interrupts us?'

‘I'm amazed he's not done so already. Have I told you about the drops?'

‘Yes, and I've forbidden you to take them. Ah –' They had both heard the door open. He turned: ‘Herr Fylde! And in the nick of time. I've a hard regime to prescribe for your wife, I am afraid. For both of you. If you will forgive us, madame? A word with your husband alone?'

‘Oh.' They could both see that she did not like it. Then: ‘Very well.' Coolly. ‘Goodbye, then, doctor, and thank you.' She held out her hand and he surprised them all by kissing it.

‘How old is your wife?' Back in the downstairs receiving room he surprised Fylde with the direct question.

‘How old? Twenty-one? Twenty-two? What's that to the purpose?'

‘A good deal, I think.' Doctor Joseph's cowl was back in place, and he had shaken his head at Fylde's offer of a glass of wine. ‘You are, shall we agree, a good deal older?'

‘A few years. Yes?'

‘And naturally, much wiser. A man of the world. Responsible for her; anxious about her, as any husband would be. That's why you gave her that family medicament of yours. That extraordinary potion that seems to have done her so much good.'

‘Ah. She told you about that?'

‘In answer to a question. I have followed her career with
great interest, sir. With great admiration. We cannot afford to lose so brilliant a singer.'

‘To lose? You cannot think –'

‘I think, at the moment, that anything can happen. The musical world owes you a great debt, sir, for having had the wisdom to see the threat to your wife's voice. I respect you for what you have tried to do for her, but I have to tell you that it will not do. There are times when an artist has to work through his (or her) problems without outside assistance. I think this is one of them. I think we must all stand back from Lady Cristabel, if we wish to see her the prima donna of the new century, leave her alone with the great problem of her genius.'

‘Leave her alone? What precisely do you mean by that, doctor?'

‘You're not a fool, sir. Far from it. You are a man of wide experience. You must see what it has been like for her, suddenly married to a man like you. Overwhelmed by him. Now, you have to think – and for all our sakes, I beg you to think carefully, which you want most: the young bride or the prima donna?'

‘Want? What do you mean?' He could not decide whether to be angry.

‘I think you know what I mean. Why I asked to speak to you alone. Lady Cristabel has the world before her. In five years she could be choosing between the golden offers of La Scala, the San Carlo … Or she could be the happy mother of your children, singing, perhaps, a little between pregnancies.'

‘Oh, no, give me credit for a little worldly wisdom, doctor. I've taken thought to that.'

‘I'm glad to hear it, but the best-laid plans, you know …' Bile was rising in his throat and it was with an effort that he kept his voice steady, light, man to man. ‘But there is more to it, just now, is there not? If she is to succeed, as we all hope she will, at this important anniversary performance, she needs her whole heart in her singing. How can it be, with a handsome new husband always at her side?'

‘What are you suggesting?'

‘I am prescribing a simple regimen of separate rooms until after the performance. I am sure there is some charming
young creature in the chorus whose heart was broken when you married. Yes, I see there is.' He made himself respond to Fylde's smirk. ‘And no more drops, Herr Fylde. This is a battle Lady Cristabel has to win by herself. Once she is firmly established as the diva we know, then, what a happy reunion!' It made him sick to suggest it, and in these vulgar, man-to-man terms, but the extraordinary thing was that everything he had been saying was perfectly true.

‘She will mind it,' said Fylde preening himself. ‘How do I explain it to her?'

‘Why, blame it on me, of course!' Would she mind it? Could he bear to think about this? What in the name of God was happening to him?

‘You don't think you should see her again, explain?'

Here was temptation, flaming, outrageous temptation. Its very strength told him it must be resisted. ‘No, that is the husband's part, Herr Fylde. You have taken on a heavy responsibility in marrying so brilliant a young creature. I feel for you, and will help you in every way I can but that. But I will come again, if I may, after I have next heard her sing. To encourage her, tell her how much better she is singing.'