A Remembered Serenade Read online

  The next few days were confused and frightening. No one seemed to know quite what might be the final outcome of the crash which had taken place, though Mr. Witherspoon kept them as well informed as he could and was not un-encouraging about the possibility of something being saved from the wreck.

  Joanna, meanwhile, kept her extravagant hopes to herself. She dared not make plans, and still less could she discuss such plans with her mother, who was nat­urally in no mood to discuss anything which would in­volve any immediate financial outlay.

  Then, very much earlier than she had expected such a development, Warrender telephoned to her again and informed her that he wished to take her to see Madame Volnikov that afternoon. Would she please be ready to be picked up by car at two-thirty?

  'But I haven't learned anything of the part yet!' she exclaimed in dismay.

  'Naturally not, since I have not given you a copy of the work yet,' replied Warrender. 'But Madame Vol­nikov wants to see you and test you in her own way before she will say whether or not she will take you on.'

  Joanna thought for a moment of telling him about the new and alarming complication. But why should he be interested? In any case, if the old dancer decided against taking her as a pupil the question of the ex­pensive lessons would not even arise.

  So she promised to be ready. And when Warrender's car drew up outside, she ran out quickly, determined neither to keep him waiting nor to give her mother any chance to ask awkward questions. She had already ex­plained casually that she had to go to an extra lesson and that someone would be picking her up from home. That the someone was driving a Bentley might, in ordi­nary circumstances, have intrigued her mother. But in her present mood she did not even glance out of the window.

  Joanna slipped into the seat beside the conductor and asked shyly if they had far to go.

  'Oh, no. Less than twenty minutes' drive.'

  'Do you know her quite well, Sir Oscar?' Somehow she felt a little less in awe of him when he was not immediately concerned with observing her work.

  'Not socially.- Only as artists of a certain calibre usually know and assess each other,' he said with a slight smile. And then they were silent until they reached the house where the old dancer lived.

  It was in one of the northern suburbs which had once been very fashionable but now looked slightly dila­pidated. Here and there were still signs of faded ele­gance, and the house before which they stopped was quite imposing. It stood back from the quiet avenue, and trees not only shaded it but almost engulfed it, giving it a secret and slightly sad air.

  They were admitted by an elderly manservant who looked incredibly like someone out of the only Chekhov play Joanna had ever seen, and were shown into a splendid room furnished in a manner that would not have disgraced a museum of fine arts.

  Joanna wondered if even Oscar Warrender felt slightly intimidated. But if so he concealed the fact, crossing the room to examine a particularly fine picture with genuine interest. Then the door opened again and their hostess came in.

  Joanna had somehow expected a little old lady. What she saw was a completely ageless woman of medium height, who moved with such flowing grace that she hardly seemed to walk. Afterwards Joanna could not remember at all what she wore. She only knew that her figure, her movements, her clothes were all in one harmonious whole which was grace per­sonified.

  Her face was pure oval, entirely innocent of make­up, with the high, flat cheekbones of the almost oriental Slav, and long, dark eyes of burning intelligence and beauty.

  She greeted Warrender rather as the Queen of Sheba might have greeted Solomon, according him almost royal status but reserving the right to regard herself as just one degree more royal, as it were.

  'And this is the little girl you spoke of?' She surveyed Joanna kindly, but somewhat as she might have looked at a child on its first day in the kindergarten. 'Walk the length of the room, dear.'

  The form of address had nothing affectionate about it. It carried, in fact, a note of absolute command, so that Joanna obeyed her instantly. But as she walked the length of the room she felt as though she had clogs on her feet, and could only pray that she would not slip or stumble. Then she turned and came back, while the Russian - and indeed Warrender too - watched her intently.

  'Hm—' said Madame Volnikov. 'What were you ex­pressing then?'

  'Expressing?' Joanna considered that. 'Awk­wardness, I should think, and a nervous hope that I wouldn't stumble. I felt a bit like a camel,' she admit­ted.

  'You looked rather like one, dear,' Madame Vol­nikov said with some asperity. 'Now forget about me -and even the handsome Sir Oscar - for the moment. You are a young girl, expecting to meet the man you love. You are carrying a basket - here you are—' In­credibly she produced a basket as a conjuror might and put it into Joanna's hand - 'you go quickly towards him, and suddenly realize it is not he, after all, but the person in the world you most fear, - Go on.'

  'Walking away from you, do you mean?'

  'Yes.'

  'But you can't see my face!'

  'I don't want to see your face. I want to see your back.'

  'Very well.' Joanna stood quite still for half a minute, thinking herself into the suggested scene. She wondered where the catch was. She wondered what she could possibly do to make the whole thing stun­ningly effective. And she could think of nothing - abso­lutely nothing. Except just what she herself would do if presented with the situation.

  It was all useless, of course. She knew it was. But she must at least attempt to do what she had been told to do, and then apologize for having none of what this extraordinary woman seemed to expect of her.

  She half ran up the long room, lightly swinging her basket in a carefree way. Then, in imagination, she actually saw the person she was to be afraid of and stopped, instinctively tensing every muscle before let­ting her arm drop to her side in a futile attempt to repeat that careless swinging of the basket.

  'I'll take her,' said Madame Volnikov.

  'Ah—!' said Warrender on a note of undoubted satisfaction.

  'But why?' asked Joanna, turning and coming slowly back to where the other two were standing. T mean - why do you think, on such small evidence, that I'm worth your attention?'

  The older woman smiled.

  'Because, with the most economical means possible, you both touched and terrified me within the space of two minutes.'

  'But I didn't do anything special.' Joanna looked puzzled.

  'No. Real artists don't do. They are. Your actions and reactions are purely instinctive and right. You have a great deal to learn, cherie. But you have come to the right person to teach you.' There was no false modesty about that. 'It will cost you a lot of money, but it will be worth every penny. Now we will have tea.'

  So the most magnificent samovar was brought in, and Madame Volnikov dispensed tea in cups so fragile and beautiful that Joanna was frightened every time she touched hers. She left most of the conversation to Warrender, and it was he who explained about the interesting opera in which he hoped Joanna would appear.

  'Nothing but movement and facial expression until the very end?' Madame Volnikov smiled. 'A big under­taking, but tremendously challenging. Does the child actually sing well also?'

  'Very reasonably well.' Warrender, like the Russian, spoke as though Joanna were not present. 'Not a great voice, but an appealing voice, well used. Capable of a fine climax, but not capable of sustained power and intensity throughout a whole evening. The opera might have been written for her. Provided she does the work.'

  'Oh, yes. Provided she works.' Madame Volnikov looked searchingly at Joanna then. 'Are you a dedi­cated worker, child?'

  'I should like to believe so.' Joanna smiled at her. 'And I think you, Madame, would inspire anyone.'

  'Not anyone. Most people are incapable of in­spiration,' was the cold reply. 'Who is financing her, Warrender?'

  Joanna, who had never thought to hear Sir Oscar addressed in this summary way, glanced quickly at
him.

  'Miss Joanna and her mother hope to find some of the backing, and I know of a musical patron who may be expected to do the rest.'

  'A wealthy musical patron, I hope,' said Madame Volnikov with great frankness.

  'Moderately so,' replied Warrender smoothly. 'Do you wish to discuss that now?'

  'No. I will write. It is better to have these things in writing.' An expression of quite extraordinary cupidity passed over that arresting face. Then she turned once more to Joanna and said, 'Little one, do you know how to cry real tears, to order?'

  'I - don't think so.'

  'I will teach you. The old woman smiled at her, the most beautiful smile Joanna had ever seen. 'You will need tears for this part. We are going to enjoy our­selves, you and I. When can you start?'

  Joanna did some rapid and, to tell the truth desper­ate, calculations. She must familiarize herself with the part and, even more important, she must somehow go to see Mr. Wilmore and enlist his help. For how else was she to take this amazing - this unprecedented -chance?

  'In about two weeks' time,' she said with decision.

  'It is not a desperate matter,' the dancer told her, with a curious glance.

  'No, I know,' said Joanna quickly?

  'And yet desperation was there in your face for a moment. Everything is there in her face,' observed Madame Volnikov to Warrender, 'for those who have eyes to see.- And when she has been trained - by me -she will be able to project that for even the fools to see.'

  Then she got up, with the air of a queen dismissing her court. And Joanna and Warrender took their leave s

  'Do you think,' asked Joanna when they were back once more in the car, 'that she was really able to assess me on that little scene?'

  'Oh, yes. I could even, to a certain extent, see myself what she meant. But remember,' he went on sternly, 'all this is only the promise of what might be. It is usually a mistake to give compliments and too much praise at such an early stage. In your case these things had to be said, otherwise you would see no reason to change into such a specialized course. But none of it -and I mean none of it - will be of the slightest use unless you do the necessary work.'

  'I do know that! I truly do - and I will work,' Joanna promised. 'And then,' she added timidly, 'there's the problem of the money to pay for the lessons. She made it sound as though they were going to cost the earth, didn't she?'

  'She did indeed! And she looked it too. One wishes a really fine artist could have captured that amazing face when she spoke of the money, and then when she smiled,'

  'It was a beautiful smile,' Joanna exclaimed in all honesty.

  'Ravishing,' he agreed. 'But not a smile to knock anything off the bill, I imagine,'

  Joanna laughed reluctantly. But then she spoke with some decision.

  'Sir Oscar, I realize that I haven't really come to grips with the situation until now. My mother has singularly little capital behind her, and I can't just go scrounging to Mr. Wilmore. I must get a job - and as quickly as possible.'

  'What sort of a job?' asked the conductor disagree­ably.

  'Any job that will bring in some money. I'm not afraid of hard work, and although I'm not specially well qualified for anything like office work, I'd be pre­pared to be a waitress, a shop assistant - I don't mind what, so long as I could pay for my lessons with that extraordinary woman,'

  'Quite impossible,' said Warrender briefly.

  'What do you mean - quite impossible?' She turned in her seat and looked at him.

  'I don't think you understand even now that, during the next few months, you are going to have to work and study as you have never done before in your life. You're not going to be just a conscientious little stu­dent, doing your daily stint. You are going to be a dedicated slave to one single idea. And when Volnikov and I have finished with you, you won't have any energy left for anything but to fall into bed and sleep long enough to gather strength for the next test.’

  'O-Oh—' Joanna was not so dismayed by the prospect as disappointed that her solution to the money problem had been thus brushed aside. 'Do you really think,' she said slowly at last, 'that I can apply to Mr. Wilmore?'

  'I thought that was already agreed,' replied War-render with a touch of impatience, 'Will you write to him?''

  She hesitated for a moment, hoping that perhaps he would add, 'Or shall I?' But he said no such thing, presumably thinking that now she must act for her­self.

  'No. I shall go and see him.' Joanna stated. 'If one is asking for a favour one should face the person con­cerned.'

  'Possibly you're right.' The conductor looked amused. Then he relented sufficiently to say, 'You may tell Wilmore that I suggested you should approach him.' Then, as they arrived outside Joanna's house, he reached into a compartment at the front of the car, produced a photostat copy of the score and handed it to her.

  'Study it well, ’ he advised her. 'And good luck.'

  She thanked him for the score, and then even more fervently for taking her to see Madame Volnikov, and ran into the house, full of the wildest excitement and the most agitating anxieties. Fortunately, her mother showed remarkably little curiosity in her goings and comings these days and no questions were asked. But she did look up sharply when Joanna said, some time during the evening,

  'You know, I think I shall go down and see Aunt Georgina this week-end. She hasn't been up for some while, and I haven't been to her since that first time I went to Wilmore Grange.'

  'Why do you want to see her?' objected Mrs. Ran-some. 'Not to tell her about the mess we're in? She'll just be censorious and want to tell me what I ought to have done, now it's too late to do it,'

  'I wasn't thinking of telling her much.'

  'Why tell her anything?' Mrs. Ransome sounded fretful. 'And why go just now, anyway?'

  'Because I should like to look in on Mr. Wilmore at the same time,' Joanna explained as casually as she could. 'He showed such kind interest in my Fiora that I think I should keep in touch with him, don't you?'

  'I suppose - yes,' her mother agreed doubtfully. 'It all seems such a long time ago, that lovely, happy even­ing, doesn't it? I don't seem able to think about any­thing nowadays but the trouble we're in.'

  'Mother dear, try to think about something else for a change! We aren't absolutely looking for the next penny, are we, now? And do believe me when I say I really think my career is going to blossom quite soon. Several people have spoken to me about that Fiora performance and - further possibilities. It's just a case of the darkest hour before dawn and all that sort of thing.'

  'You think so?' For the first time Joanna saw her mother give something like her old childlike smile, 'Wouldn't it be wonderful if all our worries could be over and we be happy again?'

  A good deal touched, Joanna said that indeed it would. Then she telephoned to Aunt Georgina and arranged to go down to see her the following Satur­day.

  'By the way, didn't your mother have some money in that wretched Home and Overseas Insurance Com­pany?' inquired her aunt.

  'Y-yes, a bit, I think,' replied Joanna cautiously.

  'So did I, unfortunately,' was the unexpected reply. 'Well, I suppose we're all fools at some time in our lives. I shall be glad to see you, Joanna. And you had better go along and call on Mr. Wilmore while you're here. I met him in the village the other day and he spoke about you and said he hoped to see you soon. Apparently he was very much impressed with that performance of yours.'

  'Oh, Aunt Georgina, I'm so glad!' Joanna's spirits bounded up at this news. For it seemed much less shameful to go to see Mr. Wilmore in answer to a repeated invitation of his than just to appear on his doorstep with a request for financial aid.

  'Did she say anything about the Home and Overseas crash?' Mrs. Ransome wanted to know, as soon as Joanna came away from the telephone.

  'Yes, she did. She dropped some money on it her­self.'

  'Oh poor Georgina !' exclaimed Mrs. Ransome, the greatest relief irradiating her face. And, although there was no
t a grain of real malice in her, she cheered up from that moment and began to be a little more her usual self.

  When Joanna arrived at her aunt's bungalow on the Saturday she found her looking pretty well her usual self too. Whatever her loss had been she seemed to be taking it philosophically, though she did volunteer the remark that no one liked to see good savings swept away.

  'But then,' she added, 'I never put enough into any one thing to court disaster, I trust it was the same with Pansy?'

  'Something the same,' Joanna murmured somewhat disingenuously. And then she added quickly, 'It's really rather extraordinary that you should both have been involved.'

  'Not extraordinary at all,' retorted her aunt briskly. 'It was a fairly widespread concern^ Quite a number of people in this part of the country dropped a packet, as the vulgar expression is. It seems there was a specially active branch in the district and it was a popular form of investment. Well, as I said, we are all fools some time in our lives. When do you propose to call on Mr. Wilmore?'

  'I thought - this afternoon,' said Joanna. And her heart took an uneasy plunge as she heard herself definitely committed to an exact time for the interview she dreaded.

  It was useless for her to tell herself that the original suggestion had come from Mr. Wilmore himself - in general terms to her and, apparently, in more specific to Sir Oscar. The fact was that Joanna was not among the people who can lightly ask other people for money without feeling that somehow there is an element of cadging in the exercise.

  Once more her aunt drove her to the Grange and left her at the gate, and Joanna could not help remem­bering vividly that first time she had come, and how angry Elliot had been with her - and how suspicious. Almost as though in some way he foresaw what she was doing now!

  What on earth would he think of her present errand? she wondered as she tugged at the brass bell-pull. And at the thought of that she almost turned tail and ran. But the door was opened at that moment, and the servant smiled an undoubted welcome.