A Remembered Serenade Page 4

  'It would be unwise to quarrel with any member of the family,' observed her aunt.

  'I didn't quarrel with him. At least—' Joanna rec­alled one or two things she and Elliot Cheam had said to each other and was suddenly unwilling to develop that theme. Instead, she said hastily, 'Mr. Wilmore told me to come and see him again if there were any points on which I wanted to know more.'

  'Then you must find some points,' stated Miss Ransome without scruple.

  'Oh, Aunt Georgina! I wouldn't want anyone to think I was imposing on—'

  'No one would be so silly,' replied her aunt, who had not met Elliot Cheam. 'Now come and have your supper.'

  So Joanna had her supper. An absolutely splendid one, since Aunt Georgina had suffered from enough school meals in her day to pamper herself somewhat now that she did her own housekeeping. And after a gloriously peaceful night, Joanna woke to the sound of distant farm noises and the full recollection of all that had happened yesterday.

  For some minutes she lay watching the sunlight on the green and white wallpaper of Aunt Georgina's guest-room, recalling afresh the extraordinary experi­ence of being linked personally with the famous Emilia Trangoni. And if, for a moment or two, her thoughts lingered not so blissfully on Elliot Cheam, presently she had incorporated even him into the glorious whole.

  Back home again, Joanna once more had to give a full account of her visit. Though her mother's inter­jections were more to the effect that it was quite natu­ral for Mr. Wilmore to want to see her in the dress, and that the nephew sounded very disagreeable indeed, and quite unworthy of being remembered.

  From long experience, Joanna knew better than to attempt to modify her mother's strictures. So she left the subject and during the ensuing week devoted her­self to the role of Fiora, trying to incorporate in her idea of the part all that she had learned during her visit to the Justin Wilmore collection.

  As a result, when she was first called on to rehearse the first act with the rest of the cast, she earned an astonishing degree of approval from both producer and conductor.

  'Joanna, you must have done a lot of work on this!' The producer, not usually lavish with his praise, patted her shoulder approvingly. 'You have a real idea of the part. And yet you couldn't ever have heard a per­formance of it. Unless in Italy - or somewhere else abroad?'

  'No, I never heard a performance,' Joanna agreed. 'But I love the role and have a - a sort of feeling for it.'

  'Well, keep up the feeling, and you'll do well.' The producer laughed. 'Pity the voice isn't bigger,' he added to her singing teacher, who happened to be standing by. 'But she's young and it will develop.'

  'Of course.' Joanna's singing teacher, who disliked all producers on principle, spoke coldly. And later she added to Joanna, 'That's the worst of these modern producers. No idea about real singing, as such, and always trying to push young singers beyond their natu­ral bent.'

  'Do you think this role is pushing me beyond my natural bent?' inquired Joanna anxiously.

  'Not if you deploy your vocal resources carefully. Anyway, don't take any notice of me today. I think I've got 'flu coming on, and it makes everything seem vile.'

  Joanna expressed suitable sympathy. But her teacher certainly did look ill, and she was not surprised when, on arriving for her lesson on Monday morning, she found that the poor lady was away on sick leave.

  As it happened, the first cast for 'The Love of Three Kings' was being rehearsed that day, so Joanna found herself unexpectedly free. It was true, of course, that she could put in plenty of general study on her own account, but the prospect of a completely free day was suddenly too tempting to resist. She decided to go to the West End and do some shopping, and then later in the day she would work specially hard at home.

  It was a cool but sunny morning, and she enjoyed some shop-gazing and made a few purchases. Then, after a modest lunch, she was just thinking of going home when, as she sauntered down Shaftesbury Avenue , she was brought up short by the sight of a familiar face. There, outside the Coronet Theatre, was an arresting photograph of Sara Fernie.

  Beside it, printed in large letters, was the infor­mation that on the following Wednesday at eight-thirty there would be the first performance of a new play by Thurston Goodman - Producer, Elliot Cheam.

  A good deal intrigued, and feeling almost personally involved, Joanna lingered to absorb every detail. She would certainly manage to come one evening - though not, of course, to the first night. Perhaps she and her mother might—

  'Hello,' said a familiar voice behind her. 'What are you doing star-gazing? Shouldn't you be busy studying "The Love of Three Kings"?'

  'Why—' she turned to greet Elliot Cheam with more pleasure than she would have believed possible. T just happen to have the day free, because my teacher is ill j and—'

  'Do you want to come in to the dress rehearsal?' he asked unexpectedly.

  'Could I? Do you mean it's this afternoon?'

  'It's been going on all day,' he replied wearily. 'We've just had a short break for lunch. Perhaps you'd like to come and see just how hard the real professional has to work.'

  'If that's a nasty crack at my student status—' she began, half laughing.

  'No, no. Don't be so ready to jump down my throat. Everyone is being temperamental today - including me, I shouldn't wonder - and I could do with someone around who isn't involved. Come along.'

  He put a careless arm round her shoulders and ushered her into the theatre. While Joanna - not quite sure what had hit her - tried to conceal the immense gratification she felt at this totally unexpected in­vitation.

  He conducted her into the half-lit auditorium, which looked strangely dreary without audience or full lighting. There were several people scattered about, one or two of whom called out a greeting or question to Elliot Cheam,

  'Coming, coming,' he said, in answer to the most insistent of these. And then, to Joanna, 'Stay as long as you like, but if you get tired of it before the end, you can slip out by that side door there. Enjoy yourself. Which is more than I shall do,' he added gloomily as he left her.

  But nothing would have induced Joanna to leave the place once the rehearsal had started. It was more or less a complete run-through, with few interruptions but a great deal of often acrimonious discussion between the acts.

  Sara Fernie, she reluctantly realized, was nothing short of brilliant and, so long as she could have her own way, she fulfilled every demand the part made upon her. But once or twice she was at odds with both author and producer, and Joanna became more and more as­tonished to find how much venom could be put into the one word, 'Darling—'

  She sensed that Elliot Cheam was controlling his temper with some difficulty, particularly when Sara actually turned her back on him while he was speaking to her. As for the wretched author, if he did not liter­ally tear out his hair in handfuls, he gave the impression of being ready to do so at any moment.

  In spite of all this, Joanna - who had an extremely keen stage sense - was enchanted with the play, and was so excited at the end that she actually followed one or two people on to the stage, and unexpectedly found herself beside the unhappy author.

  'It's a marvellous play!' she exclaimed. 'It simply can’t fail.'

  'What do you know about it?' asked the nerve-torn author fretfully. 'Who are you, anyway?'

  'I'm part of the general public. And we're all going to love it,' Joanna informed him confidently.

  Whereupon Elliot Cheam laughed and said, 'Well, I'm glad someone is pleased with our efforts, and in a good temper about it all.' Then he actually slipped his arm round her again and added, 'You'd better come out to dinner with me. I could do with some of that irrepressible optimism.'

  'But—' suddenly Joanna knew that Sara was staring at her in a hostile manner, even though she had her back to the leading lady - 'weren't you going with Sara?' she whispered.

  'Yes. But she's turned me down,' he whispered back again, as though they were a couple of conspirators. 'Please co
me - and bolster up my sagging morale,'

  He was half laughing, of course. She was sure of that. But she was equally sure that there was a serious undercurrent somewhere in all this.

  'I would have to phone my mother. She's expecting me back—'

  'Come to my office. You can phone from there,' he said.

  So she went with him to his office, where he shoved the telephone across the desk to her and then slumped into a chair opposite and began to make rapid notes on a pad.

  'Mother—' Joanna cleared her throat a little self­consciously. 'It's me - Joanna. I shan't be in until late-ish this evening. I'm going out to dinner - with Elliot Cheam,' she added, unaware that she dropped her voice slightly.

  'With whom, dear?' inquired her mother's voice interestedly.

  'Elliot Cheam,' repeated Joanna unwillingly.

  'Elliot Cheam? That horrible nephew of old Mr. Wilmore, do you mean?'

  'Oh, Mother, he's not horrible—' She stopped then, and it was Elliot who cleared his throat this time.

  'Don't mind me,' he said, without looking up. And Joanna giggled suddenly and irrepressibly, partly from nervousness and partly because she thought the situ­ation really funny.

  Apparently he did too. For when she finally replaced the receiver he grinned across at her and asked, 'Where did Mother get that idea, you naughty girl?'

  'I can't imagine,' she replied demurely.

  'Well, wait here. I've got a few last-minute instruc­tions to give,' he informed her as he got up and went towards the door. But, to her astonishment, he touched her shoulder lightly as he passed her and said, 'Thanks for coming with me this evening.'

  Alone in the office, Joanna sat very still and tried to readjust herself to a new state of affairs. The Elliot Cheam of this afternoon and evening seemed a very different person from the one who had been so resent­ful of her presence in his uncle's house. Indeed, she was surprised to remember now, she had sprung un­hesitatingly to his defence when her mother had criticized him.

  'One shouldn't judge too hastily,' she told herself. And then she wondered if she were judging too hastily in assuming that Elliot's friendliness could be taken at its face value. It was possible, of course, that he had invited her out to dinner more to annoy Sara than to please herself. But before she could examine this un­welcome possibility further he came back.

  'Ready?' He shut and locked one or two drawers, pushed some papers into a leather case which he tucked under his arm, and then ushered her out of the room and presently into the street, where the famous green car was waiting.

  'Have you any preferences about restaurants?' he inquired, as he took his place in the driving seat beside her.

  'No. I just like good food,' she assured him without inhibition. 'And I love being taken out. It doesn't happen all that often.'

  'Doesn't it?' He smiled at her curiously. 'I should have thought a pretty girl like you would be a good deal in demand,'

  'Oh, I go out with fellow-students, of course. Coffee bars and that sort of thing, you know. But that isn't quite the same thing as being taken out to dinner by a famous producer, is it?'

  'I suppose it isn't.' He looked amused. 'Well, we'll see if we can improve on the coffee bar.'

  They did. He took her to a deceptively quiet-looking restaurant where the food was superb and the wines much more choice than Joanna's unsophisticated palate ever discovered. It was obvious that he was a frequent and valued customer. And, once their meal had been chosen, he sat back with an air of relaxation and regarded her with something like satisfaction.

  'Tell me about yourself,' he said unexpectedly. 'You harp a good deal on the fact that you're only a student. Have you had any sort of professional experience at all?'

  'If you count solo engagements with one or two quite well-known choirs - yes. And I've been in several of our end-of-term productions, which earned me nice notices from some of the critics. And then I had a short season with the Planton Touring Company at the be­ginning of the year—'

  'Did you?' he looked interested. 'Chorus or small parts?'

  'Secondary roles, but I understudied two leading roles.'

  'But no one conveniently sprained an ankle and gave you a chance to jump in?'

  'I'm afraid not.' She laughed contritely. 'Not that one wishes ill to a colleague, of course, but—'

  'Some people do,' he assured her.

  'I don't think so,' she said seriously. 'Not if they are reasonably well-wishing, I mean.'

  'And how many people are reasonably well-wishing, do you suppose, in a competitive profession like this?'

  'Quite a number of them. Just as in any other pro­fession,' Joanna replied with spirit.

  'Don't you believe it!' His sceptical laugh was an unwelcome reminder of the way he had doubted her good faith towards his uncle.

  'You distrust people too easily,' she told him coolly. 'And anyway, you're feeling jaundiced just now be­cause some people were horrible at the dress re­hearsal.'

  'Good of you to explain me to myself,' He looked amused again. Then he glanced across the restaurant and observed, 'Why, there are the Warrenders!'

  'You mean Oscar Warrender?' Joanna gazed in open wonder at the tall, commanding-looking man who had just come in and was accepting, as of right, the near-homage of the head waiter who rushed for­ward to receive him and his companion. 'And the girl must be Anthea Benton!' Joanna drew in her breath on ah admiring little gasp. 'Fancy looking like that as well as being able to sing as she does !'

  'Yes, she's rarely gifted,' Elliot Cheam agreed. And then as the lovely girl in the white mink jacket glanced across, smiled suddenly and waved, Joanna's com­panion rose to his feet.

  Instinctively she did the same as the Warrenders came across, for she felt, as she swallowed an excited lump in her throat, that here indeed was a glimpse of operatic Olympus .

  'Why, Elliot, how nice to see you! How is the new show coming along?' Anthea Warrender touched Elliot's hand in a friendly way and then smiled at the dazzled Joanna as Elliot made the introductions.

  'You'd better ask Joanna. She was at the dress re­hearsal,' Elliot said, to Joanna's astonishment. 'I've been too near it for too long to be any judge myself Now I'm just in a sort of unhappy, knuckle-chewing limbo until the first night is over.'

  'One knows the feeling,' said the famous conductor, speaking for the first time, though he didn't look as though he had ever chewed a knuckle in his life. 'What is your opinion, Miss Joanna?'

  Miss Joanna, who had never in her wildest moments imagined being addressed in these terms by Oscar Warrender, somehow cleared her thoughts enough to say, 'As a mere member of the public, I thought it brilliant. Both the play itself and the way it's produced and acted.'

  'Members of the public are never "mere",' de­clared Anthea Warrender with a laugh. 'Particularly on first nights. We're all terrified of you then, because it's your verdict that counts.'

  'Joanna knows the feeling to a certain extent too,' Elliot said, 'She also is a singer.'

  'Oh, please!' Joanna flushed to the roots of her hair. 'Not even to be mentioned in this company. I'm nothing but a student.'

  'My dear, we're all students to begin with,’ Anthea assured her kindly. 'And a very happy time of one's career it can be, too. I loved my student days - except when Oscar was being mean to me!'

  'I was never mean to you,' said her husband imperturbably, 'Only healthily strict. Which is why you are such a great artist today. So you're a singing student, Miss Joanna?' Joanna was both pleased and frightened to have his attention on her again. 'What do you sing?'

  'I'm a lyric soprano,' said Joanna timidly.

  'Yes?' The great man's tone was not discouraging.

  'I - I hope to sing in opera one day. But I haven't got further than a little touring experience and our end-of-term productions at St. Cecilia's.'

  'Let me see - they're doing "L'Amore dei Tre Re" this term, aren't they?'

  'Yes.' Joanna nodded, somewhat awed that the small doings
of her college should actually find a place in Oscar Warrender's famous memory.

  'And what part are you taking?'

  'Fi-Fiora, In the second cast, though,' she amplified hastily, which seemed to amuse him for some reason.

  'Well, you will be following in some distinguished footsteps,' he said, not unkindly. 'And that reminds me—' he turned once more to Elliot - 'we're going down to visit your uncle, the week-end after next. Shall you be there?'

  'I don't think so,' Elliot sounded regretful. 'I doubt if I could get away so early in the run. Unless, of course, it's a flop and closes within a week.'

  'None of us would want that, even for the pleasure of your company at the Manor,' Anthea declared with a mock shudder.

  'Anyway, it's not going to be a flop,' Joanna asserted positively^ 'It's going to be a great success.'

  'There you are, Elliot. The public has spoken,' said Warrender amusedly. 'Good luck.' And he and Anthea went over to their table, while Joanna propped her chin on her hands, gazed happily at Elliot Cheam and said,

  'I'd no idea he was like that!'

  'Like what?'

  'Well, approachable and kind. I always heard he was so difficult and an absolute tyrant.'

  'He's mellowed a bit with the years, I suppose,' Elliot said consideringly. 'That's her doing. She's one of the nicest women on God's earth, and Warrender adores her in his way. But that doesn't prevent his being a tyrant still in the opera house, to her or anyone else.'

  'Do they know your uncle very well?' Joanna asked with interest.

  'Yes. Why?' Suddenly his tone was guarded, she no-ticed, and the realization chilled and embarrassed her.

  'I'm not planning to go down there during their visit, if that's what you're thinking,' she told him sharply. 'Why do you have to be unpleasant and sus­picious every time I presume to mention your uncle?'

  'I wasn't being unpleasant and suspicious.' He sounded slightly on the defensive, 'The idea just crossed my mind that—'

  'Well, it can cross back again,' she told him tartly. 'Whatever you may want to think, I'm not the sort of

  girl—'

  'I know, I know. I'm sorry. Take no notice of me. I'm in an impossible mood, and I shouldn't really have inflicted myself on you or anyone else tonight.'