A Second Chance (13 page)

‘There’s nothing amiss with your
understanding,’ Sarah said. ‘Though I rather suspect you’re too
soft-hearted ever to develop a head for business.’ She studied Amy,
her satisfaction evident. ‘Well, my dear, now we’ve some decent
clothes for you, I’d better do something about showing you off
properly. I think I shall arrange a soirée.’

‘What’s that, Sarah?’ Amy asked, completely
mystified.

Sarah smiled. ‘A soirée, dearest, is
distantly related to what Mrs Kelly calls a… a soyree, is it?’

‘Oh! I always wondered if Lizzie was saying
that properly. How do you say it? Could you teach me?’

‘Of course. Say soirée,’ she said, sounding
it out slowly and clearly.

‘Swah-ray,’ Amy echoed carefully.

Sarah repeated the lesson several times
until they were both satisfied with Amy’s pronunciation.

‘Very good,’ she decreed. ‘You’d almost
satisfy my old French teacher, and she was not easily pleased.
There’s an odd way one is supposed to sound the “r”, but I never
could get my tongue around that. It’s a French word, you see. It
means “evening”.’

‘But Lizzie usually has hers in the
afternoon. It’s more convenient, with everyone having to get up
early of a morning.’

‘Yes, I know. I never felt it my place to
point out her error of translation. And hers are, after all,
“soyrees”.

‘Let me see,’ Sarah went on with growing
enthusiasm, ‘next week should be notice enough if I organise a
guest list straight away. There are one or two people I’ve been
intending to invite. My plans have been rather turned upside down
over the last months, of course, due to you, my dear.’ She smiled
at Amy, and reached over to give her hand a squeeze. ‘You’ve been
more than worth it.

‘Soirées are so much simpler than dinner
parties. For dinner parties I feel the need to rope in a
respectable gentleman of mature years to act as host to my hostess,
and presumably to keep the younger men in some semblance of order
over the port. I do have the occasional dinner party, of
course—apart from social obligation, Mrs Jenson happens to be an
excellent cook, and it wouldn’t be fair to deny her the opportunity
to show off her skills. I’ll probably have one later in the year,
you’ll be well used to society by then. But we’ll start with a
soirée.’

An invitation to a Millish soirée was keenly
sought after, but not easily gained. The soirées had been
well-known enough under the senior Millishes, but Sarah had put her
own particular stamp on them in recent years, with younger guests
sprinkled among the influential people of Auckland, and a fair
selection of struggling artists only too grateful for Sarah’s
discreet patronage.

Amy was an interested observer as Sarah drew
up a guest list and sent out invitations. The maids moved the
drawing room furniture about, and special flower arrangements were
set up in the drawing room and hall on the day before the soirée.
The piano tuner was called in, his first visit in some time, as
Sarah frankly admitted to having neglected her playing for months.
Amy admired the way the household staff went about their tasks,
with no fluster or bother, simply an impression of well-ordered
busyness.

The day of the soirée arrived. Amy was shy
at the thought of meeting so many strangers, but eager to observe
such interesting people. And she was sure that in her visiting gown
of heavy bronze satin she would be as well-dressed as anyone in the
room.

Sarah had explained that, along with various
acquaintances of hers, there would be two people at the soirée whom
she had not yet met.

‘A violinist who’s moved here from
Wellington—he wrote me such a terribly deferential letter, full of
apologies for presuming so much, but just wondering if I might
possibly
have any interest in someone to entertain at social
functions, and if he could
possibly
be of any use in such a
capacity. I thought it would do no harm to offer the fellow a good
supper and something to defray his expenses in exchange for his
providing us with pleasant music—always assuming his playing
is
pleasant, of course. And we’re to have a lady composer,
no less! I gather the woman’s making a precarious living out of
selling her songs, so any sort of exposure can only do her good. It
should be an interesting evening.’

The first guest to arrive showed a good deal
more nervousness than Amy had felt even at her most anxious. Sarah
and Amy were giving the drawing room a final inspection, and were
about to go upstairs to add the finishing touches to their costumes
for the evening, when one of the maids ushered into the drawing
room a young man with a faintly terrified expression, a case under
one arm, and a mop of straw-coloured hair that, judging from the
convulsive movements of his right hand, seemed to need constant
smoothing down.

The maid introduced the new arrival as Mr
Vincent, the violinist, then bobbed a curtsy and left the room.

‘Ah, how do you do, Mr Vincent,’ Sarah said,
extending a hand for the new arrival to shake. ‘I’m so glad you’ve
arrived a little early.’

‘Early?’ Mr Vincent echoed anxiously. ‘Am I
too early? I’m so sorry—it’s the trams, you see. I wasn’t sure how
long they’d take, and I had to change trams, so I made sure I
allowed plenty of time, and… oh, dear,’ he said when he caught
sight of the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I
am
too early. I
should have walked about in the park a little—I’m terribly sorry,
Miss Millish.’

‘Not at all,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s most
sensible of you to get here well in time. I’m sure you’ll want to
check the acoustics of this room and so forth—I know how particular
you musicians are.’

‘Oh,’ the violinist said, his nervousness
replaced by confusion, and then by a visible relief. ‘Oh, well, I
suppose it would be rather good… yes, I wouldn’t mind the chance to
try out the room first.’

‘Very well.’ Sarah graced him with a smile.
‘Mrs Stewart and I will leave you in peace.’

She and Amy managed to get halfway up the
stairs before meeting each other’s eyes made them both dissolve in
fits of muffled laughter.

‘What a terrified little man,’ Sarah said
when they had gained the comparative safety of the upstairs
passage. ‘I almost thought he was going to run away when he
realised the time.’

‘The poor man,’ Amy said, sympathy
struggling to prevail over mirth. ‘He’s probably not used to fancy
houses like yours. I almost know what he must feel like.’

‘Well, no one would know it by looking at
you. You look quite in your element, dressed so beautifully. And I
think I know just the finishing touch.’ She took Amy’s arm and
steered her towards Sarah’s bedroom.

Sarah opened an inlaid wooden box that
rested on her dressing table. The box seemed to have numerous
compartments, but she reached unhesitatingly towards one of them
and drew forth a necklace set with blue stones. She fastened it
around Amy’s neck, then led her over to a long mirror to see the
effect.

She stood behind Amy, hands resting lightly
on her shoulders. ‘Yes, that’s just right.’

‘Such a pretty necklace,’ Amy said, watching
how it caught the light at her slightest movement. ‘Especially
these lovely blue stones.’

‘They’re sapphires—the blue matches your
eyes beautifully. This was one of Mother’s favourites.’

Amy put a tentative hand on the necklace.
‘Was it?’ she asked, a twinge of guilt threatening to mar her
pleasure.

‘Yes, it was. And no, Mother wouldn’t have
minded your wearing it. She would have been delighted.’

Sarah found the necklace’s matching bracelet
and placed it around Amy’s wrist, then chose a heavy gold necklace
for herself. The gold brooch Amy had given her so long before was
already pinned to Sarah’s bodice. She ran an appraising eye over
Amy and gave a nod.

‘Perfect. Now, come and let me show you
off.’

It was still a few minutes before eight
o’clock when the next guests arrived, these two showing none of Mr
Vincent’s nervousness.

Left to her own devices, Amy might have
slipped away into a quiet corner and observed the new guests
unseen, but Sarah’s firm grip on her arm banished any such foolish
urges. She steered Amy into the entrance hall, where the new
arrivals were being relieved of their cloaks by the maids.

‘Amy, may I introduce Mr and Mrs Martin
Wells.’ Sarah released Amy’s arm to exchange a kiss of greeting
with the young woman. ‘Emily and I were at school together.’

She took Amy’s arm again and drew her
forward. ‘And this is my very dear friend Mrs Stewart, whom I’ve
talked of so much.’ Sarah cast the warmest of smiles at Amy. ‘Emily
happens to be a very fine singer, so we can be sure of some
pleasant entertainment, even if Mr Vincent is too terrified to give
of his best.’

‘Terrified of me?’ Emily Wells said, her
eyes wide open in mock horror. ‘Goodness, I didn’t know I had that
effect on musicians!’ Her serious expression dissolved into a
smile, and a small giggle escaped her.

‘Your reputation obviously precedes you, my
dear,’ Martin remarked, and was rewarded by a broader smile from
Emily.

‘Oh, I think Mr Vincent would be terrified
no matter how meek a creature you were,’ Sarah said. ‘I really must
warn you, dear, he’s such a frightened little rabbit of a man that
if you so much as look at him sharply he may run away.’

Emily laughed merrily. ‘I’ll be on my best
behaviour—I won’t frighten him even a tiny bit. Oh, I’ve so looked
forward to meeting you, Mrs Stewart,’ she said, taking Amy’s hand.
‘Sarah’s hardly talked of anything else since she knew you were
coming to Auckland.’

Sarah led the way into the drawing room and
introduced Mr Vincent. At the mention of Emily’s name, the
violinist looked more nervous than ever.

‘Mrs Wells,’ he said faintly. ‘Such an
honour.’ His eyes slid away from Emily, and Amy thought she saw him
cast a glance at the door of the room, as if measuring the distance
in case he should have to make a run for it.

But Emily gave him little opportunity for so
foolish a move. As soon as she had been introduced, she hurried up
to Mr Vincent, an anxious expression on her face in place of the
bright smile of a few moments before.

‘Oh, Mr Vincent,’ she said, slightly
breathless in her haste, ‘I do hope you’ll be patient with me—I’m
afraid my voice is really not quite
in
this evening. I hope
you won’t find accompanying me too unpleasant.’ She allowed herself
a hesitant smile.

‘Why… why, not at all, Mrs Wells,’ Mr
Vincent said, looking first puzzled, then a good deal more assured.
‘I’ll be most honoured to play for you. And I’m sure your voice
will be more than satisfactory,’ he added with growing courage.

‘How kind of you,’ Emily said.

Sarah ushered Emily and Amy to seats close
to the fire. Amy had warmed immediately to this bright, bubbly
woman, and within five minutes of sitting by her Amy knew that
Emily had married just before she turned eighteen; that she had two
little girls, one aged almost three and a baby of a year old,
safely in the care of their nursemaid this evening; that Martin had
a senior position in the Customs Department; and that Emily
regularly sang at private functions. Amy relaxed quickly in Emily’s
company, and was grateful to Sarah for providing her with so
congenial a companion.

The remaining guests arrived only a few
minutes apart. Sarah had sent out her carriage for the lady
composer, so that the young woman would not be obliged to walk the
streets of Auckland alone at night. Miss Farrell’s outpourings of
gratitude for the favour were only silenced when Sarah politely
suggested she might care to set out her sheet music and acquaint
herself with the piano.

Miss Farrell had just begun acting on
Sarah’s suggestion when the final guest arrived. Her first sight of
the man told Amy that, unlike the two musicians, this was no shy,
awkward person.

‘Mr Lewis, how delightful that you could
come,’ Sarah greeted the newcomer. ‘Mr Lewis has only recently
arrived in Auckland,’ she told her other guests. ‘He’s taken up an
appointment at our university, lecturing in Classics, I believe—is
that correct?’

Mr Lewis smiled his agreement. The smile
improved his already handsome face, Amy thought as she studied him
discreetly. He looked to be around thirty, with pale skin and fair,
almost white, hair. ‘Quite correct, Miss Millish,’ he said,
revealing a pleasant speaking voice. ‘I’m still finding my way
about the place, but I must say I’ve been made very welcome since I
arrived in the Colony. Although I’m still to adjust to the
topsy-turvy seasons!’

The gentlemen took their seats, Emily went
to stand close to the musicians, and the musical entertainment
began.

Emily had a lovely, rich voice with a wide
range, skipping into the higher register without apparent effort.
With her engaging manner and animated expression, she was a
pleasure to watch as well as listen to.

She began with two songs that seemed
familiar to most of her audience; even Amy thought she had heard
Lily play similar melodies. Then Miss Farrell started shuffling her
sheet music about, casting anxious glances around the room as she
did so, and Amy guessed that she was preparing to play some of her
own compositions. Emily let her hand rest lightly on Miss Farrell’s
shoulder for a moment in a gesture of encouragement before the
music began.

Amy knew she was no judge of music, but the
songs seemed pretty to her. All three were love songs; all with a
wistful feel about them. Emily sang beautifully, and there was
vigorous applause when she had finished; Amy noticed that Martin
was particularly enthusiastic in his.

Emily returned to her seat to rest her
voice, and Mr Vincent stood to take his turn. He played several
pieces that sounded very clever and complicated to Amy, then he and
Miss Farrell played together, which Amy enjoyed rather more. For
the final performance, Emily went back to stand in front of the
piano and sang another of Miss Farrell’s songs. As the last
plaintive notes died away, the small audience applauded loudly, the
gentlemen rising to show their admiration.