Last Act (9 page)

“His Highness will not like it,” said the lawyer.

“Then His Highness will have to find himself another Marcus, will he not?” Absurd, in a way, to make such a point of this, and yet … “Have all the other singers signed?” she asked.

“That is their affair.” The lawyer retrieved the contract and folded it with an angry rustle of stiff paper. “I must consult the Prince about this.”

“Perhaps he will let me explain my views to him tonight. It is a matter of principle with me. I am sure he will understand.”

“Tonight?” asked the lawyer.

She smiled at him sweetly. “I am dining at the castle,” she said.

When the time came, it was the last thing she wanted to do. The day had been an exhausting kaleidoscope of hard work and new faces. The first rehearsal had introduced her to Adolf Stern, who played Regulus and made it very clear that he would rather sing with a Princess than with a British unknown. Incredibly handsome in the best blond Viking manner, he seemed wasted as anything but Siegfried, and made an occasional passing reference to Bayreuth—“But, of course, Lissenberg must come first.” He did not explain why, and Anne did not ask him, any more than she asked whether he had signed that anti-union clause in the contract. She thought he very likely had. She was afraid, as he contrived to make her miss her cue for the third time, that she was not going to like Herr Stern very much. She was also very sure that when she knew her words better, she would be able to cope with him, and managed to convey as much to an anxious Carl Meyer in a brief aside as they parted.

Anyway, the music was what mattered, and the music was extraordinary. Carl had been right in his description of it as Beethoven at his best, the music echoing the grandeur of the tragedy, and yet a recurrent C major theme, which she was learning to love, reminding, always, of human dignity. Only Regulus, his daughter, and Marcus were given it, and oddly enough, the Carthaginian leader, just once. But, leafing quickly through the complete score Carl had found for her, Anne saw that it came out strong in the final chorus, sung by the Roman people after Regulus and Marcus had sailed away to the barbarous fate that awaited them.

She looked at her watch. Half past seven. One does not keep royalty waiting. Ten minutes later she was breathlessly applying lipstick when the telephone rang. “The car is here, Miss Paget.” Did Josef never go off duty?

She stepped into shabby golden sandals, picked up the bag that matched them, twisted a piece of Woolworth's gold chain round her neck in lieu of her lost jewels, flashed herself a wry grin in the glass and hurried along the hall to the lift. She ought to be worrying about that contract, but, why? So far as she could see, her position was impregnable. I look down on them, she thought, from the unassailable ramparts of death.

Downstairs, Josef was waiting near the lift doors. “Punctuality”—he smiled at her—“is the politeness of princes.”

“Or to them. Will I do, Josef?”

“Admirably.” Comforting to think he meant it. “The car's outside.” He looked as if he might have said more, thought better of it, and escorted her through the lobby in silence. A couple of Roman citizens whom she had met earlier in the day honoured her passing with low whistles, which confirmed her theory that they were Italian. But it was good for morale, and so was the courteous way Josef ushered her out through the heavy door and down the well-lighted portico steps to where a small sports car was waiting. She turned, smiling. “And there was I expecting a pumpkin carriage at the least of it.”

“You'll be just as surprised.” He led her round the car and opened the front door for her.

“Forgive my not getting out.” A girl's voice, warm, deep, friendly and, to the expert ear, unmistakable. “It's such a bind in long skirts.”

“Princess Alix!”

“You're quick.” A warm hand found hers in the half dark of the car. “I thought it would be easier all round if we met before the battle begins.”

“Battle?”

“Well”—Alix had a charming, deep laugh—“you did put the cat among the pigeons this morning, didn't you? Singers aren't supposed to be able to read. Not in Lissenberg, anyway. Brave little thing, aren't you? Half my height and twice my guts. I signed it without a whimper.”

“Well,” said Anne. “You're a princess.”

“God help me. Anyway, what I came to say is, stick to your guns, and I promise it will be all right. I've spent the afternoon soothing Father down. He was biting the carpet when I got home. But I've pointed out to him that a few appearances at Covent Garden would make you even more of a draw next year. Poor Father, he doesn't understand. He thinks because he can ban trade unions here in Lissenberg … And of course Stern's signing didn't help.”

“Stern signed?”

“He had his reasons. How are you finding him?”

“Difficult. But I'll manage.”

“I bet you will. And Father. Don't worry. He lost his heart to you in a small way yesterday. I could see all the signs. Just play it as cool as possible and you'll have him eating out of your hand. He's quite harmless, really.”

“You think so?”

“I hope so. Time to be going.” She started the car and drove slowly down the arcaded curve, pausing at the bridge to look back at the opera house. “What do you think of it?”

“Tremendous. And if its acoustics are half as good as the rehearsal room's this is going to be quite an occasion.”

“Oh, they're better. You like the opera?”

“
Like it!
How can you bear not to sing Marcus? I can't begin to tell you how happy I am to have the chance to do it.”

“And I'm so glad you are. You'll be perfect. As for me … Shall we just say, there were problems. Not just my throat. More than I had expected when I first thought of it. I won't pretend I didn't mind like hell at first. And then, listening to Lotte Moser … But now I've heard you, and met you, it's all right. You'll do, won't you?”

“I'll do my best.”

“Fair enough.” They had left the valley now and the headlights illuminated a great arc of forest as the Princess swung the car sharply round and they began to climb. Looking back and down, Anne caught a glimpse of what must be the lights of Lissenberg before the black forest engulfed them. “This party,” Alix went on. “Nothing formidable. Mother, of course, Signor Falinieri, Carl Meyer, and, I'm afraid, Herr Rummel.”

“Rummel?”

“The lawyer. Bit of luck and firmness, you can get all that done with over cocktails.” She laughed, but not happily. “You must bear with Mother's American habits.”

“Your mother's American?”

“You didn't know? Mother's not just American; she's solid American dollars. What was that song? Eartha Kitt, remember? An old-fashioned millionaire, that's Mother. So, when you're not being patient with Father, just bear with her, there's a dear.
She's got plenty of her own to bear. Oh—one thing—her German's terrible so we speak English mostly, which will save you some trouble. And here we are.” Huge turreted gates barred their way, with no sign of a guard. “Just watch the miracles of modern science!” Alix played a quick little phrase on her car horn and the gates swung open. “Tune changed every day, of course.” She took the car slowly into a large courtyard, waving to a man in the right-hand turret as she passed.

As she parked at the foot of a broad flight of steps, footmen in green livery sprang forward to open the car doors. “Do you mind the back way?” Alix led Anne quickly through a maze of corridors to a lift. “I need to comb my hair.” More corridors led to a sumptuous bedroom with a view of lights far below in the valley.

As they stood side by side at a huge glass, Alix spoke. “I wonder how long it will take Adolf Stern to see how much better a foil you'll make for him than I did. I can't tell you what a comfort it is to be back into heels.” She laughed. “I'm two inches taller than he is. I had to wear ballet slippers for rehearsals and he still hated it!”

“You'd make a marvellous Orpheus!” It was true. Tall, slender and dark haired, Alix was handsome rather than beautiful, with an air of command which would make her much more suitable to a lead part than to Marcus, the devoted page.

Alix laughed ruefully. “Pity, isn't it? I always wanted to sing Leonora, but I was too convincing by a half as a man.” She looked at her watch. “Time to go. Best get your encounter with Father and Rummel over before the others arrive. And whatever happens don't let them bully you. Just remember, I'm not singing, and there's no one else.”

“Thanks.”

Curtseying low to Prince Rudolf and encountering the full blast of his angry gaze, Anne was grateful for the encouragement.

“So, Miss Paget.” He looked her up and down with aristocratic disdain, the lawyer, Rummel, looming behind him. “You do not find our contract good enough for you?”

“Forgive me, Your Highness! For Lissenberg, I am sure, it is
admirable, but for an English singer …” She looked up at him pleadingly. “You must realise that it is everyone's ambition to sing at Covent Garden, the National Opera, Glyndebourne … Without Equity membership, we have no hope.”

“Oh, you English!” He turned from her impatiently. “You are content to let the trades unions run your country for you. We manage things quite otherwise here in Lissenberg. I trust I can persuade you to think again.”

“No. Forgive me, Your Highness, but this is final. It is not just my career.” And how true that was. “It's the principle of the thing. Would you betray your position as Hereditary Prince?”

“Of course not.” He found the comparison distasteful, and showed it.

“Well, then … I owe a duty to my fellow singers. To myself. I beg you, Your Highness, to bear with me.”

He swore, hard, angry, but unintelligble. Then: “Very well. Since it seems we cannot do without you …” He smiled at her grimly, while his eyes did a slow, luxurious traverse of her shoulders. Then he turned to vent his rage elsewhere. “Herr Rummel, you may go. We shall not need you this evening.” He turned away and crossed the wide room to where a range of windows gave onto a terrace.

“There, that's over, and not so bad as I'd feared.” Alix's hand was warm on Anne's arm. “Come and meet my mother.”

The Hereditary Princess, a plump, artificially blonde lady of uncertain years, was greeting Signor Falinieri and Carl Meyer, who had arrived together. “There you are at last,” she addressed Alix petulantly. “I've had messengers looking for you all over.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am.” The formal address came oddly from daughter to mother. “I thought I told you I was going to fetch Miss Paget myself. And here she is, our new star.”

“Oh, that eternal opera!” The Hereditary Princess turned a brusque shoulder to the three people connected with it and looked ostentatiously at her watch. “I can't think what's happened to my cousin and his friends,” she said. “They promised to be here for dinner.”

“Uncle Jimmy?” Alix sounded surprised rather than pleased. “I didn't know he was about.”

“He flew in this morning. That helicopter pad almost makes the whole project worthwhile. He's been down at the works all day. Ah.” A footman had been standing at her elbow with a tray of drinks. “Champagne cocktail, Miss Paget?”

It was not Anne's favourite drink, but she took it meekly and noticed that her hostess, exchanging her empty glass, carefully selected one from the back of the tray. “Here they come at last.” She took a stiff pull from the new glass and moved forward to greet the little group of men who had just entered the room.

“Oh, hell,” said Alix under her breath, and Anne rather shared her feelings when she saw Adolf Stern among them.

Prince Rudolf had been standing a little apart, glowering out the window at the view down the arcaded valley, where hidden lights made strange shadows among the colonnades. Now he came forward with a kind of forced joviality to greet the new arrivals. “James.” He shook hands informally with a tall red-faced man. “When did you get here?”

“This afternoon.” To Anne's surprise he looked and spoke like a typical upper-class Englishman—a real, old-fashioned lord of creation. “We have to talk, you and I,” he told the Prince. “In the morning. I've made a date with that girl you call your secretary. Gloria seems to think she can find me a corner for the night in this schloss of yours.” He made it sound as if the castle was some kind of second-class hotel.

“Delighted,” said Prince Rudolf without enthusiasm. “And your friends? I don't believe I have had the pleasure …”

“Gloria didn't tell you? My apologies, Your Highness.” He contrived to make the title faintly mocking as he waved forward two small men in dark suits who had been hovering rather uncertainly beside the immaculate, Viking figure of Adolf Stern. “My right hand and my left, Your Highness.” Once again he contrived to build a sneer into the formal address. “Mr Bland from Manchester and Mr Marks from Birmingham. What they don't know about my business is nobody's business.”

“Ah—business,” said Prince Rudolf. “And do they propose to honour us with their company tonight too?”

“On second thoughts”—the red face grew redder—“we will all three stay at your hotel. I shall be interested to see what kind
of a job your architects have made of that.” He did not sound hopeful.

“As you wish. It is not officially open yet, as you know, but, of course, for you—” The Prince turned away. “Herr Meyer, Herr Stern, good evening. Have you met your new colleague, Miss Paget, Herr Stern?”

“Yes.” A professional glance assessed the well-worn brown velvet and dismissed the Woolworth chain for what it was. “I have had that pleasure.”

“Good.” He sounded profoundly uninterested. “Ah, dinner.” A footman had thrown open huge double doors at the far end of the extravagantly panelled room. “Gloria, my dear, shall we go?”