The Songbird (12 page)

He watched her now as she came towards the bridge, unaware yet of his presence. Most of the other women around were dressed in dark clothing, their dull skirts trailing on the ground, but Poppy was like a bright flower in a garden. So apt, her name, he thought. She's lovely. Her cream skirt flounced around her ankles as she walked, tall and straight-backed, her chin slightly tilted, and her hair gleaming like burnished copper above her emerald shirt.

Some youths leaning on the bridge caught a glimpse of her over their shoulders and turned round completely, their backs and elbows resting on the iron rail, so that they could watch her. Charlie saw their lips lift in smiles of admiration and so that they wouldn't call out to her, he walked towards her.

‘Poppy,' he said. ‘Here you are!'

‘Yes,' she said a little breathlessly. ‘Am I late?'

‘'No.' He took her arm. ‘But it wouldn't matter if you were.' He smiled down at her. ‘You look lovely,' he said softly. ‘Really, really lovely.'

‘Do I?' she whispered, gazing at him. And he knew then, with a certainty that sent his senses reeling and his heart racing, that she loved him.

‘Shall we take a walk?' Charlie asked.

Poppy hesitated for only a second. She hadn't been long at Mattie's and she had hurried there and back. Her father wouldn't expect her just yet. ‘All right,' she said. ‘As long as I'm home before dark.'

Those few words emphasized that she was still young enough to be in her father's care, and that he was nineteen. ‘Let's walk along ‘dock side,' he said. ‘Towards the pier.'

‘Yes,' she agreed. ‘That'll be lovely.'

They walked in silence along the side of Prince's Dock, both of them looking at the ships as if they were the most interesting vessels they had ever seen, but when they reached the junction of Humber Dock Poppy said, ‘We'd better not go any further. It's too far to the pier. Pa will be anxious if I'm late.'

‘What a good girl you are, Poppy,' he teased. ‘Worrying about your pa worrying over you!'

He drew her towards the railings at the side of the water and they watched a tugboat easing its way towards the lock. He put his arm round her shoulders. ‘I'll miss you, you know, Poppy. I'll think about you while I'm away.'

‘Will you?' Her mouth trembled and she pressed her lips together. She looked up at him, her eyes filming with tears. ‘I'll miss you too, Charlie, and do you know why?'

A little awkwardly he patted her cheek and shook his head. ‘We've known each other a long time, that's why. It's just unfortunate that I'm going away at 'same time as Tommy. You'll feel a little lost, I expect, because of things changing, but you'll soon get used to us not being here.'

‘No,' she breathed. ‘I won't. I'll miss you, because I love you and I can't bear to think that you won't be here!'

He took in a breath. ‘Poppy! You're much too young to love anyone!'

‘I'm not,' she whispered. ‘When I was ten, I asked my mother when would I be old enough to love someone; and she said . . .' Her mother's words were hazy but she thought she remembered the gist of them. ‘She said, it wasn't a question of how old someone was, but of meeting someone and knowing that you love them. And I've known since then that I love you.'

Charlie gazed at her, her grey-green eyes swimming with tears, and he wanted to put his arms round her and tell her that he loved her too; but he wouldn't, for he didn't know if it was true. He felt a great fondness for her, but she was innocent and vulnerable, and she was also Tommy's sister. Had she been older and bolder, it would have been different; he wouldn't have hesitated to show his love, whether or not it was steadfast or enduring.

‘Perhaps I am young.' A tear trickled down her cheek as she spoke, and he brushed it away with his finger. ‘But I'm growing up all the time. And when I'm eighteen, you'll be twenty-four, and there won't be such a difference between us.'

‘Poppy!' He drew her towards him. ‘We don't know what's going to happen in the time between now and then. You'll probably have found someone else that you love even more than you think you love me, and besides, I have to go away,' he said softly, but firmly. ‘I want to make my mark in 'world. I can't do that if I've a wife to look after.'

She stared up at him, her lips parted. ‘I'm not asking you to marry me, Charlie!' she said huskily. ‘I'm only asking you to love me, even if it's just a little.'

His tension eased and he gave an imperceptible sigh. ‘Well, that's easy enough, Poppy. How could anyone not love you? You're beautiful and talented and clever – everything about you says that I should love you.'

He bent and kissed her on her lips, and then once again, cradling her face in his hands. She blinked away glistening tears from her lashes. ‘So do you?' she whispered.

‘Of course I do,' he whispered back.

‘And will you wait for me?' she asked. ‘Until I'm old enough to know about love?'

When Charlie left on the Saturday and Tommy on the Monday, Poppy felt isolated and alone. ‘Come on, Poppy,' her father said on the following Friday, ‘let's take a couple of hours off and go to a concert. There's one on at 'Assembly Rooms. It'll cheer us both up. Lena and Albert can manage and we'll be back ten minutes after 'show is over.'

Reluctantly she agreed. The coffee shop would be quiet until the theatres came out, and the grocery only had a few customers who were popping in for something they had forgotten. Most groceries were sold early in the morning or at midday. She would be glad to go out, for she found the presence of Lena and Albert suffocating. Albert seemed to be always watching her and Lena had taken over the kitchen, moving the table and chairs and rearranging the store cupboard where flour, butter, sugar and dried fruit were kept for baking.

Poppy resented her being there; it was as if she was eradicating her mother's presence. Tommy had left everything as it was when he had taken over the baking, not seeing fit to change anything, but Lena tutted and complained, and poor Nan took the brunt of her fault-finding with a patient compliance.

‘I don't know how you put up with it,' Poppy had said to her one day, when Lena, who had fussed about finding mice droppings in the cupboard, was out of earshot. ‘I'd just walk out.'

Nan sighed. ‘I expect you would, Poppy, but I need to work and I like working for your father. He's fair, he pays me on time and he always says thank you when I've finished. Besides,' she said quietly, ‘your ma was good to me. I'd think I was letting her down if I left.'

‘Oh, Nan!' Poppy put her arms round her. ‘I'd hate it if you left. I'd run away too.'

‘No you wouldn't,' Nan said. ‘You wouldn't go off and leave your pa with those two, would you?'

Poppy had considered. I just might, she thought, if things get worse.

The Assembly Rooms catered for a different kind of taste from the Theatre Royal, or the Mechanics Hall. No talking dogs, comedians or ventriloquists. The programme began with a ballad singer, followed by a violinist, and then roles from
La Traviata
were memorably sung by a German baritone and an Italian soprano.

Joshua looked at the programme during the interval. ‘Anthony Marino in the second half,' he murmured. ‘Concert pianist. Mm, we're in for a real treat tonight. You'll wish you'd kept up with your piano lessons, Poppy!'

The curtain rose to show a grand piano centre stage, and a young man in a black frock coat walked on, took a bow and seated himself at the keyboard. Poppy felt her spirits rise, and she knew her father had been right to suggest they came out. Anthony Marino, whose dark hair hung to his white high collar and flopped over his forehead as he bent his head, had a slight smile hovering on his lips as he began to play.

‘Chopin!' her father whispered, as he read the programme. ‘
Grande valse brillante.
Opus 18.'

Poppy nodded. Her feet were beginning to move as if of their own accord and she longed to get up and waltz. When he came to the end of the composition, with barely a pause the pianist began the ‘Minute' Waltz and she felt as if she was lifted from her seat and dancing as her body moved in time to the music.

‘He's wonderful, isn't he?' she whispered to her father, as Anthony Marino came to the end of the piece and stood to accept their applause.

The pianist bowed and then suddenly gave a big smile. ‘You are out of breath now, aren't you, with all that waltzing?' he said, his voice humorous and Poppy thought with the slightest trace of a Mediterranean accent. The audience murmured appreciatively and clapped, and then laughed as he added, ‘So now you can take a rest whilst I play Mozart's Rondo
alla Turca
,' which he played so swiftly and merrily that Poppy really did feel breathless and happy.

Marino acknowledged the applause with a bow and sat down again. The mood changed as with a toss of his head, closing his eyes for a second and taking a deep breath, he began Beethoven's ‘Moonlight' Sonata. A hush, a stillness, fell over the auditorium as he played the serene and peaceful notes.

When it came to a close, and before anyone roused themselves to applaud, he half turned in his seat and said quietly, as he gently ran his fingers along the keys, ‘If you will allow me, the final piece of music which I will play tonight is my own composition. I hope you will enjoy it.'

Poppy sat back. How wonderful, she thought, to have such talent; to be able to compose your own music. She closed her eyes and let the melody wash over her. It was light and seductive, stirring and sensual, haunting and bittersweet, and she found herself crying. How can music make me cry, she thought as she reached for her handkerchief. There were no sad words, yet the music held a sensation of heartbreak and loss. She blew her nose, and as the pianist stood up to take his final bow from an appreciative audience, she saw that her father too was wiping his eyes.

‘Never heard of him before,' Joshua said, and for once was not in a hurry to leave. ‘But he's good. We'll hear a lot more of him, shouldn't wonder.'

Poppy took the programme from her father to read about Anthony Marino. ‘I thought he was wonderful. I wish he'd write a song for me.'

‘I thought of your mother whilst he was playing.' Her father gave a sigh. ‘I don't know why his music brought back so many memories, but it did.'

They walked back from the concert hall arm in arm and passed the Mechanics as the manager was pinning a poster to the board outside. ‘Good evening, Mr Mazzini, Miss Poppy,' he said. ‘How are you both?'

‘Grand, thank you,' Joshua said. ‘We've just been to a concert at 'Assembly Rooms. Marvellous, it was, especially the pianist!' Then he glanced at his pocket watch. ‘Have you had a good show? Your customers will be calling on us on their way home, I hope. What's coming next, then?' He read the words on the poster. ‘An entertainment competition!'

‘We are trying to encourage local talent,' the manager said, ‘and of course bring more people into the theatre. We've a good deal of competition from 'Alhambra, and now that there's 'new Grand Theatre we've got to do something a bit different.'

Poppy stared at the poster and her heart started to hammer. ‘What kind of talent, Mr Johnson? Comedy or—'

‘Anything.' He smiled at her. ‘Singing. Dancing. Comics. Fancy trying it?' he asked.

Poppy looked at her father. ‘Yes, I do. If Pa will let me.'

‘No harm in it, Mr Mazzini,' Mr Johnson coaxed. ‘We need as many contestants as possible. There'll be auditions, of course. Dan Damone, the agent, is going to be judge.'

Poppy stifled a gasp. ‘Could I, Pa? Please!'

Her father took her arm to hurry her on. ‘If it puts a smile back on your face, then yes, you can.'

She felt such joy that she even ignored the grumbles of Lena and the presence of Albert. She sang and practised her dance steps in her room, and when she went for her dancing and singing lessons the following week, she couldn't wait to tell Miss Eloise and Miss Davina.

They were both thrilled and agreed to give her extra coaching and said they would put an act together for her. The auditions were to be in a week's time, which meant she must practise every day.

‘What nonsense!' Lena groused when she heard, though she was careful not to be so blunt when Joshua was around. ‘What a waste of time. Not that it's anything to do with me, of course.'

‘That's right, Lena,' Poppy said sweetly. ‘It isn't.'

The evening of the audition coincided with Poppy's last day at school. She had said goodbye to her teachers and fellow pupils and felt a mixture of emotions, excitement and trepidation. ‘You're on the threshold of womanhood, Poppy,' Miss Miller, one of her teachers, had said. ‘And very fortunate indeed to have your father's support and a ready-made business to enter. So many young women would be glad of such a settled life.'

Poppy looked at her. She was in her thirties, unmarried, and always wore a passive expression. Rarely did she smile and Poppy wondered if she had ever felt happiness or indeed any kind of emotion.

‘I realize how lucky I am, Miss Miller,' she replied, and because she knew it was expected of her, added, ‘I'll always try to be grateful for it.'

As she was about to turn away, the teacher said, ‘Will you be entering for the auditions at the Mechanics, Poppy? I hear that you sing and dance.'

‘Yes.' Poppy was astonished that she knew. ‘My father says that I can.'

Miss Miller gave a sudden smile. ‘If you get through, I shall come and see you.'

‘Thank you, miss,' Poppy said. ‘That's really kind. There'll be a lot of entrants, I expect.'

‘Good luck,' the teacher said and Poppy felt that she meant it.