‘Okay. Stop, right there,’ Evelyn says, rapping on the table as though summoning me to silence. ‘You can’t keep blaming yourself. Marco was drunk and angry and sacked his PA. You jumped in at the last minute and pulled everything into shape.’
I drop my head onto the table. ‘I lost all the auditions. Two weeks’ worth.’
‘No.’ Evelyn reaches across the table and grabs my hand. ‘You didn’t lose the auditions. You lost the ones you were logging, but only in the format Betsy wanted them in. Everything else is still there. The problem was they didn’t recognise the voice.’
‘Because I didn’t sing for them.’
‘So, it’s simple, isn’t it?’
Thea chuckles.
‘Oh, don’t mind her.’ Evelyn smiles. ‘She thinks life is easy-peasy. Give her a biscuit and she’s happy. It sounds like Betsy’s at the root of this web.’
‘She’s convinced he’s been seducing every woman that comes into the office, but it’s not true.’
Evelyn tuts, edging her chair next to me and patting my knee. ‘Maybe she’s not exactly convinced. Maybe it just suits her.’ Evelyn squeezes my hand, her blue eyes soft with sympathy. ‘I understand how frightening it can be to put yourself out there. Honestly, I do. I used to get terrible nerves.’
‘Seriously?’ Somehow, it’s hard to imagine the cool, calm, and collected Evelyn as ever being nervous.
‘Sure. It’s part of being human. It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t push yourself. Besides, you can’t let Marco take the blame for this. It’s totally wrong. So it’s time to embrace your talent – show everyone who the real songbird is. Prove to Betsy that Marco wasn’t abusing his position. Clear his name.’
I feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat at the thought of it. ‘But what if I’m not good enough?’ The memory of the choir rehearsal yesterday still stings – I couldn’t even sing with them, so how am I supposed to sing solo in front of a whole studio?
Evelyn gives me an encouraging smile, as if reading my thoughts. ‘You have a gift, Clara. You just need to believe in yourself. Now, drink up. We have planning to do! I’ll help. Rehearsal every night till we nail it.’
I grin, raise my teacup. Maybe Evelyn’s right. Maybe this is my chance to finally step into the spotlight. Besides, Marco might not have treated me well, but there’s just something about him. I can’t get him out of my thoughts.
‘Do you think it’s stupid to fall for a bad guy?’ He might not have seduced women in his office, but there was no denying he had that crazy rock star thing going on.
‘My advice?’ Evelyn gave me a long, hard stare. ‘Don’t go judging till you know all the facts. Now, who else in that office has a vested interest in the company?’
There’s only one person who springs to mind – Fitz. But would she even want to talk to me?
‘Are you collecting?’ An immaculate woman in her sixties, with glossed red hair bouffanted in a stylist-dried bob stares at me over fashionable, thin-framed glasses before giving Evelyn and Thea a disapproving once over. I might even have detected a shiver when she ran her eyes over the baby.
‘Collecting? No,’ I say, taken aback. Not sure what I would be collecting for. But I am instantly feeling like someone from a different, more inferior race.
‘I work for your daughter.’
Stella Fitzwilliam looks puzzled.
‘At Delagado Towers,’ I say, wondering how this is going to work.
I’ve had to bring Evelyn with me because I need backing, not the musical kind, the backing-up-the-truth kind, and possibly the emotional kind. And Evelyn had to bring baby Thea with her because, apparently, that’s the deal with babies – if you’re going somewhere, so are they. ‘Is Fitz in?’ I say, a wobble of uncertainty in my voice. Already I’m filled with an overwhelming desire to take off at a fast sprint in the other direction.
Stella glances back over her shoulder into the massive marble hallway of the Fitzwilliam home. A magical fairy tale of a place with white stuccoed columns, large Georgian sash windows, and multiple sills covered in barges of window boxes that spill colourful plants. Sweet-scented pink geraniums. A brilliance of blue lobelia, some shouty purple trumpets of trailing petunias, and even some dwarfed dahlias with dark stems and crimson flowers. It is an absolute enchanted storybook of a place.
Stella stands back from the doorway and shouts up into the empty house. ‘Darling?’ Her voice echoes around the hall, which is tiled with a checkerboard floor and has a vast ceiling. ‘Visitors.’ She turns back towards us. ‘You better come in.’ She takes a step back. Evelyn and I follow her into the hallway. Every alcove and sideboard in the house is laden with vases of flowers. The most beautiful arrangements imaginable.
‘Wow. These are incredible.’ I reach out to touch the soft petals of a sunburnt orange lily.
‘I have a man,’ Stella tells us dismissively. ‘You can wait in here. My daughter always takes a while to muster herself.’ She pushes open the door to a grand drawing room. Plush sofas in brilliant blues and pale yellows, their cushions perfectly plumped, await us. The entire place smells like a hotel. A vanilla bean hotel. I have to fight the urge to inhale loudly. ‘I’d offer you refreshments, but it’s the housemaid’s morning off. We have to do it now, legally. People need time off.’ She laughs as if the thought is ridiculous. ‘It’s very inconvenient. I still haven’t mastered the kettle.’ Stella sighs as if this is totally beyond her. ‘My daughter will be down soon. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let the baby…’ she waggles one of her braceleted arms, ‘…excrete any body fluids.’
‘Never,’ Evelyn replies in total seriousness. A seriousness that gives Stella cause to double-take.
There’s a tense moment before Stella nods dismissively and exits through the door. ‘Work?’ she mumbles under her breath with a bemused curiosity.
‘What was that?’ Evelyn hisses in her wake.
