‘Commission your own opera,’ he said with a shrug.‘You have the money.’
‘No one commissions their own opera.I would become a joke.You are being ridiculous.If you refuse to be useful, go away.’
Normally, he would do just that.Turn his back on the drama and leave the performers to their problems.But he needed Karl’s signature, and for that, he needed Karl in a better mood.Odette raised the back of her gloved hand to her mouth and blinked fast, restraining tears.
‘You need a distraction,’ Cassius offered.‘A good one, one that will divert both your patron and the press.Something captivating that makes them forget all about this.But still proper.More conventional.’
‘The opposite of a scandal.’Karl sat up, glassy-eyed and stiff backed.‘Conformity.’
Odette waved her hand like she was brushing away another jibe.‘Conform?How does someone like me conform?’
‘Marry,’ Karl said.‘Or perhaps, becoming engaged will suffice.Even being courted by the right man might help.A story of a respectable courtship ought to distract everyone.If the patron thinks you are wholly devoted to another, she may believe that the prince was simply carried away by his unrequited affections.That you had no part in this and are blameless—’
‘Iamblameless,’ Odette argued.
Karl grabbed the paper from the desk and shook it, the rustling an accusation.‘By their standards, you are not, and you know it!However… if we can convince them that you are incapable of any wrongdoing because you are outrageously, pathetically, passionately—but nottoopassionately’—he raised a warning finger at Odette—‘in love, then that might work.We need someone who’s held in high enough esteem publicly that it keeps you out of reach of the ordinary man, but does not insult the barons or wealthy merchants you have already turned down and will turn down in future.’Karl pushed the glasses to the edge of his desk.He propped his elbow up on the surface, then rested his chin on his palm and tapped his fingers against his cheek, as if in contemplation.
‘Someone handsome.But aloof.Unreadable.’Odette’s tone grew as sly as Karl’s, and she shifted in her seat to face him.‘Someone who intrigues the ladies.Because that is also part of the dream.’
‘And when the show has finished its run,’ Karl was addressing Odette, but his gaze kept flicking back to him, to Cassius, ‘he needs a good reason to leave.He cannot humiliate you, nor you him.Maybe someone who chooses to sacrifice love for his art, despite the pain of saying goodbye…’
‘Good luck in your search,’ Cassius said, although an uncomfortable sensation crept into his chest.He cleared his throat.‘My contract.Have you signed the early termination?’
Karl shot another look at Odette.Then he thumped the table and laughed.‘Perfect.He’s perfect!’
The questionwhoformed on Cassius’s lips, but before he could voice it, he found the answer in their smug faces and their mischievous grins.Both of them were now staring intently athim.‘No.Absolutely not.I do not have time to play at love.I am leaving.’He rifled through the jumble of papers on Karl’s desk until he found the contract and flipped through the pages.‘You’ve signed it, haven’t you.Right here.Early termination—’
‘I am not releasing you from your contract until this is done!’Karl’s voice echoed off the walls of the small office.He snatched the paperwork from Cassius’s hands.‘Court Odette and conduct the orchestra.If opening night is a success, I will sign this, find a replacement, and then you can go.But not one minute earlier.Understand?’
Whenever he drank, Karl was like a match.He flamed, then calmed in an instant.But he never forgot what he said during his tirades, and once set on a path, he never changed his mind.Cassius made one last, ineffective grab for the contract, then cursed under his breath.
‘How many weeks of rehearsal?’he asked, resigned to his fate.
‘Just four, darling.Four little weeks.’Odette rose from her seat, all gratitude and calm poise, and stood before him.She gazed up at him through the same mask that she wore onstage when one of the heroes saved her, or when she was attempting to flatter royalty.
No wonder they all crumbled.Even now, in this dingy office, with a little puffiness under her eyes and a hint of worry curling the edge of her lips, she looked like a painting brought to life.Utter perfection.
‘How do we start this… courtship, then?’he asked.‘Send a letter to the papers?’
‘Oh, darling,’ Odette purred.She adjusted his collar and smoothed his lapels.‘You have so much to learn.The secret to getting their attention?Pretend you don’t want it.’
Chapter 5
AsOdettecrossedtheempty stage, floating through the grey shadows, the air she displaced made the ghost light tremble.Suspended on a tall holder, the candle was lit at the end of each day so that the theatre ghosts could use the stage overnight, which made them less likely to meddle in the performances of the living.Its thick taper had already burnt halfway down, and yellow wax, smelling of cheap tallow, clumped in thick beads where candle met brass.The flame grew long and thin as it stretched along the wick, and as it softened and calmed, she paused to let her eyes adjust to the contrast between the bright flame and the shadow of the sleeping theatre.
Dreams were such fragile things.They were like soap bubbles drifting over the muck of life, liable to pop beneath a sharp exhale.How many performers had she seen disappear over the years?Since she’d first set foot in Karl’s old theatre, Odette had shared the stage with some extraordinary voices.Men with baritones that vibrated so low that the audience could feel the tremors in their ankles.Tenors with voices that dripped as smooth and sweet as honey.And the sopranos… so many sopranos.Beautiful singers with voices honed through hours of practice, many of them excellent, some even as gifted as herself.So many of them lit up the stage, only to vanish before anyone could remember their names.
Many darts could burst the dream.Managers who spent more than their commission or who lost earnings because they could sell a voice but failed to negotiate a decent contract.Some singers’ mothers became paranoid about the vices of the theatre and locked their daughters away, which left them unable to garner the necessary attention from the press to become a success.Others flew too high too soon, believing that everything would come easily after a single successful show—only to fall from grace faster than a raindrop from heaven.There had been one soprano everyone had tied themselves in knots over who woke up one day and couldn’t leave her bed, who simply couldn’t go on, as too many voices had lodged in her ears where praise and criticism collided.She’d been a spark, a flame, then faded to a distant memory within two seasons.Some starlets allowed jealousy to turn them inside out.Some of them left the uncertainty of the theatre to become happy wives to astute businessmen, and other, less fortunate ones were forced into hasty marriages to cover a pregnancy—often to noblemen who promised much and gave nothing.Most heartbreaking of all were those who forgot to look after their voice, who pushed themselves to breaking.They tackled compositions not meant for them, strained their voice until it fractured, then lost their chance at an audition, or had to pass over a role.And, like a butterfly on a breeze, their opportunity to shine alighted on the next singer and was gone.
Holding the stage, commanding the spotlight, and staying herself was a balancing act.It required a combination of protecting the bubble with two confident hands, mastering the breath to direct it where it needed to go, and attracting sufficient good fortune to make sure it did not burst.
And she had managed it.She had learnt how to negotiate, how to charm, had cared for herself and always trusted the luck.Her reputation had been immaculate beyond this one small slip, but she would manage that, too.And soon, very soon, she would be more than a name at the top of the playbill.Her voice would be preserved in a composition.In an opera written exclusively for her.She would become immortal.Would reach the lofty heights they all dreamt of when they sang their first shaky notes at the piano.The fantasies they didn’t dare voice out loud because too much ambition, too soon, could shatter everything.
The ghost light flickered.
‘I made it, Babcia,’ she whispered.‘All the way.Thank you.’And with a puff, Odette blew the candle out.
‘Surely it is bad luck to blow out the ghost light without a lamp for the living at the ready?Isn’t it best to lighttheirway first?’The voice, unmistakably Cassius’s, curled up from beneath the stage.Odette crossed to the edge, peering down into the sunken space.Someone had lit a few of the lamps on the walls, and their warm yellow light washed across the angled floor, stretching all the way to the edge of the pit.
