Читать книгу Elements of Chance - Barbara Wilkins - Страница 21

16

Backstage in her dressing room at the Albert Hall, Valerie sat in front of the bright lights of the makeup mirror. She examined her face, the wide forehead, the pale hair swept up into a bun on top of her head, the high cheekbones. She had coaxed her eyes to their most vivid green with shadow, and darkened her long, sweeping lashes with mascara. After applying blusher to the hollow under her cheekbones, she dabbed some on the tip of her nose, on her chin, all to create a vivid face to be seen from the audience, the way Maria had taught her. She smiled, admiring her straight white teeth, and applied a glossy pink lipstick.

Valerie’s eyes were reflective, cool despite her dry mouth and her perspiring hands as she fumbled with the clasp of Lady Anne’s pearl necklace.

The swell of her breasts was nearly as white as the chiffon of her gown, which fell to her narrow feet in their white satin slippers. “Always wear white when you perform,” Maria had insisted. “White makes you look like a Grecian goddess, a wood nymph. White is good theater!”

Maria’s white roses were arranged in a tall crystal vase on a little table next to one of the flowered, chintz-covered chairs that decorated the pretty dressing room. As always, there were white cattleya orchids from Leon Stern, long-stemmed pink roses from Lady Anne. An extravagant spray of pale green cymbidia from Claude Vilgran. Red roses from Max in Los Angeles. Charming bouquets from conservatory friends and the staff of the house in Green Street, who would be cheering from the audience later. There were the usual long-stemmed red roses from Penn International, and an array of daisies with no card.

Valerie started at a tap on the door.

“Come in,” she called as she glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes.

“You look beautiful, dear,” said Lady Anne, closing the door behind her. “How do you feel?”

Lady Anne, in a two-piece black evening suit, its jacket beaded, its skirt to the floor, wore her hair in a chignon, diamonds glittering in her earlobes, but she looked strained and tired. Perhaps she was ill, Valerie worried, remembering how radiant Lady Anne had looked when Valerie had first come to London three years before. “The usual nerves,” smiled Valerie, adding, “You look beautiful too, Your Ladyship.”

“Thank you, dear,” said Lady Anne, looking over Valerie’s shoulder at her own reflection in the mirror. “There’s a full house,” she added. “You’ll have another triumph, and we’ll all have a lovely supper at Claridge’s to celebrate your performance and your seventeenth birthday. Happy birthday, dear Valerie.”

“Thank you, Your Ladyship,” smiled Valerie.

There was a tap on the door, a man’s voice calling, “Five minutes, Miss Hemion.”

Valerie sighed as she slowly rose from her chair, smoothing the chiffon dress over her hips. “Wish me luck, Lady Anne. My first solo appearance with the London Philharmonic. Another step along the way. I might be a star at the conservatory, but I’m less than a glimmer in the world of classical music.”

She smiled at Lady Anne as their eyes met in the mirror.

Lady Anne was smiling too. “Good luck, my dear.”

Applause filled the hall as Valerie swept onto the stage, took Georg Solti’s outstretched hand. They made little bows to one another, then, turning, bowed to the audience. Valerie glanced at the ornately carved boxes, their occupants a blur of color. In the Queen’s box was an elegant gathering. The orchestra was a sea of bare shoulders, of throats glittering with diamonds, rubies, of black dinner jackets, white shirts.

Sitting at the piano, the eighty-piece London Philharmonic Orchestra behind her, Valerie watched the baton in Georg Solti’s raised hand, heard the crystal tones of Mozart swelling through the hall. Her fingertips were resting on the piano keys.

The maestro gestured toward her with his baton.

Valerie bent her pale blond head over the keys, all anxiety gone as the music flowed from her fingertips, filling her with a wild exaltation. The performance. All of the grueling hours shading each phrase, each measure, sent the notes soaring. There was only the music, transporting her higher and higher.

When she had finished, Valerie stood, remembering nothing except her own rapture, her hand in Georg Solti’s as they bowed to wild applause. The maestro stepped back, and Valerie bowed alone, to cheers and cries of “Bravo.” Her friends were on their feet. Here and there in the audience, others joined them. A sheaf of long-stemmed red roses was thrust into her arms. She bowed once more, and hurried off the stage into Lady Anne’s arms.

“You were magnificent, dear,” said Lady Anne, her eyes sparkling. “You were superb. Utterly superb.”

“I can’t remember any of it,” Valerie admitted, leaning against the wall next to the open door of her dressing room, pushing her nose into the red petals. “Oh, I’m so glad I didn’t faint, or fall down,” she said gratefully. “Was I really good?” she asked everybody who crowded into the dressing room to congratulate her. “Was I really good?”

“You were perfection,” said a voice. “Absolute perfection.” It was a man’s voice. Soft, like a caress, the English accent upper-class.

Valerie turned. He stood in the doorway holding a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses. He was tall and slender, with thick brown hair and pale blue eyes. He wore tails, a white shirt, a white tie. Over his arm he carried a black evening overcoat.

He was very handsome, much better looking than when she had seen him at the opera, the theater, from across a restaurant.

“I’m Victor Penn,” he said, looking down into her eyes. “These are for the young woman who is turning into one of our greatest corporate assets,” he smiled, presenting the roses to her.

Accepting the roses, she put one hand against the wall behind her for support before tentatively clasping the hand he offered, feeling its power, its strength.

Lady Anne swept up to welcome him.

“We’re all very pleased with Valerie,” he said, taking the hand Lady Anne held out to him. “It’s so nice, Your Ladyship, to finally meet you. I grew up hearing about your late husband’s exploits during the war. He was something of an idol of mine.”

“How very kind of you, Mr. Penn,” said Lady Anne, taken aback. “How very, very kind.”

What a charming thing to say, Valerie thought. The dressing room was warm with the body heat of those crowded into it. There was the buzz of conversation and excited laughter. A couple of the boys from the conservatory came up to Valerie and congratulated her again and said goodnight. Others, too, were drifting through the door.

“Mr. Penn wants to take you to supper, dear,” Lady Anne murmured in her ear.

“But the party at Claridge’s …”

“That’s all right, Valerie. You run along. Everybody will understand.”

Victor helped Valerie on with the full-length pale mink cape that Maria had loaned her, then put on his own coat. Then it was just the two of them, hurrying down the street toward Victor’s automobile.

He stopped beside a vintage Bentley convertible and fumbled with the key as he opened the door for her. It was British racing green and gleamed under the streetlight. Valerie thought it was the most beautiful car she had ever seen.

“It’s exquisite,” she gasped as he took her elbow and helped her into the car.

“It’s really for Daniel, my chauffeur,” he said with a little laugh. “He gets so bored with the Rolls. I got it so he would have something to tinker with.”

“Where shall we go?” he asked as the engine roared to life. “Do you like Rules, in Maiden Lane? Or would you prefer someplace else?” She could feel his smile. “It’s your celebration, after all.”

“Rules is fine,” she said shyly. “I’ve never been there.”

“Oh, that’s splendid,” he said, his voice excited. “I can show you something new.”

The sommelier bowed in front of them, pouring Roederer Cristal champagne into fluted crystal glasses. “To you, and your brilliant career,” toasted Victor, touching his glass to hers.

A few minutes later, the waiter served fluffy omelettes filled with caviar. It took only that long for Valerie to realize she felt as if she had known this man all her life.

“The music, well, it’s something I have to do,” she said, amazed that she didn’t feel shy. “You see, it’s not like being the composer himself. It’s not like actually being Beethoven. Or Mozart. But it’s being chosen, in a way. Being blessed with talent, well, you have to carry it out. You have to see it through to whatever it can be. If you don’t, you’re denying your own humanity.”

“That must be a wonderful thing,” Victor said slowly. “To have a gift like that, and to be encouraged to follow it. Your aunt must be so proud of you.”

“Oh, she is,” Valerie agreed, wanting to touch his arm. “It’s almost as if my music has become her life since I’ve been here in London.” She looked away for a moment, remembering where her music had really started, in a little apartment where, as a toddler, she had picked out tunes on the upright piano.

“Well, it all paid off this evening,” he smiled. “You were brilliant.”

“It was a wonderful evening,” Valerie said somberly. “The only thing wrong was that my parents weren’t there to see me play.”

“They live in Los Angeles?” he asked, his expression showing he was eager to hear anything at all that she wanted to say.

“They did,” she said.

“Tell me what happened,” he said gently.

Her words were halting as she told Victor Penn about the disappearance of Al and Vicki nearly three years earlier. He understands, Valerie thought. He cares.

When Rules closed, Victor drove to an embankment where they could look across the Thames at the Houses of Parliament, at the illuminated face of Big Ben in the clock tower. Valerie didn’t even notice that its hands pointed at two o’clock.

Valerie stared at Victor, fascinated, as he told her about his lonely childhood.

“My parents were killed in a plane crash when I was just learning to walk,” he said. “There was an immense fortune, and guardians who took care of everything. There wasn’t love, of course, or even affection.”

Valerie wanted to put her arms around him, to make up for everything he had been denied. Instead, she sat still, her hands folded in her lap.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this,” he smiled. “I’ve never told anybody else.”

“I want to know,” she said. “I want to know everything about you.”

“There was a castle, a tutor. But the only family I had was my brother, Raymond.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Valerie said.

“Yes, a lot of people have heard of Raymond,” said Victor thoughtfully. “He keeps to himself, though.”

“Are you close, the two of you?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” he said with a little laugh. “Raymond doesn’t quite approve of me.”

“How could he not approve of you?” Valerie asked indignantly.

“Now, now,” he said, patting her hand, sending a little thrill through her. “It’s the way I live. The mansion, the paintings, all the glorious things I enjoy having around me.”

“I don’t see why that’s any of his business,” Valerie murmured.

Idly, he reached out one hand, put a finger on Valerie’s chin, and turned her face toward him.

“He thinks I’m very, very extravagant,” he said, laughter in his eyes. “And, do you know something? He’s quite right.”

Valerie looked into Victor Penn’s face, felt her whole body opening toward him like a flower toward the sun. She waited for his arms to encircle her, draw her to him. Waited for his kiss on her mouth.

The black night softened to the gray of dawn, to a smoky pink. The occasional car driving over Westminster Bridge near where they were parked turned into a steady stream of buses, trucks, taxis. All around them, London was waking, preparing for the day.

Victor dropped his hand into his lap.

“I had better take you home,” he said. “It’s dawn. We’ve talked all night.”

With a guilty start, Valerie looked across the bridge at Big Ben’s face and saw, as Victor started the car, that it was nearly six o’clock in the morning.

The Bentley drew up to the curb in front of the house on Green Street. Will he kiss me now? Valerie wondered as she turned to face him. Surely he will kiss me now.

“I had a lovely time,” she smiled.

“So did I,” he said, opening his door. “I’ll just come around and let you out.”

“It was really nice of you to come to my concert,” she said a moment later as he took her elbow and helped her out of the car.

“You were wonderful,” he said, making a gallant little bow to her. “We had a good notion when we came up with the arts endowment program. And you, of course, are the jewel in its crown.”

“Thank you again,” she said shyly, taking a step toward the house, wanting to beg him to take her wherever he was going.

He waited patiently for a moment, until Valerie realized she was to walk up the stairs, give him permission to leave. After walking up to the front door and raising the knocker, she turned for a moment. He was standing beside the door of the beautiful green Bentley, which gleamed in the early-morning sun. He gave a little wave, a smile as he got into it and drove away.

“Good morning, miss,” whispered Janet as she opened the door. She was already dressed in her uniform, her gray hair in a neat bun at the base of her neck. “You played like an angel last night. It was wonderful.”

“Thank you, Janet,” murmured Valerie, looking tentatively up the stairway, toward the door to Lady Anne’s suite.

“You’d better go up, miss,” whispered Janet. “Take off your shoes, and hurry as fast as you can. Her Ladyship won’t hear from me that you’ve been out all night. And that’s a promise I’m making you.”

It wasn’t until Valerie leaned against the closed door of her bedroom that she realized how desperately tired she was.

Sighing, she threw Maria’s mink cape over the chaise longue, slipped out of her gown. She kicked off the white satin slippers and wiggled out of her panty hose. In the dressing room, she stood in front of the mirror. Golden strands of hair straggled out of the bun on top of her head. Her white shoulders sloped with fatigue as she touched her chin where Victor Penn had touched it. Reaching behind her neck, she unclasped the pearl necklace, took the matching earrings from her ears.

She ran a steaming bath, then lay there, her eyes closed. All she could see was Victor Penn standing in the doorway of her dressing room. “He toasted me with champagne and he made me feel as if I were the only other person on the face of the earth,” she said to herself with a smile.

Lady Anne was in the entry hall, shrugging off her dark mink coat into Janet’s waiting hands when Valerie finally came downstairs just before teatime.

“Well, good afternoon, sleepyhead,” said Lady Anne, taking her arm. Together they walked into the drawing room, where a fire crackled in the fireplace and every table held flower arrangements that Valerie had received the night before.

“Janet is bringing tea directly,” Lady Anne said as she puffed up a pillow on one of the sofas, moved a vase. “Aren’t all these flowers glorious?” she asked. “Perhaps you should give a concert every week, dear, and then we’ll always have these marvelous roses, the orchids. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Valerie sat gingerly on the edge of her chair, trying to find a way to tell Lady Anne she hadn’t gotten home until dawn.

“Did you have a nice supper with Mr. Penn?” Lady Anne asked brightly. “He’s certainly handsome, isn’t he?”

“He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

“Where did he take you?”

“Rules, in Maiden Lane.”

“Oh, yes,” said Lady Anne. “They get a younger crowd there, of course.” She smiled her thanks to Janet, who was setting the silver tea service on the table. “What’s he like?” she asked, her dark eyes alive with curiosity.

“He’s so easy to talk to,” Valerie said. “I feel as if I’ve known him forever.”

“Yes, people say that,” Lady Anne nodded. “He’s supposed to be very charming.”

“Lady Anne, I have something to tell you,” said Valerie with a burst of courage. “I didn’t get home until six o’clock. I couldn’t help it. I just didn’t realize what time it was. After Rules closed, we went to a place where we could look across the river at the Houses of Parliament. We talked all night.” She paused, catching her breath. “I’m really, really sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Lady Anne sat silently for a moment, sipping her tea.

“I’m sure it was just the excitement of your triumph last night, dear,” Lady Anne said, smiling. “And, after all, Mr. Penn is the man behind your scholarship. Did he ask to see you again?”

“No, he didn’t,” said Valerie, slowly shaking her head. “What would he want with me? I’m only seventeen.”

“Well, dear, you’re a very beautiful and talented seventeen,” said Lady Anne, offering Valerie the platter of cakes. “But six in the morning won’t do, as you know. We must keep to our standards.”

As Valerie reached her hand toward the platter, Lady Anne added, “Try one of the lemon ones, dear. They’re quite good today.”

Her voice was cheerful and bright.

Valerie dutifully took one of the lemon cakes. The standards of the house changed, she concluded, when the male in question was one of the richest and most powerful in the world.