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SARAH WAS FLOATING at least six inches off the ground. The champagne that Max had splashed out on was contributing, she knew, but mostly it was just on wings of elation—the buoyancy of abject relief and gratitude that she had given the performance of her life.
Elation filled them all—hugs and kisses, tears and laughter and joy lifting them all above the exhaustion that their efforts had exacted from them. But no one cared about exhaustion now—only about triumph.
She could scarcely believe it, and yet it was true. All true. Finally all true.
‘Am I dreaming this?’ she cried to her parents as they swept her into their arms. Her mother’s face was openly wet with tears, her father’s glowing with pride.
Her mother’s hand pressed hers. ‘Whoever he is, my da
rling—the man you sang about—he’s not worthy of you.’ Her voice was rich with sympathy and concern.
Sarah would not meet her mother’s eyes.
Her mother smiled sadly. ‘I heard it in your voice. You were not singing of the loss of your soldier. It was real for you, my darling—real.’
Sarah tried to shake her head, but failed. Tried to stop the knife sliding into her heart, but failed. She could only be grateful that Max was now embracing her—for the millionth time—and drawing her off to one side. He found a quiet spot in the foyer area where the after-party was taking place and spoke.
‘This has just been given to me,’ he said.
His voice was neutral. Very neutral. Out of his pocket he took a folded piece of paper and opened it, handing it to Sarah. She took it with a slight frown of puzzlement. Then her expression changed.
‘I’m glad for you,’ she said tightly. It was all she could manage. She thrust the paper back at Max.
‘And for yourself?’ The question came with a lift of the brow, speculation in his eyes, concern in his voice.
She gave her head a sharp, negative shake. Turned away bleakly. Heading back into the throng, she seized up another glass of champagne, more hugs, more kisses. And suddenly, a huge bear hug enveloping her.
‘Oh, Sarah... Sarah—you were brilliant. Just brilliant! You were all brilliant!’
It was Philip—sweet, lovely Philip—his face alight with pleasure for her. She hugged him back, glad to see him. But automatically, fearfully, she found her gaze going past him. And there was another emotion in her eyes—one she did not want to be there but which leapt all the same.
It died away as he spoke again. ‘I just wish Bast could’ve been here. I told him I really, really wanted him to hear you do your real stuff—not all that inane Sabine garbage.’ He released her from his hug.
She smiled fondly. ‘Thank you for all your loyalty and support. It means a great deal to me,’ she said sincerely, because his youthful faith in her had, she knew, been a balm to her. ‘And Philip?’ She pressed his hands, her voice serious now. ‘Listen—don’t ever let types like Max take money off you again. He was out of order.’
He coloured again. ‘I wanted to help,’ he said.
For a second, just a second, her eyes shadowed with pain. Philip’s ‘help’ had exacted a price from her and she had paid heavily. Was still paying.
Would pay all her life...
‘You did,’ she said firmly. ‘And we’re all grateful—you helped make all this possible!’ She gestured widely at the happy scene around them.
‘Great!’ He grinned, relieved and reassured.
She, too, was relieved and reassured. Philip’s crush on her was clearly over, there was no light of longing in his eyes any more. Just open friendliness. ‘We all liked you hanging around—with or without that hefty donation to us. Oh, and Philip?’ Her face was expressive. ‘That monster car you want to get for yourself—please, just do not smash yourself up in it!’
He grinned again. ‘I won’t. Bast’s teaching me to drive it safely.’ He blew her a kiss as he headed off. ‘One day I’ll deliver you to the artists’ entrance at the Royal Opera House Covent Garden in it—see if I don’t.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ she said fondly.
She turned away. Covent Garden... Would she make it there? Was what had happened tonight the first step on her journey there?
Fierce emotion fired through her.
I have to make it. I have to!
Work and work alone must consume her now. No more distractions.
