“Although one of the things we wished to ask you does concern opera,” Solomon said, as Constance and Griz sat side by side on the large sofa. He took a winged chair opposite them and Dragan slouched into the other. “Do you by chance know the singer Caterina di Ripoli? Otherwise Mrs. Digby Montague.”
“We’ve heard her,” Griz said. “At Covent Garden last week, and at some charity concert of Azalea’s last year, I think. Or was it two years ago? But I’ve never met her.”
“Does that mean you don’t know any gossip?” Constance asked.
“I’ve never heard any,” Griz said apologetically, “but then, I went for the music. If there is any to know, Azalea probably does.”
Azalea was Grizelda’s sister, Lady Trench, a philanthropic hostess much in the manner of their mother, the Duchess of Kelburn.
“What about the violinist Carl Darrow?” Constance asked.
“We did meet him at one of Azalea’s soirees,” Griz said, apparently pleased. “Plays divinely.”
“But not with you?” Solomon asked.
Griz smiled. “Lord, no, he has no time to waste on amateurs. He is ambitious.”
“Driven,” Dragan said. “And good enough to fill the largest halls, which I’m sure he will before he is much older.”
“Have you ever heard his name coupled with that of Caterina di Ripoli?” Constance asked.
“No,” Griz said, though she was frowning. “At least, I don’t think so. But perhaps I have, for I don’t seem to be surprised. Why do you ask?”
“Caterina is dead,” Solomon said, to the clear shock of their hosts. “She died suddenly last night, of a longstanding heart problem. I expect it will be in the morning’s newspapers.”
“But you are investigating her death?” Griz said shrewdly.
“What sort of heart problem?” Dragan asked.
“Irregular heartbeat. Her physician was treating her with digitalis.”
Dragan nodded.
“I don’t suppose you know the physician in question?” Solomon asked. “A Dr. Sorenson?”
“No, but I know the name. His patients are largely among the rich of Mayfair and Belgravia. He has a sound reputation.” Dragan rose, as though just remembering his manners, and poured four glasses of brandy from a fine crystal decanter. Constance suspected it had been a wedding present. Probably, so was the brandy.
She turned the subject to their hosts’ lives, which were generally fascinating. They were enjoying a lively and most amusing conversation when Solomon chose to spoil it.
The conversation had broadened from the personal to the more general, to the apparent blindness of the powerful to the plights of those beneath them, and from there to inequalities in general, and the difficulties of changing that. After her experience in Venice, Constance was looking forward to Dragan’s insights into radicalism and revolution, when Solomon suddenly leaned forward.
“A case in point. Theoretically, would you accept Constance’s invitation to our house?”
“Of course,” Griz said at once.
Constance, who rarely blushed, felt her face flame. How dare Solomon put her or Griz in this position? Though amongst the furious churnings, there might have been a gratitude she hated almost as much.
“And would you allow that?” Solomon threw at Dragan.
Dragan smiled. “There is so much wrong with that question. Firstly, I have never been able to stop Griz doing as she wished. Secondly, I would never try, unless she was putting herself in danger. She would do the same for me, and I trust her. But thirdly, I don’t believe I havethe right. And fourthly—what kind of egalitarian would I be if I turned up my nose at the birth of another?”
“He’s not talking about birth,” Constance snapped, “but aboutme. He has the thoroughly ridiculous idea of inviting respectable people to our house, with me as hostess. His question toyou—and he already guessed what your courteous answer would be—is all about persuadingmeto agree. To an event that would be disastrous for all of us.” She grasped her hands tightly together in her lap to hide their shaking. She had never been so angry with Solomon. “You two are the exception, not the rule. And I know you are kind enough to come to my house.”
“I would have already, only I know you are always out,” Griz said.
“And you would be welcome,” Constance said. “But would your sister and her husband come? Would your parents, the duke and duchess? I don’t think so.”
“You were at the Trenches’ house,” Dragan said.
