He would.Miss their tradition, that was.It had been forged in the basement of a different theatre more than a decade ago, a theatre that, like so many of them, had burnt down and been rebuilt twice since.Back then, he still played the piano, and they carried twin hopes that the show—some French farce—would launch their careers.But it was poorly advertised and even more terribly run.They opened to a half-full audience—if that—and numbers soon dwindled to almost nothing.Closing night found them both moping around backstage, wondering what to do next.Cassius had half a bottle of cheap vodka that he drank to stave off the hunger, and they toasted the end of their dreams.One drink turned into two, then four, and then she was singing while he played an out-of-tune piano abandoned in the green room.They finished the bottle and somehow survived.The following day, when he received a callback for a different opera house because their pianist was sick, he insisted that the theatre owner listen to the soprano who’d given him a bear head.That manager had been Karl von Miller, and he heard what Cassius heard—that Odette was a rare talent, a powerful mezzo-soprano whose work ethic matched her commitment to her craft.More than that, her striking beauty made most men question if she was real.Karl pulled together an end-of-season showing ofCosì fan tutte, a familiar opera guaranteed to bring in a crowd.Most musicians knew it well, which meant he could shorten rehearsal times and limit the financial risk.He cast Odette as second soprano so as not to offend the divas, although their feelings wouldn’t matter for long.Before opening night, Londoners asked one another if they were going to see the Mozart.By closing night, they were asking who’d been fortunate enough to see that songbird, Miss Odette Delaney.
And amidst the charged celebrations of closing night, at the end of a sold-out, three-week run, she’d found Cassius.Superstitious even for a player, she’d decided the toast had brought them both luck and insisted they perform the ritual again.Since that day, whenever they worked a show together, he hid a bottle during the final performance, and they toasted their good fortune afterwards, raising a glass so it might hold a little longer.Who was he to argue?Success in their world rested on a bizarre combination of hard work, natural talent, the whims of the public, and, more than anything, luck.
A little cheap vodka in the mix couldn’t do any harm.
‘Which prince?’Cassius spun the glass against the chair arm.‘Left box, or right?’
‘Maybe neither.Maybe both.’Odette tightened the tie on her robe, then sat before her dresser.With practised efficiency, she removed hairpins and shook out the tight twist that had aided the Romeo illusion, hidden beneath a felt cap.‘Stage left has a pretty wife.Would you like me to introduce you?’
‘Princesses are not worth the effort.Unless you need me to distract her?’He kept his voice level.In moments like these, he was as good at playing pretend as she was.
‘Certainly not.I thought you might provide her with some entertainment.She is so charming, and her husband is such a bore.’She laughed, light and dismissive, and his pathetic heart thumped with relief.
Every season, rumours dogged Odette.She was spotted with minor princes from the continent, with visiting aristocrats and the odd duke, but rarely more than once and never doing anything inappropriate.Gossip swirled around her like soot on the breeze, but scandal never stuck.Cassius didn’t know if that was because she was careful, or because she kept them like she kept him, like she seemed to keep everyone—playful and warm in select moments, but ultimately at a distance.
‘When do you leave?’She met his eyes in the mirror as she continued to comb out her hair.She’d cut it for the performance to make it easier to pin.Lush and golden, the soft curls fell partway between her nape and her shoulderblades.
‘In a few weeks.Karl has not released me from my contract.You may be stuck with me yet.’
‘Karl?I heard him this evening, complaining you were a tyrant.You upset one of the new musicians, and he’s threatening to quit the Constellation.He said he will be happy to be rid of you.’
A knock rattled the door.‘Enter!’Odette called, still fixing her hair.Echoes from the closing night celebrations spilled in as a bouquet of at least two dozen roses filled the frame.Only the thin legs and grappling hands of the newest runner flickered into view around them.‘The Count of Almonge asked me to deliver these.He’s in the foyer.He asked if you might join him for champagne at the Aster.’
Odette jumped from her seat with a gasp.She directed the boy to a side table, and he wobbled across, then set the flowers down.He might have been ten, or even fourteen.It was so hard to tell with the children from the street, with their gangly legs and hollowed cheeks.Odette bent low, dropping her voice to a whisper.‘What is your name?’
‘A-Anton.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you.Will you tell him to go ahead and that I shall meet him there?And Anton’—she cooed the boy’s name, and he stared at her, transfixed, already in her palm—‘see the chocolates and oranges on that table?You may take as many as you can carry home to your family.But only if you don’t tell a soul.Do you promise?’
Now the poor child would be completely at her mercy.He stuffed his pockets, filled his hands, then bobbed a curtsy.‘Yes, miss,’ he said in an overloud whisper.‘I mean, I won’t blab to no one, miss.I won’t tell a soul.’
And with a bang, Miss Delaney’s latest admirer sped out the door.
‘Now there’s a plot twist.’Cassius’s voice rasped through his throat, as dry as sawdust.‘The side character was the star all along.The Aster.How discreet.’This time, bitterness did leak through the words, and he bit his lip in swift reprimand.
She caught his gaze in the mirror, her blue eyes daggers of ice.‘If I wanted a sermon on moral values and who I should or shouldn’t spend my time with, I would join my neighbour’s society.But right now, I am busy.So please.Spare me.’
Cassius pushed himself out of the chair, then set his tumbler on the edge of her dresser.He flicked it with his fingernail, and the thin glass chimed.‘End of act one, your final line.You were a beat late.’
She threw him a murderous look.‘I am never late,’ she said, with twice the venom as before.
Cassius shrugged.‘Tonight you were.’He grabbed his vodka from beneath the chair and toyed with the cork.Perhaps he’d finish it.After all, he wouldn’t be toasting any more closing nights, not unless she came to perform in Vienna.He could drown his thoughts, his imaginings of her and him…
He opened the door.A few lost souls prowled the corridors, but everyone else had either joined the celebrations or been disgorged into the city.
‘Cassius?’She swivelled in her seat, and for a moment, she looked just like the innocent yet fiery woman he’d met fifteen years before.‘London won’t be the same without you.’
‘Is that a good or a bad thing?’he asked, and stepped into the hallway without waiting for a reply.
The door snipped shut behind him.
He unstoppered the cork.Took a quick swig.The vodka burnt his throat, and he shuddered.
She was right.It really was terrible stuff.
Chapter 3
Theringingstopped.
