Raised voices burst into the quiet hallway ahead of him, then subsided once more.Karl was giving someone a warning, or worse.The argument continued to rise and fall as Cassius moved closer.He leant against the wall outside Karl’s door, preparing to wait until Karl had finished stripping whatever poor soul had earnt his ire—then stiffened as a sob bled through the wood.
Odette?
That couldn’t be right.Karl and Odette disagreed.But they never fought.
Karl was one of those men who loved the theatre although he had no talent or rhythm beyond clapping.Even then, he never quite found the same beat as others.But he still had a good ear, and a better measure of the crowd than most.He excelled at managing the accounts and never took bigger risks than the columns could manage.He was the only manager Odette owed a debt to, and she was the only performer he’d ever accepted any criticism from.If they were fighting, then something must be very, very wrong.
‘Of all the—’
‘How was I to know—’
‘Everyone could see he was obsessed!’
Cassius tapped at the door, but Karl’s thunderous tirade continued.He tapped again, then pushed it open.As he entered the room, Karl broke off mid-word, and the creases around his eyes hardened into a mix of anger and angst.He ran a hand through what remained of his greying hair before muttering a German curse under his breath.Odette, meanwhile, was sitting in a chair near the desk, head slightly bowed, her fingers twisting over each other in her lap.She looked up and met Cassius’s gaze, rolled her eyes, then collapsed back in her chair.Karl pushed himself from his seat with a grumble, grabbed a half-empty brandy bottle from a cupboard, and retrieved three glasses.He set them on the edge of his desk and filled them almost to the brim.
‘Not for me,’ Cassius started.‘It is not quite ten…’
Karl threw back one lug.And the next two, in quick succession.Then he refilled all three glasses and gathered them into his large hands, blew a stray wisp of hair out of his eyes, and lowered himself back into his seat.After lining up the glasses again, he threw back another of the tumblers, and another.
At last, he stared, slow and hard, into the remaining one.
Odette fidgeted with her gloves.‘The audience will still—’
‘The audience will not!’Karl hollered, and even Cassius startled.‘You have been too perfect.You gave the press nothing, and they detested you for it.Now they have more than enough to make you pay.They are wolves sniffing out a trail of blood, and they will track you until they can destroy you, just to show you they can.Five reporters have come to see me this morning alone.Five!And that’s not counting the ones with no name who are loitering in the alleyway and hoping for their first exposé.Nor does it include the gawkers and gossips out for a snoop.Half of London has their own theory on what happened, and you do not fare well in any of their stories.’
Cassius continued to wait for some explanation, but Karl and Odette remained locked in their poses, both clearly defeated, yet shooting defiant, hard looks at one another.A newspaper with today’s date lay folded on the manager’s desk, and as Cassius reached for it, Karl flattened his palm over his eyes.
Odette crossed her arms over her chest.
Cassius turned the paper and shook it open.
Falling for a Soprano
The crown prince of one of Germany’s recently unified principalities has been resident in London for some weeks now.During this time, he has attended every performance at the Constellation Theatre, headlined by the famed soprano Miss Odette Delaney.A great lover of the opera, perhaps?A cultured man?Or perhaps not.On the night of Thursday, 3rdMay, he was climbing a wall of the Constellation when a loose brick gave way, causing him to fall and break his ankle.It took some hollering until he was rescued by a group of passersby, who raised the alarm and called for an ambulance.In his pained delirium, and after the liberal application of some brandy to ease the pain, he loudly confessed his undying love for the soprano.
Speculation abounds: Was he trying to climb in?Or was he, perhaps, sneaking away?
The prince and Miss Delaney have been seen at various establishments dining in the company of others, including princes and nobles and the notorious Count of Almonge.
Word has reached his wife, who was taking the waters in Bath for her health.She has reportedly locked herself in her rooms in despair.
‘Did you know he was married?’Cassius asked.
‘And of course,of coursethe conductor cannot wait to add his judgement,’ Odette snapped, as if she’d been bottling up all her anger while Karl railed at her and she relished the space to vent it.‘It is my fault men can’t be faithful, is it?It is my fault they want a woman at home and one on the stage and likely a mistress in every city, too?It is irrelevant either way.He is a boring fool.I was not with him.’
‘Can someone vouch for you?’Karl leant forwards, a glimmer of hope lighting his eyes.‘A friend, perhaps?Someone from the cast?One of your more upright neighbours?Who were you with that night?’
Odette cast her gaze down and smoothed her skirts over her knee.‘No one who will help the situation.’
Karl groaned again, threw back the last lug of brandy, then slumped forwards and let his forehead thump onto the desk.Cassius folded the paper over.The Count of Almonge had a reputation for women, gambling, and extravagance.It was unlikely he’d go to the press, but regardless, he was not much of an alibi.
‘Speak your minds,’ Odette said, cold and bitter.‘Both of you.Soprano.Actress.Plaything.Practically a prostitute.Do not hesitate on my account, because I have heard it all before.I encourage them too much, yet I am too cold.I am too willing, yet not willing enough.But you need men like the prince and the count to come to the theatre.Because when they do, all the other men trot after them, eager to rub shoulders or to chance a meeting with someone of note.But princes and dukes don’t come to be just another seat in the crowd.The theatre is made of hopes and dreams, and not all of them play out onstage.You need the dream as much as me, and for the dream to retain its power, it must occasionally come true.’
Karl rolled to one side, his head still on the desk.‘For heaven’s sake, Odette, I’m not judging you.I know how this place works.But this isn’t about one lot of bad press.There is more to this than the public.’He lifted his head and slumped back in his chair.‘The patron has not turned over her payment to the composer, and the composer will not deliver without payment.The patron is demanding an explanation.She is refusing to be associated with anything that might carry so much as a hint of impropriety.’
‘If she wants morals, then she should avoid the theatre,’ Cassius said.‘Tell her to find another opera house to host her performance.You can stage another show to end the season.Mozart always sells well.’
Odette looked up, fire flashing in her eyes.‘That ismyopera.Written formyvoice.No one else can have it.’
