4. Chapter 4 #2
‘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 is my opera. Written for my voice. No one else can have it.’
‘Commission your own opera,’ he said with a shrug. ‘You have the money.’
‘No one commissions their own opera. I would become a joke. You are being ridiculous. If you refuse to be useful, go away.’
Normally, he would do just that. Turn his back on the drama and leave the performers to their problems. But he needed Karl’s signature, and for that, he needed Karl in a better mood. Odette raised the back of her gloved hand to her mouth and blinked fast, restraining tears.
‘You need a distraction,’ Cassius offered. ‘A good one, one that will divert both your patron and the press. Something captivating that makes them forget all about this. But still proper. More conventional.’
‘The opposite of a scandal.’ Karl sat up, glassy-eyed and stiff backed. ‘Conformity.’
Odette waved her hand like she was brushing away another jibe. ‘Conform? How does someone like me conform?’
‘Marry,’ Karl said. ‘Or perhaps, becoming engaged will suffice. Even being courted by the right man might help. A story of a respectable courtship ought to distract everyone. If the patron thinks you are wholly devoted to another, she may believe that the prince was simply carried away by his unrequited affections. That you had no part in this and are blameless—’
‘I am blameless,’ Odette argued.
Karl grabbed the paper from the desk and shook it, the rustling an accusation.
‘By their standards, you are not, and you know it! However… if we can convince them that you are incapable of any wrongdoing because you are outrageously, pathetically, passionately—but not too passionately’—he raised a warning finger at Odette—‘in love, then that might work. We need someone who’s held in high enough esteem publicly that it keeps you out of reach of the ordinary man, but does not insult the barons or wealthy merchants you have already turned down and will turn down in future.
’ Karl pushed the glasses to the edge of his desk.
He propped his elbow up on the surface, then rested his chin on his palm and tapped his fingers against his cheek, as if in contemplation.
‘Someone handsome. But aloof. Unreadable.’ Odette’s tone grew as sly as Karl’s, and she shifted in her seat to face him. ‘Someone who intrigues the ladies. Because that is also part of the dream.’
‘And when the show has finished its run,’ Karl was addressing Odette, but his gaze kept flicking back to him, to Cassius, ‘he needs a good reason to leave. He cannot humiliate you, nor you him. Maybe someone who chooses to sacrifice love for his art, despite the pain of saying goodbye…’
‘Good luck in your search,’ Cassius said, although an uncomfortable sensation crept into his chest. He cleared his throat. ‘My contract. Have you signed the early termination?’
Karl shot another look at Odette. Then he thumped the table and laughed. ‘Perfect. He’s perfect!’
The question who formed on Cassius’s lips, but before he could voice it, he found the answer in their smug faces and their mischievous grins.
Both of them were now staring intently at him.
‘No. Absolutely not. I do not have time to play at love. I am leaving.’ He rifled through the jumble of papers on Karl’s desk until he found the contract and flipped through the pages.
‘You’ve signed it, haven’t you. Right here. Early termination—’
‘I am not releasing you from your contract until this is done!’ Karl’s voice echoed off the walls of the small office.
He snatched the paperwork from Cassius’s hands.
‘Court Odette and conduct the orchestra. If opening night is a success, I will sign this, find a replacement, and then you can go. But not one minute earlier. Understand?’
Whenever he drank, Karl was like a match. He flamed, then calmed in an instant. But he never forgot what he said during his tirades, and once set on a path, he never changed his mind. Cassius made one last, ineffective grab for the contract, then cursed under his breath.
‘How many weeks of rehearsal?’ he asked, resigned to his fate.
‘Just four, darling. Four little weeks.’ Odette rose from her seat, all gratitude and calm poise, and stood before him. She gazed up at him through the same mask that she wore onstage when one of the heroes saved her, or when she was attempting to flatter royalty.
No wonder they all crumbled. Even now, in this dingy office, with a little puffiness under her eyes and a hint of worry curling the edge of her lips, she looked like a painting brought to life. Utter perfection.
‘How do we start this… courtship, then?’ he asked. ‘Send a letter to the papers?’
‘Oh, darling,’ Odette purred. She adjusted his collar and smoothed his lapels. ‘You have so much to learn. The secret to getting their attention? Pretend you don’t want it.’