17. Chapter 17 #2
There was no answer. There was nothing but the ache, nothing but the thumping in her chest and the muffled sounds of morning.
Curled into the pillow alongside her friend Albert, her dear, dear friend who had lived his life to help others, she watched as his grip in hers loosened, held him tight as his fingers slackened.
Albert Abberton would have hated his funeral.
Black dresses, armbands, hatbands, and waistcoats—the lack of vibrancy would have rankled.
He would also have understood the need for its conformity.
Far too many people came—not just his neighbours, but friends from further afield, old foremen, workers, those who remembered his good name and came to pay their respects.
To give him a send-off that included the things he loved like bright music, good drink, and laughter, to dispense with the minister…
it would have invited far too much scrutiny.
And Albert had always been aware of when to court attention and when to play a part.
The only protest against propriety was a spray of bright purple irises and white roses resting on the coffin lid.
Iris had resisted the suggestion at first, fearing accusations of arrogance from a world that already scrutinised her as the common wife of a future earl.
But Jonah had insisted. ‘Let him have a little of you where he’s going,’ he had pleaded.
‘You know it would have made him happy. You were his world.’
‘You were, too,’ she had replied. And then the two of them had collapsed into one another, sobbing, and mixed in with the sadness was something like relief.
Cassius came. He stood on the opposite side of the grave to Odette, a few rows back, the black satin band on his top hat shimmering in the May sunshine. At least it was sunny. She couldn’t bear the idea of bidding farewell to her friend in the cold and the rain.
…even so saith the Spirit; for they rest from their labours.
Now unto the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only wise God, be honour and glory for ever and ever.
‘Amen,’ Odette murmured, nothing but a voice in the hum.
For a long minute, the group remained motionless.
Above them, a bird chirruped. A robin, chattering to its mate from high up in the trees.
From behind the black gauze of her veil, Odette could not see the pair, but their chirps carried high into the sky as they continued to tweet.
The leaves of the oaks at Kensal Green cemetery swayed in the breeze, daisy petals scattered, someone near the back moved, and then the group broke at the edges.
The tight knot of mourners unwound until the only people that remained were the ones who had known the great man best. After a while, Lawrence turned, clasping Wilhemenia by the arm.
Phineas and Rosanna drifted away, followed by Benton.
Elise hovered, watching Iris, then she, too, broke away.
Head bent and flanked by Hamish and Jonah, Iris continued to stare at the grave with glassy eyes until Hamish tucked his arm under hers and tugged.
Which left only Odette. One last look, and she turned, wandering down the path towards the gates.
She knew Cassius would come to her. That’s what they did.
They circled other places and spaces, and then, like moths infatuated by the same light, they always spun into each other’s orbit.
Theatres, operas, concert halls, even dirt paths beneath tall trees rich with green…
there was no place where they could avoid the temptation of one another.
Their boots scuffed the solid ground as their steps converged once more, and Odette took Cassius’s arm, the silence between them strangely companionable.
He didn’t enquire how she was. He already knew that inside she was destroyed.
His thumb on her knuckles, the way he adjusted his stride to her pace, and the way he pulled her against him, as if her sadness could leech into him, told her that.
She did not want to talk about her friend.
And he knew that, too.
They had walked past half a dozen symmetrical rows of epitaphs and stones, skirting grief and memories, when he spoke. ‘Have you thought about it? About Vienna?’
‘We can’t all walk away after opening night. I have an opera to perform. People will notice if I am not there.’
‘That is not forever. You could come in a few months. Even in a year.’ He slid his palm over her hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles, and even through their gloves, his tenderness trickled into her.
‘A year is a long time. You will forget me.’ She deliberately kept her tone nonchalant. ‘You have needs, Cassius. And I will not share.’
He turned her into him so that they stood facing one another. ‘I would wait for you. It’s not a trial. Not for you.’ He folded back her short black veil and tucked it into her hat. Then he stripped off a glove and wiped a thumb across her cheek to catch a tear. ‘Something else is wrong. What?’
‘Nothing,’ she said, and pulled away. ‘Just the usual worries before opening night.’ She rose on her toes and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.
Took a breath to soak up his smell, let her cheek brush against his so she would remember the heat of his skin.
‘We only have a few nights. Then we open. Then we will take life as we always have. As it comes.’
He watched her, his eyes penetrating, far too knowing.
And yet, he said nothing.
‘Do widzenia, Cassius,’ she said, and wrenched herself away.