Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
V iola hummed as she paced the length of her dressing room. The motion helped burn off some of the bubbling nervous energy that always surged through her before a performance, making it easier to focus once she started her breathing exercises. It was a trick her mum had suggested when she first accompanied Viola to performances.
She smoothly transitioned to lip trills, feeling the familiar vibrations loosening her vocal cords. The Proms always tested her patience; waiting for her turn to perform made the anticipation build even more. Although this was her third time attending, tonight was special. It was her debut at the Last Night of the Proms, and it was an honour few in the world received.
Sinking into the sofa, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the silence with every breath. Her mum would always leave the room whilst she carried out the final part of her warm-up. It was easy to think she was on the other side of the door now, waiting for the call to come back in.
Emotions were trying to rise inside her again, but she knew she couldn’t let them win. With her make-up redone once already, she didn’t think a second request would go down well. Her thoughts needed directing anywhere except to her mum’s absence and her impending performance.
Her mind drifted to Gillian and the text from her saying she had arrived and found her seat. Rehearsal timings and her appointment with Arte’s contact at the Courtauld Institute meant she had needed to be in London ahead of Gillian. She ensured her safe arrival by sending Douglas to pick her up. She hoped she was enjoying herself, even if she was alone, hundreds of feet above her.
Gillian appeared to be more content with her own company; she had likely become accustomed to it in a marriage like hers. Even though the woman surrounded herself with people by organising this event or that, Viola couldn’t help feeling Gillian sought out people as a distraction rather than for their company.
She had exuded confidence at the ball, spending time with people and moving amongst them with effortless grace. Gillian had perfected the role of hostess over the years. Her enjoyment came from other people’s enjoyment. She was a social catalyst, a connector, a facilitator, and the curator of experiences. Everything she did was to showcase her talent and ensure other people’s happiness.
Although Gillian would be the last person to admit it, she was a generous, caring person, giving her time and skills for nothing to benefit others. Butterflies fluttered inside Viola, even if she could feel her breathing exercises were doing their job. Thoughts of Gillian brought them to the surface again.
Despite the success of the ball, by the end, it looked to have beaten Gillian. Her forlorn manner before she departed had left a bittersweet taste in Viola’s mouth. A lot had changed for Gillian that year; it was bound to take a toll on her.
Was she asking too much, expecting her to organise the ball in her old house and then partly host it? She had tried to make the effort to host herself, but it didn’t come as naturally to her as it did to Gillian. It was simpler to let her take the spotlight. Pushing her aside would have only made things worse in the end. Gillian had said how difficult it was to see someone in the role she once held. Knowing her sadness came from that aspect of their friendship was a heavy weight to bear, but Gillian was intelligent enough to realise if it wasn’t Viola filling that role, it would be someone else.
Was it worse for Gillian now, being friends with that person? Would it have been easier if they hadn’t become friends? The thought made her feel a little queasy, and she exhaled slowly. She didn’t even want to be friends with Gillian; she wanted more. Her heart was screaming at her when they said good night at the ball — to reach out, to kiss her. She couldn’t do it. It was a step too far, and she wasn’t going to risk what she’d already built with Gillian.
Her phone rang, rattling against the glass table as it vibrated. When she answered the video call, Caroline’s face filled the screen, framed by a backdrop of blue sky.
Caroline lifted her sunglasses and squinted. “I was hoping to catch you before you go on to say good luck.”
“Thanks. Looks hot there.”
“It is. I could quite happily move to L.A.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
Caroline laughed. “Speaking of hot countries, I can finally tell you what I’ve been working on. I think you’re going to love it.”
Viola held her breath with trepidation about what her agent had up her sleeve.
“A two-month tour of Australia. It will take you through until Christmas.”
“Oh, great.” She forced a cheerful tone, though it felt hollow. After her last tour in Australia, she’d been eager to return, but now that it was happening, the timing couldn’t be worse. The idea of travelling halfway across the world, away from Kingsford and Gillian, left her feeling more subdued than excited.
“I’m glad you are upbeat about it because I wanted to run the idea of rolling it into a world tour next year, after Oz.”
A knock at the door told her that time was up, without a moment to digest what Caroline said and what it meant.
“Sorry,” she begged off, “I’ve been called. I’ll call you back tomorrow.”
“Make sure you do.”
Viola ended the call and took a deep, steadying breath as she rose to her feet. Taking a quick swig from her water bottle, she gave herself one final look in the mirror. Satisfied, she straightened her shoulders, opened the door, and began the walk to the stage — alone.
She tried to focus her mind on her performance, not on the empty space beside her where her mum’s once-steady presence had offered final words of encouragement. Even now, Viola could hear her mum’s voice telling her to ‘touch their hearts.’ It was something she would often say before Viola stepped onto the stage.
The sound of the audience applauding the performing musicians echoed as she reached the stage entrance. The conductor, a talented woman she’d worked with on several occasions, appeared from the stage with someone she knew to be a pianist. He shook her hand and strolled off down the corridor.
The conductor took a quick sip of water from a bottle passed to her by an assistant and gave her a nod of reassuring acknowledgement as Viola continued to ignore the empty space beside her. Taking her cue from a man with a headset, Viola blew out a steady breath and made her way onto the stage, followed by the conductor.
The audience roared into a deafening applause again as they passed the orchestra, some even rising to their feet in a standing ovation. As she made her way to the centre of the stage, she glanced upward, squinting against the glare of the stage lights. Her eyes searched the boxes close to the stage, where she knew Gillian was seated.
Any remaining nerves dissipated as she spotted the outline of Gillian, who was standing and clapping along with everyone else. Viola was unable to make out any details, but her overall image and smiling face were enough to lift her spirits. She wasn’t alone. Gillian was with her, and standing beside her was her mum. In spirit, anyway.
The atmosphere changed, and an astounding silence that only came from halls like the Royal Albert settled in. Thousands of people surrounded her, their eyes fixed on her in anticipation. A subtle nod to the conductor signalled that she was ready, and with that simple gesture, the orchestra came to life, the first notes swelling into the air as she joined them in perfect harmony.
She could do this.
Gillian sat in the silent darkness, utterly mesmerised by Viola’s performance. The grandeur of the Royal Albert Hall faded into insignificance as her voice filled the space with what the programme informed her was ‘Liebst du um Schonheit’, accompanied by the BBC Symphony Orchestra.
Viola’s commanding presence on the stage, in a strapless, light pink, sequined dress that sparkled under the lights, was a sight to behold. Her tone was both powerful and delicate. Gillian could feel it pressing against her chest as each crescendo sent shivers down her spine. Softer moments pulled her deeper into the performance as if she and Viola were the only two people in the room.
The sheer control Viola possessed over her voice was staggering. It effortlessly shifted from bold and commanding to soft and tender, weaving the emotions of the song through every rise and fall of the melody. A feeling of possessiveness washed over Gillian. This was her Viola… her friend… her… what was she? At the very least, she was a woman who was making her eyes leak with her words and her voice.
She reached for a tissue and dabbed her eyes. Since Viola had entered her life earlier that year, Gillian had been swept up in a storm of emotions she hadn’t felt in ages. She felt vulnerable, her focus was slipping, and she was utterly distracted. Viola awakened something deep within her, a persistent pull that left her breathing unsteady, her thoughts tangled, and her heart racing in ways she couldn’t fully grasp. And now, watching her perform, it was as if every emotion had been amplified to its breaking point.
The final notes lingered in the air, followed by a pregnant pause before the eruption of thunderous applause. Gillian found herself unable to move, her breath caught in her throat. Viola did more than sing; she left everyone, including Gillian, awestruck.
The entire hall was whistling, cheering, and waving flags. It made Gillian’s eyes water with pride, and she was grateful she hadn’t gone heavy on the mascara. Viola thanked the conductor, then spread her arms wide to the orchestra, who stood and took a bow. Gillian realised that this wasn’t simply a performance. It was Viola in her truest form, baring her soul through the song. For Gillian, it was as if she were seeing a different side to Viola. This was Viola the performer, and she was astounding.
She disappeared for the next couple of songs, returning for two more before the interval and two more after. Her final performance of ‘Rule, Britannia!’ brought Gillian to tears yet again. As the music faded and the audience erupted into another deafening round of applause, she was sad to see Viola leave the stage again.
Following the National Anthem and the finale, ‘Auld Lang Syne’, a steward appeared behind her. “Gillian Carmichael?”
Gillian nodded, unable to find her voice.
“Miss Berkley has asked me to take you to her dressing room. If you’d like to follow me?”
The steward led her down numerous staircases, the upmarket decor gradually changing into bland, cold corridors that disappeared into the distance. Despite their cavernous quality, they were crammed with people and instruments.
What should have been a few moments to calm her nerves served to increase them. With Viola rehearsing in London the past week, an unsettling distance had formed between them, one which Gillian disliked. Although they exchanged the occasional message, she felt obliged to leave Viola to her work.
The steward stopped outside a door and knocked. A sign next to it read ‘Viola Berkley’. Receiving an immediate invitation to enter, he opened the door for Gillian. She thanked him and stepped inside.
Viola was pouring champagne into two glasses.
“Well?” she asked.
“You were… phenomenal,” Gillian breathed.
“Thank you. Have a glass of champagne with me,” Viola said, bringing one towards her.
Gillian was still battling the adrenaline pumping through her body. Champagne was unlikely to help, but she wasn’t going to refuse.
“Thank you.”
They clinked glasses.
She noticed in Viola’s manner that she, too, was still riding the waves of adrenaline from her performance. There was an undeniable glow about her, an excitable energy that radiated from her, illuminating her face. She took a sip from her glass and placed it on the table. Turning her back to Gillian, she pulled her hair to one side.
“Unzip me, would you? I must get out of this dress before I suffocate.”
Gillian located the zip and pulled it down, immediately realising Viola was braless. As she reached the bottom, a pair of light pink knickers revealed themselves.
“Thanks,” Viola said, making her way towards the door. With her back to Gillian, she let her dress slip to the floor and stepped out of it effortlessly. Before Gillian could process what was happening, Viola unhooked a dressing gown from the back of the door and slipped into it.
Caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of the moment, Gillian found her pulse quickening as she tried to steady herself. Viola, seemingly oblivious to her effect, picked up her glass from the table, gestured for Gillian to sit, and then settled beside her.
“Thank you for being here. You don’t know how much it meant to me to see you before I began.”
“It was my pleasure, I assure you,” Gillian replied with a smile, happy to influence such a sublime performance. “Your first song was beautiful. German, I presume?”
“Yes,” Viola confirmed.
“I didn’t know you spoke it.”
“I don’t. It’s only a few words when you look at it. It’s easily taught.”
“What is it about?” Gillian asked, still wondering what was the meaning of the words which had affected her so much.
“It warns against the attraction of superficial values like riches, youth, and beauty. Mahler composed it based on a poem by Ruckert, ‘If you love for beauty’. He wrote it to his wife.”
Viola broke into song:
If you love for beauty, Oh, do not love me!
Love the sun; She has golden hair.
If you love for youth, Oh, do not love me!
Love the springtime; It is young each year.
If you love for riches, Oh, do not love me!
Love the mermaid; She has many shining pearls.
But if you love for love, Oh yes, do love me!
Love me always, I shall love you evermore!
Gillian smiled, her skin tingling from her private recital.
Viola leaned towards her, hand outstretched. “You have an eyelash.”
Frozen to the spot as her heart pounded in her chest, all Gillian could do was take Viola in as she drew near. The scent of her perfume and the fold in her dressing gown revealing her bare breasts were overwhelming her senses.
Viola’s fingers brushed against her cheek. “Your eyes are a little red too.”
Gillian’s body tensed at her touch. Her head was foggy, heavy even, as she desperately tried to relax. “It was an emotional performance.”
“Think of that,” Viola said, trying to remove the eyelash. “I made Gillian Carmichael cry. And she didn’t even know what I was singing.”
“Please don’t mock me,” Gillian replied, her tone hard.
Viola levelled her face with Gillian, her hand pressed against her cheek. “I’m not mocking you. I’m in awe of you. You are a remarkable woman.”
Gillian tilted her face away. “I hardly think so.”
Viola placed her other hand on Gillian’s other cheek and pulled her back. “Then why can’t I take my eyes off you? Why can’t I stop thinking about you? Why does my heart scream every time we are apart?”
Their eyes met in an unwavering stare that felt like forever. Gillian’s lips parted to reply, but she had no idea what they would say. She wondered if Viola was going to kiss her. She realised how much she wanted to be kissed, devoured even, by the woman in front of her. Unable to resist any longer, her hand reached for the back of Viola’s head and pulled her into a kiss.
Viola’s eager mouth sent a rush of warm tingles shooting through her body like she had never felt before. Her breath caught as the sensation spread, intensifying with every movement of their lips, awakening something deep within her. Every touch was electric as the world around them melted away, leaving only this intense, undeniable feeling that consumed her entirely.
The words from the song of riches and beauty filled her head as Viola’s tongue came searching for hers. When she watched Viola on that stage, she had wanted to claim her for herself. Was that not for her riches and beauty, her success, her celebrity? Were her feelings superficial and lustful? They were most definitely lustful. She couldn’t deny that as her tongue tangled with Viola’s.
But even as desire coursed through her, her thoughts were clouded, her head aching with confusion and guilt. What was she doing kissing Viola? Her mind and body battled in desperation to find answers, to find a way to let her animalistic instincts have what they desired.
All she could think about was Kingsford, that Viola owned it and she didn’t. She could hear the villagers whispering about her and see them pointing at her, judging her. Judging her for who she was and what she wanted, Kingsford, and not the person who owned it, even if that wasn’t true.
Nothing felt right. Every moment longer of Viola’s lips, her soft warm breast that she was caressing without realising, felt like she was using her. Everything screamed at her to stop.
She pulled back. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” She forced herself to her feet as Viola pulled her dressing gown around her. “I shouldn’t have…” Gillian trailed off as she looked back at Viola. What was she thinking? One slip and their relationship had changed. She grabbed her bag and made her way toward the dressing room door. As she opened it, she couldn’t bring herself to look back, swiftly closing it behind her.
Damn her weakness. The emotions of Viola’s performance had overrun her, and her near-naked body barely hiding behind the dressing gown had tempted her. A warm rush rose again inside her at thoughts of Viola’s allure, her desire for her. She pushed them down, desperate to get control of herself.
Looking for an exit sign, she found one directing her back the way she’d come only ten minutes before. That was a time when everything was fine, when she had a lid on her feelings. A voice in her brain mocked her: “You were never in control.”
Needing air, she opened a door, not noticing until it was too late that it was the stage door. Camera lights flashed as she stumbled down the steps onto the path, gasping for breath. Once the photographers realised she was no one of interest, they stopped, allowing her to pass through them. All she could see was the looks they were giving her.
“You all right, love?” one of them asked as she stumbled on the curb.
Righting herself, she quickened her pace to get away, grateful she had opted for a hotel within walking distance of the Royal Albert Hall and not a room in Viola’s penthouse. She knew she would need distance from the woman who was making her feel things she hadn’t felt in decades. She couldn’t trust herself or her feelings, and now they proved untrustworthy.
A voice in her head spoke over her thoughts: “You want her. You need her. You desire her.” She pushed them aside, only for images of their kiss to fill her mind. The woman had taken everything from her, and now she was coming for her heart.
Her feet carried her at such a pace that the fallen early autumn leaves danced around her, their yellowing hues catching the glow of the streetlights. How was it nearly autumn already and she hadn’t noticed? Everything was more noticeable when she owned the manor. She had been more attuned to the seasons then. Now she felt disconnected, lost once again in a wilderness of emptiness, much like the life she’d known before Kingsford. She had let Viola distract her from it all.
Her thoughts turned to Viola in the dressing room. She’d left her there, all alone after her big performance. How would she be feeling, having been walked out on without so much as an explanation?
A sick feeling rose in her stomach. Gillian stopped in her tracks. What if Viola continued drinking? What if she didn’t stop? Should she go back? She pushed herself forward. It wasn’t on her if Viola chose that path. She could only control her path; that was the only way she could convince herself to keep walking away from the hall, away from the person who, not long ago, she had disliked and now couldn’t get out of her head.