6. Chapter 6 #2
‘My pretty, presumptive, periodically prickly, but rarely pernicious paragon. A performer with perfect panache…’
‘One!’ the photographer called, his voice quivering. Was that a slight twitch, just at the corner of her eyes?
‘Have I told you that I find you…’
‘Done!’ the photographer shouted as he fixed the cover over the lens.
‘Infuriating?’
‘Cassius Zadora!’ Odette threw the fan she had been holding to the ground with so much force it rebounded a foot into the air before falling with a clunk.
‘You would make fun of me? You knew I was nervous!’ She flew across the short distance between them, swatting at his coat, and damn himself, he smiled, then laughed.
Completely unravelled, the soprano had lost her composure. ‘You knew I was worried. And yet you—’
‘Played the lovesick fool?’ He grabbed her waist and pulled her against him. ‘I did. Exactly as requested.’
‘Change the glass!’ the photographer hissed. ‘Mr Zadora? Miss Delaney? Could you hold that pose? Please?’
Perhaps it was a lifetime of being directed on the stage that made them both obey, for at the photographer’s request, they both froze. Cassius spread his fingers to hold Odette steady as she rested her hand on his shoulder, tilted her head a little, and settled into a small smile.
‘Well, I… well I never!’ Ezra gasped from somewhere behind them. ‘Miss Delaney? And the conductor? Together?’
‘They were trying to keep it quiet,’ Karl said, bumbling his way through another terrible performance. ‘So that it didn’t detract from your opera. But now you all… err… know, umm… don’t tell the press. Whatever you do.’
‘I should storm off,’ Cassius muttered through clenched teeth.
‘Karl is watching,’ she cooed, not breaking her smile.
‘Steady!’ the photographer shouted. ‘Just a little longer. Keep looking at one another.’
Cassius matched her steadiness. He settled into the pose and held Odette’s gaze.
When she stepped into a room, everyone turned to look, including him.
It was impossible not to. When he conducted, he traced her every movement, and over time he’d become accustomed to her being yet another tune he had to keep track of and weave into the symphony.
He knew she was beautiful, but somewhere, what that meant had become fixed.
When she’d been twenty-one, men had been so awestruck in her presence that they couldn’t form words, but more than a decade separated that memory from this reality.
Skin still smooth as marble, lips fuller and a darker pink, her na?ve hunger and passion had been replaced with a more controlled energy that proved no less intoxicating.
He was past forty now, and she was seven, perhaps eight years younger than him.
The faint lines around her eyes sang with memories, with laughter and stolen kisses and who knew what else.
A lifetime of music had kept her beautiful.
More than beautiful. A subtle grace clung to her, and beneath that, a slight turn to her lips spoke of restrained mischief.
An entire world lived inside her expression.
No, the years had not dimmed her loveliness. They had only made her more real.
A clap broke the moment. Odette startled, and they both looked at the photographer. He clapped his hands again, only once. ‘I said, you can move now. We have the photograph. It’s done.’
Cassius released Odette just as she pulled away. The combined forces made her stumble, so he caught her again. Her eyes searched his. ‘Since when are you a trickster?’ she murmured. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh like that. What have you done with my cranky Cassius?’
‘Perhaps this Cassius has been here all along, and you were simply too busy chasing crowns to notice.’
He cursed himself as soon as the words escaped him. Odette, normally so quick to rise to his antagonisms, continued to interrogate him with her gaze. ‘Perhaps,’ she whispered with a smile.
She seemed steady on her feet once more. He really ought to let her go.
‘Thank you,’ she mumbled, as he released her. Then she crouched to retrieve her fan, and before he could utter a polite reply, she vanished between the curtains.
The rest of the cast had also dispersed, no doubt enjoying the shorter day of work before rehearsals began in earnest. Tomorrow, they would begin at eight and go all day, at least until five, sometimes even later.
They continued this schedule all week, taking only Saturday afternoon and Sundays for rest, and once opening night drew closer, they would often not even stop on the weekends.
Only the photographer remained, hunched over his crate as he counted and checked its contents. As he closed the lid, he smiled, clearly very pleased with himself.
Cassius ambled over to squat beside him. ‘Miss Delaney has a very particular reputation,’ he said. ‘She does not need photographs of herself posing with a man being sold by every stationer in London.’
‘She’s an opera singer. I doubt it will matter.’ The man snorted a laugh. ‘The picture will be very popular. It may even turn you into a household name.’
Cassius gripped the man by the elbow and squeezed. The photographer flinched, his shock twisting into a grimace as Cassius tightened his hold.
‘That one does not go to the stationer. You understand?’
‘But the two of you looked so…’ The photographer squirmed. Cassius tightened his grip further. ‘I won’t… ouch! Do you want me to destroy it? I can expose the plate right here, and it’s gone.’
‘Make a copy for me. Only for me. Understand?’ He held firm until the man nodded. Then he reached into his pocket with his free hand, found a few coins—shillings and sovereigns—and slipped them into the man’s coat. ‘I’ll double that when you send me the print. For your trouble.’
When the photographer tried to escape this time, Cassius loosened his hold, and he broke free.
He searched through his pockets, fingering the coins, then nodded.
It was more than a stationer would pay, even for a print of Odette in such a pose.
The man checked the clasp on his crate, called across to his assistant, and then they were rushing away, leaving Cassius alone on the stage, facing the empty seats.
During rehearsal, no one had moved the ghost light.
It still stood exactly where Odette had blown it out earlier that morning.
Cassius paused for a moment to listen, but only silence embraced him, not even cut through by the echo of voices or the faintest tap of movement backstage.
The cast must have long gone. Karl had likely retreated to his office and might not return to the stage before he left.
If Odette was first to arrive tomorrow and the ghost light wasn’t lit, she’d tie herself up in knots with worry.
Cassius hunted through his pocket for his box of matches, and when he struck one against the safety plate, it lit with a hiss. The flame licked the wick, setting it alight. He shook out the match. Flicked it away.
A postcard of them together would be unlikely to ruin her reputation. In fact, it might serve their plot to spread gossip about their fake courtship. He knew that. It would be a miracle if anyone even bought one, when they could possess a print of Odette alone.
But the way she had looked at him…
He wasn’t sharing that with anyone.