Changing the subject, he looked around him and said, ‘You’ve got a comfortable place here, Rosemary.’

  ‘What? Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘I love it. It was Carrie who found it. I rush back here after rehearsals. I can’t wait to get back. I’m afraid London isn’t for me these days – not after all this time. It’s not the place I knew. It’s changed so much over the years. But I like it here. It’s somewhere I can rest.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I can sense the – the peace here.’

  She nodded. Yes, she thought, and if only he knew. If he only knew that just a few feet from where they sat a man had lain dying, bleeding to death. And even now, out there in the little copse at the foot of the garden … Earlier that day she had gone out and stood looking down at Kurt’s grave. With the coming of spring, new plants had sprung up out of the earth that covered him … No one would ever guess. Back in the cottage she had opened up the little tape recorder and taken out the cassette. No one else would ever hear it now. Standing in front of the fire she had looked at the damning little item, and then tossed it into the flames. That was finished too.

  Into her memories of Kurt, the thought of Douglas Rosti came to her. On her return from the hospital she had found, amongst the mail awaiting her, two airmail letters, both from Douglas. Opening the first, she had read:

  Dear Rosemary,

  Kurt gave me your address in England before he left to join you. How terribly sorry I was to hear about your accident. And I can only hope that by the time you read this you are well on your way to making a complete recovery. I hope, so much, that the same is true of poor Carrie.

  I’m also writing to Kurt – c/o yourself – if you’d be kind enough to pass my letter on to him…

  The rest of the letter was taken up with platitudes that she had no wish to read. Tearing open the other envelope she read the words he had written to Kurt. No surprises there; he had asked Kurt how things were going, and for him to make contact as soon as possible. After reading it she had torn it up and burnt the pieces.

  ‘I phoned the box office,’ Adrian was saying, breaking into her thoughts. ‘They gave me some really good news.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘They said the phones haven’t stopped ringing.’

  ‘You mean it? Really?’

  ‘That’s what they tell me.’ He grinned, nodded. ‘Well, I told you how it would be.’ After a pause he asked: ‘So – how are rehearsals going? How’s it working out with Kesterson?’

  Ray Kesterson was the musical director that Adrian had found for her. ‘He’s good,’ she said. ‘He has real talent, and he knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘Oh, an excellent guy,’ he said. ‘With a lot of experience – in the States, too.’ Then he added, ‘I didn’t tell you before, but we’ve had a couple of calls from Sony, and from Twentieth. There’s talk about recording the show, live.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not surprised, not in the least. And if it’s not them it’ll be somebody else.’ A little silence fell, then he said: ‘Do you remember? When I saw you first, that day at the hospital, you had some doubts as to whether you’d be ready in time. Have you any doubts now?’

  She nodded. ‘Of course I do, Adrian. How could I not?’

  …..TWENTY-THREE

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, there’s not a seat left.’ The girl behind the box office window spoke sympathetically. ‘It’s been sold out for weeks.’

  Douglas frowned. ‘Aw, come on. Surely there must be something available.’

  ‘There’s nothing at all, sir. I’m sorry.’

  He hesitated, then taking a couple of notes from his billfold, he pushed them towards her pearl-pink fingernails. ‘Can’t you find anything at all?’

  She gave a sniff, looked at the bribe and shook her head. Raising an over-plucked eyebrow she placed a disdainful finger on the notes and, as if they were counterfeit, slid them back towards him. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but as I said, there’s nothing.’ Dismissing him, she looked beyond him to the woman who stood next in the queue. Douglas picked up his money and stepped away.

  Over a cup of coffee in a nearby café he wondered what his next step should be. He had arrived just that morning from Manhattan for a series of business meetings, and, hoping to kill a few birds with one stone, also planned to catch Rosemary’s show and try to meet up with Kurt again. So far he was having no success where either was concerned.

  The inability to get a seat for the concert was of course easily explained by the Sold Out notices plastered on the posters, but the matter of Kurt was a different thing. He just seemed to have vanished, and for that there seemed to be no explanation. His absence from the scene was just too strange. He had neither answered Douglas’s calls or emails, nor telephoned, or tried in any way to make contact.

  An hour earlier Douglas had telephoned the offices of Adrimar Productions, and following a lengthy wait had at last managed to get Adrian on the line. Douglas told him that he had been Rosemary’s agent for a brief time in the USA and was right now trying to trace her MD, Kurt Hellman, who had come over from the US to join her and work with her. Adrian responded saying that he had never met Kurt Hellman, and knew nothing of him other than that he had written some of Rosemary’s songs and orchestrations. As for Rosemary’s present MD, he was a man named Ray Kesterson, and had been contracted by Adrian himself.

  ‘I know him – Kesterson,’ Douglas said. Then he added, ‘But how come he’s doing the show? Kurt was coming over from New York especially to do it. What’s happened to him?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Adrian replied, ‘but I can’t help you. I don’t know anything about it. If you want to know more, I suggest you contact Rosemary herself.’

  ‘I’d like to,’ Douglas said, ‘but I don’t know where she is.’

  ‘Well,’ said Adrian, ‘I’m not happy about giving out her whereabouts over the phone. But – hang on – give me a second…’

  Douglas waited, and after a few minutes Adrian came back to him.

  ‘I’ve checked you out on the web,’ he said. ‘You can’t be too careful, as you appreciate.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Douglas said.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Adrian, ‘she’s rehearsing today at the Premier Hall in the Strand. Her final rehearsals. You won’t be allowed to get in to see her, but you can leave a message there for her if you want to.’

  *

  At the door of the Premier Hall rehearsal rooms half an hour later, Douglas enquired of the doorkeeper whether it was possible to see Rosemary Paul. The man replied that she was rehearsing, and could have no visitors. ‘Would you like to leave a message, sir?’ he asked.

  Douglas thanked him, took a notebook and pen from his pocket, scrawled a note and handed it to the door keeper. ‘I’ll see she gets it, sir,’ the man said, and turned to a young man who sat nearby. ‘Luke, be a good lad and see if you can find Miss Paul, will you? And if she’s not busy give her this message from the gentleman here.’

  As the boy took the note and turned away, Douglas called after him, ‘And tell her I’m here now, will you? – waiting at the door.’ Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Douglas watched his departure. Would she agree to see him? He bore her no enmity. After all she had been through it was impossible to harbour any ill feeling towards her.

  *

  The boy found her in consultation with the musical director, in a break between numbers. She looked up, smiling as he approached. Handing her the note, he said, ‘It’s from a man at the stage door, Miss. He’s waiting there now…’

  Unfolding the paper, she read Douglas’s words:

  Dear Rosemary,

  I flew in this morning in the hope of getting to see your show, but there’s not a seat to be had. Is there anything you can do? I am full of admiration for you, and only wish you all that is good. I hope tomorrow night brings you all the success you deserve and that I can be there to cheer you on.

  One other thing: can you tell me where Kurt is? He hasn’t been in touch, and he doesn’t answer his cellphone. He just seems to have vanished. Please say that we can meet. I’m staying at the Connaught.

  With very best wishes,

  Douglas Rosti

  ‘Is there any answer, Miss…?’ The boy was looking in surprise at the sudden pallor of her face. ‘Miss?’

  ‘What?’ She turned to him, as if just remembering that he was there.

  ‘Is there an answer, Miss?’

  ‘No,’ she said abruptly. ‘Just – just tell him I’m not available, but that you’ve left the note for me.’ She tried to smile, but her lips felt stiff, her mouth dry. She was aware of Ray Kesterson looking at her in surprise. She turned to the boy, gently dismissing him. ‘Thank you.’ When the boy had gone she turned back to Kesterson. ‘Sorry about that, Ray.’ She took a breath, steadying herself. ‘Right – where were we? The four bars in after –’

  ‘Are you okay, Rosemary?’ Kesterson said, interrupting.

  ‘What?’ she said. ‘Okay? Of course I’m okay. Why shouldn’t I be?

  He studied her. ‘You – you looked a little pale for a minute there.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Let’s get on, shall we? We have an opening tomorrow.’

  *

  When she awoke next morning, after a fitful, restless sleep, the first thought that came to her mind was of Douglas. ‘Damn him,’ she muttered. What was he doing in England? And why did he have to come snooping around at a time like this? But she couldn’t allow herself to think about him. She must not. She needed all her energies for the evening ahead.

  *

  Long before it was time to leave she packed her suitcase for her overnight stay at the hotel. Her gown for the show, along with the one she would wear at the party afterwards, was already at the theatre. For the journey there, by hired limousine, she dressed in a dark skirt and a simple, pale-green blouse. Her fingers trembled as she dealt with the buttons. She was tense, keyed up. The thought of what lay before her made her heart thud in her breast. But it was hopeless trying to still her fears; she could only pray that once she was out on the stage all the nerves, the terror, would vanish. That was the way it had been in the past. That was the way it was for every performer, and she was no different from the rest.

  At last everything was set. She checked her watch. The car would be here soon. There was just one more thing to do before she could leave. Picking up the telephone receiver she keyed in a number.

  ‘Ashton Green Hospital,’ came the familiar male receptionist’s voice. ‘Good afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, good afternoon. I – I’d like to enquire about one of your patients – Miss Carrie Markham.’

  ‘Just a moment, please.’ After a short silence he was back on the line. ‘Is that you, Miss Paul?’ He had recognised her voice.

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Will you hold the line a moment, please?’

  Why the delay in giving a simple answer, she wondered. She had been making the same routine enquiry almost every day since leaving the hospital. Why was today different?

  ‘Miss Paul?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m putting you through to Dr Bloom. He said that if you called he wanted to speak to you.’

  ‘Oh – okay, thank you.’ She waited. There was a click and then the doctor’s voice was there.

  ‘Ah, Miss Paul. Rosemary. How are you? How’s my prize patient?’

  ‘Fine, fine, thank you,’ she said. ‘I was calling to ask about Carrie. I was told you wanted to speak to me.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that’s right.’

  There was a gravity in his tone, and in the brief silence that followed his words the thought flashed through her mind: She’s dead. He’s going to tell me she’s dead. Forcing herself to remain calm, she said: ‘You – you’ve got some bad news, have you?’

  ‘No,’ he said quickly, ‘not at all.’ His tone was brighter than she had expected.

  ‘No? Then what is it?’

  ‘I wanted to tell you that there’s been a slight change in Carrie’s condition.’

  ‘A change?’ she said a little breathlessly. ‘How? In what way a change?’

  ‘Well,’ he said carefully, ‘Rosemary, listen – I don’t want to build your hopes up – and we can’t tell how significant it is, but Carrie briefly regained consciousness after you telephoned yesterday. Twice. Just for a very short period on each occasion – but nevertheless…’

  After a moment she said, catching her breath, ‘Does this mean – is she – going to be all right?’

  ‘Oh – well, we can’t say that, I’m afraid. It’s much too early to tell.’

  ‘But – but tell me, please, what – what happened?’

  ‘Well, according to the nurse,’ he said, ‘on two occasions Carrie opened her eyes. And I’m told she actually seemed aware. Mind you, it was only for a few seconds each time.’

  A long pause, then: ‘Did she – did she say anything?’

  ‘Apparently she did, yes. According to the –’

  ‘What did she say?’ she cut in. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘I was about to tell you. Apparently it wasn’t anything that made any sense to her, the nurse, what she said. It was just five or six words, I understand. The nurse – she didn’t catch what it was.’ He paused, waiting for a response. ‘Are you there, Rosemary?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I’m here.’

  ‘Look,’ he added, and there was a note of entreaty in his tone, ‘you mustn’t read too much into this. It might not mean anything. I wasn’t sure about telling you, because I don’t want to raise your hopes – without cause. I can’t stress that strongly enough.’

  ‘I – I understand.’

  There was a little silence, then he said, his voice taking on a slightly lighter note: ‘Well – apart from all that, Rosemary – tell me – how are you?

  ‘Oh – I – I’m well, thank you.’

  ‘And all ready for the concert tonight? Your big night?’

  ‘Let’s hope so. We’ll soon find out.’

  ‘Thank you so much for the ticket you sent.’

  ‘Oh – it’s nothing.’ She wanted to end the conversation, to end it now, to get off the phone. She couldn’t cope with the pleasantries and platitudes at such a time.

  ‘It was very kind of you,’ he said.

  ‘I hope you’ll be able to make it, will you?’

  ‘Well, I’m due to be on call, I’m sorry to say, but if I can get away I shall certainly be there to cheer you on. I have no doubt that you’re going to be a huge success.’

  ‘Thank you. Let’s pray that you’re right.’

  He wished her good luck, and she thanked him and said goodbye. Her hand shook as she put down the receiver. She couldn’t get his words out of her brain. I don’t want to raise your hopes, he had said.

  ‘No! No!’

  The words were flung out into the stillness of the room. She wanted to weep. It mustn’t happen. Not now. Not when she was so close. Today was her day, and nothing must spoil it. Today she would have her chance to really prove herself. It would be the high point of her whole life. She had paid for it, in advance.

  Glancing from the window, she saw the limousine turning in at the gate. It was time to go.

  *

  Sitting aboard the train, Douglas tried to concentrate on his newspaper. But other thoughts kept getting in the way.

  On either side, the green banks, dotted with spring flowers, rushed by. Then, gradually, the land fell away, levelling out, and he gazed out over the verdant fields of the English countryside.

  *

  In the theatre the final rehearsal had just ended.

  ‘All right, Rosemary?’ Ray Kesterson said as he put away his baton.

  She nodded. ‘Oh, yes, Ray. Thank you.’

  With the orchestra and technicians she had spent well over an hour going over the programme. Although she had sung hardly at all – she had to save her voice – they had worked their way number by number from beginning to end, tightening the cues, getting the lighting just right until, now, all concerned were sure that they had done as much as they possibly could.

  ‘You going back to your hotel now, Rosemary?’ Kesterson asked as the musicians bustled about, preparing to leave.

  ‘You bet,’ she said. ‘I must go and rest up for a while.’ She gave a nervous smile. ‘And maybe at the same time try to get up the courage to come back and set foot on this stage again.’

  *

  Dr Bloom shook Douglas’s hand on their introduction and listened to his request to be allowed to pay Carrie a visit. ‘You’re a friend of Miss Markham’s – from New York, you say.’

  ‘Yes. And of Rosemary Paul.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Rosemary.’ The doctor gave a little nod of satisfaction. ‘She’s done so well. We’re immensely proud of her, I have to say. And tonight – tonight is her big night.’

  ‘Yes, indeed it is.’

  ‘It’s in all the papers. Are you going to her concert? I imagine you will be.’

  ‘I was hoping to,’ Douglas said, ‘but I’m afraid I haven’t been able to get a ticket. None to be had, I’m sorry to say.’

  The doctor shook his head sympathetically, then said after a moment: ‘Are you a close friend of Miss Markham?’

  ‘Well, not a close friend – but certainly a friend.’

  ‘It’s just that it’s against the hospital policy to allow visitors other than family and friends – at such a time.’ Then Bloom added, ‘But on the other hand, in her present condition it might very well help her. Hearing a voice she knows might possibly be a trigger. It might be what’s needed.’ He sighed. ‘To be honest, we don’t hold out too much hope. Although she’s briefly regained consciousness a couple of times over the past days, at the same time she’s showing certain signs of – of deterioration.’ He gave a sigh. ‘Anyway – come with me, Mr Rosti.’