The Songbird (42 page)

‘Poppy! How well you look!' Dan Damone greeted her exuberantly the next day. ‘My word, but you look splendid. You know, I've heard such reports about you that I'm beginning to have doubts about you breaking off your career to take singing lessons.'

They were seated in his office and without bidding Miss Battle had brought them coffee and biscuits.

‘I still think I'd like to,' she said. ‘But I need to earn money as well. I don't want my father to have to pay. He's had a difficult time lately. Someone he trusted was swindling him, and he's only just getting back on his feet.'

He's to find wages for Nan and Mattie as well as himself and Tommy, she'd calculated on the train journey. If I can fund myself, so much the better.

‘I can get you engagements in the evenings,' he said. ‘There are plenty of theatres in London who'll take you. You might have to travel about a bit between theatres, so find a hansom driver you can trust and make an arrangement over the cost.'

He took her to meet his sister, who lived in Bloomsbury. ‘You'll like her, I think, though she's a stickler over practising. She used to get on to me about piano practice when I was a youngster.'

Marian Bennett was a tall, handsome woman, a few years older than her brother. She appraised Poppy as they took tea in her airy sitting room. ‘May I ask how old you are, Miss Mazzini?' she queried.

‘I've just had my fourteenth birthday,' Poppy smiled. ‘On New Year's Day.'

‘So young!' she said. ‘Well, that's good.' She turned to her brother. ‘Jeanette was about the same age, wasn't she? A little older. My daughter,' she explained. ‘But she gave up her career in favour of marriage,' she told Poppy. ‘Such a pity, I always thought. She had a very good voice. She would have done well if she had continued.'

‘Not to be, Marian,' Dan said. ‘Don't keep regretting it.'

Marian Bennett shook her head sadly. ‘If only she had stayed with – still, what's done is done.' She smiled at Poppy. ‘That's the thing with some young women; they see an opportunity to live in luxury and security and give up a promising opportunity. At least that is what Jeanette did. Gave up love and gave up singing.'

‘Oh!' Poppy said earnestly. ‘And I could give up neither!'

‘Well, I'm off then.' Dan finished his tea and stood up. ‘I'll leave you ladies to discuss your arrangements. Can you find your way back from here, Poppy? I've an appointment to see a theatre manager. Call into the office tomorrow and we'll see what bookings I can get for you.'

Mrs Bennett told her the cost of her lessons. ‘But first of all I must hear you sing,' she said. ‘I must ascertain how much training you will need, and I will tell you now, Miss Mazzini, that I don't allow any slacking, otherwise it wastes your time and mine.'

She led Poppy into another room, slightly smaller than the sitting room, which housed a baby grand piano. She sat down on the piano stool and said, ‘I'd like you to sing a simple air, a ballad or folk song perhaps, or a favourite melody.
Not
a popular music hall song,' she emphasized. ‘We are not here for those. Do you have a favourite piece?'

‘Yes,' Poppy said. ‘I have. It's called “Forever True”.'

‘Ah, yes.' Marian Bennett gave a wistful smile, and ran her hands lightly over the keys in the introduction. ‘I know it well.'

Poppy felt so happy. She was doing what she loved best, and she was going to meet Charlie tomorrow. He would, she knew, always be true. He had been so attentive, kissed her lips on Christmas Day and promised that he would see her in London. She sang with fervour, her voice ringing out.

‘Well done, Miss Mazzini,' Mrs Bennett said.

‘Please call me Poppy,' she implored. ‘Miss Mazzini sounds so stuffy.'

‘Very well,' she said reluctantly. ‘Though it wouldn't do for us to become too familiar at first. Now what I want to say is this. You obviously know the song and convey the love of a young girl very well. But where is the pathos when you discover that he is bidding you adieu? That he is leaving you for another? Which he undoubtedly is. The songwriter makes that quite obvious.'

‘Oh, yes, of course. Perhaps I can't express sorrow because I feel so happy within myself, Mrs Bennett.'

‘You are in love?'

‘Yes,' Poppy admitted shyly and breathlessly.

‘And does he love you?' Mrs Bennett kept her eyes on Poppy's face.

‘I don't know for sure,' she said, a little crestfallen.

‘Then let's start again, only think this time how you would feel if he had left you for another!' She smiled at her. ‘I'm sure he won't, but let's pretend. You must act as well as sing.'

Poppy closed her eyes and tried to imagine how she would feel. She would be devastated! Never more would she love. She took a breath and began again.

‘Better!' Mrs Bennett proclaimed. ‘That time I could tell how lovesick you were! Good,' she said. ‘So, we can start next week, if that suits? Six months' tuition three times a week, then we can cut it down to twice a week for the following six months, and after that, well we'll see. How does that sound? You perhaps think that you won't need so much teaching, but singers can become so familiar with their own voices that they don't notice if they become a little sloppy or out of control. You will learn breathing, concentration, relaxation, and how to focus on the music and the words. Then you will sing,' she said.

Dan booked engagements in theatres and music halls in and around the Covent Garden and St Martin's Lane area, and Poppy soon built up a reputation for reliability, often being able to fit in with managers at short notice, when they sent a runner round to the Marinos' with a message asking her if she could appear.

Charlie took her to see the premises for his new workshop. He had ordered a specially adapted Singer treadle sewing machine, for although he intended to be known as a bespoke shoemaker he realized that for some bread and butter work he would need mechanization. He showed her his order book, which contained several familiar stage names. ‘I've ordered the leather and the fabric,' he said, ‘and the thread and buttons, and I shall give in my notice to my employers just as soon as I receive my supplies.'

‘Have these people paid you anything in advance, Charlie?' Poppy asked. ‘Because, well, if they go out of town, they just might forget they've ordered from you.'

‘No!' he scoffed. ‘These are regular people, don't you know? They're not likely to forget! Your friends the Terry Sisters have each ordered two pairs of kid shoes and a pair of patent leather boots.'

Poppy was bothered about that. The Terry Sisters had never had any money when she was with them, and were always scratching about for coppers for a cup of coffee. She pondered. Perhaps they spent their money on things like clothes and shoes? Then the thought came into her mind that maybe Roger, who was putting up finance for Charlie, was buying the shoes for Ena. But it's most improper of me to even consider it, she thought, and dismissed the idea. Anyway, Charlie won't discuss business with me. I just hope he isn't too trusting, that's all.

‘And by the way, Poppy,' Charlie reminded her, ‘you keep forgetting. It's Charles now. Not Charlie! Charlie's all right for home, but not here. Do try to remember.'

‘I'll try,' she said. ‘But you've always been Charlie. I never think of you as anything else.'

He put his arms round her and pulled her towards him. They were quite alone in his workshop. ‘We're different people here, Poppy.' He kissed her forehead. ‘I'm going to be a successful shoemaker. I shall be well known. I don't want people calling me Charlie Chandler. Charles Chandler has a much better ring to it.'

He bent his head and kissed her neck, then ran his hands through her hair and kissed her mouth. ‘You grow lovelier, Poppy. When I think of the child you were; you remember, when you said you loved me?' He gave a slight smile. ‘That day in Hull down by 'dockside?' Just for a second, he slipped back into the Hull accent.

She nodded and licked her lips, disturbed by his wandering hands, yet glad that he'd remembered. But then she recalled that he'd betrayed their secret and told Roger Doyle and Bertie Fletcher that she loved him. ‘How could I forget?' she said softly. ‘Yet you never said that you loved me.'

He held her back and looked at her. ‘Of course I did,' he said jocularly. ‘How could I not love you? But I said that you were too young for love, which you are – for serious commitment, I mean,' he added quickly. ‘But there's nothing to stop us . . .' He kissed her again and ran his hands over her breasts.

She pulled back. ‘No,' she breathed, agitated by the wanting of him and the confusion she felt. Did he love her or not? ‘No. We mustn't, I mean – I love you, Charlie – Charles – but . . .' She swallowed. ‘I'm afraid!'

‘Of what?' he teased. ‘Not of me?'

‘No,' she whispered. ‘Of myself.'

‘You're still a child, aren't you?' He looked down at her and she thought she saw impatience in his eyes.

‘No,' she answered, gazing back at him. ‘I'm not. I'm growing up.'

‘Well!' He shrugged and said abruptly, ‘I suppose I'll have to wait.'

The first six months of lessons had flown past and they were now into September. Poppy could tell that her voice was improving. Her breathing was more controlled, her musical instincts more acute in relation to the lyrics and the composers' intentions. Mrs Bennett gave her different types of musical scores, some of which she found very challenging yet exhilarating.

She arrived back at the Marinos' one evening after a theatre performance and was greeted by huge smiles from Mario. ‘Come. Come!' he said. ‘We are having a celebration. Anthony is here! He has been away for so long.'

‘Oh, how lovely to see you!' She was very pleased to see him again.

‘And you, too, Poppy.' He rose to greet her. He took her hand and his dark hair flopped over his forehead as he bent to kiss it. He appraised her with his brown eyes. ‘How well you look, Poppy. Are you enjoying life? Was it the right decision to take coaching?' He looked a little sheepish. ‘I wasn't interfering when I suggested it to Dan?'

She kept hold of his hand and gently squeezed it. ‘No! I'm so grateful to you, Anthony. It's been the very best thing for me.' She let go of his hand as Mario handed her a glass of wine, insisting that she had just one, for usually she refused.

‘She doesn't drink enough wine,' Mario said. ‘But tonight is special. Tell her, Anthony!'

‘Oh, in a moment, Father,' Anthony said. ‘I want to know about Poppy first and how she's progressing with Mrs Bennett.'

‘Do you know her?' she asked eagerly. ‘She's such a perfectionist. I can't leave my lessons until she's satisfied!'

‘I know her very well.' He nodded. ‘She's Dan's sister; of course you'll know that?' He drew his eyebrows together in a slightly anxious way and Poppy thought there was a flickering questioning glance at his parents.

Mario had prepared supper, and although it was late, Poppy agreed to stay up and join them.

‘How is your friend Charlie?' Anthony asked. He was sitting next to her at the table. ‘Is he still in London?'

‘Oh, yes,' she said enthusiastically. ‘He's set up in business as a shoemaker. I have to try to remember to call him Charles! He's very busy, but sometimes he comes to see me at the theatre if he has the time.'

He smiled and raised his eyebrows quizzically. ‘You must have a string of admirers by now, Poppy, who would happily find the time?'

She blushed. It was true there were many men who came to the stage door, both young and middle-aged. But the door keepers at the variety theatres and music halls knew by now that she wouldn't see anyone but Mr Chandler. ‘There are one or two who are persistent,' she admitted. ‘They send flowers and chocolates, but I refuse their invitations.'

‘So if I came to hear your next performance, would I be turned away if I offered you supper afterwards?' he asked teasingly.

‘Of course you wouldn't.' Her cheeks dimpled. ‘I'll always be pleased to see you.'

The next evening she was to appear at a small music hall off the Strand and Anthony said he would come to hear her and book a supper.

‘Book a supper!' His father overheard their conversation. ‘You can eat here! I do something special for you and this beautiful young lady!' He stretched out his hands and looked from one to the other. ‘You want to be alone, yes? It can be arranged. I put a table in the corner, with flowers and candles.'

‘Don't be ridiculous, Father!' Anthony's manner was slightly crotchety. ‘Poppy and I just want to talk theatre, that's all.'

‘Tch! Too much talk, that is the trouble with young people today.' He blew an exaggerated kiss with both hands towards Poppy. ‘You must know love, and then you sing and play better.' He clutched his chest. ‘It come from 'ere.'

‘Poppy knows that,' Anthony said tetchily. ‘We all do!'

‘Ah! You not think about the Englishman?' Mario asked Poppy. ‘Ze one who doesn't like my food? Ah, he doesn't know about love. Pah! He is cold, that one. Not for the beautiful Poppy. And Anthony – he needs to know about love again.'

‘Sorry, Poppy. My father has had too much wine,' Anthony said. ‘I told him my news and he started celebrating early.'

‘What news?' She had been so busy answering questions about herself that she hadn't asked Anthony what he was doing or where he was playing. She knew he hadn't been home since his tour of the south coast.

‘I've been invited to tour Europe,' he told her, a reflective look in his eyes. ‘I leave next week.'

‘I can't believe the difference,' Anthony told her as they ate supper in a small restaurant near the theatre. ‘Your voice is much improved. It was good before, but so much better now! Mrs Bennett is an excellent coach. You'll soon be ready for the concert hall.'