The Songbird (57 page)

‘Ah!' He shrugged and tore off a ticket and counted out the money she held in her hand. ‘
La platea!
' He pointed to a door leading into the hall and put his finger to his lips.

‘
Grazie. Grazie!
' she said gratefully. ‘Thank you so much.'

He nodded and smiled. ‘
Prego!
'

The concert hadn't started as he had said; the lights were still on, but the orchestra was tuning up and Poppy was shown to a seat on the back row. She put her parasol on the floor, removed her gloves and sat back in the chair. The hall was full; the audience was well dressed and there was a ripple of muted conversation. Then the lights were dimmed and the orchestra struck up with a medley of music from various operas. Verdi's stirring
Nabucco
, dramatic
Rigoletto
and ‘Musetta's Waltz' from Puccini's
La Bohème
.

Poppy sat entranced and listened next to an elderly baritone who gave a rendition from
The Magic Flute
and
The Marriage of Figaro
. Following him, as the curtains closed, a frock-coated compère came to the front of the stage, gave a voluble speech, none of which Poppy understood, then, standing back as the curtain rose, announced, ‘Signor
Antonio Marino
!'

A grand piano stood centre stage, and as the audience applauded Anthony strode on. He wore a black frock coat, narrow black trousers and a white high-collared shirt with a white tie. His side-burns were long and his hair, Poppy noticed fondly and with a skip of a heartbeat, still flopped over his forehead. He gave a bow, centre, left, then right, lifted his coat-tails and sat down at the piano.

He had a vast repertoire. Poppy glanced at the programme she had bought, as Anthony played Bellini and Beethoven, and then moved into Rossini's melodic
Barber of Seville
, followed by Gounod's love-music from
Romeo et Juliette
.

She felt a tear trickle from her eyes. How was it that Anthony's playing always had the ability to make her cry? There was rousing applause after each piece and she marvelled at the Italian audience's enthusiasm. Anthony stood up finally to take a bow, and then announced something in Italian and everyone clapped and cheered.

‘For the benefit of those who do not speak our beautiful Italian language,' he announced in English, ‘I wish to explain that I would now like to play for you some of my own work. It is dedicated to, and was written for, a particular person. Tonight it will be played as music without words, but the words, which are love songs, are already written.'

Poppy put her hand to her cheek. Was he speaking to her? But he doesn't know I am here! Dan! Has he told him? Or is he . . . he can't be speaking of someone else? Not Jeanette? Surely not! He said he was over his love for her. She listened as with the orchestra Anthony began to play the melody from ‘In the Town Where I Was Born,' which she knew he had written for her, and then he began the music from the song sheet she had bought from the costumier in London.

and with a slight shift of improvisation he worked in the harmony of,

Anthony, she breathed. Why wasn't I listening?

He slipped easily and elegantly into the music he had written on the scrap of paper that had been wrapped round the rose he had placed on the piano at the Pit Stop. It was a gentle, nostalgic, evocative piece of music, new to her at the time, and which she had kept and puzzled over.

She opened up her velvet bag. Inside was the paper with the words written on it. She began to hum the refrain.

Also inside the bag was the red rose, faded, yet still with its faint sweet perfume. She took it out and, rising from her seat, her green gown rustling as she moved, slowly walked towards the stage. He came to the end of the music, and lifting his head said softly, yet clearly, ‘And to close the performance I would like to play the English “Greensleeves”, written, it is believed, by Henry the Eighth, and introduce to you – la bella
Signorina Mazzini
.'

Poppy felt a glow of happiness spreading through her, lifting her heart and spirits. She turned to the audience and bowed, then, turning again as the audience broke into spontaneous applause at this unexpected development, she lifted the hem of her skirt and walked up the steps to the stage.

Anthony rose from the piano and went towards her, taking both of her hands in his. He kissed her on both cheeks and then tenderly on her lips, and the audience gasped and then cheered. ‘I love you, is what I said, when you didn't hear,' he whispered.

She stood back, her arms outstretched, still holding his hands and gazing at him. ‘And I love you,' she answered on a gentle breath. ‘So very much.'

He led her towards the piano. He touched his fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss and began to play, and she, with another bow to the audience, began to sing.

Poppy gave a deep curtsy to take the enthusiastic applause, but Anthony wasn't quite finished. As she raised her head, he effortlessly and gently moved into the introduction of the final lyrical piece of music, and if she needed further proof of his lasting love, here it was, for this was the music he had sent to her whilst she was singing in France, which she hadn't recognized as a love poem written for her.

The musicians, all but the violinist, laid down their instruments. The conductor raised his baton, gave a slight raise of his eyebrows to the violinist, and Poppy, glancing towards Anthony, caught his eyes and smile, and began to sing.

 

THE END

Valerie Wood was born in Yorkshire and now lives in a village near the east coast. She is the author of ten novels, including
The Hungry Tide
, winner of the Catherine Cookson Prize for Fiction.

Find out more about Valerie Wood's novels by visiting her website on
www.valeriewood.co.uk

Also by Val Wood

 

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First published in Great Britain by Bantam Press
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Copyright © Valerie Wood 2005

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Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781446436356
ISBN 9780552152204

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