cigars.
âIâm sorry to have kept you waiting.â Cristabel looked exhausted, drained. âIâm ashamed to confess that I overslept this morning. Itâs so good to see you, Max.â She held out both hands to him. âTell me I wasnât a total disaster as Rosina.â
âNothing of the kind.â But it fretted him that she had used the word they had. âYou sang it beautifully, as you must know.â
âBut I donât. I was so tired ⦠I donât seem to remember ⦠Iâm so glad to see you, Max. I needed to ask someone how it went, and youâre the very person.â
âThe person for what?â Desmond Fylde appeared behind her in the doorway. âGreetings, prince. I take it you are come to congratulate our prima donna on the way she shone in that dull piece of work.â He was dressed, Max saw with distaste, in an elaborate velvet frogged coat that, on a woman, would have been described as a négligée. âWe are treating you quite as an old friend, you see.â He must have noticed Maxâs look. âThese late nights at work are hard on a young couple like us.â He gave Cristabel a Turkish look.
âAnd I am sorry to disturb you so early,â said Max, very formally, knowing it was nothing of the kind. âBut I am on my way to Gustavsberg.â
âAh, the wicked prince of the fairy tale. I trust you will find him suitably contrite â and adequately guarded. But, forgive me, I quite forgot that he is also your father.â He turned to Cristabel. âWe must offer Prince Maximilian some refreshment, my queen, if he is off on his travels already. I hope you have been able to comfort the princess, prince, in her husbandâs mysterious absence. We miss him sadly here. Petticoat rule does not suit these Lissenberg boors. But, shame on us, we are quite forgetting! Your great opera,
Daughter of Odin.
Has it been greeted, in Vienna, with the acclaim I am sure it deserves?â
âIâm afraid not.â Why was Max so sure that Fylde knew already that his opera had failed disastrously? âMy only comfort in my failure,â he turned to Cristabel, âis that you were not involved in it.â
âOh, Max, I am sorry! But â I canât believe it. Everyone said you were set for a great success.â
âEveryone was wrong. And, to tell you the truth, Cristabel, I donât quite know what the trouble was â why they hated it so.â Warmed by her sympathy, he hardly noticed that he had used her Christian name, as in the old days when they were childhood friends. But then he had called her Bella. If only Fylde would leave them, he felt sure that Cristabel, who had worked with him so long, was such an old friend, would help him to understand why he had failed so lamentably. But it was brutally evident that Fylde had no intention of leaving them. Why should he? He was Cristabelâs husband. Max rose to his feet, civilly refused the offer of refreshment and took his leave.
âAch, the poor fellow,â said Fylde. âLetâs go back to bed, my queen.â
âFrau Schmidt! Itâs good to see you at last.â Martha had been sitting alone, drafting and redrafting a reply to the Austrian demand, when the formidable old lady was announced. âHow long have you been in Lissenberg? You should have let me know, come to the opera the other night.â
âGood of you, but I am just this moment arrived.â Frau Schmidt was as ramrod straight as ever, not a white hair out of place. âI have a message for you, highness. We wonât beinterrupted?â She took Marthaâs arm and coaxed her gently towards the window, as far from the door as possible.
âNot unless itâs a matter of urgency. But â a message, Frau Schmidt? From ââ She looked at her husbandâs adoptive grandmother with wild surmise.
âYes, from Franz. Heâs
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