Invisible in a Bright Light Page 3

  ‘Out,’ she shouted. ‘Out, all of you. I don’t want to see any of you.’

  ‘But Mama, you can’t mean me,’ said Hildegard as Madame took her daughter’s hand and threw her out along with everyone else. They heard the key being turned in the lock.

  Hildegard started to cry and Miss Olsen took her to a nearby dressing-room.

  Celeste had picked up the empty box and the pieces of torn card as she left the room and was waiting for instructions.

  ‘Give me those,’ said Mr Gautier. He took the fragments of card and pieced them together. ‘To Hildegard from Papa,’ he read aloud. ‘I always thought the father was dead.’ He seemed to notice Celeste then for he said, ‘You danced beautifully this morning. And now I have to somehow worm my way back into that room and calm the dragon.’ He smiled at her.

  Miss Olsen returned and, taking Celeste by the arm, pulled her aside.

  ‘You are wanted by the dancing master in the rehearsal room,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’ asked Celeste.

  ‘Try not to be more stupid than you already are. You know perfectly well why.’

  ‘But I don’t.’

  ‘Just because you have been picked to dance in tonight’s performance don’t think you will be given any more privileges,’ said Miss Olsen. ‘You’ll still be working for me and Madame.’

  Celeste felt panic rise in her. It was one thing for the king to mistake her for a dancer, quite another for Miss Olsen.

  ‘I can’t dance,’ she said.

  ‘I would agree with that,’ said Miss Olsen. ‘But Mr Gautier doesn’t, so go. And don’t be late for your costume fitting. It must be perfect for tonight’s performance.’

  CHAPTER 5

  Celeste had just come from the costume fitting. Miss Olsen had told her she’d checked her measurements earlier but the leotard the seamstress had been making was for someone bigger.

  ‘You can’t have lost weight so soon,’ Miss Olsen had said.

  Celeste didn’t know what to say. What she knew was that Miss Olsen hadn’t measured her that morning.

  ‘And you are slightly shorter. Don’t tell me you have shrunk between breakfast and teatime?’

  The costume was being taken in.

  Where have I shrunk to, thought Celeste, and why does everyone think I can dance? She counted her fingers, checked her limbs, to make sure they were all there. She’d had to ask Miss Olsen where Anna was and the wardrobe mistress had snapped at her and pointed to a wooden staircase.

  Celeste stopped by a meagre door that could well have opened a broom cupboard. Then a flash of light in her mind’s eye, no more than a stone skimming the waves, brought her a hard-won memory. She knew she had been to the dome before, but she couldn’t say when. There had been an old lady with a sewing-machine, and the chamois leathers she cleaned the chandelier with hung on a washing-line. There were birds actually inside the dome, gulls, gannets and pigeons, lots of them. Someone had even said they’d seen an albatross there, that’s why they’d come up here. But who were they? Who was it she had been with? An image drifted away from the edge of her memory. By the time Celeste wearily climbed the stairs, she was completely lost.

  That afternoon she had gone to the rehearsal room as instructed. The dancing master had sat facing the long mirror where the floor sloped to replicate the floor of the stage. He had tapped out the rhythm while the piano played and she had stood, bewildered and motionless.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he asked. He looked at her closely. ‘Have you lost weight? You seem – smaller. Are you feeling ill?’ Then seeing her confusion, he said, ‘Let’s break.’

  Celeste had held onto the barre as if it were a life raft until Mr Gautier appeared.

  ‘I’ve just come to say that you were the best thing about the dress rehearsal,’ he said. ‘In fact the only good thing about it.’

  The dancing master took him aside and spoke quietly to him. Celeste caught the odd word.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘… exhaustion… perhaps with rest…’

  Mr Gautier had turned to her and said, ‘You are a very talented dancer. I’m sure once you are rested you will be ready for this evening’s performance.’

  Her only hope now was that Anna would untie the knots in her woolly mind. At least she remembered her governess. No, she thought, she’s our governess. She felt muddle-headed. Our governess – what did that mean? What else had she forgotten, apart from knowing how to dance? But she had never been able to dance – she had two left feet. Who was it who used to say that to her?

  It was dark in the city; it had been dark since midday. Outside snow was falling and the copper rooftops shimmered with a blue light. Inside, on a table laid for two, a candle flickered while the only other light came from the well in the floor. It was an eerie kind of light that lit from below a brooding monster that was the chandelier, draped in its covers, waiting to be illuminated. It was so dark that she couldn’t see Anna. All she could make out in the gloom was an ancient, crochety stove that looked more like a stage prop than anything useful. It glowed grumpily in the bitter cold of the place. By the stove was a neat pile of logs and the smell of vegetable soup bubbled from a pan on the stove itself.

  The moment Celeste saw Anna she felt safe and her head stopped hurting. Here was someone she trusted, who looked after her and – more importantly – knew she wasn’t a dancer. Anna was thin, but not boney, with a kind face and eyes that laughed at life. Her words were always wise. Celeste had no idea how old Anna was; quite a bit younger than Mother and surely Mother wasn’t old. Anna would know where her mother was. And then all knowledge was gone again and only an ache remained.

  Anna held out her arms and Celeste was wrapped in the comforting smell of roses.

  ‘My clever little treasure,’ she said. ‘I heard that you’ll dance tonight and that Camille’s costume is being altered to fit you.’

  Celeste’s heart missed a beat.

  ‘I can’t dance, Anna. You should know that.’

  ‘Are you being funny? This is such good news. I’m so proud of you.’

  ‘Did you see the dress rehearsal?’ asked Celeste.

  ‘Of course I did – you were magnificent. Is everything all right?’

  ‘No,’ said Celeste. ‘It’s all wrong.’

  ‘Come, sit down,’ said Anna. ‘You are in a pickle over nothing. Don’t worry. There will be more money – you will be paid and with what I earn we might even find rooms near the theatre.’

  ‘I can’t dance and I’m not—’

  Anna interrupted her. ‘It’s because you are a perfectionist that you think that you’re no good. But you are so talented, my little treasure.’

  Celeste saw there was no point in telling Anna what had happened that afternoon. No point at all.

  ‘Is it the logs that are worrying you?’ said Anna. ‘Of course, that’s what’s the matter. I should have said something straight away.’

  ‘Why should the logs worry me?’ she said.

  ‘Because you are always so anxious that we’ll be discovered, and I knew you would notice them.’

  Surely she should know what it was Anna was talking about? But her mind was blank.

  ‘A young man came up here,’ said Anna. ‘He’s been employed to work in the fly tower and he wanted to look out over the rooftops to the harbour. He discovered me making soup. He told me that he used to be a sailor and was good at rigging but he wanted a job on dry land for the winter. His skills are much needed in the theatre. Of course, I told him we didn’t live up here, I even went so far as giving him a false address. But I’m not a good actress. He didn’t believe me, but he was kind. His name is Stephan Larsen. He came later with the logs and swore he would not tell anyone that we’re here.’

  ‘It’s not Stephan Larsen that’s worrying me,’ said Celeste.

  She wanted to say that what was worrying her was she had no memory of any of this.

  ‘It’s Miss Olsen. She knows we’re living here.’

  ‘Leave Miss Olsen to me. Don’t let her upset you.’

  ‘Everything is upsetting,’ said Celeste.

  But the soup tasted delicious. Celeste tore a piece of bread from the loaf.

  ‘The bread – Stephan gave us that as well. And you should eat more slowly,’ said Anna. ‘You usually eat slowly. You don’t want to be too full when you dance. You are very fussy about that. And why are you holding your spoon in your left hand?’

  The words of the man in the emerald green suit came back to Celeste. ‘I have already been too generous in letting you have one of the sleepers. Not that she is of any use.’

  Celeste had thought that the strangeness of the afternoon would be over when she was with Anna, but it wasn’t. There was no one she could turn to.

  ‘Don’t forget, my little treasure, that Madame Sabina will still want you in her dressing-room before you change.’

  As Celeste was leaving Anna said, ‘Is that another hole in your stocking?’

  Celeste looked at the hole. ‘Another hole? I don’t think so. Why?’

  ‘Well, this morning I painted it in with black ink as there was no time to do any mending. Don’t you remember?’

  Celeste looked again at the hole. Her white skin shone through it.

  There was silence and then Anna said in a tight, cheerful voice, ‘It must have rubbed off.’

  What neither of them said, and what both of them knew, was that ink is hard to get off skin and even if washed with soap and water it leaves a bluish mark. There was no mark.

  ‘Never mind, Maria,’ said Anna, ‘I’ll mend it tonight.’

  ‘Maria,’ whispered Celeste to herself and knew in that name, that other name that wasn’t hers, there lay the answer to all that was missing.

  CHAPTER 6

  Celeste stopped on her way down from the dome and looked over the fly tower onto the stage below. For a moment she rested her head on her arms. Somewhere between falling asleep in the costume basket and waking, something had happened that had changed everything and convinced all those about her that she was someone else, that she was a dancer.

  She felt a hand touch her shoulder and heard a familiar voice. ‘Think – if this is a game, the Reckoning, then could it be that you are not the first player?’

  She spun, staring into the shadows, refusing to be frightened.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  No one answered. Her heart racing, she ran to the stairs and collided with a boy.

  ‘I heard you’re going to dance the solo tonight,’ he said to her. ‘I said you would be a star.’

  ‘You did?’ said Celeste.

  She had no idea who he was but felt her answer should have been ‘Yes, you did,’ and not a question.

  He was looking at her now as if he knew her well. She was looking at him as if he was a stranger. He had dark brown eyes and dark skin. He looked a little older than her. Who was he?

  As if reading her mind, he said, ‘It’s Viggo, Maria. Are you feeling all right?’

  ‘Viggo,’ she repeated. ‘I’m not…’

  She stopped. Could it be she had woken up and forgotten a part of her life? Had she left her other self in the costume basket? Both of them looked away, embarrassed.

  ‘There’s trouble with the scenery,’ he said.

  ‘Oh,’ said Celeste and quickly started down the stairs.

  Viggo called after her, ‘I hope it goes well tonight. I’ll be watching.’

  Celeste felt like weeping. What was going to happen when the music started and the little dancer didn’t dance?

  The door to Madame Sabina Petrova’s dressing-room was wide open and Celeste slipped in unnoticed. There is an art to being invisible and at least, she thought, I think I have mastered that. Hildegard looked miserable. She was seated in the same chair as she had been earlier.

  Madame Sabina glanced up from putting the finishing touches to her face. To Celeste it was a grotesque mask.

  ‘Do you know, Hildegard,’ said Madame Sabina, ‘there’s a potential star in this very room?’

  ‘No, Mama,’ said Hildegard. ‘Where?’

  Madame Sabina beckoned Celeste. ‘This pretty little creature can dance, according to my idiot director,’ she said as Celeste nervously moved closer to her. ‘He says she’s enchanting. Oh dear mouse, I don’t think “enchanting” is a word that could ever be used to describe you. It makes me wonder if you have any talent – except for eating chocolates so fast that you nearly choked yourself on an emerald ring.’

  ‘She’s only a theatre rat,’ said Hildegard. ‘And it’s not fair to say that about me.’

  Her mother ignored her and, putting a hand to Celeste’s face, said to her, ‘You see, a talentless child such as mine can be a terrible burden, one that I will have to carry with me to the end of my days.’

  ‘I can sing,’ Hildegard piped up.

  ‘Sing, little mouse? Oh no,’ and she started to laugh.

  The stage manager was calling half an hour to curtain up.

  ‘What have I done wrong?’ said Hildegard, fighting back tears.

  ‘Quiet,’ said the great diva. ‘I need to prepare myself for my audience. I don’t want to listen to your nonsense.’

  Hildegard looked crushed and Celeste tried not to catch her eye as a tear rolled down her cheek, a crystal drop that hung until it plopped to the floor. Hildegard sniffed.

  ‘Don’t sniff,’ said her mother. ‘What have I told you about sniffing? Stop it immediately.’

  Celeste felt in her pocket and handed Hildegard a handkerchief she found there. Hildegard said nothing but blew her nose too loudly for Madame Sabina’s liking.

  ‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘Out you go. Outside – now.’

  The door shut behind the weeping Hildegard and the dressing-room was filled with a brittle silence, broken by the entrance of Mr Gautier. Celeste thought he looked like a man who had been rehearsing a speech, but before he could begin, Madame Sabina said in a voice that a Persian cat might use if a Persian cat could talk, ‘I promise to sing the opera that has been written for me and that the company has spent three months rehearsing. I will not sing arias from other productions. And I will do my best to remember the stage directions. There,’ she added with a smile, ‘you see there’s no need for you to tell me that you find actors unbearable, singers little better and divas… oh dear me, I forget how you ended that little ditty of yours. Miss Olsen did tell me – was it something about “monstrous”?’

  Mr Gautier replied with a tremble in his voice, ‘They grow monstrous through flattery, but they don’t start out that way.’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Madame Sabina. ‘You are so witty.’

  Neither of them was laughing. If anything the director looked genuinely alarmed at what Madame Sabina might do next.

  She sighed. ‘Children, all of you,’ she said, and lay down on the day-bed closing her eyes.

  ‘I’m glad to hear you’ve been thinking about your performance,’ said Mr Gautier. ‘And the costume?’

  ‘I will wear the one designed for my role. And you will have the gauze in place?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr Gautier. ‘We are working on it now. You won’t forget your gloves in the first act? You have your gloves?’

  Madame Sabina opened one eye. ‘Girl,’ she said gesturing to Celeste, ‘are my gloves on the dressing-table?’

  ‘There’s only one glove,’ said Celeste. It was the one she had brought to her earlier.

  ‘How careless of me. I must have left the other on stage.’

  ‘Go and find Madame’s other glove,’ said Mr Gautier to Celeste as he left the dressing-room, ‘and bring it back here before the curtain goes up.’

  CHAPTER 7

  Celeste was grateful for an excuse to get away from Madame Sabina. She found Hildegard shivering in the corridor.

  ‘Do you think I can go back in?’ she asked with a sniff.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Celeste.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll come with you,’ said Hildegard. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To find a glove that your mama left on stage.’

  ‘I’m good at finding things,’ said Hildegard. ‘That’s what Mama always says. You’re Maria, aren’t you?’

  ‘No, I’m Celeste.’

  ‘Then why do they call you Maria?’

  Celeste was about to say there had been a mistake, that it wasn’t her name, when Madame Sabina called for Hildegard.

  For a moment Hildegard hesitated and later she wondered what would have happened if she had ignored her mother and gone with Celeste. Perhaps everything would have been different. But instead she went back into the dressing-room while Celeste walked out onto the stage.

  In the wings she’d noticed a group of stagehands and scene painters standing round Mr Gautier. They were in a deep discussion about the gauze.

  The stage manager walked past Celeste and said, ‘Good luck for tonight,’ then she heard him tell the director that it would be best to announce to the audience that there would be a fifteen minute delay before the curtain went up.

  Celeste easily found the missing glove. She put it in her pocket and instead of going back to the dressing-room as she should have, she walked to the front of the stage and looked up.

  Mr Gautier came over to her. ‘Are you feeling better?’ he asked.

  Celeste nodded. ‘I’ve found the glove,’ she said.

  ‘Good, good.’

  He too glanced up at the dome. Any minute now the chandelier would slowly make its entrance into the auditorium.

  ‘I always marvel at the fact that this chandelier is lit with candles,’ he said. ‘Gaslight would surely be much easier. I read somewhere that it weighs over six thousand kilos and is nearly as tall as three men. Seven hundred and fifty candles illuminate its bronze and crystal. Here it comes.’

  Celeste held her breath as a bright ball of light beamed through the hole in the dome. Very slowly the chandelier began to appear, for it was believed to be unlucky if a candle was blown out on its short journey. Celeste couldn’t take her eyes off it.