Chapter Thirteen
“Look, mama, look,” Arabella pointed at the strong wrought iron vision of the Eiffel Tower. She opened her mouth wide at the sight and kept her finger pointing straight ahead.
Arabella had a mound of thick dark curls like her mother and the surprising green eyes of her father.
“I know, isn’t it beautiful?” Eva grabbed Arabella’s pointed hand and ran along the stone street of the Rue de l'Université.
The two dark heads bobbed onto the intertwining paths and out into the grasses that surrounded the prolific landmark.
“Shall we sit here?” Eva spread a shawl upon the neatly kept grass then sat on it.
“Can I play?” Arabella turned to her with excitement. Eva looked at the three other children who were playing with a ball.
“If you like,” Eva responded. She already knew that it would be very difficult to deny her child anything she wanted. But Arabella never showed signs of becoming a spoiled little princess, so Eva didn’t give it too much concern.
Arabella ran forward to join the other children who were happily kicking the ball with the violence and aplomb only children seem to possess. Eva was always amazed at her brave little daughter. Arabella never fretted over meeting new people and always dove into any situation that might lie in front of her. Eva smiled as she watched her little girl’s curls bounce up and down as she tried to learn her new game.
“I’ve never seen such a vision.”
Eva turned around to see Ambrose standing with the sun at his back, making him look like a god.
“And I am not talking about the Eiffel Tower,” he smiled then sat down beside Eva. “I thought you might like to read this.” He proffered Eva the daily edition of Le Monde. The pages were turned back and Eva saw a large color photo of herself dressed as Gilda. Ambrose and Eva were both starring in a production of Rigoletto.
“But where are you?” Eva looked down the page. Ambrose was playing the Duke of Mantua and she’d been telling herself that all the press and hubbub surrounding the production was merely because of Ambrose’s presence, not her own.
“No one cares about me anymore, darling. They’re all clamoring to see you.”
Eva gave him a look.
“It’s true,” Ambrose held up his hands and laughed. “One day you will realize how very talented you are, how the whole world loves and adores you, then you will not care for my love anymore.”
“That is impossible.” Eva said it seriously though his comment had been made in jest. “Your love will always be the only thing that matters to me.”
“Good,” Ambrose leaned forward and kissed her gently on the mouth. When he was done, he didn’t pull away but stayed, inches from her face, sharing the same breath, the same air with her. “But you haven’t read it.” He looked down at the paper.
“Who can read when there are such kisses to be had?” She leaned in for another kiss and let it linger on her mouth. “Ok.” She said when he looked back at the paper again. She picked up the page and worked her best translation skills as she read through it. “Well, it seems very complimentary.” Eva smiled.
“Your translation isn’t doing you justice then.” He picked up the paper and cleared his voice. “Ms. Eva St. Marie Leroy is the new angel of our century. Her voice will go on to the light the path to true musical genius for generations to come,” he read. “They don’t know of course that you’ll be here long after that to continue shining your light through all those generations.”
“Suppose I get tired of singing?” Eva asked.
“Impossible, you forget that I know you.”
Eva ran her finger over the lines of her husband’s face. It was the best face she’d ever seen.
“I thought we would take a nice little dinner in our dressing room tonight. Then Hilda can just meet us there to take Arabella home for the night.” Ambrose looked to Arabella who was still running wildly over the grass. Hilda was Arabella’s nanny. She read and played with Arabella while Eva and Ambrose worked through rehearsals and tonight she would take Arabella back to their two-story Paris apartment and put her to sleep just as her parents were beginning their journey as Gilda and the Duke of Mantua.
Arabella kicked the ball in front of her then tripped over the ground and smashed, with all the fluster and fury of a five-year-old, into the ground.
Arabella looked up with tears welling in her eyes, she let the pain and surprise of the moment sink in, then she looked to the blue sky above her and let out a wail. The sound was so brilliant and piercing that Eva often found herself embarrassed for her daughter’s incredible lungs.
“Oh dear,” Eva sighed.
Ambrose stood up and ran to his daughter, he never gave the same worrying care over Arabella that Eva gave. Instead, he swooped down and picked her up, lifting her high into the air. Ambrose looked up at his daughter’s face and smiled.
He threw her up then caught her easily as she came down. Arabella laughed. It always seemed remarkable to Eva the way that Ambrose could turn her daughter’s tears into laughter. He had the same talent for her. Eva could never feel sad for very long with Ambrose around her.
“Careful,” Eva needlessly called out to Ambrose. Ambrose was always careful, he was always sure of himself.
Ambrose walked with Arabella on his shoulders and his hand on Eva’s back.
When they arrived at the Palais Garnier Eva gasped.
“Luciano!” She ran into the older man’s arms.
“Ah, Passerotto mio—”
Eva pulled back, looking over his face, “Is Glenda with you?”
“Yes, yes, she’s at the hotel now, she will come tonight. We are both excited.” He extended a hand to encompass the entire opera house. Luciano noticed Arabella who was standing respectfully by looking up at him and her mama. “And Arabella, how you’ve grown.”
“You always say that,” she giggled. Luciano picked her up and held her at his side.
“Come, join us for dinner, we are having it brought it from Le Meurice.” Ambrose held out an arm to direct Luciano to follow Eva through the halls of the palatial building.
The quartet sat and ate blue lobster, exquisite risotto, and scallops with white alba truffle foam. They laughed at Luciano’s recent stories of time with his family in Venice and Glenda’s conquests in procuring Luciano a spot on next year’s roster with La Scala.
Hilda came and all three adults kissed the precious Arabella goodnight. Arabella gave an unconvincing show of not being tired but eventually agreed that she would see everyone again in the morning.
“Life seems very good, Luciano. La Scala next year, a good woman by your side?” Ambrose put his napkin on the table to signify that dinner was over.
“That is what I want to talk with you about. I want you both to be in my new opera.” Luciano smiled at Eva and Ambrose.
“A new opera?” Eva leaned forward.
“I think you might be my muse, I’ve had another dream.” Luciano looked up as if imagining the visions he’d had.
Ambrose looked to Eva with raised brows.
“I’ve always wanted to sing at La Scala…like my mother,” Eva admitted.
“You will sing there with or without me. You will sing at all the major opera houses, there can be no doubt of that.”
“And your new opera?” Ambrose questioned. “What will it be about?”
“The Vampire Queen,” Luciano looked happily across the table. “The Queen of the underground. Spoiled forever in eternity by her King… A bond so strong it could never be broken…and a child. A child with the voice of the future.”
Eva felt her mouth open, then she closed it again.
“But…” Eva tried to get her thoughts straight. “Isn’t there…some drama? Something terrible waiting your Queen?”
Luciano looked at her for a long time then sat back. “That is just the problem. I cannot seem to fit anything horrible inside. Perhaps the child could be plagued by the same darkness that plagued Lucretia. She could be swept up one brisk night out of the hands of her nanny…to be the muse of the darkness…”
Eva sat up, ready to run out of the room, to grab her child to her breast.
“But…” Luciano continued. “It does not fit. It was not in my dream.”
Eva exhaled and laughed. Luciano laughed too, though Eva was certain they were not laughing at the same thing.
“And you have music for this?” Ambrose seemed to be in deep contemplation.
“The most beautiful music, Glenda holds the burden of all my papers and notes. It is the best work I’ve ever done. It will be a masterpiece. People will come, the music will speak for itself—you will see.”
“I like that idea, very much.” Eva extended her arm and squeezed Luciano’s hand.
“Ok, you will need to prepare…warm up…change…” Luciano pushed away from the table and stood. “I will be in the audience tonight. In bocca al lupo!”
Ambrose saw Luciano out of the opera house and the house staff came in to clear the table and dishes away. Eva walked to the mirror and looked over her face. She looked happy. How had she ever become so happy? She shook the thought away, it was time to focus on being Gilda.
She drank some honey water and turned the electric kettle on for a pot of tea. There were a few bouquets of flowers on the side tables and the piano. There was a new bouquet that Eva hadn’t noticed before sitting next to her expanse of stage makeup. Eva walked over to it, letting her fingers touch the soft buds.
The flowers were all white, roses, dahlias, and lilies, mixed with white hydrangea. Eva moved her nose into the bouquet and inhaled. The smell made her smile. As she pulled back she noticed a small square card tucked into the blooms.
To Gilda & the Duke of Mantua,
Here’s to the perfect opening night. Wish we could be there!
Jerome & Bridget
Eva smiled again. Jerome had been hired into the Cincinnati Opera shortly after Bridget. Their friendship had bloomed slowly into something more. And when it had there was no stopping it. Eva and Ambrose had attended their very fashionable Manhattan wedding a few months ago, just before the pair zipped off to spend a year with the Shanghai Opera House.
Eva tucked the note back into the bouquet and sighed happily. She looked up when Ambrose came back into the room.
“What do you think of his new opera?” Ambrose asked as he took off his suit jacket.
“It sounds perfect. I am beginning to be quite grateful for Luciano’s dreams.” Eva turned to her husband. She saw the same happiness and contentment in him that she’d seen reflected in her own eyes.
“A Queen…” he said.
“…And King,” she said.
“Without any drama…no complications to frighten or terrify?” Ambrose asked.
“I could see myself living the rest of my life that way—though any problem would seem very small indeed with my King.” Eva walked to her husband and fell into his arms.
“And to be spoiled and lauded for all eternity?” He asked.
“Oh yes, lots of that.” Eva smiled.
Ambrose kissed Eva’s forehead, both her eyelids, then found his way to her open and waiting lips.
*****
THE END