A Song for Summer

"But that's the point don't you see, to make the sacrifice while you are at the height of your beauty--

Strauss wrote it like that. It's not about some middle-aged woman making the best of a bad job; it's a supreme act of wisdom and renunciation."

The boy had been right. She had been sensational in the role; her performance in what Richard Strauss called his "Mozart Opera" had become legendary. It was because of Marcus that she was singing in four weeks' time before the President and the crowned heads of several European states.

And that was the trouble--that was why she was so desperate to find him now. The opera could wait, but not the gala. It was three years since she had sung the Marschallin: her fortieth birthday was behind her--

rather more behind her than she admitted--and she felt suddenly terrified and stale. There were things badly wrong with the production, and Feuerbach, who was conducting, lacked the authority and presence to impose his will on the orchestra. Some of his tempi were absurd; she couldn't take the Act One monologue at that speed, and the girl who was singing Sophie lost no opportunity to put herself forward.

It had all been so different when she was with Marcus. He had been an amazing r@ep@etiteur and coach, and the orchestra listened to him. Even when he was twenty they had listened, and now ... Marcus could make Feuerbach see sense, she was sure of it. There would be people at the gala longing to find fault with her--rival divas from Berlin and Paris; officials from the Met.

"Here he is!" said Staub as Benny came towards them, his black eyes lively in spite of the long journey.

Brigitta could only just give him time to sit down before she began: "Well, what's the news? Did you find him?"'

Benny shook his head. "No I didn't.

No one in Philadelphia had any idea where he was. The Director of the Sinfonia's been trying to get hold of him but he seems to have vanished off the face of the earth. They thought he was in that place of his in the forest but letters haven't been answered."

"But that's absurd. He must be somewhere."

Staub cleared his throat. His libretto was without doubt the best thing he had written. Seen from the point of view of a Greek soldier disgorged from the wooden horse who encounters the fabled Helen, huddled in a doorway of the burning city, it should interest Altenburg with his well-known concern for the common man. And Marcus might persuade Brigitta to huddle--a thing that he himself did not feel equal to.

Now he said: "I think perhaps he may be here. In Austria, I mean. Brenner said he saw him down in Carinthia, driving with Professor Steiner. He didn't see him clearly but he's pretty sure it was Altenburg."

"Steiner? That old folk song collector?"'

"Yes. I thought he must be mistaken because Marcus was in America but now I wonder. He and Steiner were friends, if you remember; Marcus stayed with him in Berlin."

Brigitta frowned. The professor belonged to that group of musicians--Meierwitz was another one--who had allowed themselves to become entangled in politics.

"But what could he possibly be doing down there? And why hasn't he been in touch?"'

Staub shrugged. "Brenner may be wrong but he was quite close to him; the van stopped at a level crossing and he tried to wave but Altenburg just stared him down."

What could it mean? thought Brigitta. Was he hiding himself away to work? And if so ... if he was writing music for someone else? A rival? Oh, why did I send him away? she thought. I must have been mad.

He'd said he wouldn't come back, and he hadn't, except as an acquaintance when their paths happened to cross. She'd only wanted a few months to sort out her affairs and really it was his fault, refusing to sell his wretched trees to pay for the sables she'd set her heart on.

"Where in Carinthia? Where did Brenner see him?"'

"Hallendorf. They were driving away from the lake."

"Hallendorf?"' she repeated. "Of course, that's the place with that dreadful school." The headmaster had had the nerve to write to her

asking her to attend some musical performance of the children's a couple of years ago. She hadn't even answered ... but might it do as an excuse to make enquiries?

"Is there anywhere decent to stay down there?"' she asked. "Why don't we go and look for him?"'

Staub agreed at once but Benny hesitated. He had not yet told Brigitta, but he had decided to emigrate and was going to transfer his business to New York. If Brigitta did choose to follow him, there was little he could do for her: America was flooded with Lieder singers escaping Hitler, and the Met had their own stable of sopranos.