A Song for Summer

It was a while before she answered. "When I was at school ... quite little still ... there was a girl there who had perfect pitch and a lovely voice and she played the piano. I used to hear people talking about her." She paused, lacing her fingers together. ""She's musical," they used to say, "Deirdre's musical," and it was as if they'd said: "She's angelic." That's how it seemed to me to be musical: to be angelic."

Isaac turned to her. "My God,

Ellen," he said huskily, "it is you who are angelic. If there's anyone in the world who is angelic it is you."

The news for which Kendrick had been waiting so eagerly came through three days after his previous visit to the travel agency.

"We've got them, sir," said the helpful girl. "We've got the tickets for the gala! They were returns but they're wonderful seats--a box in the Grand Tier. They were reserved for an American diplomat and his wife, but he's been recalled to Washington."

She seemed almost as pleased as Kendrick, but she was a conscientious girl and felt compelled to add:

"There have been rumours of a bit of trouble --Seefeld isn't pleased with the conductor, but I'm sure it'll be all right."

For a moment, Kendrick blenched. What if he payed out so much money and then some inferior soprano took over the lead? How would Ellen react? Trying to assess this, he had to face the fact that he did not know exactly how deeply Ellen felt music. Once he had taken her to a Tchaikovsky concert at the Queen's Hall and after the concert he had asked Ellen what she was thinking of and she had said, "Sorrel Soup."

She had explained that the slow movement of the Path@etique made her think of a green forest and this in turn had made her think of sorrel and made her wonder if she could get some to make into soup for one of the Gowan Terrace aunts who had a stomach complaint. All the same, it had been a shock.

But she would not think of Sorrel Soup after Rosenkavalier. After Rosenkavalier she would think--she would have to think--of love, and it was after the opera, in some spot that he had not yet finalised, that he intended to propose. This would not be a hasty declaration forced out of him in a kitchen like his previous one; it would be a brief but considered speech which would reach straight to her heart. He had made a short list of places that might be suitable: the Donner Fountain in the Neuer Markt (which personified the tributaries of the Danube), the Mozart Memorial in the Burg Garten, and the equestrian statue of the Archduke Albrecht on the steps of the Albertina--all of which were within a few minutes' walk of the opera house.

And this brought him to the delicate question of the hotel. They would need two rooms in a suitable establishment--but not adjoining rooms, which might frighten Ellen and give her a wrong idea of his intentions. Perhaps they should be on a different floor, thought Kendrick. He had heard his mother refer to men who could not control their instincts as "animals". The idea that Ellen might think of him a in any way an animal was too dreadful to be borne.

Stammering slightly, Kendrick put the problem of accommodation to the nice girl in the agency, who recommended the Hotel Regina in the Graben, a historic street in the Inner City, and promised to make the booking straight away.

There was therefore nothing left to do except write a second letter to Ellen, begging her to come to Vienna, for she had not yet answered the first. But even in this letter he did not mention the gala and Seefeld. If anything did go wrong she would not be disappointed, and the idea of surprising continued to excite him. She would think they were going to some ordinary ball with champagne and waltzes--and then he would spring on her a treat so far above the humdrum one of whirling round a dance floor as would completely overwhelm her.

That Ellen might not accept his invitation occurred to him but he fought it down. In a bookshop in the Tottenham Court Road, Kendrick had found a pamphlet called Positive Thinking for Beginners. He had not bought it--it was not the kind of book that a Frobisher bought--but he had read it in the shop and was determinedly putting its precepts into practice. He had even written cheerfully to his mother, announcing his plans--and writing cheerfully to Patricia Frobisher was not a thing he did often.

Fortunately he was expected that evening at Gowan Terrace to help with a lantern slide show in aid of Basque refugees and could share his

success with Ellen's mother and her aunts.

"She's sure to get leave just for a day or two, don't you think?"' he asked, and they said they thought it more than likely.