On 31st December, Mr Gautier read his daily notes again and tried to justify his actions. Why, oh why had he not listened to Celeste on the night of the clown’s party? When he thought back to that evening, he had to admit all the signs were there. The stage manager had reported to him that afternoon, before the performance, that Madame Sabina Petrova had lost her temper the moment she had entered Hildegard’s dressing-room. The cause had been the many bouquets that had been sent to her daughter by well-wishers. It was two dozen white roses from the king that had caused the episode to become ugly. Apparently the card with them said that His Majesty was looking forward to hearing Hildegard sing on New Year’s Eve. The vase had ended up broken and the flowers trampled on the floor.
Mr Gautier had been surprised – not at the diva’s violent temper, that was true to her nature – no, what had surprised him was that she appeared to have no pride in her daughter. Perhaps he should have seen the danger signs in that, but he hadn’t. He had received an invitation and was relieved that he had a good reason to decline: he suffered badly from sea-sickness. If he was honest with himself, he did not want to set foot on the Empress, regardless of it having been refurbished. He was a superstitious man and sea-sickness was a good excuse. He had disregarded the fact that Madame Sabina Petrova would mind very much that she was not invited and that was another mistake.
And yet, he said to himself, what was he or anyone else supposed to do?
At breakfast on 28th December he had read a ridiculous article in the newspaper about the great soprano… he had laughed into his toast… the great pain would be more true… he read on… Madame Sabina Petrova claimed she had dedicated herself to nurturing her daughter’s talent.
He had found it rather amusing and he wasn’t alone in that. The same day he had noted the matinee and evening performances, and that Madame Sabina had demanded that Hildegard’s dressing-room be returned to how it was when she was in residence. Mr Gautier had been called upon to intervene and instead of remarking that Hildegard looked pale and had a blueish tint around her eyes, he had taken a certain delight in telling the diva that this wasn’t her show and that never once had Hildegard complained about the dressing-room. Madame Sabina had shouted at the director and he had shouted back. What he said, what she said, he couldn’t remember and had made no note of.
The following day, 29th December, there was an evening performance. Madame Sabina had asked to see Mr Gautier, not in the dressing-room this time. No, she wanted a more public space and chose the prompt side of the stage where she could be heard complaining loudly that two performances a day had been too much for Hildegard.
‘It is quite simple,’ she had said, ‘the girl doesn’t possess the stamina required for a pantomime. Perhaps you, Gautier, should have considered that before employing an untrained singer.’
She had waved her chubby hands at him and what he had noticed was that she was wearing the emerald ring that had nearly choked Hildegard. Again Mr Gautier had to admit that he had missed the signs. But Quigley hadn’t. Unable to avoid hearing the row that echoed around the theatre, the highs and the lows of it, the clown had asked her directly what she was up to.
‘I am protecting my daughter,’ said Madame Sabina.
‘From what?’ asked Quigley. ‘From being a success?’
Just then, Mr Gautier had seen that behind Madame Sabina, creeping down the spiral stairs from the Royal Box, was Hildegard, supported by Viggo. Celeste was guiding them. When she saw him, she put her finger to her lips. Now when he remembered, he felt like weeping. If only Celeste and Hildegard had run away. If only he had seen what Celeste saw: that Madame Sabina Petrova was extremely dangerous. Before the evening performance Celeste had come to him with a letter from Hildegard. It was addressed to him. He had thanked her and put it in his jacket pocket then forgotten all about it until now.
He read the notes he had written the previous day, 30th December, a day he would never forget. A day when things could have been so different. He had been about to go and watch the opening of the show when he had nearly collided with Viggo.
‘What’s the hurry?’ he’d asked.
‘I’m going to get the doctor.’
‘Why? For whom?’
Viggo hadn’t stopped and hadn’t answered.
Thinking back to that moment, Mr Gautier hoped there might be a world of different possibilities, of alternative endings, a place where he played a more honourable part. He should have been on his guard, he should have taken notice of Hildegard, he should have listened to Celeste. Yes, 30th December was a day he would never forget. And he would never forgive himself for what happened.