Read Online Heart of Gold by Michael Pryor - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Pryor
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at a pinch. He could manage
Ivey and Wetherall patter songs, but heaven help him if
he had to attempt any of the romantic duets.
Of course, if Caroline could be persuaded to take a
part, he'd show he was a quick learner.
Tontine Hall was a red-brick monstrosity that looked
as if it had been built on the remains of a medieval chapel
or two. Caroline stood at the entrance. If Aubrey didn't
know better, he would have thought she were grinning.
'After you,' she said.
When faced with potential embarrassment, Aubrey
had one tactic: head up, march straight into the thick of
battle and rely on his wits to cope with what came.
'Thank you.' With George at his shoulder, Aubrey
opened the heavy wooden door and strode inside.
He walked into a haze of cigarette smoke. On a stage
at the end of the hall, a piano plinked away gamely. The
tall arched windows were covered by black curtains and
the room smelt of cloves and dry rot.
Surrounding the piano, a score or so of people were
trying their best to sing the chorus of 'Jolly Jack Tars
Are We'. Their Albionish was good, but with a distinct
Gallian accent that sat oddly with lyrics professing
undying loyalty to King and Country.
Aubrey made his way to the stage. The few spectators
in the seats regarded him with enough curiosity to stop
smoking.
He waited until the song finished. Fell apart rather
than finished was Aubrey's summation, but he didn't
want to be critical. He'd been involved in enough
haphazard performances at Stonelea School to realise
that any dramatic performance was a little miracle in
itself.
'Hello?' he ventured, and all eyes on the stage turned
toward him. The pianist actually rose from his seat to get
a better look. He took the cigarette from his mouth and
threw it to the floor. 'You are an Albionite!' he said with
evident delight. 'Welcome!'
Immediately, Aubrey was surrounded by the Gallians.
Most seemed to want to embrace him or kiss him on the
cheeks, men and women both. The members of the
Friendship Society belied the Gallian reputation for
aloofness. Their regard for Albion did seem genuine, to
the extent that Aubrey almost found it overwhelming.
Finally, the pianist dragged Aubrey onto the stage.
'The Albion Friendship Society welcomes you,' he
declared in Albionish. 'What can we do for you?'
Aubrey peered over the heads of the adoring Gallians.
Caroline and George stood just inside the entrance,
covering their laughter. 'Er. Who's in charge here?'
The pianist raised an eyebrow. 'I am the director of this
production. Claude Duval is my name.'
'Do you have any non-singing parts?'
This set Duval into paroxysms of glee. 'You want a
part? In our humble play to honour the alliance between
our two nations? But of course! To have a true Albionite
in our production will be an honour!'
A cheer went up at this announcement, but it was an
oddly staggered one as the pianist's words were translated
and passed among the spectators, crew and prospective
players. 'This will be a triumph!' a short, dark woman
cried.
Aubrey pointed to his friends. 'And I'm not alone. Two
more Albionites are here to join you.'
As one, the spectators and players rushed at Caroline
and George. Surrounded by Gallians, they were shepherded
to the stage.
'George is an excellent cornet player,' Aubrey
announced. 'While Miss Hepworth is . . .' Competent in just about any area , he thought, but Duval interrupted.
'She is most beautiful,' he said, and he took her hand.
'Won't you be our leading lady?'
Caroline allowed Duval to kiss the back of her hand.
She removed it from his grasp, slowly. 'No.'
'No?'
'I'm sorry. I'm far too busy with my studies.' She
smiled, and Aubrey thought Duval was about to swoon.
'I will help backstage when I can. And I must have front
row seats for opening night.'
Duval thought this a splendid idea and he spent some
time introducing Caroline to everyone, calling her the
Belle of Albion.
The Albion Friendship Society was apparently a rather
recent phenomenon.
Ivey and Wetherall patter songs, but heaven help him if
he had to attempt any of the romantic duets.
Of course, if Caroline could be persuaded to take a
part, he'd show he was a quick learner.
Tontine Hall was a red-brick monstrosity that looked
as if it had been built on the remains of a medieval chapel
or two. Caroline stood at the entrance. If Aubrey didn't
know better, he would have thought she were grinning.
'After you,' she said.
When faced with potential embarrassment, Aubrey
had one tactic: head up, march straight into the thick of
battle and rely on his wits to cope with what came.
'Thank you.' With George at his shoulder, Aubrey
opened the heavy wooden door and strode inside.
He walked into a haze of cigarette smoke. On a stage
at the end of the hall, a piano plinked away gamely. The
tall arched windows were covered by black curtains and
the room smelt of cloves and dry rot.
Surrounding the piano, a score or so of people were
trying their best to sing the chorus of 'Jolly Jack Tars
Are We'. Their Albionish was good, but with a distinct
Gallian accent that sat oddly with lyrics professing
undying loyalty to King and Country.
Aubrey made his way to the stage. The few spectators
in the seats regarded him with enough curiosity to stop
smoking.
He waited until the song finished. Fell apart rather
than finished was Aubrey's summation, but he didn't
want to be critical. He'd been involved in enough
haphazard performances at Stonelea School to realise
that any dramatic performance was a little miracle in
itself.
'Hello?' he ventured, and all eyes on the stage turned
toward him. The pianist actually rose from his seat to get
a better look. He took the cigarette from his mouth and
threw it to the floor. 'You are an Albionite!' he said with
evident delight. 'Welcome!'
Immediately, Aubrey was surrounded by the Gallians.
Most seemed to want to embrace him or kiss him on the
cheeks, men and women both. The members of the
Friendship Society belied the Gallian reputation for
aloofness. Their regard for Albion did seem genuine, to
the extent that Aubrey almost found it overwhelming.
Finally, the pianist dragged Aubrey onto the stage.
'The Albion Friendship Society welcomes you,' he
declared in Albionish. 'What can we do for you?'
Aubrey peered over the heads of the adoring Gallians.
Caroline and George stood just inside the entrance,
covering their laughter. 'Er. Who's in charge here?'
The pianist raised an eyebrow. 'I am the director of this
production. Claude Duval is my name.'
'Do you have any non-singing parts?'
This set Duval into paroxysms of glee. 'You want a
part? In our humble play to honour the alliance between
our two nations? But of course! To have a true Albionite
in our production will be an honour!'
A cheer went up at this announcement, but it was an
oddly staggered one as the pianist's words were translated
and passed among the spectators, crew and prospective
players. 'This will be a triumph!' a short, dark woman
cried.
Aubrey pointed to his friends. 'And I'm not alone. Two
more Albionites are here to join you.'
As one, the spectators and players rushed at Caroline
and George. Surrounded by Gallians, they were shepherded
to the stage.
'George is an excellent cornet player,' Aubrey
announced. 'While Miss Hepworth is . . .' Competent in just about any area , he thought, but Duval interrupted.
'She is most beautiful,' he said, and he took her hand.
'Won't you be our leading lady?'
Caroline allowed Duval to kiss the back of her hand.
She removed it from his grasp, slowly. 'No.'
'No?'
'I'm sorry. I'm far too busy with my studies.' She
smiled, and Aubrey thought Duval was about to swoon.
'I will help backstage when I can. And I must have front
row seats for opening night.'
Duval thought this a splendid idea and he spent some
time introducing Caroline to everyone, calling her the
Belle of Albion.
The Albion Friendship Society was apparently a rather
recent phenomenon.
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