LOVE

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXIV, Issue 903, 26 October 1933, Page 16

LOVE

By

CHAPTER XXXII. Preparing The Big Concert. Maria Jonitz did not stay long at the cottage, but on the afternoon of the third clay after her arrival took her leave. But she had benefited amazingly by the bieak. .She had arrived a prey to despair and departed as happy as a woman of her very changeable temperamen and passionate nature could be. She had' listened to Paul Telmar singing and marvelled at his complete melodious, more liquid, more passionate than ever. And she had enthused uncompromisingly over Rosa. She had made the girl sing and had gone out on to the sandy beach that she might hear the voice from a distance the better to judge it*., beauty ami resonance. “It is another miracle,” she said when she went back and kissed Rosa fondly. “Paul’s recovery was the first. You are the second. What a glorious voice, and you sing, not like an English girl, but like a great continental diva. Do you know, when T was a e-mail girl, I heard Emma Destinn sing; and your voice reminds me of hers, ma cherie. You do not need to sing in a big opera house to convince me. Rosa. You are already a great singer.” And over Roger Caton’s playing of “Song of Morning’’ she wept long and silently. “What in artiet,” she sniffed when he had finished, “and all '.lds talent buried down here in tills charming little bay. I veritably believe that the tiny little waves that curl so prettily on to the golden sands bring with them the very spirit of romance, Paul Telmar.” On the eve before she left she asked Paul, after some hesitation, to sing “Love Song-” for her, and after he had complied she said with a little sigh: “Of course Augustus could never compose such an aria as that. What a fool I was ever to think so. And at last I have heard it really sung. Paul Telmar, you must have written that song for your own voice, for I am positive no one else will ever sing it in the * She saddened a little after that, but in the morning, when she stepped into the London train, her eyes were bright with the light of battle. “I am going to see that infamous little husband of mine and take action for divorce,” she said. “On wliat grounds?” asked Paul. “You should remember—” “On what grounds?” Maria Jonitz*s face was aflame. “Incompatibility of temperament, infidelity, desertion, moral cruelty and neglect of maintenance? and if they refuse to grant me a divorce here I shall go to Reno. I have finished with the little —rat.” So Maria went, lolling in a window comer and waving to them. Rosa smiled at Paul a kittle sadly as she drove the car away. “Well, what do you think of the great Maria Jonitz?” Paul asked her as he stretched his limbs lazily. “I like her, Paul.” “Everybody does.” “And I think all the troubles she meets with in life must be of her own making.” “Oh, they are; no doubt about that. Maria thinks she has the right to demand perfect happiness from life, and she is eternally searching for her ideals and never finding them. Four times she has selected her man and married in haste, and all her marriages have been failures, and yet—do you know —” “You think she may still be fond of Falder ?” “I suspect she is—a bit, in spite of her vehement protestations. And poor Gus is in love with her. And now he's broke. That is a thing Maria will never forgive. What a queer world it is we live in.” Rosa eyed him quizzically. “I like Augustus Falder, too.” she said. “He did a very wrong thing to you, and I detest his moral cowardice; but there is something about him that appeals to me.** “Of course there.is. Everybody likes Gus Falder. His vanity never disgusts, it merely amuses, and he is so clever —” “ Clever, when he employs ghosts and never writes an original line?” questioned Rose. “It would be much better for him if he did. He lias proved that he can compose some very alluring tunes. But he so loves being flattered that lie will never settle down seriously to work. He is not a Pachmann or anybody like that; and yet I have never heard anybody play the piano more finely than lie can—from his own point of view. His audiences love him.” “I wish we had made him play when he was down here.” “He would not. He had not the heart.” When they got back to the cottage, Paul found a prepaid wire waiting for him. Rinaldi had telegraphed; “Can offer you dates Wednesday, Oct. 10th, Wednesday, Oct. 17th, or Sat., Oct. 20th. Or November, if you prefer it. Wire reply.—Rinaldi.” Paul talked it over with Rosa and Roger C'aton and decided on Wednesday, October 17tli. The telegram was at once dispatched by telephone. And in the morning came Rinaldi’s rc-plv: “Concert arranged Wednesday, Oct. 17th. Good luck. —Rinaldi.” And thereafer followed, at regular intervals, long screeds penned by the enthusiastic music publisher in which he set down in detail all the arrangements he had made for the concert, the amount of printing ordered, the lively interest taken in the programme by the booking agencies, ami the tremendous enthusiasm which had been aroused by the news of Telmar’s recovery. “Let me have full details of ho programme at your earliest. Arrange the items into two parts with an interval of ton minutes between. I propose to fill in the wait with a solo on the grand organ,” Rinakli wrote. “Will send proof for correction and approval without delay.” And in an additional letter enclosed in the same envelope he supplied all the gossip of the day in so far as it concerned Paul Telmar. “Maria has twice been in to see me,” Rinaldi said, “and each time she has stormed the office down. So far she has not met Gus Falder which is as well for Gus. “The little man is bearing up well, but seems glum. In spite of my urgings he is composing nothing. Ilis debts are considerably more than he laid anticipated and I am wondering if it is possible to save him. In all my experience T have never mot anything to equal the imbecility of this man. .lust at a time when it was plain that one ought to refrain from gambling, he plunged

ARTHUR HARDY

heavily on the Stock Exchange and selected the worst possible risks all the time; sold out good, sound securities to purchase scrip hardly worth the pa|>or it was printed on. (Jus just went stark, staring mad. “He is now living in a small hotel near Gloucester Koad and shuns all his old haunts. 1 am afraid we can do nothing with him until he chooses of himself to steady down. One thing in his favour is that he is sending little or no money. He is hiding from Maria and l think ’Love Song’ is preying on his mind.” Paul sent the full programme, and the proofs were returned with commendable speed. Preliminary announcements were given in the newspapers where the references to Roger baton and his daughter Rosa aroused very great interest. And on the day when the great posters were set up outside the Albert Hall, Rosa and Paul were married very quietly in the little church of JSt. Agatha with Roger baton and Ada, the cook, as the only witnesses. CHAPTER XXXIII. Wedding Gift. Rosa and Paul spent their honeymoon at Rose Cottage in the little bay.' They were supremely happy, walking'arm in arm along the eliffo; rowing the tubby boat out into the bay and fishing there, drinking in the pure ozone of the Atlantic ami returning home in the cool and dusk of the evening to the warmth of a cosy fire and the quiet sanctuary of Roger baton's charming little home. Paul sent photographs of Rosa and himself out to Milan, and wrote long letters to his parent*. They were unable to conic to England, being detained by manifold duties and many interests they could not neglect. But after the Albert Hall concert, Paul was going to take Rosa and her father out to Milan. Ada was to take care of the cottage during C‘aton's absence.

Some days Paul played a threesome at golf with Rosa and her father. Sometimes he and b’aton went out shooting. And on •ire occasions Paul sang. He did not yet rully trust his voice and was sparing in his use of it. With Rosa it was different. She was nervous about her debut and she would practice and sing every day, whilst Roger Caton’s violin had never been so bu*sy since he had broken down in health The week before the come-back concert. Rinaldi wrote another cheery letter —“Every seat in the house has boon sold,” he informed Paul. “This is going to be the biggest thing I have handled for years. Gus has asked for a seat. I have* given him a place near the platform Maria is going to occupy a box with Caecanini. Pegler, Dumont, Cora Schu maim and some more friends. I hope to squeeze in. There is no other place foi me in the house. C'ascaiiini. Dumont and Pegler have come over purpo co ly to be present at your re-entry.” - —' .So Rinaldi enthused. touchis-y always a high note of optimism. “And the publicity cost nothin'?.” he concluded. “For once'in a way the news papers have hungered for information.” Rosa. Paul and Roger Caton travelled up to London on the Monday morning before the concert. Paul had taken a suite at the Rochester, and they arrived there unannounced, Paul signing the register as Richard Thomas, using liis second and third names. Roger Caton did not sign at all. The three of them strolled together through the park to the hall and looked at the big announcement boards from across the way. Rosa’s eye* dilated ami she caught her breath as she saw her name set up there in big capital let ci> alongside her father's —Roger Caton. The name “Paul Tel mar” stared at them, and people stopped to look. “Paul, how thrilling,” whimpered Rosa pressing her husband’s arm. “But, oh. if T should fail. T begin to shake when l think of wl.at T have to do.” “You need not,” lie assured her. “You are going to score a big triumph, sweetheart.” “Do you know.” she told him. as they turned away and began to saunter back to the hotel, “I feel most pleased because dad is going t; appear in public again.” “My swan song,” put in Caton with a smile. They were walking along beside Rotten Row when of a sudden a horsewoman, who was cantering by on a chestnut hack, pulled the horse round sharply and came quickly up to the rail*. “Paul and Roger and Rosa —sweetheart,” she cried, bending towards Ro*a. her violet eyes aflame. “I telephoned to the cottage yesterday and the good woman Ada told me vou were in London. Paul, you and Rosa arc married. And you did not let me know the date. How naughty. Where are you staying.

’when can I coine and bore you, and what do you want me to give you for a wedding present ?” Ilie rider was Maria Jonitz, looking her very gayest and best in an old fashioned riding habit. She sat sidesaddle with perfect case ami poise. But then she had learnt, her riding from a famous master in Vienna. “We are staying at the Rochester,” Paul told her. “Ask for Richard Thomas, Maria. And not a word about it to a soul. We want peace and quiet. We shall have more publieitv than we want after the concert.” “I must come to lunch this morning if I am to keep the secret,” Jonitz said. “In the suite, eh?” “Very well, Maria, in the suite, then,” Paul agreed smilingly. “A nice lunch, please,” she ordered. “Some caviare, roast grouse with lettuce salad, an omelette souffle surprise and either claret or champagne, whichever Rosa may prefer.” “You have not lost your appetite, I sec, Maria,” laughed Paul. “Me? Xon; Non! Besides, riding makes one hungry. And I have to heal a broken heart.” Her eyebrows straightened in a frown. “Do you know T have not seen my wretch of a husband yet? Perhaps he knows I intend to scratch his eyes out. He is avoiding me, in hiding, the coward.” Maria Jonitz had been recognised ami a crowd was beginning to gather. Paul heard his name mentioned. “We shall expect you at lunch, Maria,” he said, and raising his hat moved away. Maria raised her whip, laughed, swung her hack away and went off at a flashing gallop, and Rosa watched her departure admiringly. “Maria Jonitz looks very well on a horse,” she said. “Is riding one of Gus Raider’s accomplishments ?” replied Paul. “I believe the only hor*e he has ever crossed was on a steam roundabout at a charity fair.” And Rosa laughed at the picture Paul presented. Maria came to lunch superbly gowned and bubbling over with vivacity. Her broken heart seemed to have mended readily. Paul caught himself wondering whether she had ever really cared a jot for Augustus Falder; and'as quick as lightning she seemed to read his thoughts. “You are thinking of that man,” she said swiftly. “Well, I have finish—” she swept her hand like a scythe mowing grass. “Soon I divorce him—” “And you will marry again?” Paul asked with a mocking smile. “Xon. X'on. Never no more. I have been a fool. Now I am cured.” Maria turned to Rosa and gave into her hands a parcel she carried. “For you, my pretty,” she said. “With my love—may you be very happy.” Rosa undid the parcel with some show of excitement. Inside the paper wrapper she found a leather ease with a shaped lid. She turned the key of the lock and set the lid back to disclose a verv beautiful tiara of small size but exquisite workmanship; its large stones, set in platinum, were diamonds of the first water. “For me! How beautiful. But you must not give this to me.” protested Rosa, colouring warmly. “It is too generous of you, Maria!” “Nothing could be too generous for Paul Telmar's wife,” said Jonitz with a gentle smile. “I have heard you sing with a voice of liquid gold. I want you to wear it for your debut on Wednesday. You are going to achieve a great triumph, and I shall not be jealous, for your voice and mine—they are so different. And. above all, Rosa. I can afford it. Maria Jonitz is very rich—and I have been saved giving money to that rascal husband of mine. The* money I save can pay for it.” She kissed Ro?a fondly and then threw her wrap and her * furs upon * “My! It is past one o’clock. Let ue eat,” she cried. (To be concluded.)