Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [75]
She smiled back at him, though with a shadow in her eyes, an uncertainty beneath the social ease which was inbred in years of polite trivia. “It was delightful,” she replied meaninglessly. One did not own to any other feeling, unless one wished to enter into a discussion. “It was most beautifully staged, don’t you think?”
“The best I can recall,” he agreed, equally as a matter of form. His eyes moved to Byam with an unflinching gaze. Had he been a less exquisitely civilized man Charlotte would have thought it almost aggressive.
Byam moved as if to continue his journey towards the door, then glanced back at Anstiss, who was still staring at him.
Eleanor Byam stood with a frown puckering her face, for once not sure what to say, or even whether to speak or not.
Beneath the superficial inquiries and answers Charlotte could feel a tension so powerful it was like a heat in the room. She glanced at Emily, then at Pitt, and saw Pitt’s face intent in concentration. Jack was lost, uncertain whether to intrude or not. Charlotte could bear it no longer.
“Is Wagnerian opera always like this?” she said, rushing into the silence, not caring how much ignorance she betrayed. “Lohengrin is the first I have seen. It all seems a trifle unreal to me.”
The moment was broken. Eleanor let out her breath in an inaudible sigh. Byam relaxed his tight shoulders.
Anstiss turned to Charlotte with a charming smile, his back to Byam. “My dear, most of it is far more unreal than anything you have seen tonight, believe me. This was eminently worldly and sensible compared with the Ring cycle, which concerns gods and goddesses, monsters, giants and dwarfs and all manner of unlikely events, not to say impossible ones.” His eyes were brilliant with wit and imagination. “I think you might greatly prefer the Italian operas, if you like your stories of ordinary men and women, and situations with which one can readily identify.” He saw that that might sound a little patronizing and went on to soften the effect. “I admit I do. I can take only a very small amount of mythology at this level. I prefer my fantasy to have an element of humor, like Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan, even an element of the delightful absurd, rather than the German angst. There is a touch of sophistication combined with innocence in their conception that I find pleases me.”
“You are too English,” Byam said from behind him. “Wagner would say your imagination is pedestrian. We make fun of the grand design because we do not understand it, and cannot sustain an intellectual passion because at that level we are still children.”
Anstiss swung back to him. “Would he?” he said coldly. “Where did you hear that?”
“I did not hear it,” Byam replied with a touch of asperity. “I deduced it. Now if you will excuse me, it has been a superb evening, but it is now extremely late and I am quite ready to find my carriage and go home.”
“Of course.” Anstiss was smiling again. “Such a comparison of philosophy will keep until another time. We must not keep you. Good night, Lady Byam.”
Byam hesitated as if for a moment he would have pursued the discussion.
“Good night, my lord,” Eleanor said with an unsuccessful attempt to keep the relief out of her voice, and taking Byam’s arm she turned him away and together they went out between the other tables towards the door, without glancing backwards.
Charlotte looked at Pitt, but he was staring into some place in the distance, his brows puckered and his eyes dark with thought.
“How much was said that had nothing to do with what was meant?” Vespasia said so softly under her breath that Charlotte only just caught the words.
“What do you mean?” she whispered back.
“I have no idea,” Vespasia answered. “Or at least very little. But I would swear that the whole conversation was merely a vehicle for a sea of feelings that were quite unrelated to Mr. Wagner or his operas. Perhaps that is so with a great deal of conversations, all