Page 78 of Beyond Her Manner
“Sorry,” she begged off, “I’ve been called. I’ll call you back tomorrow.”
“Make sure you do.”
Viola ended the call and took a deep, steadying breath as she rose to her feet. Taking a quick swig from her water bottle, she gave herself one final look in the mirror. Satisfied, she straightened her shoulders, opened the door, and began the walk to the stage — alone.
She tried to focus her mind on her performance, not on the empty space beside her where her mum’s once-steady presence had offered final words of encouragement. Even now, Viola could hear her mum’s voice telling her to ‘touch their hearts.’ It was something she would often say before Viola stepped onto the stage.
The sound of the audience applauding the performing musicians echoed as she reached the stage entrance. The conductor, a talented woman she’d worked with on several occasions, appeared from the stage with someone she knew to be a pianist. He shook her hand and strolled off down the corridor.
The conductor took a quick sip of water from a bottle passed to her by an assistant and gave her a nod of reassuring acknowledgement as Viola continued to ignore the empty space beside her. Taking her cue from a man with a headset, Viola blew out a steady breath and made her way onto the stage, followed by the conductor.
The audience roared into a deafening applause again as they passed the orchestra, some even rising to their feet in a standingovation. As she made her way to the centre of the stage, she glanced upward, squinting against the glare of the stage lights. Her eyes searched the boxes close to the stage, where she knew Gillian was seated.
Any remaining nerves dissipated as she spotted the outline of Gillian, who was standing and clapping along with everyone else. Viola was unable to make out any details, but her overall image and smiling face were enough to lift her spirits. She wasn’t alone. Gillian was with her, and standing beside her was her mum. In spirit, anyway.
The atmosphere changed, and an astounding silence that only came from halls like the Royal Albert settled in. Thousands of people surrounded her, their eyes fixed on her in anticipation. A subtle nod to the conductor signalled that she was ready, and with that simple gesture, the orchestra came to life, the first notes swelling into the air as she joined them in perfect harmony.
She could do this.
Gillian sat in the silent darkness, utterly mesmerised by Viola’s performance. The grandeur of the Royal Albert Hall faded into insignificance as her voice filled the space with what the programme informed her was ‘Liebst du um Schönheit’, accompanied by the BBC Symphony Orchestra.
Viola’s commanding presence on the stage, in a strapless, light pink, sequined dress that sparkled under the lights, was a sight to behold. Her tone was both powerful and delicate. Gillian could feel it pressing against her chest as each crescendo sent shivers down her spine. Softer moments pulled her deeper intothe performance as if she and Viola were the only two people in the room.
The sheer control Viola possessed over her voice was staggering. It effortlessly shifted from bold and commanding to soft and tender, weaving the emotions of the song through every rise and fall of the melody. A feeling of possessiveness washed over Gillian. This was her Viola… her friend… her… what was she? At the very least, she was a woman who was making her eyes leak with her words and her voice.
She reached for a tissue and dabbed her eyes. Since Viola had entered her life earlier that year, Gillian had been swept up in a storm of emotions she hadn’t felt in ages. She felt vulnerable, her focus was slipping, and she was utterly distracted. Viola awakened something deep within her, a persistent pull that left her breathing unsteady, her thoughts tangled, and her heart racing in ways she couldn’t fully grasp. And now, watching her perform, it was as if every emotion had been amplified to its breaking point.
The final notes lingered in the air, followed by a pregnant pause before the eruption of thunderous applause. Gillian found herself unable to move, her breath caught in her throat. Viola did more than sing; she left everyone, including Gillian, awestruck.
The entire hall was whistling, cheering, and waving flags. It made Gillian’s eyes water with pride, and she was grateful she hadn’t gone heavy on the mascara. Viola thanked the conductor, then spread her arms wide to the orchestra, who stood and took a bow. Gillian realised that this wasn’t simply a performance. It was Viola in her truest form, baring her soul through the song. For Gillian, it was as if she were seeing a different side to Viola. This was Viola the performer, and she was astounding.
She disappeared for the next couple of songs, returning for two more before the interval and two more after. Her final performance of ‘Rule, Britannia!’ brought Gillian to tears yetagain. As the music faded and the audience erupted into another deafening round of applause, she was sad to see Viola leave the stage again.
Following the National Anthem and the finale, ‘Auld Lang Syne’, a steward appeared behind her. “Gillian Carmichael?”
Gillian nodded, unable to find her voice.
“Miss Berkley has asked me to take you to her dressing room. If you’d like to follow me?”
The steward led her down numerous staircases, the upmarket decor gradually changing into bland, cold corridors that disappeared into the distance. Despite their cavernous quality, they were crammed with people and instruments.
What should have been a few moments to calm her nerves served to increase them. With Viola rehearsing in London the past week, an unsettling distance had formed between them, one which Gillian disliked. Although they exchanged the occasional message, she felt obliged to leave Viola to her work.
The steward stopped outside a door and knocked. A sign next to it read ‘Viola Berkley’. Receiving an immediate invitation to enter, he opened the door for Gillian. She thanked him and stepped inside.
Viola was pouring champagne into two glasses.
“Well?” she asked.
“You were… phenomenal,” Gillian breathed.
“Thank you. Have a glass of champagne with me,” Viola said, bringing one towards her.
Gillian was still battling the adrenaline pumping through her body. Champagne was unlikely to help, but she wasn’t going to refuse.
“Thank you.”
They clinked glasses.
