Sumptuous.
It was Caro’s favourite word. Everything good was sumptuous. Dark chocolate, a silk blouse, Elgar’s Enigma Variations.
And this room.
Sumptuous.
Sparkling mirrors and chandeliers, swathes of rich red hangings, and dragons dancing underfoot and overhead. A room made for parties and performances, with added glitter and gold for Christmas.
And, just for a few moments, it was all hers.
Caro was always early. Her friends joked about her obsessive planning, her terror of tardiness. Today's journey had been perfect without delay or diversion.
And here was her reward. Silence and solitude in sumptuous surroundings.
She stood in the centre of the room, breathed in and sang a soft note. The acoustics were perfect. She ran a scale, up and down, the high notes soaring up towards the ceiling, the low notes grounding her in the rich red and blue carpet.
The room demanded perfection. Better warm up properly, Caro admonished herself and taking a sip from her water bottle, began a series of trills and long notes.
‘The Holly and the Ivy,’ she sang over and over again, trying to get the leap to the high E just right.
‘Oh, that’s my favourite!’ The soft voice came from the doorway and Caro swung round. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’ The guide, dressed as a Regency serving maid, ducked her head and turned to leave.
‘No, please don’t go.’ Caro stretched out her hand. ‘It’s my fault. I’m here early, but they said I could come in and wait for the others.’
‘You’re part of the entertainment then?’ The woman stepped further into the room, and Caro caught the sweet smell of cinnamon, tang of lemon and hint of warm. spiced wine that followed in her wake.
They really were going to town this festive season, Caro thought. All the more reason to be note perfect.
‘What will you be performing?’
‘The usual festive songs and carols.' Caro was running through the repertoire in her head, hoping she’d remember all the words. 'Hark The Herald, I Saw Three Ships. The traditional ones, you know.'
'..Oh tidings of comfort and joy ..' the woman's voice was soft and gentle, setting sweet harmonics ringing. She sang beautifully, naturally.
'You should join us,' Caro rushed in.' You'd be very welcome …'
‘Oh no, I could never .. I wouldn't presume .. and I’m needed below stairs you see.’
Caro thought that was a nice touch, the old phrase tripping naturally off the guide’s tongue. She heard the distant clatter of pans, a man's voice shouting. Saw the woman flinch slightly.
'I just wanted to listen, for a moment.'
‘Perhaps, if we sing loud enough ..’ Caro turned her head as a group of her fellow choir members arrived, chattering loudly.
‘Here she is, good old Caro. Early as always.’ Much laughter and gentle teasing.
‘Fabulous place to sing, isn’t it?’ Her friend Sarah, unwound her scarf and dropped it on the window seat. ‘I guess you’ve tested out the acoustics already?’
‘Just a few scales,' Caro felt a sudden kick of irritation as the room filled with the everyday. 'And I was running through some of the carols for the guide. She's a singer too.’ She turned back and saw the pale shadow of the woman, smiling sadly as she faded into the red silk hangings.
‘Guide? What guide?’
About the author
Clare Martin is a writer with a background in radio journalism. Based in Sussex, England, she specialises in flash fiction and short stories. Writing about what lies under the surface of ordinary life, she draws inspiration from overheard conversations and the tales we tell ourselves.
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