From here, she had an expansive view of the opera hall. Beneath her, patrons in suits and gowns filled rows of red velvet seats. Ushers directed a few stragglers down the aisles. Next to the stage the orchestra readied itself with trills, scales, and arpeggios.
Ursula dug around in her purse and found the set of opera glasses. The miniature brass binoculars would give her a view of Hugo, and she’d be able to intercept him after the first act. With Zee’s help to distract Virginie, Ursula could blink her eyes and lure him into signing.
She took a deep breath, trying to relax. But where the hell is he sitting? And where is Zee? She lifted the binoculars to her eyes, scanning the room, but only found row after row of stuffy older couples.
As the chandeliers began to dim, the hall fell silent. In thirty seconds, the entire room would be dark. Bollocks. Everyone had stared at Hugo when he’d arrived, but now he’d gone invisible.
She bit her lip. Perhaps they’d still be staring at him.
She glanced at the box to her left. A woman in her fifties, crammed into a red corseted dress, focused her binoculars on an upper balcony.
Ursula followed her gaze. Sure enough, there was Hugo, his cheeks slightly paler than they’d been when she first met him. Maybe he knew what waited for him—that death had come for him at the opera tonight, scented with lavender and dressed in a gown of grey silk.
She loosed a long breath. She’d found her target. Now she just needed to wait for the first act to end, and then she’d sidle up to him and try her whole silk routine, all verbal caresses and whispers of eternal happiness.
Only, there weren’t many private places for a tête-à-tête in this place. Was she going to have to follow him into the loo again? When Kester had told her she would need to “keep a low profile, and stay in the shadows,” she hadn’t realized that meant working next to urinals.
The hall was completely dark until, after a few moments, a spotlight beamed onto the orchestra, illuminating a grey-haired conductor. He bowed, and the audience roared with applause. Then, turning to face the orchestra, he raised his hands. With a flick of his wrist, the musicians were off.
As the first notes sounded through the hall, an enormous gold curtain lifted to reveal the set. She’d been expecting something opulent, but saw instead a stage set with a shabby room—a hovel, as Kester would call it.
But the music itself was as lush as the theater, and the violins and trumpets washing over Ursula in a glorious wave. As the music swelled, she leaned forward in her seat. A man with dark hair walked to the center of the stage and began to sing in a rich baritone, full of passion. Another man strode onto the stage, joining him in a clear tenor voice. If only I knew what they were singing about.
By their costumes, she could tell the characters were poor, but the way they sang to each other suggested warmth between them. As the music flowed around her, she thought of Katie, and how they’d spent their weekends exploring London’s forgotten canals, too broke to do anything else. She’d been happy enough then, right? Perhaps, in her isolation, she was romanticizing, but at least she hadn’t had a bounty on her head and a goddess of hellfire who wanted to torture her to death. And, moreover, at least she’d had Katie. Right now, her loneliness threatened to swallow her whole.
On the stage, the tenor was joined by a young woman, wrapped in a woolen shawl and rubbing her arms as he serenaded her. Amore. That was a word she recognized: love. The tenor’s emotional outpouring held no artifice, no silk or steel—he simply bared his soul. The music built, and Ursula nearly forgot to breathe, her chest aching.
As the aria reached its climax, she couldn’t help but imagine someone looking at her the way the tenor looked at his beloved. For just a second, she closed her eyes, and an image rose from the back of her mind—a painfully beautiful man with star-flecked eyes, deep and dark as the night sky.
With a jolt, she realized exactly who she was picturing—the injured demon who lay asleep in her apartment.
What the hell?
Chapter 22
Unnerved she glanced around, exhaling slowly as she caught a glimpse of Zee slipping into the row, dressed in a crimson gown. About time she showed up.
As Zee took her seat, she studied Ursula with an expression that fell somewhere between annoyance and concern. “Are you having another bad day?”
“What are you talking about?” But even as she said it, Ursula realized that a few tears had slid down her cheek. She started to wipe her eyes, but Zee pulled her hand away. “You’ll ruin your makeup,” she whispered. “Let me do it.”
Zee opened her purse, pulling out a tissue, and she dabbled Ursula’s cheeks. “I also cried the first time I saw La bohème,” she whispered.
“You’re an opera fan?”