So, Alice thought afterwards, tears and vapours get you nowhere. Tantrums and smashed crockery do. So much for polite behaviour and ladylike restraint.
It was a gratifying discovery, but what was even more gratifying was finding that it was perfectly possible to embark on the occasional bedroom adventure on one’s own account, and to return to Conrad afterwards. These escapades were fun, but what was even more fun was that they always made Conrad violently jealous. Alice took care to make sure he always knew where she had been on those occasions, although not who she had been with, not after the time he had challenged the other man to a duel. (‘I will meet you in the village of Klosterneuberg overlooking the city,’ hissed Conrad, with gleeful relish at such drama. ‘Be there at the break of dawn, and I will kill you and throw your body into the Vienna Woods for the bears to eat.’)
I believe, thought Alice, stepping in to prevent the duel, that I’ve turned into a vamp. Imagine that. One day my children – if I have any – might hear about all this, and perhaps they will enjoy the drama of it, as Conrad does, or perhaps they will sigh and say that Mamma was really too outrageous for words when she was young.
Children…
She had not intended that there should be any children at all, but a daughter was born just over six years after that amazing night at the State Opera House. Conrad’s, of course, people said, smiling a little slyly, and the baroness had smiled back, apparently unruffled.
One or two people wondered whether the outrageous couple might now marry – a child ought to have a proper father, after all – and one or two of them asked the question openly. Lucretia simply laughed at such a preposterous idea – boringly conventional! – and did so loudly enough to cover the fact that she would have dearly liked to be married to Conrad.
But marriage or not, Conrad was completely charmed with his small daughter. He had been immersed in ancient music at the time, and he had suggested naming the child Deborah after the Old Testament prophetess who had stirred up Barak to march against Sisera. Alice liked the name, and she liked Conrad’s description of Deborah’s song, which had been sung on the occasion of Israel’s victory, and which he said was one of the oldest Hebrew compositions. ‘But one day I shall compose a new variation of it,’ he announced, with that blend of arrogance and na?ve enthusiasm that was attractive and infuriating by turns. ‘When I have finished writing music for films, I shall compose a piece of music that will be called Deborah’s Song, and everyone will know it is for my beautiful daughter. And a little,’ he added, ‘for her even more beautiful mamma.’
Alice wondered if Deborah would grow up hearing the stories about her wanton mother and be shocked. She supposed her grandchildren – if ever she had any – would hear the stories of their grandmother’s wild and tempestuous youth, and regard her with disbelieving fascination.
Grandchildren. I shall never be old enough to have grandchildren! I shall stay like this, caught in this marvellous world of films and music and lovers – of money and good clothes and jewellery and adulation – and if I do grow old, I shall not let the world see it.
But if one day I do have to be old, I shall make sure it is a dazzling oldness, and I shall make sure it is a disgraceful and scandalous oldness as well!