The Storm Sister (The Seven Sisters #2) (56 page)

The maid showed her into the dining room and she found herself seated at a long table between Edvard, as she must now call him, and her host, Herr Abraham. As he welcomed her into his home, Anna
saw a pair of kind eyes twinkling behind his neat round glasses. Other musicians were present, and there was much laughter and good food. Even though she was starving, she was unable to eat very
much – her stomach had grown unused to digesting it. Instead she sat quietly listening, pinching the skin on her forearm hard to make sure she was really here.

‘This beautiful lady,’ Grieg said, raising a champagne glass in her direction, ‘is the most talented singer in Norway. Look at her! The very epitome of Solveig. She has already
served as inspiration for some folk songs I have written this year.’

The other guests immediately requested that he play his new songs and have Anna sing them.

‘Perhaps later, my friends, if Anna is not too weary. She has had a very arduous time, captured by the most evil woman in Leipzig!’

As Edvard narrated the events that had led to Anna’s rescue, the guests gasping at all the right moments, she tried not to feel overwhelmed at the gruelling memories of what she had been
through.

‘I thought my muse had vanished into thin air! But here she was, living right under all our noses in Leipzig!’ he finished with a flourish. ‘To Anna!’

‘Anna!’

And the table raised their crystal glasses and drank to her health.

After dinner, Edvard beckoned her towards the piano and placed some music in front of her.

‘Now, Anna, in return for my heroic rescue, can you find the strength to sing? The song is titled “The First Primrose” and, as yet, no one has sung it, because it had to be
you. Come,’ he said, patting the piano stool, ‘sit by me and we will rehearse for a few minutes.’

‘Sir . . . Edvard,’ she murmured, ‘I have not sung for many a long month.’

‘Then your voice has been rested and will soar like a bird. Now, listen to the music.’

Anna did so, only wishing they were alone so she could at least make mistakes in private, instead of in such esteemed company. When Edvard pronounced them ready, the audience turned to them
expectantly.

‘Please stand, Anna, for your breath control. Can you see the words over my shoulder?’

‘Yes, Edvard.’

‘Then we begin.’

Anna’s entire body trembled with nerves as her saviour played the opening bars. Her vocal cords had lain fallow for so long, she had no idea what would come out of her mouth when she
opened it. And indeed, the first few notes were true but lacking control. Yet as the beautiful music began to fill her soul, her voice soared as it gained in memory and confidence.

As they ended the song, Anna knew it had been good enough. There was rousing applause and calls for an encore.

‘Perfect, my dear Anna, as I knew it would be. Will you publish the song in your catalogue, Max?’

‘Of course, but we should also hold a recital at the Gewandhaus with the other folk songs you’ve written, if the angelic Anna will perform them. It is obvious they were written for
her voice alone.’ Max Abraham gave Anna a small bow of respect.

‘Then it will be arranged,’ said Edvard, smiling at Anna, who did her best to stifle a yawn.

‘My dear, I can see you are exhausted. I’m sure everyone will forgive you for retiring early. From what we have heard, it has been an extremely difficult time for you,’ Max
said, much to Anna’s relief.

Edvard rose and kissed her hand. ‘Goodnight, Anna.’

Anna took the three flights of stairs up to her room. And found the maid stoking the fire. A nightgown was already laid out on the big double bed.

‘May I ask who these clothes belong to? They fit me so well.’

‘They belong to Edvard’s wife, Nina. Herr Grieg told me you had nothing with you and I was to lay out items from Frau Grieg’s wardrobe,’ the maid replied as she
unbuttoned Anna’s gown and helped her out of it.

‘Thank you,’ said Anna, unused to having assistance. ‘You can leave me now.’

‘Goodnight, Frau Halvorsen.’

When the maid had left, Anna undressed and donned the soft poplin nightgown, then slipped ecstatically between the fresh linen sheets.

For the first time in months, she sent up a prayer thanking the God she’d discarded and asking for his forgiveness for losing faith. Then she closed her eyes, too exhausted to think any
more, and fell into a deep sleep.

The story of Grieg’s rescue of Anna from the clutches of the wicked Frau Schneider became the talk of Leipzig and was much embellished over the ensuing weeks. And as her
powerful new mentor squired her around the musical and social echelons of the city, all doors were open to them. They attended several grand dinner parties in the most beautiful houses in Leipzig,
after which Anna was requested to sing for her supper, as Edvard put it. On other evenings she took part in small musical soirées with other composers and singers present.

She was always introduced by Edvard as ‘the epitome of everything pure and beautiful from my home country’ or ‘my perfect Norwegian muse’. As Anna sang his songs about
cows, flowers, fjords and mountains, she occasionally wondered if she should simply dress in her national flag so that he could wave her around in front of him. Not that she minded, of course; she
was honoured he had taken such an interest in her. And compared to the life she’d had in Leipzig before, every second was a miracle.

During those few months, she met many great composers of the day, most thrillingly Pyotr Tchaikovsky, whose romantic and passionate music she adored. They all came to visit Max Abraham who ran
C. F. Peters, and had developed it into one of the most revered music publishing houses in Europe.

The business was run from the same building and Anna loved to wander down to the floors below and pore over the beautifully bound books of sheet music with their distinctive light green covers,
marvelling over the compositions of such luminaries as Bach and Beethoven. She was also fascinated by the mechanical printing presses in the basement, which churned out page after perfect page of
sheet music at unbelievable speed.

Slowly, with the benefit of good food, rest and, most importantly, the tender care the entire household had shown her, Anna was recovering her strength and self-confidence. Jens’ terrible
betrayal still seared through her, filling her with white-hot anger, but she did her best to put it – and him – from her mind. She was no longer a naive child who believed in love, but
a woman whose talent could give her all she needed.

As requests for her to give recitals came in regularly from both Germany and abroad, Anna took control of her finances too, never wishing to be dependent on a man again. She saved every penny
she earned, hoping that one day she could afford an apartment of her own. Edvard encouraged her, championed her and, more than that, their closeness grew.

Sometimes in the early hours, Anna would wake to the plaintive sounds of the grand piano below her at which Edvard often sat to compose late into the night.

One night in late spring, tormented by the recurring vision of her poor dead daughter lying cold and alone in the earth, she wandered down from her room and sat on the bottom stair outside the
drawing room to listen to the melancholy tune Edvard was playing. Tears filled her eyes and she put her head in her hands and wept, letting the pain of her loss flow out with her tears.

‘My dear girl, what is it?’ Anna jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder and saw Edvard’s gentle blue eyes looking down at her.

‘Forgive me. It was the beautiful music touching my soul.’

‘I think it was more than that. Come.’ Edvard led her into the drawing room, closing the door behind them. ‘Here, sit down next to me and use this to dry your eyes.’ He
handed her a large silk handkerchief.

Edvard’s sympathy elicited another flood of tears, which she could do nothing to hold in. Eventually, embarrassed, she looked up at him. Feeling he was owed an explanation, she took a deep
breath and told him of the loss of her baby.

‘You poor, dear girl. To endure that all alone must have been quite dreadful. As you may know, I too lost a child . . . Alexandra lived until she was two, and was the dearest, sweetest,
most precious thing in my life. Her loss broke my heart. Like you, I lost my faith in God and life itself. And I confess, it had ramifications for my marriage. Nina was utterly inconsolable and the
two of us have found it almost impossible to comfort each other since.’

‘Well, at least that was one problem that I did not have at the time,’ Anna said dryly and Edvard chuckled.

‘My sweet Anna, you have become so very dear to me. I admire your spirit and courage more than I can tell you. We have both known genuine heartbreak and perhaps all I can tell you is that
we must take solace in our music. And’ – Edvard’s eyes were upon her, and his hand reached for hers – ‘perhaps each other.’

‘Yes, Edvard,’ she said, understanding exactly what he meant. ‘I think we can.’

A year later, with Edvard’s help, Anna was able to move out of the house in Talstraße and into her own comfortable townhouse in the Sebastian-Bach-Straße, one
of the better areas of Leipzig. She went everywhere by carriage and was able to acquire the best tables at the most exclusive restaurants in the city. As her fame grew in Germany, she travelled
with him to Berlin, Frankfurt and many other cities to give recitals. Apart from singing Edvard’s compositions, her repertoire now included ‘The Bell Song’ from the newly
premiered opera
Lakm
é, and ‘Farewell, you native hills and fields’ from her favourite Tchaikovsky opera,
The Maid of Orleans.

There had even been a trip to Christiania for a recital at the very theatre where Anna had begun her career. She had written beforehand to her parents and to Frøken Olsdatter to invite
them to the performance, enclosing enough kroner to fund the fare and making a booking for them at the Grand Hotel, where she herself was staying.

After all that had happened and how badly she felt she had let them down, Anna had waited with extreme trepidation for their replies. She need not have worried. They had all accepted the
invitation and it had been a joyful reunion. Over a celebratory dinner after the recital, Frøken Olsdatter quietly informed her that Herr Bayer had recently passed away. On hearing the news,
Anna expressed her condolences, but then begged her to return with her to Leipzig as her housekeeper.

Thankfully, Lise accepted the position. Anna knew that, given the circumstances, she needed someone she could trust implicitly to work for her inside her home.

As for her errant husband, Anna thought of him as little as she could. She knew the baroness had been seen in Leipzig and had heard through the gossips that there was a new young composer she
was championing, but no one had heard from Jens for years. As Edvard had commented, he had disappeared like a rat into the sewers of Paris. Anna prayed he was dead. For even though the way she
lived was unconventional, she was happy.

That was until Edvard arrived in Leipzig during the winter of 1883 in response to the urgent letter she had sent him.

‘You understand what we must do,
kjære
? For all of us?’

‘Yes, I understand,’ Anna answered in tight-lipped resignation.