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strained but distinctly odd, and though we should have been settled into our routine by now all sorts of little problems were sparking off without warning. The lighting rigs were playing up and different corners of the stage would be plunged into shadow or lit in peculiar colours, despite the lighting operator swearing that there was nothing wrong with the electrics during the technical run-throughs. The dressing rooms were always either too hot or too cold. Leo and the conductor had a huge row over, as far as I could tell, an entirely imaginary series of slights, and the orchestra threatened for an hour to walk off the production – musicians being the only performers who get paid for their efforts, and so having no loyalty to the show. Prince Yeletsky, who was a seasoned trooper of the amateur circuit, suffered unaccountable attacks of nerves and barely made it onto the stage one time. The Countess complained that the make-up was making her eyes itchy and bloodshot, and certainly her facial appearance even as a living woman was haggard. A family in the audience complained bitterly that they had brought their children along to an opera because it was
culture
, and they hadn’t expected the final scene to be so
nasty
. They got their money refunded.
    But the singing was magnificent. Despite all the peripheral problems, I’d never been in a production sung with more passion. The fact that everyone seemed tense and out of sorts translated into dramatic energy the moment we were in front of an audience.
    On the last night I stationed myself in the wings as the overture played. We had a full house yet again. The reviews had been glowing, even in the national papers. I wasn’t due onstage for some time, but I didn’t want to miss a thing, and that moment in the first scene where Herman stood beneath the tempest, arms outspread and his wet shirt clinging to his chest, and swore he would triumph over fate – oh, that was a moment I particularly looked forward to.
    ‘Our last time,’ said Elliot, and I nearly shot out of my skin. I hadn’t noticed him moving up behind me. I struggled to compose myself.
    ‘Well, it’s been incredible. I’ve … I’ve learned so much.’
    ‘I meant what I said before, Tanya.’ He had to stand quite close to me so as not to shout over the music, and his chest brushed my arm. ‘About you trying out for a professional company. There are auditions coming up for the ENO chorus; with training you’ve got a real chance.’
    ‘Ah.’ I didn’t know how to respond to that. I shook my head. ‘That’s kind but … I don’t think so. I’m not ready to face that level of competition. You know, the unending bitchiness and the sleeping with musical directors …’
    He chuckled.
    ‘And,’ I added more seriously, ‘the travelling away from home and the daft hours. I’d have to give up too much. It’s just not me, I’m afraid. I love singing opera, but it’s not my whole life.’
    He nodded. ‘I hope you don’t regret the opportunity later then.’
    Was he still talking about my career? ‘Regret’s not the worst thing to live with,’ I said sadly.
    ‘That’s true.’ He glanced towards the curtain. ‘Is your husband out there tonight?’
    ‘Yes.’ I smiled. ‘Despite the fact he’s absolutely tone-deaf and thinks opera is plain silly.’
    Elliot’s forehead wrinkled. ‘Perhaps we should tone it down for tonight then. We don’t want him getting upset.’
    ‘Oh, Tim won’t worry. He’s not the jealous type.’
    ‘Well.’ He brushed my bare arm with the back of his fingers, very gently. ‘I’m certainly jealous of him.’
    I parted my lips, but I had no answer to that. His gaze lingered on me as if he were searching my soul. I felt my heart begin to race.
    ‘I’d better get into place,’ he murmured as the safety curtain started to lift and reveal the tabs. Then he withdrew into the shadows.
    That final performance was like a fever dream. Whatever was going wrong with