‘Mr Sullivan’s music is the music of the common people,’ said Bella enthusiastically, not that she knew anything about common people. ‘It’s a direct descendant of the folk songs that once bound our country together.’ She refilled their glasses. ‘That’s why the guild supports it.’
‘The guild?’ Bryant’s ears pricked up. ‘You mean money from the Goldsmiths helps to run the Savoyards?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Bella. ‘It works both ways. There are many charities involved.’ She twisted her gold wristwatch and checked the time. ‘I think it’s about to start.’
Bryant was reasonably familiar with the plot of Princess Ida, a heavy-handed satire on women’s rights, but he had never seen it performed. Its tiresome recitative was the reason why it was rarely produced these days. A pity, for it contained what was known as ‘Sullivan’s String of Pearls’ in the second act, a sequence containing some of the composer’s finest work.
The opera consisted of three acts, with two intermissions of fifteen minutes each. At the first of these, the Savoyards turned to each other with the falling of the curtain and argued excitedly. The production had obviously found favour with them. The setting had been updated to seventies London with reasonable success. The new version allowed for a variety of jokes surrounding the women’s liberation movement, but it was the singing that elicited the group’s enthusiasm. Bryant caught Bella Whitstable heading for the door of the box and called her back. ‘If you want to go to the lavatory,’ he suggested, ‘please take someone with you.’
‘I was only going to powder my nose,’ she replied somewhat archly.
‘Then kindly do it here,’ said Bryant. ‘I don’t want you out of my sight.’
Knight Pettigrew had removed his helmet and was refilling his champagne glass. Several more Savoyards had entered from the other box. The bejewelled outfits of the women and the polished silver gilt of the men’s armour glittered in the soft red gloom, although someone dressed as a ragged beggar in a floppy hat seemed to have got a raw deal. Bryant had to admit that it was a dottily pleasant sight.
Pettigrew tapped him on the arm. ‘You know, people don’t realize how much of Gilbert and Sullivan is buried in the national consciousness,’ he said. ‘Take Princess Ida. The lyrics owe a considerable debt to Tennyson, did you know that? The BBC was playing the first act on September the third, just before Neville Chamberlain announced that we were at war with Germany. And you know the last lines that were heard that fateful day before they faded out the music? “Order comes to fight, ha, ha, order is obeyed.” ’
Bryant glanced at his new friend’s eager face and knew that he possessed hundreds of similar anecdotes. People like Pettigrew were harmless enough, but it was usually dangerous to show too much of an interest. As the estate agent rattled on, Bryant wondered how many of the others had told their colleagues about their odd hobby.
The house lights flickered and dimmed for a moment, presumably to notify the audience that it was time for them to return to their seats.
He became aware of a commotion on the other side of the box. Several women were bent over someone in a chair. He rose, crossing to find one of them fanning Bella with a programme.
‘She feels faint,’ she explained. ‘It’s very warm in here. Do you think we should take her outside?’
‘I’ll be fine, really,’ said Bella. ‘I just feel a little strange.’
‘She was complaining that her limbs were stiff,’ said her friend. ‘I wondered if—’ She got no further, because Bella suddenly fell forward, her muscles contracting violently. Everyone jumped back in shock as her limbs began to spasm.
‘She’s having a fit!’ Pettigrew was pushing into the knot of horrified onlookers.
Bryant grabbed the two largest men he could see. ‘Hold her down,’ he ordered, snatching up the walkietalkie handset attached to his belt. It was the one piece of equipment he had not managed to lose.
‘Put something soft between her teeth that she can bite on,’ said Pettigrew. ‘Something she can’t swallow.’
‘Does anyone have any Valium?’ asked Bryant, kneeling beside her. Several women immediately opened their handbags.
Bryant called for an ambulance and watched Bella’s back arching in agony as she thrashed on the floor of the box. The men were fighting to hold her arms and legs, but the power of her involuntary flexing was kicking their hands away. Someone was hammering on the door behind them.
‘Get them to stop banging,’ shouted Bryant as one of the women scurried to the door. He had a good idea what had happened, and knew that sudden light or noise would only increase the intensity of her spasms. Bella’s face, twisted in an agonized muscular rictus, was beginning to turn blue. He administered the Valium as the St John’s ambulance men entered the box.