Victoria told him briefly how the card had been thrust into her hand, how curious it was and how surprised she had been as she did not know the woman and had never seen her again. Then she frankly confessed that she had no experience of the stage but wanted to earn her living and that . . . She stopped aghast at the tactical error. But Carrel was looking at her fixedly, a smile playing on his lips as he pulled his tiny moustache with his jewelled hand.
'Yes, certainly, I understand,' he said. 'Experience is very useful, naturally. But you must begin and you know: il n'y a que le premier pas qui coûte. Now perhaps you can sing? It would be very useful.'
'Yes, I can sing,' said Victoria doubtfully, suppressing 'a little,' remembering her first mistake.
'Ah, that is good,' said Carrel smiling. 'Will you sit down to the piano? I have no music; ladies always bring it but do you not know something by heart?'
Victoria got up, her heart beating a little and went to the piano. 'I don't know anything French,' she said.
'It does not matter,' said Carrel, 'you will learn easily.' He lowered the piano stool for her. As she sat down the side of his head brushed her shoulder lightly. A faint scent of heliotrope rose from his hair.
Victoria dragged off her gloves nervously, felt for the pedals and with a voice that trembled a little sang two ballads which had always pleased Lympton. The piano was frightfully out of tune. Everything conspired to make her nervous. It was only when she struck the last note that she looked at the impresario.
'Very good, very good,' cried Carrel. 'Magnifique. Mademoiselle, you have a beautiful voice. You will be a great success at Vichy.'
'Vichy?' echoed Victoria, a little overwhelmed by his approval of a voice which she knew to be quite ordinary.
'Yes, I have a troupe to sing and dance at Vichy and in the towns, Clermont Ferrand, Lyon, everywhere. I will engage you to sing and dance,' said Carrel, his dark eyes sparkling.