Free Last Act by Jane Aiken Hodge

Hereditary Prince, “rank bows to the artist. You said you had found us an understudy, Herr Meyer, you did not warn us that she would steal the show. Alix will retire. We must rewrite our advertising.”
    â€œBut, Your Highness …” Anne paused.
    â€œNo buts. Alix will retire.” He said it again with some emphasis. “You know the part?”
    â€œNo, Your Highness.”
    â€œBut you can learn it, or you would not have come.” He looked at his watch. “Three weeks until we open. A suite of apartments at the castle, I think. That way there can be nodisturbance of any kind. What kind of piano do you prefer, Miss Paget? We must find you an accompanist all of your own. For your practice. It will be sensational.” He was striding up and down the stage as he talked. “Not just the lost Beethoven opera, but a new star born the same night. I suppose …” He turned now to Carl Meyer and Falinieri, who were standing side by side, a little as if struck by lightning. “I suppose we could not write in a little more music for Marcus?”
    â€œYour Highness.” Falinieri sounded understandably appalled. “It is not possible.”
    And, “Your Highness,” said Meyer, “it will not be necessary.”
    â€œYou’re right! And it would mean more for her to learn.” He had turned back to Anne and was looking her over with a curiously professional eye. “New clothes.” He summed up his findings. “A whole new wardrobe. And not a word—not one word—before the opening. Or, maybe an appearance at the Sunday reception for the foreign ministers? The day before the opening. With a hint to the press? Let me see, gold brocade for that, I think.”
    â€œGood God, no,” said Anne. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but I am quite an ordinary person. Gold brocade is for royalty. And anyway, I can’t afford a whole new wardrobe.” She could feel Meyer and Falinieri stiffening with fright, and thought, with amusement, how liberating it was to have only six months to live. But enough was enough. She smiled up at the bristling potentate. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” she said again. “And bear with me? I am not rich. I will accept two outfits, gratefully, for publicity purposes. But, please, may I live in the artists’ hostel? I have been—out of touch a little—I am starved for the company of musicians. It will do me more good than anything.” And as she said it, felt again the twinge of pain, the harbinger of death. She stood a little straighter, fighting it, breathing slowly, but luckily the Prince had turned, with a quick nod for her proposition, to plunge into a highly professional discussion with Meyer and Falinieri as to how they should make the most of her surprise debut. No-one was taking the slightest notice of her. She moved across the stage to an upright wooden chair, sat down,closed her eyes and let the talk wash over her. The main question seemed to be whether all the advance publicity should be scrapped and her name substituted for Alix’s. If she had felt better, she would have protested but then heard with relief Carl’s emphatic insistence that it was too late to make such a change. “Besides, you know well, Your Highness, what a draw the name will be. As if we needed one … But a change now, at this late date, might cause doubts, lead to cancellations …”
    â€œYou’re right.” Prince Rudolf was a man of quick decisions. “After all, it is not just this year’s season we must think of, but next, and the one after … And that reminds me: Miss Paget’s contract. It must be drawn up at once. We are giving you a great opportunity, Miss Paget.” He looked round at her. “Perhaps a clause undertaking to sing for us next year?”
    Next year. If she let herself laugh, it would become hysteria. The pain was devouring her now. If she