by Jilly Cooper
Helen was in despair. Surrounded by such youth and vitality, how could he bother with a scraggy wrinkly like herself? Grabbing her bag she frantically applied blusher then jumped as Clive banged on the door.
‘Time to congratulate the Maestro.’
As he led her down into the dingy catacombs behind the stage, she was reminded of Dante’s Inferno, but was reassured by a glimpse of the Commendatore. Having removed his grey make-up and his white wig to reveal a ruddy complexion and wavy yellow hair, he was now putting on bicycle clips and eating a sausage sandwich.
The conductor’s room was pandemonium. The screaming matches, the fearful bullying had been forgotten in the euphoria of an historic performance. Cast and musicians alike were pouring in to thank Rannaldini, bringing him hastily written cards with their addresses on. Rannaldini, because he could see Helen working her way down the long queue, and he wanted to create an impression of amiability, bothered for once to shake hands with everyone and promised to return as soon as possible.
Still in his tails, he had only had time to remove his white tie and gardenia. He was burning hot, yet wringing with sweat, as he took Helen in his arms.
‘My beautiful child, I ’ave longed for this moment,’ he murmured in English, too fast for the Czechs to understand, then sotto voce to Clive, ‘Get rid of everybody at once.’
‘You will come on to our party, won’t you, Maestro?’ pleaded Donna Elvira.
‘I bake birthday cake for you,’ whispered Donna Anna, pocketing his discarded gardenia.
‘I must have shower, I will see you later,’ said Rannaldini.
Zerlina said nothing, but her mascara was streaked with tears as Clive frogmarched her without any gentleness down the passage.
The moment they had gone Rannaldini locked the door.
‘That was a most exciting p-p-erformance,’ stammered Helen.
Rannaldini smiled evilly.
‘You wait till later, my angel.’
Helen blushed. ‘It was far more erotic without nudity.’
‘I leesten to you,’ said Rannaldini gravely.
‘Oh, if I was some small help,’ Helen was in heaven. ‘And the way you control them all with this tiny stick.’ She picked up his baton, ‘It’s a magic wand.’
‘I weesh I could transform thees room into a bower of bliss,’ said Rannaldini fretfully.
Nothing could have been less seductive than the fluorescent lighting, the ugly brown carpet, the repro desk and hard chair, the fitted cupboards, the pedal dustbin, the fridge and shower behind a dingy beige plastic curtain.
‘You should see my room in New York,’ Rannaldini hastily kicked a purple garter under the desk.
‘But enduring art, not surroundings, are what matters,’ said Helen earnestly. ‘And thank you so much for this wonderful dress, Roberto, and the flowers, and the caviar and champagne and these beautiful diamonds. But it’s not my birthday.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Cutting short her thanks, Rannaldini lifted the diamonds and slowly kissed her collar bone, caressing it with his tongue until she was squirming with desire.
‘I must be the one person in the world who didn’t know it was your birthday,’ she whispered. ‘The only thing I brought you was a first edition of Malise’s book, but it’s at the hotel.’
‘That ees the present I want second most in the world,’ said a delighted Rannaldini. ‘Now I feel Malise geeve us his blessing.’ As he gently fingered her ribs, the ball of his thumb was pressing against the underside of her breast.
‘The present I want you to geeve me most ees yourself.’
But, as he moved into the attack, Helen leapt away.
‘We can’t, people know we’re in here, you ought to change, you’ll catch your death.’
Rannaldini deliberated. Many women were desperately turned on by a burning, sweating après-concert body. Helen was probably too fastidious. The elm is a patient tree. Rannaldini got a bottle of white out of the fridge and filled two glasses.
‘Will you wait while I have a shower?’
Embarrassingly aware, a few seconds later, of Rannaldini naked behind the shower curtain, Helen said she would put his roses in water.
‘They droop already, unlike me,’ Rannaldini shouted over the gush of water. ‘I am so pleased you are here. Kiri and Placido say the same. Everyone pours in and kisses you, saying how wonderful it was, then they drift away.’
‘None of those young women wanted to drift away this evening.’ Helen was unable to keep the edge out of her voice. ‘I am sure everyone felt you should have played the Don. That boy was much too young for the part.’
‘The libretto describe Giovanni as a licentious young nobleman,’ protested Rannaldini. ‘I am neither young nor noble.’
‘Any moment you are going to be ennobled, Sir Roberto,’ said Helen archly, then as Rannaldini emerged from the shower, his sleek still brown body as smooth as butterscotch, a big white towel slung around his hips, she caught her breath.
‘And after Malise,’ she faltered, ‘you seem very, very young to me.’
‘That is kind.’ Rannaldini turned back to the basin to clean his teeth.
‘As I was saying, people drift away after a concert theenking you have more important people to see, so you go back to your hotel, hyped up, totally alone, and you ring home and say, “The applause went on for fifteen minutes,” and they say, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got this ghastly problem with the deesh washer.”’
‘I’d never bother, I mean, genius should never be bothered with problems like that,’ said Helen aghast, totally forgetting how often she moaned to Rupert when he was show-jumping in the old days.
Rannaldini turned, flashing beautiful clean teeth at her.
‘Come here my darling, stop playing games.’
‘Don’t you want to go to your birthday party?’
‘Certainly not.’ There would be far too many recently pleasured members of the cast wanting repeat feels.
Sliding into a splendid red silk Turnbull and Asser dressing gown, he picked up the bottle and glasses and sang in a rich baritone:
‘You lay your hands in mine, dear
Softly you’ll whisper, yes
Tis not so far to go, dear
Your heart is mine, confess.’
‘You sing beautifully,’ sighed Helen, taking his hand.
‘Come, let me show you Mozart’s theatre.’
‘Where is everyone?’ quavered Helen as he led her up and down steps along pitch-black passages.
‘Gone home,’ said Rannaldini, who’d tipped the night porter more than he earned in a year. ‘Wait ’ere, don’t move.’ He let go of her hand.
Helen was petrified, the darkness was strangling her. Then she heard footsteps.
‘Rannaldini?’
There was no answer.
‘Don’t play games with me.’
Suddenly she saw a flicker ahead, oh thank God, Rannaldini was lighting candles. Stumbling forward she gave a piercing shriek as she found herself looking up into the livid face of the Commendatore’s horse.
‘Over here. You must not be so jumpy.’ Rannaldini drew her over some cables to where candles were flickering merrily on either side of a vast carved bed hung with turquoise-and-white striped curtains and foaming with white linen sheets and laced pillows.
‘Who’s this for?’
‘Giovanni chase Zerlina round eet in Act One. Let’s have some moonlight.’ Rannaldini tugged down the moon from Act Two so it shone dimly into the four-poster.
But as he drew her towards the bed, Helen began to tremble violently.
‘Come.’ Rannaldini stooped to pull her dress over her head. ‘It is time for the butterfly to emerge from her chrysalis.’
Helen burst into tears; it was the same trick she had used to halt the Rake’s progress of Rupert twenty years ago. Rannaldini, too, was all contrition.
‘What ees eet, my darling?’
‘Malise was just so like the Commendatore. Tonight’s our wedd
ing-anniversary, I feel he was trying to warn me off. All those young women drooling over you this evening. Marcus told me you were dreadfully promiscuous.’
‘A good boy to protect his mother,’ said Rannaldini smoothly, vowing to sabotage Marcus’s piano career at the first opportunity.
‘And why didn’t you call me for two weeks?’
Rannaldini sunk to his knees, burying his face in her concave belly.
‘Because I knew I was unworthy. You are so lovely you would have stopped both Casanova and Giovanni on their road to ruin. I, too, have been wicked. Oh Helen, save me from the flames.’
Rannaldini was gratified to feel tears dropping on his forehead. Gotcha!
Leaping to his feet he pushed her back on to the bed.
‘I’m so scared, Rannaldini.’
‘Do not be, we play little game.
Behold, your faithful lover
Lives for you alone,’
sang Rannaldini, really straining to reach the top notes.
‘Think no longer on that appalling moment.
Your father and your husband shall I be.
‘You felt safe with Malise,’ he went on, ‘because he was both father and lover to you, and made you feel like a little girl. Tonight, let us pretend this little girl has sunk into a decline, because she is so sad. Her family is worried so they invite important doctor from London to see her.’
Sitting on the bed, Helen felt a squirming excitement.
‘The doctor geeves her medicine,’ Rannaldini raised a glass of wine to Helen’s lips, stroking her hair with his other hand.
‘Now she must undress — ’ very slowly he drew the brown dress over her head — ‘so the doctor can examine her all over.’
Gently he began to stroke Helen’s freckled shoulders and arms.
‘She is lovely but much too thin.’ Rannaldini peeled off her grey silk petticoat. The next moment her grey silk bra had followed slithering suit.
‘Ah, how sweet.’ In delight Rannaldini gently massaged her breasts. ‘How small they are, but the kind doctor will prescribe injections and a diet to make them full and beautiful again. Look how the nipples shoot out like sycamore buds. The leetle patient is very, very excited,’ he went on, ‘but she is frightened, her mother is downstairs and the doctor seem to be taking a leetle too long. Now he has peeled off her very clean knickers.’
Helen gave a moan of helpless excitement.
‘Look at her little bush, like a damp fox, naughty excited leetle girl.’
Rannaldini’s smile was satanic. The concentration in the heavy-lidded eyes was total. His voice was deep, slow, hypnotic.
‘Eef the doctor suggest an operation, he would have to shave her so she is even more like leetle girl.’
‘That’s perverted.’ Helen leapt to her feet in agitation.
But Rannaldini’s great strength pushed her back.
‘Every bit of her body must be explored.’ He drew a magnifying glass out from under the pile of pillows. ‘See she has sweet little clitoris, quite beeg enough for pleasure, the doctor stroke it to see ifit is in good working order. And it is, see how easily he slides his fingers in, one finger, now two, good little girl.’
Helen arched and groaned too excited to care any more, buckling against the relentlessly stabbing fingers, writhing beneath the delicately stroking thumb.
‘The doctor is excited, too, he knows with loving he can cure all her seekness.’
Just for a moment his fingers emerged and trailed downwards.
‘Shall the doctor examine his little patient in an even more shaming and private place? She will find it so naughty and exciting, she will beg and beg for more.’
‘No.’ Helen was struggling. ‘Please, Rannaldini, no.’
‘Another time.’ His fingers were stabbing again, her breath was coming faster and faster.
Quickly Rannaldini slid out of his dressing-gown, his body dark gold in the flickering candlelight, his splendid cock raised for the down beat.
‘Look, he geeve you standing ovation. This is most awesome steeple you will see in Prague, my darling.’
Helen’s ‘A-a-a-ah’ rivalled the Don’s, but hers was of ecstasy, as Rannaldini blew out the candle, and plunged deep into her and darkness. He had never dreamt he could make her so wildly excited.
‘Nobilmente sed appassionata,’ whispered Rannaldini as he drove on to conquest, and this time the metronome never faltered.
FIFTEEN
Helen was woken by such beautiful music she thought she had fallen asleep with the wireless on at home. Then she took in the gutted candles, the blue-and-white striped curtains, and breathed in a feral waft of Maestro clinging to the wolf-coat which Rannaldini had solicitously laid over her naked body.
Wriggling into the coat she stumbled across the dimly lit stage, to find Rannaldini already dressed. He was holding a score and picking out a tune on the harpsichord. Hearing her, he looked up and smiled.
‘I didn’t wake you.’
‘What time is it?’
Rannaldini glanced at his huge Rolex.
‘Quarter past seven.’
‘I haven’t slept through the night since Malise died.’
‘That’s because you were so tired and so loved.’
‘What’s that tune? I know it so well.’
‘On a different instrument. I conduct Missa solemnis in Berlin tonight. It is very difficult piece so I flip through score, that was violin solo from the “Benedictus”.’
‘Didn’t you sleep?’
‘I was too happy. People say it’s mistake to get your heart’s desire. I’m thoroughly enjoying it.’
Edging through the music-stands he lifted her down from the stage.
‘My leetle lamb in wolf’s clothing.’
Collapsing against him, hoping he’d make love to her again, she whispered: ‘I love you, Roberto.’
‘Good,’ smirked Rannaldini. ‘What is the purpose of the lamb but to feed the wolf?’
Not taking on board what he said, Helen picked up the huge score covered in red-and-blue pencil marks.
‘You work so hard.’
‘Not so hard as Beethoven. In his own words, “You must sacrifice all the little things of social life for the sake of your art.” That’s why you must never fret if I don’t call you, I am only making love to Beethoven.’
Leading her to the harpsichord he picked out the exquisite tune again.
‘The violin ascend to heaven like we did last night. When I conduct Beethoven, I am so proud I am half-German. Because Beethoven had greatest struggle to write the Missa, he thought it his greatest work. A friend drop in when he was composing the “Credo”, he found poor Beethoven, “singing, howling and stamping”. Oh Helen, I dream of composing again, you must be my muse.’
Seizing her hands, he gazed deep, deep into her eyes, then he said playfully: ‘But muse and genius must be fed. Get dressed and ’ave a shower, my darling, I have to listen to some pianist who beg me to hear her.’
The pianist, dark, plump, very young, was playing Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu quite brilliantly when Helen returned to the auditorium. Instantly Rannaldini halted the girl and introduced her.
‘This is Natalia Philipova. Now what ees it you want to know, Natalia?’
The girl clasped her hands
‘I know I have years of hard work in front of me, Maestro, I am willing to practise eight hours a day and more. All I want to know is if you think I can ever make it as a soloist.’
Rannaldini examined his fingernails.
‘Not in a million years,’ he said smoothly. ‘You will be able to give your friends and your family a lot of pleasure, I advise you to leave eet at that.’
‘You were a bit rough on that poor kid,’ reproved Helen.
‘I save her ten years of wasted time,’ said Rannaldini.
They were sitting in a little café in the main square which looked like an Ideal Home Exhibition of best architecture down the ages. They had breakfasted on c
roissants, damson jam, slivers of cheese, rolled-up slices of ham with cream billowing out of each end like brandy snaps and black expresso laced with cognac.
‘Usually I go off my food if I’m attracted to a man,’ said Helen, sounding perplexed. ‘But when you’re around I seem to eat like a labrador.’
‘That’s because the strict doctor,’ Rannaldini ran a leisurely hand up her thigh into her groin, ‘has ordered his little patient to start eating again.’
Helen flushed, horrified she should have been so wildly exhilarated by last night’s games.
Rannaldini waved for the bill.
‘Come. I have one hour to show you Prague. Let us go to Charles Bridge which, thank God, is closed to cars.’
As they walked down to the river Helen gave a cry of joy. On the opposite bank the old city stretched itself luxuriously in the first sunshine of the day. All higgledy piggledly, cupolas, turrets, domes, roofs and spires in soft pink, ochre, peppermint-green and drained turquoise, rose like casually stacked stage-sets. Against the blue skyline was a cathedral with a faded sea-green dome topped with a gold star, next to it stood a tawny castle with crenellated battlements like a child’s fort.
‘Who lives there?’
‘Havel,’ said Rannaldini smugly, ‘I dine with heem on Thursday.’
But most breathtaking of all was the river itself. Mist was rising filling the great arches of the bridges, curling in wisps over the icy water. The result was a million shifting shadows. The trees and the houses on the bank cast different shadows on the mist and the moving water. The shadows of the mist, wisps themselves, and the swans and ducks gliding in and out of these wisps, cast and received shadows of their own.
‘Everywhere Zeus is searching for Leda,’ said Rannaldini softly. ‘And see how the sooty black statues across the bridge cast the darkest shadows of all.’
Furious not to have mugged up the city and because Malise had always praised her recitations, Helen launched into The Tempest.
‘The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
