‘Thank you, my darling. Come on, Cinders, let’s go before we miss all the fun.’
They made their way up to the foyer of the opera house. It was already packed with members of the cast and invited members of the audience.
‘Champagne, Rosanna?’ Abi took two glasses from a passing waitress.
‘Thank you.’
‘May this be the first of many first nights!’ Abi smiled. ‘Look, there’s the man himself, surrounded by his adoring public.’
Rosanna turned and saw the top of Roberto’s head just visible above the throng.
‘He’s talking to my aunt. The perfect opportunity. Come on, let’s go over and introduce ourselves.’ Abi took hold of Rosanna’s hand.
‘No, not tonight. I mean, there are so many people, he’s too busy,’ protested Rosanna, suddenly overwhelmed by shyness.
‘Yes, but we are members of the same company, even if Signor Rossini acts as if he’s on a superior planet.’
Abi pushed determinedly through the sea of people with Rosanna following meekly behind. Just before they reached the crowd around Roberto, a familiar figure appeared at Rosanna’s side.
‘Ciao, Paolo.’ She smiled with relief.
‘Ciao, Rosanna. I was hoping you would come and join us.’
Much to Abi’s annoyance, Paolo took Rosanna’s arm and steered her firmly away. Abi shrugged and continued to make her way towards her aunt and Roberto.
‘So, how was your first night as a soloist with the company?’ Paolo asked as they walked across the foyer.
‘It was wonderful,’ she breathed.
‘Good, good. You sang beautifully, Rosanna. It was a perfect debut. Now, tell me honestly, did you wish you were in Anna Dupré’s shoes tonight?’
‘Of course,’ Rosanna admitted reluctantly.
‘Well, from your performance tonight, I’m sure it won’t be long. And Riccardo says you are making great progress in your study together. Cover rehearsals start on Thursday. Work hard, Rosanna. They’re an excellent chance to perfect the roles you will one day sing.’
‘I will, Paolo,’ she promised.
‘Now, Rosanna’ – Paolo lowered his voice – ‘there’s a gentleman over there who I’m afraid is desperate to meet you. He’s a major benefactor of the school and as you are after all last year’s star pupil, I think it would be prudent if I introduced you. Would you be so kind as to follow me?’
Rosanna nodded her acquiescence and allowed Paolo to lead her to him.
Abi tapped her Aunt Sonia on the shoulder. Sonia turned, and, on seeing her niece, kissed her warmly on both cheeks.
‘Darling, congratulations. I thought you looked beautiful in your costume.’ She smiled. ‘I’m sure you must have met Roberto Rossini?’
‘No,’ Abi said, boldly meeting Roberto’s eyes. ‘Even though we’re in the same company, we’ve not been formally introduced.’
‘Well, Roberto,’ said Sonia, ‘this is Abigail Holmes, my niece. I just know she’s going to be a big star one day.’
‘It is a pleasure to meet you, signorina, although I have seen you before,’ he responded. ‘Did you not sing at the benefit for La Chiesa Della Beata Vergine Maria?’
‘What a good memory you have, Roberto,’ simpered Sonia.
‘I never forget a pretty face.’ He grinned wolfishly. ‘You were sitting next to Rosanna Menici.’
‘Yes, I was.’
‘She sang her aria exquisitely tonight. Is she here at the party?’
‘Yes, she’s over there somewhere with Paolo.’ Abi was somewhat put out by his apparent interest in Rosanna’s whereabouts.
Noticing her expression, Roberto continued: ‘I’ve known her since she was a little girl, you see. In fact, you could say that I discovered her. She has the most beautiful voice, but then again, I’m sure you do too, Signorina Holmes.’
The way Roberto pronounced her surname sent a tingle up Abi’s spine. But before she could say anything else, she felt a hand on her arm.
‘You must excuse me, my dear, but I need to circulate,’ interrupted Sonia. ‘Take care of her for me, Roberto.’
‘Of course.’ He bowed gallantly as Sonia departed, then looked up at her niece. ‘A glass of champagne, Signorina Holmes?’
‘Yes, I’d love one. And please, call me Abi.’
Roberto retrieved a glass from a nearby waiter and handed it to her. ‘Now, Abi, you must tell me all about yourself.’
An hour later, Rosanna managed to extricate herself from what was becoming a difficult situation. The patron, an older man with a goatish gleam in his eye, had begun to slide his arm up and down her back as they talked. He’d actually had the temerity at one point to rest a hand on her bottom. Having finally escaped on the pretext of visiting the powder room – the only place she could think of where he wouldn’t have an excuse to follow her – she searched the dwindling crowd for Abi. She spotted Sonia and walked over to her.
‘Hello, Signora Moretti. Have you seen Abi anywhere?’
‘No, not for the past half an hour. She was talking to Roberto, but’ – Sonia scanned the room – ‘she seems to have vanished. Maybe she’s already gone back to your little apartment, my dear.’
‘Oh no, she would have told me if she was leaving.’
‘Maybe she was tired. You go home, and I’m sure Abi will be there.’ Sonia smiled at her, then turned away to speak to another guest.
When Rosanna arrived home, the apartment was in darkness. As she sank into bed, she thought how unlike Abi it was not to tell her she was leaving.
Abi lay staring at the silhouette of the man beside her. After he had made love to her, with surprising gentleness, Roberto had promptly fallen asleep. Now she wasn’t sure whether she should stay or go home.
She’d put up no resistance when he’d asked her to accompany him back to the Via Manzoni. The kissing had started in his limousine and when they’d arrived at his apartment, they’d only just made it to the bed. Abi sighed to herself in the darkness. The fleeting pain of losing her virginity had soon been outweighed by pleasure, and, she reflected, by the exhilaration of his having chosen her tonight. Her thoughts strayed briefly to Rosanna. She chewed her lip as she imagined her friend’s disappointment at her actions, but eventually fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
16
‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’
‘I just told you. I’m leaving you.’ Donatella continued to calmly eat her tiramisu at the other end of the table.
‘Are you out of your mind?’ Giovanni exploded. ‘We sit down to dinner as we normally do, you wait for the dessert, then announce this as though you’re asking me for a new dress!’
‘I didn’t want to spoil your appetite, caro,’ she replied.
Giovanni slammed his spoon down on the table. ‘Don’t treat me like a child!’ he shouted. ‘Who is he?’
‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
‘I assume that the only reason you have for wanting to leave me is that you’ve been screwing another man.’
‘Please, Giovanni, don’t use such language at the dinner table.’ Donatella’s tone was mocking, which served to incense her husband further.
‘I’ll use whatever language I want! It’s my table and I can swear at it if I so wish. Just as I can forbid you to leave me if I so wish.’ Giovanni’s face had turned puce and a throbbing vein stood out on his left temple.
‘Please, try to keep calm, caro,’ she soothed. ‘I apologise if my announcement is a surprise. I thought you might have already known.’
‘Donatella, I’ve been aware for many years that you’ve had lovers. I’ve turned a blind eye to them, as you have done for me. That is the marriage we have and it has worked well. Therefore, I can only assume that the reason you wish to have a permanent separation is because you want to be with another man full-time.’
‘How very perceptive you are, Giovanni,’ said Donatella with heavy sarcasm. ‘And after the appropriate length of time, we can divorce.�
��
‘What?’ Giovanni stared at her. ‘Under no circumstances will I divorce you. You are . . . you are my wife! It’s completely out of the question. Our social position in Milan, my reputation . . .’
‘Don’t be so old-fashioned, caro. Yes, I accept that a few years ago divorce was not an option, but now, well’ – she turned her palms upwards with a nonchalant shrug – ‘we have many friends who have done it. It’s not a big deal anymore.’
‘It is to me.’ Giovanni had finally realised she was serious. ‘But why, Donatella? Why would you put us both through this? You know how messy these things can be, how the media will latch on to it. We are very well-known figures here in Milan. Surely we can carry on as before? You can have as much freedom as you wish.’
‘Really? Even the freedom to live publicly with another man?’ she asked quietly, examining her long red fingernails.
Giovanni slumped back in his chair and studied his wife in silence. Then he sighed heavily. ‘So, finally I see. You’ve fallen in love with this new man.’
‘Yes.’
‘Who is he?’
‘That’s not important.’
Determined to reassert his authority, Giovanni stood up, wiped his mouth on the linen napkin, and glared at his wife. ‘I warn you, Donatella, I will not allow you to humiliate me in front of the whole of Milan. The matter is closed. You will stay here and forget all about this ridiculous idea.’
‘Oh, I think you will grant my wish.’ Donatella knew she held the winning card and now was the time to play it. ‘After all, I’m sure you wouldn’t wish the Italian authorities to hear of the exquisite drawing that is hanging at this very moment in the New York penthouse of a wealthy Texan, and of the several million dollars that sits in your Swiss bank account because of it.’
Giovanni’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed his wife. ‘May I remind you who it was that brought the drawing to me? Who it was that lied to that naive priest about it being virtually worthless? And who had a present of a million dollars as a result of the sale?’ Giovanni laughed bitterly and shook his head. ‘Oh no, Donatella, you will not go to the authorities, you would implicate yourself as well.’
‘Ah yes, caro, but remember I’m not only a very good actress, but I’m much prettier than you are. I think I’d look wonderful in the newspapers as the used wife of such a terrible criminal and national traitor.’ She laid the back of her hand against her forehead and raised her eyes to heaven in a parody of the swooning victim.
Giovanni was silent, his mouth half open in disbelief.
Donatella stood up briskly. ‘Caro, there’s no rush. You go away tomorrow for a month. You must think it through and when you come back, we’ll talk. I won’t be greedy. Of course I’ll want this house and a good allowance, but I’m happy if you wish it to be known that I’m divorcing you on the grounds of your adultery. I understand male pride. Goodnight, caro. Have a successful trip to New York.’
Donatella swept from the room, leaving only a whisper of the Joy perfume she always wore behind her. Giovanni had never liked it, even if it cost a fortune. Now the smell made him want to vomit.
She had him over a barrel and she knew it. If she went to the authorities, his reputation, his business, his life would be in ruins.
Donatella had gambled correctly that he would not take the risk. And, what was more, if she was prepared to go through with a messy, public divorce that would taint the both of them, she must have either taken leave of her senses, or, as she had admitted, fallen in love.
Giovanni went to his study. Standing behind the enormous mahogany desk, too agitated to sit down, he checked a telephone number in his rolodex then picked up the receiver. The first step was to find out who her lover was. Donatella thought she was clever, but he would show her that she’d underestimated him. He was a powerful man, with powerful friends. And now he would use them.
Rosanna had settled into her new life as a member of La Scala with surprising ease. She enjoyed the performances and relished the opportunity to study and learn from the principal singers she worked with. When she was not performing or rehearsing, she had singing lessons or worked alone to learn a new role. Her sessions each week with Riccardo Beroli were proving invaluable. The slight, grey-haired conductor was volatile and irascible at times, but also a musical genius, able to teach her little tricks, such as phrasing the words of a particularly difficult coloratura section in a way that would make the notes sound longer and fuller than they really were.
Every Thursday afternoon, Rosanna attended cover rehearsals, which gave her a chance to sing and practise the moves of the principal roles on the stage itself. As the season progressed and more operas joined the repertoire, Rosanna realised that Paolo had been right in his plans for her. Standing on the large stage in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt with a piano rattling out the accompaniment might not be as glamorous as performing in costume with a full orchestra in front of two thousand people, but it allowed her to make mistakes. Singing one aria for two or three minutes was one thing, but learning to sustain a taxing role for up to three hours was another.
Rosanna sometimes felt as though she was trying to pat her head and rub her stomach at the same time. Not only did she have to remember the words and the notes and her stage moves, but she was also learning how to bring a character to life. As Riccardo never ceased to remind her, the great sopranos not only possessed wondrous voices, they were consummate actresses with the ability to move an audience emotionally.
Occasionally, Rosanna managed to get it absolutely right, when all the ingredients came together, and, as Paolo was so fond of saying, the ‘magic’ happened. Rosanna lived for those moments, but she knew she had a way to go before she could make it happen all the time.
It was mid-May and Rosanna was standing on stage singing the difficult duet ‘Vogliateme bene’, from the end of Act One of Madama Butterfly. Unseen, Paolo had joined Riccardo in the stalls. The two men sat in silence as Rosanna’s voice soared to a pure high C.
‘She’s improving, is she not?’ said Riccardo.
‘She’s gaining experience, stagecraft and, most importantly of all, maturity. The way she’s progressing, my plans for La Bohème next December are looking very good indeed,’ answered Paolo.
‘She’s the big one, isn’t she?’ mused Riccardo. ‘Our very own home-grown discovery.’
‘Yes, although of course we mustn’t forget Roberto Rossini.’
‘Did somebody mention my name?’
Paolo stood up. ‘Roberto, ciao.’
Roberto looked irritated. ‘We were meant to be meeting in your office at three. Your secretary said you were in the theatre so I came to find you. I have to leave for Copenhagen in two hours.’
‘My apologies, Roberto. I forgot the time.’
But Roberto was now staring at the stage. ‘That’s Rosanna Menici.’
‘Yes. She’s covering the female leads this season.’
‘So I heard. And what a voice she has. But the tenor singing Pinkerton is dreadful. Let me sing it with her, show her how it should sound.’
Before either Riccardo or Paolo could protest, Roberto was striding down the aisle towards the stage.
‘Stop playing,’ he ordered the pianist.
Rosanna and Fabrizio Barsetti, the young man singing Pinkerton, paused in surprise and peered over the lights as Roberto climbed the steps onto the stage.
‘Forgive me, but Signorina Menici and I are old friends. Would you mind if I took your place to sing the love duet?’
The young tenor agreed helplessly and walked away from them towards the wings.
‘Pianist, we will begin with the last two bars of “Viene la sera”.’ He turned to Rosanna and smiled, taking her hands in his. ‘Don’t be frightened. Sing as you have always sung and I shall fit around you,’ he whispered. ‘Okay,’ he ordered the pianist. ‘Begin.’
Roberto started to sing, and, when the moment came, Rosanna joined him.
Riccardo and Paolo sank back in
to their seats, enchanted by what they heard. The two voices, one so experienced and powerful, the other fresh and youthful, combined in the most exquisite way. They also looked perfect together, she so delicate and he so masculine, standing side by side on the empty stage.
‘Magic,’ whispered Paolo contentedly. He’d always been confident that Rosanna’s voice was the find of his life, but now, listening to the way she was responding to Roberto, unabashed by his fame, he knew she was gathering the confidence she needed to soar to the stars.
As the final notes of the love duet hovered around the empty auditorium, Rosanna and Roberto stood looking at each other, seemingly oblivious to their surroundings.
Riccardo grabbed Paolo’s arm. ‘We must premiere her with him. They are wonderful together.’
‘Strangely enough, I’d intended to talk to Roberto this afternoon about La Bohème,’ agreed Paolo.
‘You are learning, my little one,’ Roberto said to a flushed, exhilarated Rosanna. ‘Maybe a little more vibrato on the last note, but apart from that, well . . . you are a true professional. Forgive me, I must go, Paolo is waiting for me.’ He smiled and, kissing Rosanna’s hand, left the stage and walked back up the aisle.
‘Okay, so we talk,’ Roberto said, signalling to Paolo. ‘Ciao, Riccardo.’
The two men made their way out of the auditorium.
‘I presume you’re grooming Signorina Menici for stardom?’ Roberto asked as they began to climb the stairs to Paolo’s office.
‘Let us say that I think she has enormous potential.’
Roberto stopped on the stairs. ‘Promise me that, when you premiere her in her first leading role, I will sing opposite her.’
Paolo could have kissed him. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve already been talking about this with your agent, Roberto. I want you and Rosanna to open the next season as Rodolfo and Mimi.’
‘Perfect! I think we will bring out the best in each other, yes?’
Paolo frowned slightly as he saw the spark of excitement in Roberto’s eyes. ‘Of course,’ he said, as they began to ascend the stairs once more.
The Italian Girl Page 14
