The Italian Girl

by Lucinda Riley

  Ignoring the other two men, he walked straight over to Rosanna, taking in her tear-stained face. ‘Why, what is wrong, Rosanna?’

  ‘Nothing, I . . . I’m okay.’ And suddenly, she was. The world came into sharp focus again as she turned to smile at him.

  ‘Just a natural reaction, I think. She is now a true emotional artiste, Roberto,’ said Luigi, beaming at the pair of them.

  ‘And you have helped her become one, Luigi. It’s good to see you again.’ Roberto embraced his former teacher.

  ‘And you too sang magnificently tonight. I do believe you’re improving with age.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment, Luigi,’ Roberto replied wryly.

  ‘Was I terrible?’ Rosanna looked anxiously at the three men now gathered around her. ‘I can’t remember anything about it.’

  ‘Rosanna.’ Luigi clasped her hands in his. ‘No, you were not terrible – anything but. You should be happy. Tonight you made the perfect debut.’

  ‘Really?’

  Luigi nodded. ‘Really. I’m very proud of you and so are Paolo and Riccardo.’

  ‘And so am I, my little Butterfly. I have rarely seen an audience so enraptured.’ Roberto took Rosanna’s hands and drew her towards him. The look that passed between them in that moment was akin to a chemical reaction. ‘I just came to congratulate you,’ he said softly. Then, suddenly aware that two other pairs of eyes were staring at them, he added, ‘And to say that I’ve booked a table at Il Savini. After I’ve signed autographs, I’ll take us all out to dinner to celebrate.’

  ‘That sounds like an excellent idea,’ agreed Luigi.

  Rosanna looked at Roberto, and though every fibre of her body was reacting to his presence, an instinct of self-preservation held her back. ‘That’s most generous of you, but I think I should go home. I’m very tired.’

  ‘As you wish,’ Roberto said in surprise. He glanced at Paolo. ‘She conquers La Scala and now our Butterfly wishes to go home to bed.’

  ‘Rosanna has had a long day. Come now, Roberto, let us leave Rosanna and Luigi to talk quietly.’

  Roberto kissed her hand, his lips lingering on her skin just a fraction too long for mere politeness. ‘Goodnight, little one. Sweet dreams.’ He made for the door with Paolo following in his wake. ‘I’ll see you in my dressing room, Luigi. We three will toast the absent star.’

  Luigi nodded. As the door closed, leaving the two of them alone, Rosanna sank into a chair and yawned. ‘I hope he didn’t think I was rude. I’m seriously too exhausted to move,’ she added.

  ‘Of course. It’s perfectly understandable.’ Luigi privately thought that it was a very good thing that Rosanna was going home early. Like Paolo, he had not missed the extraordinary chemistry between Roberto and his leading lady. It made him strangely uneasy.

  ‘Luigi, tell me truthfully, was I all right tonight?’ Rosanna’s anxious voice broke his reverie.

  ‘I’m beginning to think you are fishing for compliments,’ he smiled. ‘Yes, you were much more than all right. Of course, there were small things you could improve on, tricks that will take time and experience to learn, but if I tell you that you upstaged the great Signor Rossini himself, you’ll understand just how good you were.’

  ‘Did I really?’

  ‘Yes, and he still wants to take you out to dinner!’

  ‘He’s been very kind.’

  ‘It’s a quality which is most unusual in the man. I think maybe he has a soft spot for you, eh?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Rosanna yawned again.

  ‘And now, I will leave you. I’m in Milan until tomorrow. Maybe we could have lunch and I shall give you some proper notes on your performance tonight, yes?’ Luigi’s eyes twinkled.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good. I shall see you tomorrow at Biffi Scala at twelve.’

  Luigi left the room and Rosanna was finally alone.

  She sat back in the chair, staring into space and trying to recall the performance.

  All she could remember were Roberto’s eyes gazing at her as he sang his words of love.

  18

  Paolo put down the receiver and stared moodily out of the window.

  All the care he’d taken, the hours of discussion with Riccardo, and now, owing to an attack of scarlet fever, his plans for Rosanna’s future had gone up in smoke.

  He knew that some would say what had happened was better: Rosanna’s unexpected debut in such a difficult role had produced a flood of superb reviews. The critics had been unanimous about her voice – it was startling – and they were predicting great things for her future.

  This was all positive, he knew, but Paolo had hoped Rosanna would slip quietly back into solo roles for the rest of the season, then open the new season with La Bohème as planned. However, this had proved impossible. Rosanna was the new young soprano all of Milan wanted to see. News of her sensational debut had spread like wildfire. La Scala’s box office had been deluged with people wanting tickets for her next performance. The situation had been compounded by the fact that Anna Dupré’s scarlet fever had left her very debilitated and her specialist had prescribed rest for the next few months. That meant there was a vacancy for a leading soprano and Paolo had been convinced by those around him that Rosanna was the obvious choice to fill it. So Paolo had gritted his teeth and given his audience what they wanted: his new young star, Rosanna Menici.

  She had tackled the roles quite brilliantly, he had to admit. And she was now the somewhat unwilling toast of the town.

  Other opera companies had begun sniffing around in earnest. Paolo had reluctantly advised Rosanna that she needed an agent. Chris Hughes, Roberto’s American agent, had been more than happy to take her on.

  Paolo knew his fledgling had finally spread her wings and begun to fly.

  Rosanna and Chris Hughes were sitting at one of the best tables in Il Savini. Chris had ordered a bottle of champagne and insisted Rosanna have a glass.

  ‘Here’s to you, my newest client. I think we’ll make a good team, Rosanna.’

  She nodded at the handsome blond man opposite her. Chris reminded her of every clean-cut American she’d seen in Hollywood films. ‘I hope so, Chris.’

  ‘Now, I thought, before I go through the bookings I’ve made, that I should just explain again exactly how I work, okay?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll take care of your schedule for you, and, for the time being, arrange all your PR. It might come to the point where you’re so successful you’ll need someone to handle your PR full-time, like Roberto has.’

  Rosanna nodded.

  ‘I have offices in London and New York with a secretary in each. They’ll deal with all your travel arrangements, book your flights and hotels, and so forth. If there’s ever a problem, you can reach the London office in the day, and New York up to midnight. I’ll also give you my home numbers. We’ve already discussed my commission and I think you’re happy with it?’

  ‘Yes, Chris.’

  ‘Good. Now all I really need to know is where you want your money deposited. All your fees will be paid to me and it’s much easier if you give me a bank account number so I can put the cheques straight in without having to bother you.’

  ‘I don’t have a bank account,’ said Rosanna, her head spinning from all Chris was telling her.

  ‘Really? Well then, I think you’d better open one, honey.’ Chris smiled. ‘There’s every chance you’re going to become a wealthy young lady in the next few years. I’m always paid in dollars by the opera companies. It makes it simpler for everyone, but I can change it into whichever currency you choose. Now, that’s the financial stuff out of the way. Let’s order and we can move on to the interesting bit and discuss your schedule.’ Chris studied his menu for a few minutes, then signalled for the waiter. ‘What would you like, Rosanna?’

  ‘The vitello tonnato and a salad, please.’

  ‘Good choice. I’ll have the same.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ The waiter
scribbled the order on his notepad then glided away.

  Chris poured some more champagne into Rosanna’s glass. ‘Right, back to the schedule. It’s all good news, Rosanna. The world sure is your oyster at the moment. The Garden have offered you Violetta opposite Roberto’s Alfredo. They’re desperate for you as their star soprano’s just announced she’s pregnant and is taking a sabbatical. You’ll rehearse for four days, then there’ll be eight performances during August.’

  Rosanna paled. ‘Four days’ rehearsal? But it’s a role I’ve never sung!’

  ‘I’m sure Paolo and Roberto will help you before you go. After Covent Garden, you have a month off, then it’s back to London for a charity concert at the Albert Hall. There’s a possibility I may have got you your first recording deal with Deutsche Grammophon. They’re interested in recording Butterfly with Roberto, who’s already under contract to them, but the details aren’t firmed up yet. They obviously want to meet you and I’ll let you know the date of that. Anyway, if the deal does come off, there’s a window to record in London during October. Also, the Palais Garnier in Paris wants you for a gala concert at the end of that month, then you fly back to Milan to rehearse for La Bohème.’

  Rosanna took a nervous gulp of her champagne. ‘How long have I got to rehearse for that? An hour?’

  ‘A week actually.’

  Rosanna shook her head. ‘No, Chris, I need longer. Playing Mimi at La Scala has been my dream. I want to make sure I have enough time to prepare, and also give my voice a chance to recover.’

  ‘Well, we can probably manage ten days.’ Chris barely looked up from his diary before continuing. ‘Then you fly to Vienna to sing Butterfly for a couple of weeks in March, which Paolo has okayed, before you return to Milan for Gilda opposite Roberto’s Duca. Then you have two months in New York to prepare for your debut at the Met in Roméo et Juliette.’

  The waiter arrived with their order.

  ‘This looks great. Tuck in, Rosanna,’ Chris encouraged, picking up his knife and fork.

  Rosanna did her best, but her appetite had deserted her.

  Chris checked his watch. ‘Okay, fifteen minutes for coffee. You have an interview with Le Figaro in forty-five minutes. Anything you want to ask me?’

  ‘Yes, but I feel exhausted just listening to you, Chris,’ she replied honestly.

  ‘I apologise, Rosanna. Paolo’s warned me not to push you and I’ll do my best. I promise I’ll try and give you some breathing space, but, sweetheart, when you’re hot, you’re hot.’ He held out his hands in a ‘What did you expect?’ gesture.

  ‘It’s happened so quickly, that’s all.’ Rosanna bit her lip and averted her gaze, afraid she might burst into tears.

  Chris, realising how overwhelmed she was, reached over to squeeze her hand reassuringly. ‘I understand. Look, Rosanna, if at any point you feel you’re pushing yourself too hard, just say the word. I’m on your side, remember?’

  ‘Then can you give me more time to prepare for La Bohème?’ she pleaded.

  ‘It would mean cancelling the Palais Garnier . . .’ He ran a finger down the list of engagements. ‘But yes, if you feel that strongly about it.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Okay,’ he sighed, ‘consider it done.’

  After her interview with Le Figaro in the foyer of La Scala, Rosanna walked up the stairs to Paolo’s office. Everything was moving so fast and her head was spinning. Chris’s plans sounded exciting, but was she taking on too much? She needed to talk to Paolo, see what he thought.

  Rosanna knocked on his door and Paolo opened it.

  ‘Come in, Rosanna. How are you? You look a little pale.’

  She sat down in a chair. ‘I feel pale. I’ve just had lunch with Chris and he was like a steamroller! He has things arranged for the next eighteen months. He went through the schedule so fast I couldn’t keep up with him.’

  ‘Chris is very dynamic,’ agreed Paolo, ‘but I suppose that’s what makes him successful as an agent.’

  ‘I’m just worried I’m running before I can walk. I still have so much to learn, Paolo.’

  ‘Then you must tell Chris what you feel.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘That’s good. Remember, he works for you, not the other way round. He’s a decent man, Rosanna, a lot better than others I could mention. They’d have you flying halfway across the world for one concert if the money was big enough.’

  ‘I know, and I realise how lucky I am that all these people want me. But I’ve told Chris that my priority is La Scala. The other companies are important, but here is what really matters to me.’ Rosanna paused and stared out of the window. ‘I had no idea it would be like this.’

  ‘It’s early days, you’re bound to find it strange. I’m sure you’ll cope well once you get used to it,’ Paolo reassured her with an outward show of confidence he didn’t entirely feel in his heart. ‘So, tell me how you feel about going to London with Roberto?’

  ‘I think we sing well together.’ Rosanna was guarded.

  ‘You do. Everyone thinks your pairing is inspired.’ Against his better judgement, he couldn’t resist adding: ‘I know this is none of my business, but Roberto can be . . . most charming when he wishes and—’

  Rosanna cut him short. ‘It’s all right. I understand what you’re trying to say and I promise I can take care of myself.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  Paolo accompanied her down to the foyer and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Just remember, any time you need advice, or just to talk things over, you know where I am. I’m proud of you, Rosanna. Ciao.’

  ‘Ciao, Paolo. I can never thank you enough.’

  He watched her leave the foyer, then climbed the stairs to his office, picked up the telephone and dialled the number of Roberto’s apartment. There was no reply. He replaced the receiver and tried to concentrate on some paperwork.

  19

  Roberto heard the telephone ringing, but ignored it. He reached his climax with a roar and collapsed on top of Donatella.

  ‘Caro, that was wonderful,’ she gasped.

  Roberto rolled over and lay next to her, his eyes closed, his hands over his face.

  ‘Darling, I have some news, some very good news.’ She gently stroked his shoulder.

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘I’ll be able to travel to London with you in August. In fact, from now on, anywhere you go, I can go too.’

  Unaware that he’d ever expressed a wish for her to join him when he was singing abroad, Roberto uncovered his face slowly and turned to look at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m leaving Giovanni. I’ve told him and it’s settled. I can move in here whenever you wish. From now on, we can be together always.’

  Roberto stared at her in disbelief.

  ‘Don’t look so concerned, caro. It was not a hard decision to make. I’m very happy. It’s what I wanted.’

  Roberto managed to find his voice. ‘Let me get this straight: you’ve told Giovanni you’re leaving him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But why would you do that?’

  ‘Do you really need to ask? Because it’s you that I love, because any relationship I had with my husband ended a long time ago, because—’

  Roberto cut her off. ‘And he’s agreed to all this, just like that?’

  ‘He can’t stop me. He has no choice.’

  ‘Does he . . .’ Roberto cleared his throat nervously. ‘Does he know about me?’

  ‘No, not yet, but of course he will.’ Donatella saw the concern flash across Roberto’s face. She tipped his chin towards her. ‘Caro, you mustn’t worry. I’ve made sure he can’t touch either of us. I’ve money of my own, a lot of money. We’ll want for nothing for the rest of our lives.’

  The reality of the situation was beginning to dawn on Roberto. He jumped out of the bed like a scalded cat and grabbed his robe from the back of a chair.

  ‘Where on earth are you going?’

  ‘To shower. I just reme
mbered I have to be at the theatre early tonight.’

  ‘But we must talk. I’ll come to meet you later after your performance and drive you back here.’

  ‘No! I have other plans.’ He paused at the bathroom door and turned to look at her, lying so seductively on the bed, but at this moment she repulsed him. ‘Donatella, you cannot organise my life without me having some say in it too! I can’t believe you went ahead with this without asking me!’

  ‘But your wishes are always foremost in my mind. This is why I’m leaving Giovanni, so we can be together and one day be married and—’

  ‘Please, Donatella, enough. I wish you to leave!’

  Roberto watched her face crumple as she turned away to bury it in the pillow. Overcome with remorse, he sat down heavily in a chair, raking his hands through his hair and inhaling deeply. ‘Okay, I’m sorry I shouted. This has been . . . well, it’s been a shock. Think of the scandal, Donatella. Your husband is a powerful man in Milan. I can’t believe he’ll just let his wife walk away from him without a fight.’

  ‘He will. He has to. I’m sorry, Roberto. I should have told you of my plans sooner. I’ll do as you wish and leave.’ With a visible effort, she climbed out of the bed and started to dress.

  Roberto watched her. ‘Cara, I just need some time to think, that’s all.’ He followed her to the front door. She turned away as he tried to kiss her. ‘I’ll call you tonight, okay?’

  She didn’t look back as she walked down the corridor towards the lift.

  Roberto shut the door, his mind racing. For weeks now, he’d been steeling himself to tell Donatella it was over, that the fun they’d had for the past few years had drawn to its natural conclusion. Yet she’d just informed him she’d already told her husband she was divorcing him so the two of them could be together.

  It was so ridiculous that Roberto wanted to laugh. To think Donatella really believed that he would marry her. She was nearly fifty years old, for God’s sake, hardly prime childbearing age.

  The telephone rang once more. Roberto automatically went to answer it.