About two days before the party, she was seated at the piano bench at six in the morning, working on a piece of sheet music she had found.
“You again?” Aimée stormed into the music room, stopping as close to Katerina as she could get and hovering over where she sat. “Get out of here. I need to practice.”
“Since when do you practice at six in the morning?” Katerina asked in a calm voice that belied the pounding of her heart.
“The party is the day after tomorrow. I need to be ready.” The woman made shooing motions with her hands.
“I understand the importance of that,” Katerina replied, not budging from the bench. “If you could let me know when you're going to practice, I can work around you.”
“No.” Aimée stuck her nose in the air. “I will work when I want to. I do not owe you a schedule. I am the professional. You're only a guest. My need is greater than yours.”
“I'm not disagreeing with you,” Katerina pleaded, “but, Madame St. Jean, you don't practice all day. Mightn't I be here when you're not?”
“No.” The blond crossed her arms over her ample bosom and glared.
So, you're not willing to make even a token attempt to be reasonable? Katerina began to feel a thread of anger rising above her nervousness. “Why not?”
“Because you don't have to be. I will have exclusive rights to this pianoforte, and your grandfather will let me. There's nothing he would deny me.” Aimée smirked.
“No doubt that's true,” Katerina said, a little sarcastically, “but you're not the only musician in the house.”
“Yes, I am,” Aimée sneered. “You're nothing but a dilettante. Go away.”
“I won't. I have as much right to be here as you do.” She surprised herself by saying that, and she drew in a startled breath.
Her rival appeared stunned but recovered quickly. “You'd better tend to your own business, Mrs. Bennett. If you're occupied at the pianoforte, I might just decide to amuse myself by spending time with your husband. He's very handsome.”
“Aren't you a bit old for him?” Katerina shot back.
Aimée's eyes narrowed at the unkind comment. “It makes no difference. Besides, you're such a mouse, I could take him from you in an instant. He would be glad to go.”
Katerina struggled to maintain her confident manner, but the threat hit her in a weak place. “Unlikely. He doesn't believe in adultery.”
“Maybe, but I could make him wish he did.”
Does she have to say that? What if she's right? “You stay away from my husband.” Katerina rose from the bench, for once taking advantage of her height to try to intimidate her rival.
Aimée refused to back down. “Nervous, are you? You should be. Choose wisely, Mrs. Bennett. Your husband or the pianoforte.”
Katerina's fear disappeared under a wave of pure anger. “My God you're disgusting. What's wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” the woman crowed. “I know what I want, and I take it. I don't hide in the shadows, mouse.”
“Oh, be quiet,” Katerina said with a flamboyant hand gesture.
“Non,” the singer sneered.
“Madame St. Jean?” Katerina demanded, “I haven't done a thing to you. I'm not asking anything from you. All I want is to play my grandfather's piano when you are not using it. What problem could that possibly pose you? What do you want?”
“I want you to go away. I don't like you,” Aimée said brutally.
Katerina shrugged. “You don't have to like me. You have Grandfather. Isn't that enough?”
A flash of something… softer appeared for a moment behind the singer's eyes. She does care for him, in her way. And then her expression hardened. “I don't want you in my space. This room is mine. I belong here. You're intruding. You're not a real musician.”
“I disagree.” Katerina met Aimée's eyes with a squinty glare.
“You think you're better than me?” Aimée challenged, puffing up in indignation.
“I have no way of knowing,” Katerina replied. “I've never heard you perform. Besides, it's not a competition. I just want to share this space from time to time.”
“Competition?” The French woman's sea blue eyes turned considering. “Yes, very good. A competition. I challenge you, Mrs. Bennett, to a musical competition. It can take place during the party. Each of us will sing three songs and then everyone will choose who is the better musician, you or me. The winner gets exclusive rights to the music room for the remainder of your visit.”
“I would rather play than sing,” Katerina requested, seeing an opportunity to get what she wanted without an argument.
“Non. A singing competition. It won't be fair if we are not on the same instrument.”
Katerina felt trapped. How could she refuse? And yet, to go up against a trained professional? Maybe on the piano, but singing? On voice, she felt very much like the dilettante she'd been named. Casting about for any logical objection, she blurted, “And who will accompany?”
“We accompany ourselves.”
If I can play as well, I might have a chance. “Very well. I accept your challenge, on two conditions.”
“Yes?” One blonde eyebrow shot upward.
“You have to let me practice,” Katerina replied with all the firmness she had left in her.
“I suppose.” Mme St. Jean rolled her eyes. “You get one hour in the morning, six to seven, and one in the evening.”
Katerina nodded. It would be enough. “And you stay away from Christopher.”
The woman's smile turned feral. “Worried, are you? How do you know I will keep my word?”
Katerina didn't reply and Aimée didn't promise. Instead, she stalked from the room, returning to Alessandro's chamber, where she had spent the night, and slipped back into bed with him.
Katerina turned back to the pianoforte and began to practice for all she was worth. She didn't know if she had the skill to surpass a professional musician, and honestly, using the piano was not that important, but Christopher was. She had to face this bully down. I can't allow that little tramp to seduce my precious husband. It was a feeling the likes of which Katerina had never imagined, sharp, painful and disconcerting. Christopher is mine, and no brassy French tart will threaten what we have.
* * *
In the master suite, Alessandro woke to the pleasurable sensation of Aimée's luscious naked curves pressed against him. He had met her over a year ago, when he was planning his son's thirty-fifth birthday party. He had been entranced by her golden beauty and her flirtatious manner. In the five years since his wife's death, he'd been rather chaste, but Aimée drove all such thoughts from his mind. He had boldly invited her to share his bed and had been shocked when she agreed.
Their affair had progressed from occasional encounters when he hired her to sing, until now when she very nearly lived with him. He harbored no illusions that he would be able to keep her. She was young, barely past thirty, and he had celebrated his sixtieth birthday only a month ago. She should marry, have a baby, and leave her wild life behind. Alessandro could hardly offer her those things, but he would enjoy her while she was willing.
He hadn't expected to fall in love with her. And now her attention was being distracted by a handsome young man. Though he had expected this, it hurt more than he had realized it would. Not to mention the man she had chosen was married to his granddaughter, a girl he was quickly coming to adore. Not that he was worried. Christopher seemed not to care about, or even notice, Aimée's blatant flirtation. The youth was entranced with his wife. But the point was she had been swayed by someone else, which surely meant their affair was almost done. Dannazione! I'm not ready to let her go.
Well, I don't have to right now. He began to caress her lovely round body, pleased that he still had enough animal spirits to make love to a pretty young woman and satisfy them both.
Long moments later, Madame St. Jean stretched in her lover's arms and snuggled up against him.
“Cheri,” she said, “I've
just made the most exciting plan for the music at your little party.”
“What's that?” he asked, feeling indulgent in his satiation.
“A friendly competition between Katerina and me. We're both going to sing and play for the guests and see who the better musician is.” She said this insouciantly, as though it were a lark, nothing serious.
“She agreed to this?” Alessandro asked, surprised. Katerina seemed very shy and meek, not one who would compete in a public venue with a professional musician.
“She did.” Aimée's studied innocence aroused his suspicions further.
“Sounds interesting. What are the rules?” he asked, trying to get to the bottom of the story.
“You know, I don't know,” she replied, waving one hand in the air. “We didn't get to that part, except we each do three songs. You're going to be the judge, of course, so maybe you should make the rules.”
“Hmmm. Let me think on this. I'll let you both know a little later.”
“Wonderful. Won't this be fun?” She's trying too hard. There's more to this story.
“I hope it is.” He still had his doubts about Katerina's willingness, but he would talk to her and see what it was all about.
* * *
Two days later, as the early sunset turned the Tuscan horizon scarlet, a large group of Italian locals converged on the Bianchi estate, eager to meet the respected landowner's long-lost granddaughter. Katerina painted on a false cheerful smile and greeted each new arrival warmly. In addition to the Italians, Alessandro had invited several English guests, wanting Christopher not to be left out.
It had been decided that the competition would take place before dinner, as neither woman wanted to sing with food and wine clogging her throat. Once all the guests had arrived, they gathered in the parlor. The piano and the harpsichord had been moved to the lovely blue room earlier in the day. Katerina sat on a sofa, clinging to Christopher's arm and trembling with nerves. This could all go very badly, and she had no idea what she was up against.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Alessandro said loudly in Italian, “thank you for coming tonight. I am so very pleased to introduce all of you to my granddaughter, Katerina Bennett and her husband Christopher, finally come to visit us. And for our entertainment this evening, Katerina has agreed to sing and play the pianoforte for us.”
This caused a murmur demonstrating Alessandro's affair with his musician was hardly a secret.
“She and Madame St. Jean will be competing for the title of musical expert. We are all going to be judges. Here are the rules. Each lady will sing three songs, accompanying herself on pianoforte or harpsichord. One song will be in Italian, one in English, and the third will be of the lady's choice. Then we will decide who the better musician is. Madame St. Jean, are you ready?”
Going last gives me a slight advantage, Katerina thought. Still, her heart pounded so hard she feared she might be sick.
“Yes, I am ready,” Aimée replied in French-accented Italian. Curtsying to the crowd, she seated herself at the harpsichord and announced, “I would like to begin with `Greensleeves.' ”
She played a few simple chords on the keyboard, setting the key, and then took a deep quiet breath and began to sing. Instantly, Katerina knew she was in deep trouble. The twelve years separating the two singers made a huge difference. A true professional, Aimée's voice was flexible, rich, and captivating even though she didn't play the harpsichord particularly well. Her accompaniment consisted of a series of simple chords to help her keep in tune. Her English pronunciation was also rather bad, but it made no difference. The maturity of her tone would turn this competition into one between a pipe organ and a piccolo. There's no hope. And then, to increase the difficulty, she stopped playing and sang a Capella during the middle verse. When she played again on the third verse, she was still perfectly in tune. The guests murmured in appreciation of the trick. She ended plaintively, “who but my lady, Greensleeves?”'
The audience applauded. She rose and flounced to her seat. The opening gauntlet had been well tossed. It was not a performance Katerina wanted to follow. Her knees weak, she slid onto the harpsichord bench, swallowed hard, and looked at the instrument for a long moment, pleading silently with it to help her.
“Scarborough Fair,” she said at last. Then she placed her fingers on the keys and began a complicated run of notes. She had never been so aware of the people staring at her back. She felt vulnerable, exposed, and she glanced up. Warm gray eyes met hers encouragingly. Christopher. Christopher will support me. Soothed by his sweet look, she turned her attention inward and began to sing. “'Are you going to Scarborough Fair/ Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme/ Remember me to one who lives there. /She once was a true love of mine.”'
She sang the nonsensical lyrics lightly. She couldn't match Aimée for depth and richness, so she didn't try. Instead, she focused on the feather lightness of her nineteen-year-old voice, singing sweetly and prettily, and accompanied by flashy notes on the harpsichord. It would have to do. As the end of the song neared, she had a flash of insight about its message. True love could overcome insurmountable odds, perform impossible tasks. Hadn't she and Christopher done that? They had. That meant something. It meant she loved him. Truly loved him. The realization was staggering, and her voice faltered at the end of the second to last verse. She played a fancy interlude to cover the mistake, and when she began to sing again, it was for her husband's ears alone.
“'When at last he has finished his work/ Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme/ He'll come to claim his cambric shirt/ And ever be a true love of mine.”
She finished with a flourish of fingers and took a deep breath, only to jump in alarm as applause thundered around her.
Feeling unsteady, Katerina remained seated at the harpsichord. Aimée would be using the pianoforte for her other two songs. She began immediately. Not surprisingly, the other woman's second was in French, another folk song, called “Jeune Fillette.” This teasingly flirtatious number described falling in love in the springtime, with pointed references to fickle lovers, male and female. It was a clear invitation, and she gave her rival's husband a pointed look as she tripped lightly over the coloratura notes, demonstrating that a mature voice did not need to be heavy or slow. She could beat Katerina at her own game, and in her own marriage, her blatant glare seemed to claim.
Again, the tension rose. How can I meet this challenge? Not in her rival's own language, to be sure. She had intended to sing in French also, but abandoned the plan, making a last-minute substitution. She couldn't out-flirt Mme St. Jean, but perhaps she could offer something more poignant.
Remaining at the harpsichord, she played a few simple chords and then began with `Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes,' a plaintive love song. Again, it was a message to Christopher, as though no one else were in the room. The couple could have been in their row house for all the attention she paid to any other member of the audience. She could see from his intense expression that he understood she was singing to him… and liked it.
Last was each woman's Italian song. Aimée had practiced hard to master the complicated accompaniment, so she could play it by muscle memory and turned her full attention towards Christopher as she began to sing `Se Tu m'Ami' by Paolo Antonio Rolli. Everyone in the room but him knew Italian and understood what this woman was doing. The song sent a blatant message; a girl of easy virtue offering herself to a man, but making it clear he should expect no fidelity.
Christopher remained oblivious, but Alessandro did not. Neither did most of his guests. It was a heavy blow to be dealt in such a public venue and made the Italian gentleman powerfully angry. Unaware, focused on undermining her rival's confidence, Aimée continued to flirt with the young man through song, naughtily promising everything but her heart. Though she performed in her usual superior manner, the audience applauded tepidly. Many disapproved of her manner.
At last, it was time for Katerina's final song. She walked slowly from the harpsichord to the pianoforte.
Once again she chose to give her husband the pure emotion of a desperate love song: `Per la Gloira d'Adorarvi' by Bononcini from the opera Griselda. A heartbreaking song of unrequited love, she nearly devastated herself with it. The emotion, the adoration of this young girl towards her husband vibrated palpably in the room. She pleaded with him in song to ignore her rival and give his attention to his wife, to her heart, which she was offering without reservation. Unfortunately, he had no idea… or maybe it is fortunate. She would be embarrassed if he understood. She had actually forgotten there were other people in their room, until, after a delicately shimmering high note, the song ended, and the room erupted with applause, startling her again. Red-faced and trembling she slunk back to her seat beside her husband. He took her hand and held it indiscreetly. Many people nodded with approval. Of course, he ought to prefer his wife.
Alessandro swallowed his rage and rose from his seat.
“Thank you, ladies, for those lovely performances. We will give our answer after dinner. And now, friends, shall we adjourn to the dining room?”
There was a general exodus, and it wasn't until later that the guests noticed their host had not joined them.
* * *
As Aimée moved towards the door, Alessandro caught her arm in a hard grip, pulling her back. “What exactly was that?” he asked her, his expression thunderous.
“Music, cheri,” she answered in her usual flirtatious lightness.
He shook her. “No. You know what I mean. Why were you throwing yourself at my granddaughter's husband?”
“I was only playing. I don't care in the slightest about Mr. Bennett.” She twined her arms around Alessandro's neck, trying to distract him from his anger.
Keeping Katerina (The Victorians Book 1) Page 19
