The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous (23 page)

    Boris had loathed being an assistant conductor, which meant he was a glorified understudy, who took rehearsals, memorized scores and kept a tailcoat hanging in a cupboard backstage, ready to come on at a moment's notice but

    alas the moment never came.

    This, with the added frustration of never getting any of his compositions published or performed, had driven Boris into the ego boost of an affaire with Chloe the mezzo.

    Envious of Boris's genius both as composer and conductor and not wanting competition at the London Met, Rannaldini had actively helped him to get the job at Bagley Hall, not least because he felt his daughter Natasha, and his son Wolfgang, who was in his last year and musically disinclined, could do with some decent teaching.Boris found teaching much worse than being an assistant conductor. It was so draining that he had no effort left for composition. He was thirty-one and he was aware of time running out, particularly now that Europe, after the collapse of the Berlin Wall, was flooded with Russian musicians. His novelty value was ebbing away. He would never achieve recognition.

    Now the concert hall was filling up. Through the thick green velvet curtains, Boris could see Kitty Rannaldini, so sweet and downtrodden being ignored by her stepdaughter, Natasha. A voluptuous sixteen year old, almost incestuously in love with her father, Natasha had inherited both Cecilia's and Rannaldini's histrionic temperaments but not alas their talent. Her voice was powerful, but harsh. Assuming it must be good, however, she never listened to criticism.

    Boris's best pupil was Marcus Campbell-Black, who at seventeen played the piano with such sensitivity and imagination that there was little left to teach him. Through the curtain, Boris could see Marcus's father, the legendarily handsome Rupert. Only dragged here on sufferance by his wife Taggie, Rupert was determined to leave early. He didn't want to be buttonholed by his ex-wife Helen, who was sitting in the row behind.

    Rupert had not forgiven Helen for not sending Marcus to his old school, Harrow. Convinced that there was no money in playing the piano as a career, it had taken Rupert a long time to get over the shock, four years ago, when Marcus had timidly announced that he wanted to become I a concert pianist.

    Today Rupert was worrying about the recession. At Venturer, the local ITV company of which he was a director, advertising had slumped. The bloodstock market had also taken a dive. Finally he had been up all night with a sick filly, who was a distinct possibility for the Guineas and The Oaks and he wanted to get back to her.

    He was, therefore, the only adult not thrown into turmoil because Rannaldini had just telephoned Natasha to say he would be attending the concert after all. Parents and teachers were all in a tizz in case one of their darlings was discovered. The pupils, on the other hand, were more excited by the presence of Georgie Maguire and Guy Seymour who were becoming cult figures since the launching of Rock Star. Natasha Rannaldini, who saw herself as the victim of a broken home, thought 'Rock Star' was the most wonderful song, and that the reason she wasn't as popular at Bagley Hall as Flora Seymour was because she didn't have parents as happy as Guy and Georgie. Amazed to see them arriving with her dreary stepmother, whom she usually passed off as the younger children's au pair, Natasha was forced to speak to Kitty in order to meet them.

    'Shame your father isn't here to hear you singing,' said Guy.

    'But he will be.' From under heavy eyelids, Natasha shot a spiteful glance at Kitty. 'He just rang to say he's on his way.'

    For a second, Guy thought Kitty would black out with horror as she remembered she hadn't turned on the central heating in the tower, or put clean sheets on Rannaldini's bed there or in her bedroom, in case he deigned to sleep with her this evening. There was nothing special for supper, and Rannaldini's guard-dogs were still down in the village with their handler. He liked a pack welcome.

    'I must go,' she mumbled white-lipped, 'I'll get a

    taxi.'

    'You will not.' Firmly Guy took her arm. 'It's Rannaldini's fault for arriving a day early. He can join us at The Heavenly Host.'

    Georgie, still smarting because Rannaldini had dismissed 'Rock Star' as derivative, was even more livid that Guy hadn't let her wash her hair. She'd had to make up in the car and now, in the crowded, overheated hall, was terrified that her pale skin would grow red and blotchy. She was also piqued that while everyoneelse's children were crowding around asking for autographs, Flora, whom she hadn't seen since before the American tour, hadn't showed up.

    Although she had only been at the school one term, Flora had already established herself as the Bagley Hall wild child, determined to buck the system. Wolfie Rannaldini had a massive crush on her, so did Marcus Campbell-Black, but he was too shy to do anything about it. Like most of the girls in the school, Flora had a massive crush on Boris Levitsky, who had sallow skin, wonderful slitty dark grey eyes and high cheek-bones. With his long blue jacket and shaggy black hair in a pony-tail, he would be perfectly cast-as Mr Christian in Mutiny on the

    Bounty.

    The concert had been due to start at five o'clock. It was now five-thirty, and there was still no sign of Rannaldini. The orchestra had tuned up and up. Parents were looking at their watches. Many of them had long drives home and would be forced to stumble out in the middle, ruining the concert, which was probably Rannaldini's intention., thought Boris darkly. Determined to impress his old mentor, he was getting increasingly strung up. He was very tired, because sustained by vodka he was playing the fiddle in a Soho night-club to make

    ends meet.

    Out in the hall, distraction was provided by the arrival of the great diva, Hermione Harefield, who'd just rolled up with Bob and plonked herself down between Kitty and Guy in the seat that was being kept for Rannaldini. It was twenty-five to six. Miss Bottomley, the headmistress, vast and Sapphic, had just risen furiously to announce that the concert could be delayed no longer, when Rannaldini's helicopter landed on the lawn outside, squashing a lot of daffodils. Kitty watched him jump down like a cat, bronzed and impossibly glamorous, with his thick pewter hair hardly ruffled by the wind, and her heart failed, as it always did. Georgie, prepared to detest him because of Hermione's jibes, thought he was the most attractive man she had ever seen. It was not just the good looks, but the total lack of contrition.

    'Sorry to hold you up, Sabine,' he called out blithely to an apoplectic Miss Bottomley, as he swept up the aisle asphyxiating everyone with Maestro. 'We had engine trouble.' Then, glancing up at Boris, who was fuming in the wings, 'Carry on, Boris.'

    Always engine trouble when Cecilia's in town, thought Kitty despairingly.

    'Over here, Rannaldini. We've saved you a seat,' called Hermione in her deep thrilling voice.

    In fact she hadn't. It merely meant that Helen Campbell-Black had to move into the row in front and sit next to her ex-husband, Rupert, who had in the past been infinitely more promiscuous and far later for every engagement than Rannaldini, but who was now glaring at him with all the chilling disapproval of the reformed rake.

    'Fucking Casanouveau,' he murmured to Taggie. 'Can't imagine him as a schoolboy. Must have spent his time in the biology lab dissecting live rats.'

    Moving down the row to join Hermione, Rannaldini's eyes fell on a cringing Kitty.

    'Friday is a work day,' he murmured as he sat down beside her. 'I assume everything's in order at home for you to play truant like this.'

    'I fort you was coming tomorrow,' stammered Kitty. 'I fort Natasha would like one of us to be here.'

    'Hush,' said Hermione loudly, 'Boris wishes to begin.'

    Boris had a hole in his dark blue jacket, buttons off his white frilled shirt, a nappy pin holding up his trousers, and his unruly black hair was escaping from its black bow. Mounting the rostrum, he bent to kiss the score of Brahms' Academic Overture, lifted his stick and began immediately. If Rannaldini was all icy precision, Boris was all fire and romantic enthusiasm. The orchestra played as though they were possessed. Bob Harefield, who never stopped talent-spotting and was now leaning against the wall at the back of the hall, took out his notebook.Rannaldini, on the other hand, closed his eyes and ostentatiously winced at any wrong note. Rupert Campbell-Black was not much better behaved, his golden head lolling on his present wife's shoulder as he gently snored in counterpoint to the music, until his ex-wife woke him up to listen to Marcus playing the last movement of Mozart's E Flat Piano Concerto. This Marcus did so exquisitely, and looked so touching, with his faun's face, big hazel eyes and gleaming dark red hair, that the audience, despite being kept late by Rannaldini, demanded an encore. Mopping his brow, looking much happier, Boris tapped

    the rostrum.

    'Marcus will now play a little composition of my own.

    I 'op you all like him.'

    The audience wasn't sure, and started looking bewildered and at their watches, not understanding the music

    one bit.

    'Sounds as though the stable cat's got loose on the piano. Awful lot of wrong notes,' muttered Rupert.

    'I think they're meant to be, because it's modern,' whispered Taggie.

    'Hush,' said Rupert's ex-wife furiously.

    Rannaldini, who'd repeatedly refused to programme Boris's music, felt totally vindicated, and smirking, pretended to go to sleep again. Through almost closed eyes he was aware of Kitty, plump, white and quivering like a blancmange. It was cruel to compare her with the other very young wife in the room, but Rannaldini did so. Staring at Taggie Campbell-Black, he decided she was very desirable, particularly in that red cashmere polo-neck which had brought a flush to her cheeks. And what breasts, and what legs in that black suede mini-skirt! Her succulent thighs must be twice as long and half the width of Kitty's. She was reputed to be a marvellous cook, and to be adored by all Rupert's children, which was more than could be said for Kitty. How amusing to take Taggie off Rupert, thought Rannaldini, who liked long-distance challenges. As if willed by his lust, Taggie turned round and smiled without thinking because he looked familiar. Then, realizing they hadn't been introduced, she turned away, and Rannaldini suddenly encountered such a murderous glare from Rupert that he hastily looked up the row at Helen. She was stunning, too. Rupert certainly knew how to pick them. Rannaldini wished he had brought Cecilia to redress the balance, but he had exhausted her so much at The Savoy she couldn't be bothered to get out of bed.

    And now it was Natasha's turn to sing 'Hark, Hark the Lark'. Her voice was strident and she hadn't practised enough. Marcus played the accompaniment, and, being a kind boy, speeded up to get her through the difficult bits. The audience, who didn't know any better, seeing in their programme that she was a Rannaldini, gave her huge applause, led by Hermione.

    Rannaldini let his thoughts wander to the little blond flautist he had reduced to tears at the rehearsal. Tomorrow he would be stern at first, then stun her with a word of praise and ultimately ask her to his flat in Hyde Park Square for a drink. 'I only bully you, dearest child, because you have talent.'

    The orchestra, with Wolfie playing the clarinet, Natasha the violin and Marcus Campbell-Black the trumpet, were just murdering the 'Dove' from Respighi's The Birds, and plucking the poor thing as well, and Rannaldini was about to stage another of his very public walk-outs which would take all the attention off Boris, when Kitty whispered that the girl Wolfie was mad about was coming on next.

    The orchestra, who were going to end the concert with an Enigma Variation, stayed in their seats. Rannaldini couldn't imagine his stolid rugger-playing son being mad about anyone interesting, but when Flora strolled on to the platform, he couldn't take his eyes off her. Despite having several spots, greasy red hair the colour of tabasco and a pale green complexion from drinking at lunch time, she was the sexiest girl he'd ever seen. Her school shirt, drenched in white wine, clung almost transparently to her small jutting breasts, her tie was askew, her blackstockings laddered. Gazing truculently at the back of the hall she sang 'Speed Bonny Boat' unaccompanied and the room went still. Her voice was beyond criticism, sweet, pure, piercingly distinctive and delivered in a take-it-or-leave-it manner without a quiver of nerves. Her star quality was undeniable. Georgie clutched Guy's hand. Deeply moved, Guy couldn't resist glancing sideways, delighted at the dramatic effect his daughter's voice was having on Rannaldini. He didn't want her to become a pop star, but a career in classical music would be different. Perhaps Flora was learning to behave at

    last.

    But when Flora reached the line about winds roaring loudly and thunderclouds rending the air, she so empathized with tossing on a rough sea that she suddenly turned even greener, and, grabbing the nearest trumpet from a protesting Marcus, threw up into it.

    The first person to break the long and appalled silence was Rupert Campbell-Black, quite unable to control his

    laughter.

    Sod Wolfie, thought Rannaldini with a surge of excitement, I must have that girl.

    Georgie and Guy were so overwhelmed with mortification and, in Guy's case, white-hot rage that they nearly boycotted the drinks party afterwards. Miss Bottomley, who'd been looking for an excuse all term, was poised to sack Flora on the spot when Rannaldini glided up and smoothed everything over.