Highly Strung (19 page)

Lydia put down her menu and stared.

“Really?”

“Really.”

She reached out and took Lydia’s hand.

The waiter appeared and she dropped it abruptly, giving him the order for food and drinks.

Once he was gone, Lydia tried to change the subject, commenting on the Czech cuisine, but Mary-Ann didn’t want to be diverted.

“As I was saying,” she continued.

“What were you saying?”

“I couldn’t have got this far without you. You’ve kept me going when things were rough and I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s okay.” Lydia looked around her, hearing raised voices from Milan’s corner, her heart bumping.

“Lydia, you’re so nervous! But so am I, actually. Really, really nervous.”

Lydia returned her attention to the conductor. “Nervous? What about? The concert?”

“No, not the concert. About being here…with you.”

“What…why would that make you nervous?”

Lydia heard a bang on a table, like a fist landing. Crockery rattled. She looked around, then back at Mary-Ann, hardly taking in what her friend was saying.

“Lydia.” Mary-Ann seized her hand again, tighter this time. “Don’t you know how I feel about you?”

“How you feel…? Oh, Mary-Ann! Are you saying that you…?”

“I’m saying that I have the worst crush on you. I’ve worried and worried that you don’t like girls, but I’ve decided to lay my cards on the table and get it out in the open. Do you think you could ever be with a woman?”

“Well, actually, I have been,” said Lydia, thinking of the party in Vienna.

Mary-Ann’s face lit up. “Oh, I knew it! I’m so…oh! That’s wonderful!”

“Thanks,” said Lydia distractedly, her ears on stalks. There was a scraping of chair legs on the floor, then she saw Evgeny’s head over the top of the wooden booth. He didn’t look happy.

“Fuck you!” he bellowed.

“Oh dear,” said Mary-Ann, shaken out of her declaration. “Trouble in paradise.”

“You take my point about the drama,” said Lydia, chest tight, clenching her fists so her nails dug into her palms.

Evgeny bolted and Milan stood up to pursue him. Afraid of being spotted, Lydia ducked down under the table while the troubled lovers stormed out of the restaurant and disappeared into the crowded square.

“Are you all right?” asked Mary-Ann.

“Fine, fine,” said Lydia, emerging. “Just…dropped something out of my bag. Um. I’m not sure I’m very hungry, to be honest. I might just…go back to the concert hall.”

“But I’ve ordered now!”

“I’m so sorry, Mary-Ann. I feel a little bit unwell. I don’t think I can eat.”

“Maybe if you sit still for a minute—”

“The smell of the food is making it worse. I have to go. I’m sorry.”

Lydia snatched up her bag and ran out of the restaurant, knowing that she was treating Mary-Ann unfairly, but needing to find out what had happened between Milan and Evgeny.

She crossed the square and negotiated the narrow streets as quickly as she could, weaving through great gatherings of tourists listening to talks in every language imaginable, until she reached the grounds of the concert hall. A few of her fellow players sat here and there on the grass, eating sausages wrapped in pastry lattices from a nearby vendor.

“What’s with Milan?” one of the oboists asked her as she hastened over the lawns.

“You’ve seen him? Is he here?”

“Yeah, we just saw him run halfway across Charles Bridge then stop and run back here. He’s inside. Looked as if he was about to have a heart attack.”

“What about Evgeny? Have you seen him?”

The oboist and her friends shrugged and shook their heads. Lydia ran onwards to the auditorium.

At first, she didn’t see Milan. The hall was almost empty apart from a caretaker vacuuming the plush seats. Then, walking forward, she found him slumped in the front row, his head in his hands, long legs sprawled out in front of him.

“Milan,” she said softly, moving to the seat beside him. “Did it go badly?”

He lifted his head and looked at her. He had tears in his eyes. She put a hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What for?”

“I feel like it’s all my fault. Like I’ve split you and Evgeny up.”

Milan shook his head and grabbed her hand, squeezing it.

“It’s not your fault. Don’t be silly.” He sighed. “I don’t know… I’ve finished it with so many people before. This feels different.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“My reasons for finishing it, I suppose. Not because I’m bored this time. Not because he is too needy—although he is. But because I have a new life to make, and a real future in my own country. It felt like shedding a burden. I feel free. But I am worried about him, I must admit.”

“What did you tell him? What did he say?”

“I told him the truth. That I wanted to stay here, try to rebuild my relationship with my mother. He didn’t know how to take it. First he started talking about how difficult it would be for him to get a visa to stay here. Then he realised I wasn’t including him in my plan.”

“Oh, poor Evgeny.”

“Don’t say ‘poor Evgeny’! This is what you want!”

“Not like this, though. I wish nobody had to get hurt.”

“So do I. It’s not possible, though, is it? Anyway, he asked if you were staying with me. He didn’t like the answer and stormed off. I lost him in one of the side streets.”

“I wonder where he went. And if he’ll come back for the rest of the rehearsal.”

“I guess he’s gone to the hotel. Or he’s drinking himself senseless in some bar. Actually, that’s the most likely.”

“Shit.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. The caretaker left. As the door banged shut, Milan looked over his shoulder, then smiled lopsidedly at Lydia, red-rimmed eyes crinkling at the edges.

“Have you ever had sex in a concert hall?” he wondered aloud.

“Milan!” Lydia looked at her watch. “People will start coming back in about twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes is long enough for a knee-trembler, no?”

He moved his hand to her thigh, rubbing it while his lips found hers for a kiss. Their passionate embrace served to banish all the worries and concerns about Evgeny and bring their passion back into focus. As the kiss consumed them, Lydia found herself lifted to her feet by Milan’s strong arm around her waist, and moved back until her bottom bumped against the stage.

She lost herself in sensation, devouring his embraces, yielding to his hunger until her shirt buttons were undone and her jeans around her knees. She let him lift her so that she sat on the edge of the stage, legs spread as wide as her denim restraints would allow, hands grappling with his belt, wanting this to happen now, quickly, without delay.

He helped her, simultaneously yanking her jeans down and off with a foot and fumbling in a pocket for the ever-present condom.

Once it was on, he didn’t even bother to remove her knickers but simply shoved them aside and entered her quickly and cleanly, gasping as he reached the hilt.

Lydia moaned and clung on to him, lips still locked on to his, legs wrapped tight around his hips.

He moved seamlessly into a fast rhythm. Lydia leant back so that he bent over her, the angle inviting more and more friction while his belt jingled and their skin slapped together.

Rough animal grunts jerked from his mouth to hers in time with his thrusts. Her fingers pinched and nails dug in while she used her body to grip him hard and lock him into her. She wanted to be flooded with him, part of him, belonging to him.

She chewed on his lips and he returned the gesture, teeth clashing, skin beginning to slide, clothes beginning to cling, steam beginning to rise. She stiffened, feeling the stirrings of orgasm, fingers flexing, tiny anguished yelps smothered by his domineering mouth.

He worked her through her climax, keeping her held fast while sensation ripped its way through her, then he sped into his own, finally breaking the kiss to roar into the crook of her neck, fanning hot breath beneath her ear.

Despite her trembling, she managed to hang on to him, taking great lungfuls of his scent until her breathing settled.

“I love you,” he said.

“Oh God, I love you, so much,” she blurted, on the verge of tears.

“But we have to rehearse.” He kissed her neck. “Come on. Let’s get dressed.”

As he stepped away from her, to pick up her jeans with one hand while the other dealt with the condom, Lydia caught a movement from the door at the top left of the auditorium.

She put a hand over her mouth in horror, hiding her indecency with the jeans Milan had just handed her.

Standing in a pose of absolute shock at the far end of the hall was Mary-Ann.

“Oh, God! Sorry!”

With those words, Mary-Ann turned and fled.

“Fuck!” exclaimed Lydia. “Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck. What are we going to do?”

Milan finished buttoning up his trousers and shrugged, one eyebrow raised.

“Why does it matter? This could be our last day with the WSO. Tomorrow we quit.”

“No, but…Mary-Ann. I’ve lied to her, deceived her. About us. I feel so guilty. And about Evgeny. Oh, shit. What have we done?”

“Mary-Ann will survive.”

“But she…just now…she said she liked me. As more than a friend.”

Milan’s look of rueful amusement irritated Lydia.

“It’s serious, Milan. People’s hearts are serious.”

“Okay, okay. You didn’t ask her to fancy you, did you?”

“No, but I feel like I’ve been toying with her. Playing with her feelings. I feel like a bad person. You make me into a bad person.”

“Come on now!”

“You do! I never used to be like this, ruining people’s love lives left, right and centre. I used to be nice.”

“You’re still nice—” Milan reached out for her, but she snatched her arm away.

“I’m a bitch, sneaking around behind people’s backs. And so are you.”

“Okay, now listen.” Milan’s tone was stern and he took hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Maybe we haven’t always made the right choices. Maybe we haven’t been as kind as we could be. But nobody has been intentionally cruel and the important thing is that we are together, yes?”

Lydia sniffed. “Yeah,” she said in a tiny voice.

“Evgeny will go back to London. Mary-Ann will go back to London. They will have successful careers—especially Mary-Ann now I’m out of the picture—and they will meet other people. Won’t they?”

“I suppose so.”

“People who are better suited to them, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“You and I will stay in Prague, get orchestra work, or maybe I’ll get a conducting gig. We’ll be happy. Nobody else will get hurt. Okay? This part is painful, but it will end, and everyone will be happier and better off for it. Look at me. Say ‘I know, Milan’.”

“I know, Milan.”

“Good girl.”

He hugged her, briefly but tightly, then stepped back.

“Now we need to wash our faces and get ready for rehearsal. Go on now.”

He slapped her bottom, sending her on her way to the ladies’ restroom.

As she mopped her flushed face with a damp tissue, Lydia thought about her situation. The rest of the day was going to be horrible—a rehearsal under the baton of a betrayed Mary-Ann, facing a heartbroken Evgeny, would be anything but pleasant.

But, after the concert, Milan’s mother would come backstage and they would give Mary-Ann their resignations then it would all be over. New beginnings; a new life.

She put a comb through her hair, sprayed a freshening spritz of perfume on her wrists and temples and headed back out to the concert hall, where various orchestral players were arriving in small groups.

By the time a pale and subdued Mary-Ann showed up, everyone was at their seats tuning up their instruments. Everyone, that was, except Evgeny.

Milan’s theory about him getting drunk at a bar seemed doubly plausible, thought Lydia. Oh, well. It was understandable. Optimistically, she pictured him drowning his sorrows in a gay bar and meeting a handsome stranger.

The thought cheered her enough to sustain her through the afternoon rehearsal, even though Mary-Ann’s quiet, defeated demeanour gave her plenty of guilty pangs.

Once they finished and headed to the dressing rooms to change into their concert wear, Lydia tried to hang back and catch a few words with the crestfallen conductor.

“Mary-Ann,” she started, blocking her way to the wings.

“Let me pass, will you? I’ve got interviews with the Czech press and TV. One of them’s a two-hander with Milan. That’ll be nice.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to mislead you—”

“Yes, you did. You presented yourself as my friend—as someone who was with me and against Milan. And all the time he was shagging you. How the hell do you expect me to feel? How would you feel?”

“Awful. I’m sorry…”

“It’s not going to be good enough. I’m going to do this concert then I’m going to resign as soon as we’re back in London.”

“Oh, Mary-Ann, don’t! You mustn’t!”

“Don’t tell me what to do. Now, are you going to get out of my way, or do I have to make a fuss with security?”

Lydia stood aside and let Mary-Ann pass. Tears pricked her eyes, but she knew she didn’t deserve the luxury of self-pity. Mary-Ann had every right to her anger and sorrow.

“What’s up?” Vanessa zipped herself into her slinky black gown and turned to Lydia, who still sat on a stool in her jeans and shirt, staring at her reflection.

“I’m a horrible cow, Ness,” she said.

“No, you aren’t! What’s brought this on? Is it Milan?”

“No. Yes. No. I don’t know. I’m supposed to be happy and I feel like a serial killer instead.”

“Oh, come on, Lyd. Is it something to do with Evgeny? Where is he?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. There’s nothing I
can
do.”

“Yes, there is. You can stop spouting all this crap and get your concert dress on. It’s only half an hour before we go onstage and you haven’t touched the buffet table yet. You’ll faint halfway through
Má Vlast
at this rate.”

Vanessa was right. Brooding wasn’t going to solve anything. Lydia shimmied into her black dress then went to pick at a few salads, looking over her shoulder for Milan or Evgeny or Mary-Ann as her fellow musicians milled around the Green Room.