The Italian Girl (18 page)

‘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 into 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.

After the performance that evening, Rosanna and Abi made their way home. Rosanna was still buzzing with adrenaline from singing with Roberto earlier, but Abi seemed unusually quiet.

‘Coffee?’ asked Rosanna as they entered their apartment.

‘No, thank you. I think I’ll have an early night,’ replied Abi.

‘Please, Abi, tell me why you look so miserable. It is Roberto?’

‘No . . . I . . . oh yes, yes, it is . . .’ Abi burst into tears and sat down abruptly on the sofa.

Rosanna sat down beside her and put a tentative arm round her shoulder. After Abi had finally confessed the liaison to her, Rosanna had been devastated. But somehow she’d managed to quash her own deep feelings for Roberto for the sake of her friendship with Abi, by convincing herself that her only interest in him was a professional one. And that the cavalier way he treated women must mean he wasn’t worth wasting her feelings on. Yet however hard she tried, she still found it difficult and unsettling to talk about the affair.

‘I thought he made you happy, Abi,’ she managed. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Nothing. That’s the whole point. It was fine at first. You know how when he was in Milan, he used to find me at the theatre after the performance and we’d go back to his apartment? But ever since Easter he’s ignored me completely.’ Abi wiped her streaming eyes.

‘But you knew what he was like, Abi. You told me yourself that you wouldn’t care if it ended, you were just going to enjoy it while it lasted.’

‘Yes, yes, I know. I’m stupid, completely stupid. I promised myself I wouldn’t be like the others and fall for him, but I have. Oh Rosanna, do you think he’s found someone else?’

‘I don’t know, Abi,’ Rosanna replied honestly, wanting to comfort her friend, but thinking her supposition was probably true. ‘Please, try not to worry. You’ll forget about him soon anyway. There’ll be someone else for you.’

‘Excuse me for saying this, Rosanna, but you’ve never even had a crush, have you? You don’t know how it feels.’

‘No, you’re right. But all I can say is that he might be a miracle on the stage, but in matters of the heart I think he is a . . . bastard!’

A ghost of a smile hovered round Abi’s lips. ‘You swore, Rosanna!’

‘Yes, well, I think that this once God will forgive me. Abi, I know I’m no expert when it comes to relationships, but you will get over Roberto. After all, you told me you loved my brother Luca a few months ago. You seem to have got over him,’ Rosanna reminded her gently.

‘Have I?’ For a moment, Luca’s face hovered in Abi’s mind, but she shook her head to dispel the vision. ‘Anyway, it’s just my luck to meet someone else who’s out of my reach,’ Abi pouted. Then, noticing Rosanna’s concerned expression, she added, ‘Oh, you’re probably right. I’m sure I’ll get over Roberto soon enough. And whatever you may think, I don’t feel the same for Roberto as I did for your brother. I feel used, and my pride’s hurt, that’s all. But nothing’s permanent with Roberto, is it? God, he really is a shit and yet, when you’re with him, it’s like you’re the only woman in the world. He just makes you feel so . . . special.’