The Italian Girl (21 page)

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 remembered 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.

‘
Pronto?
’

‘Paolo here.’

‘What do you want?’ Roberto asked rudely, his thoughts still swimming with Donatella’s news.

‘Only to tell you that Covent Garden have asked Rosanna Menici to accompany you to London,’ replied Paolo crisply.

‘Yes, Chris told me yesterday.’ Roberto regained control of himself with an effort. He must think of his career. ‘I’m delighted, of course. We’re good together, yes?’

‘Yes, Roberto, you know you are. But just promise me one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Rosanna has never travelled abroad before. She’s going to a strange country and is nervous at the prospect. I want you to take very good care of her for me.’

‘You don’t even need to ask, Paolo. You know how fond I am of Rosanna. I’ll protect her from all harm, I promise you.’

‘Good. Would you be willing to rehearse
La Traviata
with her before you leave? She needs as much practice as she can get.’

‘Of course.’

‘Thank you. And Roberto?’

‘Yes?’

‘Just remember I have my spies in London.
Ciao
.’

Roberto slammed the receiver into its cradle. Why did everyone treat him like a naughty little boy who had to be told how to behave? He was fed up with Paolo, fed up with Donatella, and fed up with Milan. He was glad he had some months away. After London, he’d visit the villa he’d bought a couple of years ago on Corsica. He was exhausted. He needed a rest.

The one bright light on the horizon was that Rosanna would be with him in London. Roberto was amazed at just how fond of her he’d become, and had mused that she might be one of the reasons why Donatella’s charms had paled so dramatically of late. Rosanna didn’t demand, didn’t take from him as everyone else did. She was serene, balanced and a joy to sing with. Then, of course, there was that heavenly face and body. He found himself thinking about her incessantly and had dreamt of her on several occasions.

A strange thought entered Roberto’s head, and he wondered if he might be just a little bit in love with her. He pushed the thought from his mind as quickly as it had entered. It was almost certainly the fact that she seemed immune to his charms that made him want her more.

As for Donatella, she would have to be told she’d got it wrong. Roberto stood up and headed for the shower, grimly trying to convince himself that she’d understand.

Later that evening, Roberto arrived home, drained by a particularly difficult performance of
Don Giovanni
. The audience had been raucous, distracting the performers. The patrons at the after-party had seemed even more vacuous and demanding than usual. He’d left for his apartment at the earliest opportunity, longing for peace and some sleep.

He turned the key in the lock and discovered the door was already open. Chastising himself for his carelessness, Roberto wandered down the hall and opened the door to the sitting room.

‘Signor Rossini.’ The man stood up from the sofa and smiled at him with a chilling lack of warmth.

‘How . . . how did you get in here?’ Roberto stuttered.

‘It was very simple. I made a copy of my wife’s key. I’m Giovanni Bianchi. I believe we’ve met on a number of occasions at La Scala. I hope you don’t mind, but I poured myself a brandy while I waited. Shall I get you one too?’

Roberto nodded, too shocked to object. He sat down as he watched Giovanni pour the brandy into a glass. He mentally searched for an object to defend himself with and wondered whether, if he called out, the neighbours would come and investigate. With a sinking heart, Roberto realised his neighbours were used to regularly hearing him air his vocal cords at strange hours of the day and night.

This was it. Giovanni Bianchi had come to kill him for screwing his wife. He probably had a gun in his inside pocket that he would pull out at any moment. Roberto took the brandy and lifted it to his lips, his hand shaking.

Giovanni sat down in a chair opposite him.

‘So, my wife Donatella wishes to leave me to come and live with you. Well’ – Giovanni glanced around the room – ‘this apartment is certainly a little smaller than she is used to.’ Giovanni placed his brandy glass on the table in front of him and leant forward. ‘Signor Rossini, or may I call you Roberto?’

He nodded uneasily.

‘Roberto, let me be honest with you. I find myself in a strange and difficult position. My lovely wife of many years suddenly announces she wishes to leave me. This is bad enough, but then I discover the source of her
amore
is one of the most famous tenors in the world, certainly in Italy. I then think of the media, the way they would take such pleasure in dragging all three of us and our reputations through the mud.’

Giovanni paused to take a sip of his brandy. ‘Roberto, I am a man with a certain position in Milan. You might well understand that my pride would not allow me to be publicly humiliated by you and my wife. Besides that, I have to tell you there has never been a divorce in the Bianchi family. My mamma would turn in her grave. No, I think to myself, the situation is completely unacceptable. So what should I do? Arrange for Roberto to be disposed of?’ Giovanni looked at Roberto’s pale face, smiled, then shook his head. ‘No, even though he has committed adultery with my wife, I am a peaceful man. I decide that the best plan would be to discuss this with Roberto in a civilised fashion. Do you not agree?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, here I am. Tell me, have you asked my wife to move in with you?’

‘No, I haven’t. Ever.’ Roberto was surprised by the vehemence of his own voice. ‘And then, this afternoon, she tells me she’s leaving you. I was horrified, Signor Bianchi, believe me.’

‘Giovanni, please, Roberto. Do you love my wife?’

‘I . . . she is very beautiful and I am very fond of her but—’

‘You have had a pleasant arrangement that Donatella is now trying to make into something more permanent.’ Giovanni finished the sentence for him. ‘This is not something you want, I take it?’

Roberto shook his head nervously, not wishing to insult Giovanni’s wife, but wanting to clarify his position.

Giovanni nodded thoughtfully. ‘I imagined this might be the case. Donatella is at a . . . difficult age. She is losing her youth, her hormones may be playing tricks on her and she believes she’s in love with you. So, Roberto, what can we do to stop her making this bad decision?’

‘I’ll tell her tomorrow it’s all over between us. In a way, it will be a relief to end it,’ replied Roberto candidly.

‘And you think that will stop her pursuing you?’

‘Of course. I shall refuse to take her calls, avoid her completely.’

Giovanni shook his head. ‘It’s not so easy to avoid a determined woman. Especially a woman like my wife. There’ll be many occasions in the future when you are bound to meet. You see, Roberto, my wife and I have always had an understanding between us. We have each turned a blind eye and used discretion. I’m a tolerant man, but I would be so unhappy if a whisper of your affair with my wife appeared in any newspapers.’

‘But it won’t. We were always careful.’

‘Perhaps, but that was before Donatella fell in love with you. While she is so unstable, she may not wish to be careful any longer. I gather she would like the whole world to know of your affair. No.’ Giovanni shook his head again. ‘Merely telling her it’s over is not the answer.’

‘So . . . what do you suggest?’

‘I believe I’ve thought of the best plan, Roberto. Distance is the key. If you are not here, she cannot see you.’

‘I’m to go away to London in a few weeks. I’ll be out of the country for three months. That should be long enough for the dust to settle.’

‘It’s a good start, certainly, Roberto, but I think it will take longer than that for Donatella’s obsession to leave her. I would suggest you stay away from Milan . . . no, let us say from Italy, for at least five years. Maybe forever, if necessary.’

Roberto looked at him as if he were mad. ‘But I have professional commitments, performances at La Scala that are already booked for the next year.’

‘Then I suggest you cancel them.’ The smile was still in place, but Giovanni’s eyes were hard and cold. ‘As I’ve said, I’m a reasonable man. If you agree, we can solve this conundrum very simply. If you don’t agree, then things become . . . a little more complicated.’

‘You’re threatening me, Giovanni.’

‘No, I’m suggesting a solution.’

‘And what if I refuse?’

Giovanni picked up his brandy glass and drained it. ‘Life is sadly full of unseen perils and freak accidents, Roberto. I would hate to think of you falling prey to such things.’ He stood up. ‘I think we understand each other. You are a sensible man. You will make a sensible decision. To help you, I’ve provided two gentlemen who will watch your every move. Until you leave Italy they will be with you. And remember, there will not be a pleasant welcome here if you ever decide to return.’

‘But Donatella will call me. She might even arrive here unannounced if I don’t speak to her.’

‘No. Tomorrow Donatella leaves with me for New York. She has agreed to come on the premise of discussing a separation agreement. We will be away for three weeks. By the time we arrive back in Milan, you will have gone. Don’t think you can come back to any part of Italy unnoticed. I have . . . friends who will inform me of your arrival. Do we have a deal, Roberto?’

‘Yes,’ he murmured miserably, knowing he had no choice but to agree.

‘Good. Then it’s settled. I’m glad. I do loathe violence of any kind. Goodbye, Roberto. I shall miss you at La Scala.’

Roberto watched Giovanni leave the room and heard the front door close behind him. After a few seconds, he stood up and walked over to the window. Down below, he could see a car parked on the opposite side of the street. Two men were leaning against it, staring up at his apartment. He moved away from the window.