The Maestro (21 page)

Linda buried
her head in the fluffed up pillow of the bed and grabbed hold of
the edge of the mattress. Linda crouched down behind her, and
taking Paco's cock licked its length, then nibbled on the thick
dome before inserting it into Linda's moist quim.

'Now slowly
and don't you dare come too soon,' she warned her husband.

His cock was
long and thick, so thick that she felt her pussy walls bulge as he
butted into her. He grabbed hold of her by the hips and impaled her
on him. Without moving his cock he pushed her a little off him and
then slammed her back onto him, his cock reaching even further
inside her. She liked the way he fucked her, manipulating her hips,
pinching the skin, while Suzanne took the bud of her clitoris
between her fingers and nipped on it, surprising her with a sharp
jolt of pain amongst the pleasure of being rammed onto Paco's hard
stiff meat.

His rhythm
increased slowly. From what Suzanne had said she was so frightened
that Paco would come and the rough pleasure he was bringing to her
would be as swiftly taken away. Her fears were confirmed when she
felt the muscles in his thighs stiffen as he rammed her extra hard.
But Suzanne saved the day, nipping the base of his shaft and then
withdrawing the cock altogether, letting the crisis pass before
inserting the cock once more inside her.

'Slowly,' she
advised him again.

This time he
heeded her and slamming Linda down as ferociously, probably more
ferociously than before, allowed more time between strokes. This
was fantastic; a long, slow almost languorous fuck, with the added
bonus of having Suzanne's deft fingers squeezing her clit, knowing
exactly when to add pressure and when to release her grip.

Paco rode her
with seeming calm assurance, as if every night of the week he was
called to sexually administer to a beautiful blond English girl
while his wife crouched down and nipped her clitoris.

But the
pressure was building up inside him again, but this time Linda
didn't mind so much because she knew she was on the outer limits of
her own climax. She knew that as soon as he ejaculated inside her
it would consequence her own orgasm.

But Suzanne
did not seem happy with the prospect and pulled Paco out again.

'How about
there? I would like to see that. Why don't you put your cock into
her here,' Suzanne said, now suggesting more than telling. 'Don't
worry about her. She looks like a girl who would like to have a
cock in her ass,' she said in Spanish.

The mere
prospect ascended Linda to a higher plane, as she felt the slicked
dome of Paco's cock pressing against the knotty surrounding flesh,
moistening the whole cleft of her bottom in his attempt to gain
entry. Then she felt the tip of his phallus expanding the outer
flesh to what seemed impossible lengths, and slowly sliding down
her, making her gasp in amazed pleasure as Paco pushed further and
further into her, while Suzanne crept between her legs and began to
suck rapidly on her clitoris.

Paco seemed to
have his whole length inside her. Linda could not believe how his
could go any further but it did, edging inside her until it was
almost unbearable. Then as he had done before, he began to move her
on and off him, manipulating her with his hands, but this time it
was even better, even tighter as she felt the pressure of him
inside her. Now Paco was coming. She clenched her muscles over him.
As he rammed into her he squeezed hard on her hips. She felt his
burning seed shoot up her, searing the clenched inner muscles of
her. She threw up her head in orgasm, the waves and waves of
pleasure that had been accumulating with each stroke exploding into
one of the most overwhelming orgasms she had ever had.

Afterwards, as
Paco exhausted from his exertions dozed on the bed, Suzanne
escorted Linda to the bathroom where she took a quick shower. When
she was finished, Suzanne helped dry her body.

'I don't know
if it will work,' Suzanne said smiling, 'but thank you for trying.
He has seen me differently. He knows I am not the woman he thought
I was. Now it's up to him. But if he doesn't change, I don't think
I can stay. My life is not for wasting.'

At the door as
they said goodbye, Suzanne turned and kissed her lightly on the
cheek.

'I'm going to
wake him up and see if he has any more lead in his gun,' she said,
laughing as she closed the door.

Linda laughed,
then walked out into the humid night air, feeling alive and human
again after all those weeks of isolation, wondering what tomorrow
would have in store. It would be Alfonso first, then maybe Delgado.
Alfonso could give her the potential monetary value of the
paintings, but she felt that it was only Delgado who could tell her
their artistic worth.

'They're
great, absolutely. There is nobody doing this kind of thing,'
Alfonso exclaimed when they met in La Cafe de L'Opera. He'd told
her that he'd looked at every single one and that he had done
nothing else that morning.

'That's
reassuring.' She was slightly wary of Alfonso's artistic judgement.
It wasn't so much that she didn't value his artistic opinion, but
that she knew he was an inveterate flatterer and flirt with women.
She could not be totally certain of him, because she could not
envisage, unlike Delgado, Alfonso pronouncing her work to be
rubbish. That little statement for example about nobody doing
anything like her, could there be a tinge of the euphemistic about
it?

'How
much?'

'Individually
or collectively?'

'The whole
lot.' It was not that she was so concerned about how much money she
could get for her work, it was more that it might draw some honesty
from Alfonso. Flatterer though he was, he was an art dealer and art
dealers did not talk rashly about money.

'Well that
really is hard...'

'Don't
prevaricate, Alfonso.'

'I'm not
prevaricating. The problem lies partly in their originality. You
know all that thing about Van Gogh only selling one painting when
he was alive. Well it's just as true today that sometimes it takes
people a long time to catch up with the artist.'

'You mean I
have to wait until I'm dead.' She slurped on her wine, and peered
into Alfonso's eyes seeing if she could detect what he really
thought.

'Well I hope
not. But as I said the art world has always been conservative, but
it is probably even more conservative now. You've seen the swimming
pools and the expensive life styles, mine included to know that art
is big business, and once things turn so horrifically commercial
then people get very cold feet about taking risks with new
artists.'

'Is this a way
of telling me that it's all been pointless.'

'Linda, don't
be so defeatist. I like them. I think they can sell. And I, being
an artist, am prepared to put my money where my mouth is.'

'What do you
mean?'

'I mean I
think that they are absolutely fabulous and I am prepared to risk a
lot of money on them, even before you have an exhibition. After the
exhibition we should have a better idea of their value, but I'll
buy them all off you now if you want.'

She didn't
particularly like the idea of giving over all her work so quickly,
though a couple of months ago to be sitting with Alfonso talking
money would have been a dream.

'I'm not so
sure.' The other thing was that as she didn't trust Alfonso's
objective opinion, nor did she trust him as a businessman. She had
heard him boast in London about the great deals he had made, and
she had surmised that these were often at the expense of the poor
artist.

'Listen, I
want to get involved. I really do value your work both as an artist
and an art dealer. You know that these are two separate things,' he
smiled at her, 'I'll give you a choice if you like. Either I'll buy
everything of you and give you a damn good price for them
considered that nobody has seen them yet, or I'll be your agent.
You know I have some great contacts.'

'I know,
Alfonso, but I just wouldn't like to make any decisions at the
moment. I want to get more than one opinion. I've got a meeting
with Delgado this evening. You don't mind if I take him around to
see them.'

'Yes I
do.'

'Why?' Linda
was angry. Even if Alfonso was storing the paintings for her, he
didn't really have ownership of them, or have the right to stop her
from showing them to anyone she wanted to.

'Because I
don't trust him. There are things I know connected with my trip to
Zurich and New York that I can't tell you about. I can't stop you
showing them to him, I know, but you asked me if I minded and I do.
I worry for you, worry that he'll destroy you as an artist, maybe
as a woman.'

'What is it
you know about Delgado?'

'Look, Delgado
is a powerful man. I'm not just talking about his personality, we
all know about that. I mean he's a powerful man in the art world.
He has contacts, many more than I have. At least three galleries in
Barcelona are run by him, although his name does not appear
anywhere. He can break you.'

'I know about
the galleries. That doesn't mean that I don't value his opinion.
He's a great teacher, you said so yourself.'

'He is a good
teacher, and I certainly believed in him, but what I've learnt in
the last couple of weeks...'

'And what have
you learnt?'

'I've learnt
that he's dangerous, especially to someone like you, and that he's
not to be trusted by anyone.'

'Couldn't you
be more specific?'

'Linda, there
is nothing I would like more, but I really can't, I gave my word,
and I keep my word.'

'If that is
the way you feel about it then Alfonso, I think that you can forget
any business relationship between us or any kind of relationship at
all,' she said standing up, turning her back on Alfonso and walking
stridently out of the cafe.

She had been
incensed by his attitude, by his obtuseness. It must have hurt him
more than he realised, more than she realised being rejected by
Delgado. Alfonso didn't know what he was talking about. She knew
Delgado much better than he did. All those hours that they had
spent talking about art, about life. There was a lot about him that
she found repulsive, false, pretentious, but when it came to art
she trusted him more than anyone.

She could hear
Alfonso walking behind her, calling out of her name in the people
congested Ramblas. She hailed a cab and picking out the key to the
studio where her paintings had been stored, she headed to retrieve
them from Alfonso's grasp.

Pride and her
anger at Alfonso had made her walk out on him, but now that she was
in the cab she panicked. What on earth was she going to do with all
those paintings? She couldn't very well store them at the hotel.
She thought of Delgado. She could call him, but what Alfonso had
said did scare her. The man and the artist in contrast to Delgado's
aesthetic philosophy were not the same thing. The artist, and she
had seen and praised his work often, was probably unsurpassable by
contemporary standards; the man was intriguing, forceful, sensual,
and had been generous with her in terms at least of nurturing her
art. However, there was also something quite despicable about him,
the way that he dismissed other's work, scorned their brave
attempts. She couldn't forget the sadness he had brought to people
like Damian and Rebecca, and how bitterly twisted he had made
Alfonso, nor the way he manipulated people and seemingly discarded
them when they were of no use.

No, something
prevented her from phoning Delgado. The only other person she could
think who would have the space to store her paintings was Maria.
She was sure Maria would help her.

She was
relieved to find Maria at home when she rang her from outside
Alfonso's personal studio. She had told her the very basic details
trying not to apportion blame either to Alfonso or herself, just
saying that they'd had an argument. Maria was more than happy to
store the paintings at the family villa. She would come round with
somebody in an hour.

She was as
good as her word. She pulled up in a white Bedford van on the
corner of the narrow street where Linda was baking in the midday
sun.

Maria always
looked beautiful with those adorable wide eyes and that classical
mouth. Linda could never quite get the word statuesque out of her
mind when she saw her. She was dressed casually enough in patched
jeans and a thin white tee-shirt that totally covered her chest but
left her midriff exposed.

'I'm so
grateful you came.'

'Don't
worry.'

'I was
expecting Alfonso to turn up and create a scene.'

'He rang me, I
told him to have the sense to stay away.'

'Oh, thanks
again.'

'Okay let's
get the paintings in the van.'

When they were
all loaded, Linda climbed up beside Maria and they drove off in the
direction of Maria's family villa.

'Linda they
are fantastic, the paintings, I love them.' She hadn't made any
comments as they had been carrying them down to the van, but Linda
had noticed Maria inspecting each of the paintings as she covered
them with a plentiful supply of dustsheets she had brought with
her.

'I'm glad you
like them.'

'There was one
in particular. I don't know what it is called. It was full of
different shades of blue, waves of blue, and on the border there
was such a bright red colour. It was fantastic. I can't describe
it; I mean how it made me feel. There was a dark figure, well not
exactly a figure, but more of an impression of a figure in a very
dark blue, it looked like a woman reclining. It was so serene.'

'I'm glad you
liked it. I'm more than glad. I thought about you when I painted
it. No, I didn't just think about you. I meditated on you, and what
you were and how you made me feel.'