Appassionata

‘I cannot eat before dancing, I am much too exciting.’

He reminded Marcus terrifyingly of Rupert. He had the same cool arrogance, the same predatory ability to pick off anything he chose. He was now having a terrrific Russian row with Evgenia, because she’d ordered him a Dover sole, rather than Tournedos Rossini, and when Boris tried to defuse things, turned on him as well. Then Alexei emptied a glass of red wine over Boris, Boris emptied one over Alexei and they both smashed their glasses against the wall. The management were just moving in to break the whole thing up when they saw the two dripping men were laughing uproariously and left them to it.

Then as instantly they stopped laughing, because Boris asked Alexei about Russia.

‘There is no money,’ Alexei’s voice was deeper than the Corsair’s ocean, a thrilling, husky, basso profundo, ‘we are crippled by bureaucracy, the Mafia and chaos. There is no hope internally, eet must come from outside. I am OK, I come and go as I please, because I am beeg star. Everyone else is starving. Democracy does not feed people. So I owe eet to geeve my country spiritual uplift. You must come back, Boris, at least make visit.’

Boris, mopping his eyes with his table napkin, was so moved he drained both his own and Evgenia’s glass.

‘As Chekhov say,’ he sighed, ‘Freedom is destiny we may never reach, but we must squeeze slavery out of ourselves drop by drop,’ which reminded him his glass was empty, so he waved at the waiter to bring more bottles.

Trying to include Marcus, Abby told the others that he’d just played the Rachmaninov and Howie was trying to wangle him a date with the Royal Scottish National Orchestra playing Prokofiev’s Third Piano Concerto.

‘My father was friend of Prokofiev,’ said Alexei, his glittering eyes trailing round the table.

‘Just then a beeg grey wolf did come out of the forest,’ he said softly, and threw back his head and laughed showing off long flaring nostrils and the stubble darkening his beautiful strong neck, which had left make-up on the collar of his white shirt.

Oh Christ, thought Marcus, what the hell’s going to become of me? He felt dizzy with longing. Misinterpreting his distress, Evgenia said sympathetically that it was very difficult to make it as a pianist.

‘Marcus is very shy, too,’ Abby told her in Russian.

‘Is he?’ drawled Alexei in English, raising a jet-black eyebrow and staring at Marcus until he went scarlet.

‘Then he must make record in Prague. Until you have record you are nuzzing. To managers, engagers, musical directors, record is all.’

‘Serena at Megagram liked you a lot, Marcus,’ said Boris encouragingly. ‘She vill pick up production cost of record. I vill conduct for free, you will only need a few grand to pay the orchestra.’

‘Great, I’ll help out,’ said Abby eagerly.

Sensing Marcus would like to get off the subject, Evgenia asked Abby about her orchestra. In no time Abby was telling her about the RSO’s financial plight and Rannaldini’s latest act of vandalism, programming an Opera Gala on the same day as their centenary celebrations.

‘Rannaldini is very bad man,’ said Alexei. ‘He conduct in Moscow. Never again, eet was so fast, Swan Lake become Swan Rapids.’

Abby took a deep breath.

‘Oh Alexei, you’re not possibly free on Sunday 7 May to dance at our gala — only for ten minutes or so? It would honestly save us from going belly-up.’

In order to maintain his glitzy lifestyle, Alexei had been known to dance on a pin if the money was good enough but suddenly he agreed to appear at the gala for next to nothing. He and Evgenia would be in Paris at the time. As the gala was on a Sunday they could just nip over for the evening.

‘I would like that,’ smiled Evgenia, ‘I love Vest Country.’

‘You always need vest in Eengland,’ mocked Alexei.

A manic Abby hugged them both.

‘Oh thank you. That’ll zap Rannaldini and Harefield at Cotchester. People’ll fly in from all over the world to watch you two. What would you like to dance?’

‘Prokofiev,’ said Alexei, shooting a mocking glance at Marcus. ‘Romeo and Juliet. Stony leemits cannot keep love out.’

The waiters, trying not to yawn, were laying tables for the morrow. As they were leaving, Boris gave Alexei a score of Rachel’s Requiem, which had just been published.

‘Who did you dedicate it to, Flora or me or Marcus?’ asked Abby turning the pages. ‘To Astrid,’ she read in outrage.

Boris shrugged: ‘Someone ‘as to babyseet.’

The bridges along the Embankment glittered like necklaces on the night, buds thickened against a dun- coloured sky, the park was full of daffodils.

‘An ’orse guard, an ’orse guard, my keengdom for an ’orse guard,’ yelled Alexei, as the taxi swung into St James’s Street, dropping off him and Evgenia at the Stafford.

Abby and Marcus were staying at the Ritz. In the lift up, Abby put an idle hand on Marcus’s cock.

‘Oh my God.’ She gave a whoop of joy. Perhaps Marcus was suddenly relaxed because Howie was getting him work, and she and Boris were going to make a record with him. Potency was so allied to success.

They were hardly inside the door when Abby turned to him, putting her hands on his shoulders, drawing him towards her, not daring to breathe as she felt him rising against her.

There was no time to wash. She unzipped both their flies and left him to wriggle out of his trousers and boxer shorts as she ripped off the orange trousers of her suit. The next moment they were on the floor and he was inside her.

‘Aaah,’ moaned Abby, ‘that feels so good.’

The sex after that was fantastic. Marcus was so turned on by the thought of Alexei that with eyes shut and in desperate hunger he made love to Abby all night.

‘I knew it would come right, if we gave it time,’ sobbed a joyful Abby.

Marcus was so exhausted he forgot to take his asthma pills and had a bad attack in the morning. Driving back in the afternoon, they agreed not to tell anyone for the moment. Abby, however, couldn’t resist confiding in Flora, who was surprisingly unenthusiastic.

Abby construed this as jealousy because Flora hadn’t got a man at the moment. But Flora, who’d always suspected Marcus was gay, thought the whole thing would end in tears, and in turn couldn’t resist confiding in Viking, who was equally unenthusiastic and drove Abby crackers referring to the Centenary Concert as the ‘Gayla’ because Dancer Maitland and Alexei were taking part.

‘Alexei is not gay,’ yelled Abby, ‘He has a beautiful “partner” called Evgenia.’

Privately Abby was convinced Alexei had only agreed to dance because he fancied her. At any rate she had scored colossal brownie points with the board for providing Alexei, particularly when Declan O’Hara declared himself horrified by Rannaldini’s and the CCO’s attempts to sabotage Rutminster’s centenary celebration.

‘I’m afraid Edith’s lost any real interest in the orchestra since she shacked up with Monica,’ he told George over the telephone and then offered to read Peter and the Wolf at the gala.

Marcus was still reeling from meeting Alexei. He longed to talk to Flora, but felt it would be disloyal to Abby. If only he could have confided in Taggie. As an olive branch he sent her a Mother’s Day card, but heard nothing back.

FORTY-NINE

Once it became known that Nemerovsky and Ilanova would be dancing, the gala became a total sell-out. Miles was panicking how to pack a tenth of the audience into the H.P. Hall when a gilt fig leaf obligingly fell off one of the cherubs adorning the front of the dress circle, just missing the Lady Mayoress. Restoring the cherub’s