Appassionata

‘Good luck, my friends, not that either of you need it,’ followed by little jokey asides in Italian and in German.

‘This is Flora Seymour,’ George propelled her forward like a reluctant dog towards the vet. ‘Who is very courageously standing in. I know you’ll give her every assistance, Maestro.’

‘We know each other,’ said Rannaldini flatly. Only Flora could read the implacable hatred in the midnight- black eyes.

‘Rannaldini was once with me in Paradise,’ she said sadly.

The orchestra gave her a great cheer when she came on, but a rictus animal grin was frozen on her face.

As his chief executive collapsed into the seat beside him, Lord Leatherhead noticed that George hadn’t changed and his seersucker jacket was covered in grass stains.

‘Hope you know what you’re doing, George.’

Only then did George pause and realize what he had done in his desperation for the concert to go ahead. There was the poor child looking frightened out of her wits and absolutely tiny beside Walter. How could he have bullied her into it? Suddenly despite the now-stifling heat of the evening he, too, was drenched in icy sweat. As he opened his programme, Hermione’s serene and lovely face smiled up at him. Getting out a biro, George drew a moustache on it. Along the front of the stage, huge regale lilies were scenting the hot evening air.

‘I would never have wasted my best blooms if I’d known that trollop was going to sing,’ hissed Peggy Parker.

Rannaldini had deliberately chosen to wear black tails braided with satin, so he would stand out more dramatically against the white DJs and shocking pink jackets of the RSO. Down whisked his stick introducing Chaos which was portrayed by deafening discordant crashes, interspersed with sweet pianissimo murmurs on the strings followed by woodwind calling to each other across the dark void.

Flora was dimly aware behind her of Rannaldini’s beautifully manicured hands controlling the orchestra, hands that had once explored every inch of her body and brought her to the ultimate corrupt pleasure.

Perched on a gold chair, glared at by a vast crowd, she had a fifteen minutes’ wait before her first aria, and what terrible words to start with.

‘Astonished Heaven’s happy host gazes upon the wondrous work.’

Words and notes were a jumble of black. Alphonso and Walter had already sung. The audience were looking slightly less hostile. Here we go. Flora stood up. No-one could miss her frantically trembling legs — that must be why singers wore long dresses. Rannaldini gave her a curt nod.

‘Astonished haven’s hippy host,’ sang Flora, her voice coming out breathy and squeaky, ‘gazes on the wondrous wok.’

Someone laughed, someone booed.

‘And from their throats rings out praise,’ croaked Flora.

As the booing grew to a crescendo, she dropped her red score with a clatter and put her hands over her face.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t go on,’ she sobbed.

The ground fell silent. A police horse neighed.

George leapt to his feet, trying to climb along the row.

‘Sid-down,’ yelled the rows behind, who didn’t want to miss a thing.

Anyway George had been forestalled. Rannaldini had jumped down from the rostrum putting his arms round Flora, whipping the arctic-white handkerchief from his breast pocket, gently tugging down her hands, so he could dry her eyes.

‘Of course she can do eet,’ he shouted to the crowd. ‘She ees verra brave girl.’ Then turning to Flora, smiling at her with such encouragement. ‘We know you ’ave most beautiful voice in the world, carissima,’ he murmured ‘Do you want to go off for a moment?’ he added as Charlton Handsome belted on with a glass of water.

Flora shook her head. It was all over in a minute, Rannaldini gave her another hug, ruffled her hair causing a collective wince among the make-up girls, and climbed back onto the rostrum.

Then, on second thoughts, he leapt down handing her back his handkerchief sending a benign rumble of amusement through the crowd.

Back on the rostrum he raised his stick, turning, smiling dazzlingly: ‘Okkay, Flora?’

Flora nodded, and the crowd gave a great roar of applause until Rannaldini silenced them.

‘How charming,’ hissed Peggy Parker to Gwynneth. ‘Abigail could never have handled that.’

Even Gilbert came out of mourning for Hermione. Flora Seymour had rather interesting breasts in that silk thingy, he must send her a bottle of parsnip wine.

Flora’s voice was a little choked and ragged to begin with, but grew in strength and sweetness by the minute. Throughout her first aria, Walter held her small hand. As Alphonso got up to sing he smiled across lovingly. The vast audience felt they were part of some family drama.

Flora’s next recitative began: ‘And God said let the earth bring forth grass.’ And legalize it, too, thought Flora which made her smile, and the aria that followed about the gentle jewelled charm of the wild flowers and golden fruit was so beautiful, that she suddenly realized the audience were smiling as well.

Rannaldini still wants me, she thought in rapture, I’m being given another chance. Her next entry was the trio with Alphonso and Walter. Both of them unselfishly held back so that her clear piercing voice could soar lark-like above theirs. There was a deafening applause at the end of part two and once the audience had accepted the fact that there was no interval and they’d have to cross their legs for another hour, they relaxed and enjoyed themselves watching the stars come out, and the houses in the Close light up like Hallowe’en pumpkins.

Pictures were now coming up on the huge television screens on either side of the platform, first the glitter of a trumpet, the gold of Viking’s mane, the hair on Julian’s bow drawn out like chewing-gum, Rannaldini’s left hand dancing like a blown leaf to the music, but mostly the cameras concentrated on Flora.

Watching her face growing more distinct as the light faded, George wanted to put her under his arm and warm her into clarity like a polaroid. By comparison, the ladies of the chorus looked like the witches in Macbeth.

He was increasingly uneasy about the undeniable chemistry between her and Rannaldini. Like one of Dracula’s bats, he could see the shadow of the television microphone on her freckled breast bone. Nor was Viking happy. The last thing he wanted either was for Rannaldini to get off with Flora again. He was extremely curious to see the man for whom Abby had cut her wrist, but noticed in extreme indignation that the seat beside Miles was still empty. Christopher Shepherd hadn’t even bothered to show. Bloody hell! So Abby needn’t have pushed off, after all, and Rannaldini needn’t have taken over and Viking had to admit that the bastard gave off such electricity that the orchestra were playing out of their boots and Abby couldn’t fail to show up unfavourably by comparison. He also had to confess that without Abby’s histrionics the RSO seemed very dull.

God was now creating Eve.

‘Adam’s lovely gracious wife in happy innocence she smiles,’ sang Alphonso.

Such was his swelling emotion that his waistcoat button gave up the unequal struggle and flew through the air nearly blacking Goaty Gilbert’s eye. Flora fought the giggles and only sobered up when she caught a glimpse of Helen looking blasted with misery in the fourth row.

The orchestra had played miraculously for nearly two hours, the strings’ bow-ties were under their ears. But at last they reached the final chorus with soloists.

‘To the glory of God, let song with song compete,’ sang Flora joyfully, ‘The glory of the Lord shall last forever, Amen.’

There was total silence, a dog barked, a car backfired, followed by hysterical screaming applause. The orchestra were all cheering for Flora.

‘Well done, darling,’ she could hear Viking yelling.

At first, very shy, not knowing how to accept such applause, she gradually began to smile and even blow kisses to the rapturous stamping, clapping, shouting throng.

And how could she not, with Rannaldini beside her lifting her hand to his lips, covering it with kisses, pouring sweet everythings into her ear.

‘My little star, my angel child, I knew you could do it. I distance myself, I know suffering produce great