As well as a picture of the happy couple, there were also photographs of Rannaldini smiling at Tabitha with his arm possessively round her shoulders and, worst of all, of Marcus beside Jake.
The telephone rang. Rupert dived on it.
‘How about your ex marrying Rannaldini?’ said
Kitty read out the
‘Wowee, game and first set to Rannaldini,’ he said in horror.
‘He’ll break her,’ shivered Kitty.
Helen had been dreadfully patronizing to her at Christmas, but she couldn’t wish such a fate on anyone.
Kitty jumped as the telephone rang. It was Rupert. Had she got Rannaldini’s telephone number in London?
He was so appalled and enraged at the thought of Rannaldini getting his filthy hands on Tabitha that he rang up at once. Helen and Rannaldini were still in bed, later to fly to Milan, where Rannaldini was conducting
‘Why the fuck didn’t you stop it?’
‘I t-t-tried,’ stammered Marcus.
‘Like hell — and why the fuck didn’t you warn me? Have you considered what that paedophile might do to Tab? Your mother’s a whore, she might as well have married the devil.’
Marcus lost his temper.
‘She did that the first time round. No-one could have made her more miserable than you did.’
‘She’s a parasite,’ howled Rupert. ‘She’s always been greedy, never bothered to earn a penny in her life. Now she’s sold out to the highest bidder, and you’ll never make it either, you’re a parasite, too. Don’t expect to get another penny out of me. Go and sponge off Rannaldini.’
‘I don’t want your bloody money,’ yelled Marcus, ‘I’ll get there on my own.’
And he slammed down the telephone. He was struggling for breath, desperately delving in his pocket for his inhaler, when Rannaldini came smirking out of the bedroom. He was wearing the blue-and-green Paisley dressing- gown which Marcus and Tabitha had clubbed together to give Malise for his seventy-fifth birthday, a month before he died.
‘What’s the matter, dearest boy?’ crooned Rannaldini.
He’s the Erl-King, thought Marcus in terror.
‘You bastard,’ he gasped. ‘How dare you tell the papers I’ve been welcoming, you know I was dead against the wedding, and only came to it because of Mum. If you hurt a hair of her head, I’ll kill you. I don’t want any of your bloody money or your Steinway either.’
Somehow he got himself to Flora’s digs without collapsing, and then had to cope with Flora, for once dropping her guard and sobbing wildly that there was no hope of her getting Rannaldini back any more.
Rupert was so incensed, he proceeded to cancel both Marcus’s and Tab’s allowances, and write them out of his will.
‘It’s Tabitha Rannaldini’s after,’ wept Flora. ‘That’s what’s driving Rupert crazy.’
The only thing that cheered Flora up was the new Dame Hermione’s fury over the marriage.
‘Talk about caterwauling for her demon lover.’
Helen, oblivious of the devastation she had created, returned from her weekend in Milan more in love than ever, and reprimanded Marcus for being horrid.
‘Roberto so longs for everyone to be friends.’
As Rannaldini already had five houses, she also felt magnanimously that she should put the Old Rectory on the market, because it had such unhappy associations for her, and hand half the proceeds over to Malise’s daughter.
‘It’s such a good time to sell in the spring when the tulips, the apple blossom and the crown imperials are all out.’
The final straw for Marcus came when he wanted to listen to Myra Hess playing the
‘How could you? They’re irreplaceable.’
‘Don’t be silly. They’re all on CD now — Rannaldini’s getting them for you as a surprise.’
‘I want the 78s. Malise left them to me.’
‘Darling, be reasonable, they were only cluttering up the place.’
‘Like me,’ shouted Marcus, slamming down the telephone.
Outside the window, white daffodils lit up the garden and the dark yew hedges, a little unkempt now, which Malise had planted to divide it. Did Malise’s ghost, astride his old hunter, jump them in the moonlight? Would the new owners cut them down?
Marcus, who had lived here since he was four years old, was now not only penniless, but soon to be homeless. He was surveying the wreckage of his life, when the telephone rang. He couldn’t cope with a reproachful Helen, but it was Abby jibbering with excitement.
‘I’ve got my first gig, conducting the Rutminster Symphony Orchestra. Rodney and Howie squared it for me. Only one problem, right? I’ve gotta learn the repertoire in a fortnight. Will you help me?’ There was a pause. ‘You don’t sound very excited for me, Marcus.’
‘Mum’s just married Rannaldini.’
‘I read it. Not the ideal stepfather — I’m really sorry. But think of the doors he’ll open for you, and at least it’ll get your mom off your back, and you can come back to the Academy. It’s poor Flora who’s been blown out of the water. God, I’m scared about this gig.’
Appassionata. SECOND MOVEMENT
TWENTY
Abby was as driven as a conductor as she had been as a violinist. Sweeping into the Old Rectory, she hardly noticed how ill Marcus was looking.
It was ironic that one of the pieces he had to help her learn was
This would have been the ideal moment for Marcus to have made a move. But he was haunted by his failure with Rupert’s hooker, so each time he bottled out, lying for hours afterwards twitching with desire.
He was also heartbroken that he couldn’t afford to stay on at the Academy. When Rannaldini and Helen returned from their extended honeymoon, he would have to move into a tiny room in Ealing. He could pay the rent and keep up the instalments on the Steinway, on which fourteen-thousand pounds was still owing, only if he took half a dozen pupils a day. By the time he’d paid off his college debts, the bank had started bouncing cheques. He had torn up all his credit cards. The only card in his pocket was Pablo Gonzales’s, but meeting him now seemed like a dream. Marcus didn’t have the bottle to write to him. His asthma was awful, he couldn’t walk twenty yards
