The Maestro's Mistress

by Angela Dracup

  Alicia had been a constant source of help of course. As one therapist after another failed to unlock the mystery of Georgiana’s inner psyche, yet another was suggested. Alicia was never at a loss, had always heard of a ‘simply marvellous new man’. Georgiana had found the whole business utterly intriguing.

  She stepped forward to patrol the majestic displays of food – pyramids of glazed duck, bread braided like the coiffure of a Victorian belle, pink prosciutto curled around amber figs, an entire marzipan orchestra complete with a Maestro sculpted in sugar candy and a great cake in the shape of a treble clef decorated in white and gold icing. She smiled in satisfaction.

  ‘Too gorgeous to eat,’ Alicia murmured, sipping her champagne cocktail - 1973 Bollinger poured over sugar crystals saturated in Armagnac.

  ‘Tonight is going to be really special,’ Georgiana purred. ‘He will be over the moon. Ecstatic. Brahms and Mahler can eat their hearts out.’

  ‘So what have you got for him on this special birthday?’ Alicia enquired in her lazy drawl, sipping her drink and smoothing the skirt of her crimson silk gown with elegant white fingers.

  Georgiana, ethereally beautiful in draped cream chiffon by Givenchy, gave a husky laugh. ‘Who have I got, you mean?’

  Alicia stared down into her drink. So Georgiana was still playing her little games. Her lips twitched. ‘Naturally. I should have remembered that you have superbly original taste when selecting gifts for your husband.’

  ‘This one is exquisite, the best yet,’ Georgiana said, her voice vibrating with satisfaction, ‘mid-twenties, tall, elegant, stunningly beautiful.’

  ‘Good God!’ exclaimed Alicia, uncharacteristically rather shocked. She raised a faintly sceptical eyebrow.

  ‘In fact, darling, recommending that agency was the best thing you ever did for me,’ Georgiana told her friend.

  ‘Delighted to be of service,’ Alicia drawled. The name and address she had discreetly supplied to Georgiana, following their momentous lunch meeting all that time ago she had in turn acquired from a friend of her husband’s, a cabinet minister who was familiar with the supply markets of just about everything you could think of.

  Even the worldly Alicia had been rather surprised at the ready supply of quality young women available to act as escorts and sexual partners for men rich enough to hire them.

  Georgiana had been utterly astonished. Her first contact with the agency had been hesitant and nerve-wracking. But she had soon been reassured by the voice on the other end of the telephone. A cultured female voice, its owner showing warmth and understanding and no hint whatever of moral censure.

  After a tentative start Georgiana had warmed to her theme. She required a sympathetic, refined young woman to care for the needs of her husband whilst she herself recuperated from a debilitating illness. She almost felt sorry for herself as she spoke these words. Well after all she had suffered a miscarriage some years ago and had never really been well since, and she was booked in to consult a new psychologist in Harley Street the very next day.

  The voice on the phone had been most concerned for her. There had been a series of relevant and discreet questions to be answered before further action could be taken, and this had reassured Georgiana immensely. A registration fee was required - all credit cards taken - of an amount which suggested exclusivity and a luxury product, and this increased her confidence further.

  The voice on the phone judged that their agency had young women on their list who would meet Georgiana’s requirements. A small list would be drawn up and Georgiana could then come into their offices to view the details, and have sight of photographs and CVs.

  Georgiana wondered at this point if the whole thing was a big confidence trick for extracting money. But she was a rich woman in her own right, quite apart from Xavier’s wealth, and was not especially concerned about losing the amount paid over. Indeed she was more than ready to take the risk for what seemed like a miraculous gift from heaven.

  On the first occasion which took place just after Xavier returned from the US tour which Georgiana had suddenly quitted, it was agreed that the young woman hired would be included on the guest list for one of Georgiana’s famous dinner parties for twelve. She would be invited to join the pre-dinner cocktail party and if Georgiana had any reservations about her suitability would leave discreetly on the nod from the hostess before the company proceeded to the dining room. Her fee was to be paid in full whether or not she stayed on to the dinner and a later private rendezvous with Xavier. It was an arrangement Georgiana found both clever and sensitive, enabling her to feel quite at ease about the project: freed from any anxiety or embarrassing guilt should the hired girl prove ill matched to the occasion.

  In the event things had gone better than Georgiana could every have imagined. The young woman was poised and charming, clearly at ease with the stylish company Georgiana had assembled in her cream and gold drawing room.

  She was coolly beautiful in an understated English rose style, wore classic clothes and a minimum of jewellery and make-up. She also had the long straight blonde hair which Xavier admired.

  Watching her from across the room Georgiana saw some reflections of herself twenty years back. But although there were many similarities she was pleased to conclude that she still had the edge over the younger woman for sheer perfection of bone structure. Georgiana had the high cheek bones that made it impossible for her to appear anything but beautiful. They were a God-given gift, rare and precious. And women with good facial bones went on looking good right into old age she reflected, noting that the younger woman’s looks were mainly based on full lips and heavy breasts which would most likely collapse when she was in her forties.

  Georgiana had arranged the seating so that the young woman was on Xavier’s left at the head of the table, whilst she presided regally at the opposite end, flanked by the Secretary General of the Arts Council and a minor royal who was devoted to Xavier’s conducting.

  Standing now with Alicia, sipping champagne before the first guests arrived, Georgiana recalled her mingled feelings of nervousness and tense anticipation as she watched the young woman gently seduce her husband over a simple English dinner of saddle of lamb and Normandy apple tart.

  She recalled the letter she had written to him, placing it unobtrusively into his hand as the ladies retired to the drawing room and left the men with their brandy and port.

  It was a loving letter telling him how much she adored him; how she longed to make him happy, how it would please her to feel that he could gain the satisfaction she had denied him with the lovely young guest she had included in her dinner party. She had let him know that she would be staying with friends that night, that he should use the privacy of the house to do whatever pleased him. She entreated him not to be angry with her. She had acted out of the purest motives. But if her actions were not to his liking she knew that he would forgive her. Etcetera, etcetera.

  It was really rather a good letter Georgiana thought, hitting just the right note for a man like Xavier who would warm to the underlying tenderness in her letter. He would know, of course, that her tongue had been partially in her cheek as she wrote and that he might not feel inclined to go along with her generous offer. But she felt reasonably confident that he would not be disapproving or insulted.

  But until the men joined them she had felt her nerves jagged with tension and anticipation.

  One glance at Xavier’s face, a swift connection with his glittering grey eyes, told her instantly that all was well. He was not angry in the least. He was amused, entertained, intrigued. He was going to play the game.

  The image of Xavier and the beautiful, fresh young woman naked in each other’s arms stirred Georgiana more than actual sex had ever done. She hardly slept that night, envisaging the two of them making love, conjuring up scenes of combined violence and tenderness which made her heart beat thick and fast. And she, Georgiana, had orchestrated all of this herself.

  ‘She will be wearing hyacinth blue,’ G
eorgiana told Alicia. ‘Xavier loves that colour – after cream and white, of course,’ she added, fingering her own divine gown with a calculating smile.

  ‘I hope Xavier’s up to it,’ Alicia commented drily. ‘After all he’s hardly a young man any more. And he’s had a punishing few years on the work front.’

  ‘He’s the definitive workaholic,’ Georgiana commented dismissively. ‘The only ways he knows how to relax are by being active – flying his plane, skiing and so on. I would guess that sex is fairly low key in effort and stress compared with all of those.’

  Alicia winced internally. This casual mention of sex in relation to one’s husband and other women disturbed her. She privately considered that the whole idea of finding high-class call girls to satisfy your husband’s sexual hunger was a decidedly dangerous business. And if you were hoping to stay married it was definitely asking for trouble.

  ‘Where is Xavier by the way?’ she asked, looking around the room which had now filled with an assortment of glossy metropolitan celebrities drawn mainly from the worlds of art and politics.

  ‘Hospital visiting. One of the Tudor Philharmonic players he used to work with years ago had a heart attack just after the concert last night. It’s touch and go.’

  ‘Oh, how tragic.’

  ‘Yes, I believe he’s only in his early fifties. Still, to go out on a burst of Brahms…Xavier will probably be madly envious.’

  Alicia glanced at Georgiana and reflected that she really was a rather unusual woman.

  The party was in full swing when Xavier eventually arrived. He stood in the doorway surveying the scene; a tall remote figure, austere and chillingly inscrutable until he allowed his features to register a gentle smile in acknowledgement of the respectful attention he was commanding from every person present. All heads had turned, all eyes watched.

  Xavier had long ago taken for granted his ability to walk into a room and command instant attention. He was also perfectly capable of creating a complete silence if he chose, but tonight was a celebration, a special birthday. This was a time to dig into his reserves of charming affability. That was what Georgiana would want and this party was more hers than his. He moved forward into the throng.

  Georgiana surveyed him with pride, as though he were a priceless work of art in the same league as the set of Picasso sketches he had recently given her. How noble he looked, she mused, how well the years sat on him. He was the sort of man who would simply get better and better as he grew older.

  Forty was a marvellous age for a man of quality she decided. Forty had a roundness and weight to it not present at thirty. At forty a man was at the peak of his powers and could look ahead to a burnished decade of further glories.

  She watched Xavier progress smoothly through the ranks of guests until eventually he came to stand beside the exquisite blonde woman in her elegant yet seductively cut blue gown. She saw his dark head incline towards the gleaming fair one and could sense the spark of delighted anticipation that had sprung up within him. When he turned to make a brief connection with Georgiana’s gaze she smiled in delicious conspiracy.

  Oh, she understood him so well! And she was grateful to him for appreciating her requirements in return: the need to remain untouched. Which was why he deserved the splendid gift she was presenting him with tonight.

  Walking into the dining room to make a last survey of the supper arrangements Georgiana found it difficult to focus her attention on the laden table. She was awash with sensation: electric currents of excitement rippled through her flanks. She threw her head back and breathed in deeply. A dark throbbing had started up between her legs and the reverberating thrills of ecstasy which shot through her hips and thighs made her gasp aloud in sudden desperate pleasure.

  Alone in the gracious airy room Georgiana allowed her hands to travel over her slender colt-like body whilst her mind exulted in its fragile perfection. Her fingers moved across the fabric of her gown, lightly moulding the shallow domes of her breasts, the narrow pedestal of her waist, the gentle swell of her hips.

  A small sigh leaked from her lips. She knew herself to be perfect. Exquisite and utterly pure.

  When the guests had left and Georgiana had been borne away in Alicia’s chauffeur-driven

  Mercedes, Xavier poured himself a measure of Scotch and paced softly in front of the long windows which spanned the south-facing drawing room.

  The young woman waited quietly, standing at a respectful distance, one golden-tanned hand resting against the marble fire-place.

  ‘Would you like some music?’ Xavier asked softly.

  Her body straightened slightly. ‘That would be lovely.’ She waited, looking around for the music-producing technology which all her clients owned. There was nothing immediately apparent. Maybe the necessary equipment was discreetly hidden in one of the splendid lacquered cabinets. ‘Shall I put on compact disc? Where do you keep them?’

  He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘No, no – I meant live music.’ He sat down at the nine-foot concert grand which stood in the corner of the room.

  Of course! She should have guessed.

  His eyes flickered over hers. ‘What do you like?’

  She licked around her lips, feeling strangely apprehensive. What should you ask a famous maestro to play?

  ‘Ask for what you want,’ he said. ‘Not what you think would please me.’

  ‘West Side Story,’ she responded after a brief pause. She had a vague idea that the music from the show had been composed by some famous conductor or other. She couldn’t remember his name, but Xavier probably knew him. ‘Tonight - that’s one of my favourites. Do you know that?’

  Xavier gave a low grunt. His fingers picked out the tune and then began to improvise an accompaniment. The harmonies were subtle and complex.

  His listener was a little baffled, but very impressed.

  ‘Quite a nice little melody,’ Xavier commented. ‘Do you sing?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. Making music isn’t one of my talents.’

  Xavier turned back to the piano, polished off Tonight and the embarked on a spot of breathtaking Liszt. It entertained him to show off a little. Especially to a beautiful young woman who was clearly a blank sheet as far as music was concerned.

  On completing his short recital, he got up and crossed the room to stand beside her. ‘So what are your talents?’ he asked pleasantly.

  The woman smiled. She raised her arm and laid a gentle and undemanding hand on the lapel of Xavier’s dinner jacket. He stared down at her for a long moment, then reached for the switch behind him and flicked off all the lights. The curtains were not drawn and a broad sword of moonlight lit the room with a bluish silver gleam.

  ‘So – you have no talent with music,’ he said softly. ‘That is of no importance. You are extremely beautiful.’

  She basked in the silky caress of his praise. What a marvellously magnetic man he was. And he was going to be hers for the whole night. Her heart quickened. And this was work!

  ‘One of my talents is undressing beautiful women very slowly and skilfully,’ he informed her in a lazy husky whisper.

  She tilted her head back with a little sigh, giving him an unrestricted view of her smooth throat.

  Xavier bent towards her and touched her cheek fleetingly with his. As she breathed in deeply and leaned slightly towards him he placed his hands on her satin-skinned shoulders and turned her around very gently. He stroked her half naked back lingeringly and cupped his hands around the base of her neck, cradling it softly and moving his thumbs tantalizingly beneath the fall of blonde hair.

  Another soft sigh.

  Now Xavier permitted his hands to travel down her hips and thighs bending his long frame so as to enable him to trace the curve of her calves and touch the delicate bones of her ankles.

  ‘These are instruments of torture,’ he commented, his hands grasping the narrow shoes with their punishing skyscraper heels. ‘I shall set you free without delay.’ With fi
rm fingers he eased the soft blue suede from her pretty slim feet. The shoes were tossed away to lie on the carpet.

  ‘Aah!’ she sighed, wriggling her toes. ‘Bliss.’

  ‘So – from what can I free you next?’ he enquired.

  She stood perfectly still; a passive vessel to be used in whatever way he wished. Xavier was both touched and outraged. He reached for the discreetly inserted central zip of her gown, grasped it in steady fingers and pulled the zip head down the row of tiny teeth with exquisite delicacy. A frail, tantalizing sound like the ripping of silk pierced the silence.

  The woman gave a small moan.

  Xavier lifted her bodily so that her feet cleared the ring of fabric lying around her legs. Very carefully he picked up the gown, folded it neatly and laid it on the sofa near the fireplace.

  She started to turn to face him. His hands gently re-directed her to the position he had first placed her in.

  He surveyed her lovely back and her beautiful rump. She was wearing some kind of corset; boned, lacy, frilled and snowy white. It accentuated her figure, exaggerating the small waist, pushing up her breasts which he could see to advantage from his superior height as he glanced over her shoulders.

  He was heavily aroused now. But not so carried away that his hawk-like eye for detail was failing to register the fact that her stockings were hooked onto long suspenders attached to her corset and would require releasing before things could proceed further.

  ‘You’re very good with suspenders,’ she murmured, with a light chuckle. ‘It’s easy to get in a dreadful muddle.’

  ‘Is that so?’ he commented drily, thinking that she was both skilled and tactful not to have referred to the many men of her acquaintance who had got into that kind of difficulty. He rolled the stockings down her lovely long legs and placed them with the gown.