Keeping Katerina (The Victorians)
Page 15
"Thank you, Nonno. I love music."
She switched to Handel and played the slow opening chords of "I Know that My Redeemer Liveth." And then she sang.
Christopher was enthralled. He remembered her telling him she could sing rather well, and he had teased her about opera, but after their traumatic and rapid wedding, he had forgotten the conversation. It was true she was no operatic soprano. She was better. Her voice was delicate, soft, but well supported, like chimes. She hit each note, no matter how high, how fast, with pin-point precision, and her clever fingers never faltered on the keyboard. Just as she climbed the scale to a devastatingly high note, which she touched with the lightness of a butterfly’s wing, her little concert was interrupted by the arrival of a woman.
"Brava," the stranger said, her voice slightly unpleasant as she eyed the pianoforte with a proprietary air, "Signor Bianchi, who is this ingénue? Are you replacing me?"
Alessandro’s suntanned skin darkened. "Of course not, Madame St. Jean. This is my granddaughter, Katerina Bennett. Remember, we’re having a festa in her honor?"
"Oh, that’s right. How sweet. And the gentleman?"
"Her husband, Signor Christopher Bennett."
Her eyes were considering as she looked Christopher over for a long moment.
Katerina felt a twinge of anxiety. This singer was much showier and more beautiful than she, with her thick gleaming blond hair and her rosebud lips. Her figure was voluptuous and displayed almost to the point of indecency in her low cut morning dress. She knew how to attract male attention, this one. She glanced at her grandfather. He was watching the curvy beauty watch his grandson-in-law, and a look of anger crossed his craggy face.
It was an awkward moment. Hoping to break the uncomfortable silence, Katerina rose from the piano bench and took her husband’s arm. He patted her reassuringly.
"Pleased to meet you, Madame St. Jean. I’m looking forward to hearing you sing. I’m sure you’d like the music room to yourself so you can practice. Grandfather, I would love to see your olive grove now, if you have time."
Alessandro shook his head as though to clear it. "Yes, in a moment. Can you two go back to the parlor and wait for me? I have something I have to do. You do remember the way, do you not?"
"We do," Christopher assured him, and escorted his wife from the room.
Once the door was closed behind them, Katerina sighed… and then giggled.
"What, love?"
"I believe Madame Aimée St. Jean was chosen for more than just her musical ability."
"Oh?"
"If I’m not very much mistaken, she appears to be his mistress."
"Yes, I did get that impression. Does it bother you?"
"Of course not. He’s been widowed a long time, and she’s quite lovely, and very young. I doubt she’s seen thirty-five years. Good for him."
"Yes, well, she has a wandering eye. I’m not sure how he figures on keeping her."
"Perhaps he doesn’t. He might just be enjoying the moment. But I don’t like how her eye wandered to you."
"No worries, love. I have all I need right here." He swept her into the parlor and kissed her. He had known that the sight of the flirtatious blond would unsettle Katerina, but honestly, he had been completely unmoved by her. He loved his wife.
He needed to tell her. It would boost her confidence, but he wanted to find just the right moment. Every other part of their relationship had been done hurriedly, in a panic, but this was too important to rush. So in the meanwhile he assured her with long tender kisses, cradling her in his arms like the priceless treasure she was, and as always she eagerly returned his affection.
"Ahem," the clearing of a throat interrupted the embrace. Alessandro had been unsurprised to find the couple kissing, and he was not upset by it, but it was time for them to stop.
"Oh, hello, Nonno," Katerina said, trying for nonchalance, but not quite managing it.
"Hello, lovebirds. Well, shall we tour my estate?"
"Oh, yes please."
"Better cover up. It’s chilly this morning. Though I must say, you two look warm enough."
***Chapter 17***
The days of the visit passed pleasantly. The food was delicious and the company superb. Christopher and Katerina both enjoyed getting to know Alessandro. He was a funny and very kind gentleman with a gruff manner that belied a tender heart. He was also dangerously enamored of his little French musician, and she played with him, keeping him on his toes.
In fact, the most difficult part of the entire visit was Aimée. She teased and flirted with Christopher, which made Katerina very uncomfortable, and Alessandro furious. She also had a skill for knowing when Katerina was playing the pianoforte or the harpsichord in the music room and chasing her out. Actually, she was mercilessly bullying the younger woman. Katerina’s first impulse was to avoid the music room altogether, and spare herself. But after careful consideration, she decided it should not be necessary to do so. Mme St. Jean had no right to monopolize the instrument. Katerina wanted to play, and she worked hard to find a time when she would be able to do so unmolested.
About two days before the party, she was seated at the piano bench at six in the morning, working on a piece of sheet music she had found.
"You again? Get out of here. I need to practice."
"Since when do you practice at six in the morning?"
"The party is the day after tomorrow. I need to be ready."
"I understand the importance of that. If you could let me know when you’re going to practice, I can work around you."
"No. I will work when I want to. I do not owe you a schedule. I am the professional. You’re just a guest. My need is greater than yours."
"I’m not disagreeing with you. But, Madame St. Jean, you don’t practice all day. Mightn’t I be here when you’re not?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you don’t have to be. I will have exclusive rights to this pianoforte, and your grandfather will let me. There’s nothing he would deny me." She smirked.
"No doubt that’s true." Katerina said, a little sarcastically, "but you’re not the only musician in the house."
"Yes I am. You’re nothing but a dilettante. Go away."
"I won’t. I have as much right to be here as you do."
She surprised herself by saying that. Her rival was stunned, but recovered quickly.
"You’d better tend to your own business, Mrs. Bennett. If you’re occupied at the pianoforte, I might just decide to amuse myself by spending time with your husband. He’s very handsome."
"Aren’t you a bit old for him?"
Aimée’s eyes narrowed at the unkind comment.
"It makes no difference. Besides, you’re such a mouse. I could take him from you in an instant. He would be glad to go."
"Unlikely. He doesn’t believe in adultery."
"Maybe, but I could make him wish he did."
That was a cause for concern. "You stay away from my husband."
"Nervous are you? Well you should be. Choose wisely, Mrs. Bennett. Your husband or the pianoforte."
"My God you’re disgusting. What’s wrong with you?"
"Nothing. I know what I want and I take it. I don’t hide in the shadows, mouse."
"Oh be quiet."
"Non."
"What do you want, Madame St. Jean?"
"I want you to go away. I don’t like you."
"You don’t have to like me. You have Grandfather. Isn’t that enough?"
A flash of something… softer appeared for a moment behind the singer’s eyes. She did care for him, in her way. And then her expression hardened.
"I don’t want you in my space. This room is mine. I belong here. You’re intruding. You’re not a real musician."
"I disagree."
"You think you’re better than me?"
"I have no way of knowing. I’ve never heard you perform. It’s not a competition. I just want to share this space from time to time."
"I would rather play than sing."
"Non. A singing competition. It won’t be fair if we are not on the same instrument."
"And who will accompany?"
"We accompany ourselves."
"Very well. I accept your challenge, on two conditions."
"Yes?"
"You HAVE to let me practice."
"I suppose. You get one hour in the morning, six to seven, and one in the evening."
Katerina nodded. It would be enough.
"And you stay away from Christopher."
"Worried are you? How do you know I will keep my word?"
Katerina didn’t reply and Aimée didn’t promise. Instead she stalked from the room, returning to Alessandro’s chamber, where she had spent the night, and slipped back into bed with him.
Katerina turned back to the pianoforte and began to practice for all she was worth. She didn’t know if she had the skill to surpass a professional musician, and honestly, using the piano was not that important, but Christopher was. She had to face this bully down. She couldn’t allow her to attempt to seduce her precious husband. It was a feeling the likes of which she had never imagined, sharp and painful and disconcerting. He was HERS, and no sexy French tart would threaten what they had.
In the master suite, Alessandro woke to the pleasurable sensation of Aimée’s luscious naked curves pressed against him. He had met her over a year ago, when he was planning his son’s thirty-fifth birthday party. He had been entranced by her golden beauty and her flirtatious manner. In the five years since his wife’s death, he’d been rather chaste, but Aimée drove all such thoughts from his mind. He had boldly invited her to share his bed, and had been shocked when she agreed.
Their affair had progressed from occasional encounters when he hired her to sing, to now, when she very nearly lived with him. He harbored no illusions that he would be able to keep her. She was young, barely past thirty, and he had celebrated his sixtieth birthday only a month ago. She should marry, have a baby, and leave her wild life behind. Alessandro could hardly offer her those things, but he would enjoy her while she was willing.
He hadn’t expected to fall in love with her. And now, her attention was being distracted by a handsome young man. Though he had expected this, it hurt more than he had realized it would. Not to mention the man she had chosen was married to his granddaughter, a girl he was quickly coming to adore. Not that he was worried. Christopher seemed not to care about, or even notice, Aimée’s blatant flirtation. He was entranced with his wife. But the point was she had been swayed by someone else, which surely meant their affair was almost done. Dannazione! He wasn’t ready to let her go.
Well he didn’t have to right now. He began to caress her lovely round body, pleased that he still had enough animal spirits to make love to a pretty young woman and satisfy them both.
Long moments later, a very pleased Madame St. Jean stretched in her lover’s arms and snuggled up against him.
"Cheri," she said, "I’ve just made the most exciting plan for the music at your little party."
"What’s that?"
"A friendly competition between Katerina and me. We’re both going to sing and play for the guests and see who’s the better musician." She said this insouciantly, as though it were a lark, nothing serious.
"She agreed to this?" Alessandro was surprised. Katerina seemed very shy and meek, not one who would compete in a public venue with a professional musician.
"She did."
"Sounds interesting. What are the rules?"
"You know, I don’t know. We didn’t get to that part, except we each do three songs. You’re going to be the judge, of course, so maybe you should make the rules."
"Hmmm. Let me think on this. I’ll let you both know a little later."
"Wonderful. Won’t this be fun?"
"I hope it is." He still had his doubts about Katerina’s willingness, but he would talk to her and see what it was all about.
******
Two days later, as the early sunset turned the Tuscan horizon scarlet, a large group of Italian locals converged on the Bianchi estate, eager to meet the respected land-owner’s long-lost granddaughter. She painted on a false cheerful smile and greeted each new arrival warmly. In addition to the Italians, Alessandro had invited several English guests, wanting Christopher not to be left out. It was a kind gesture his grandson-in-law appreciated.
It had been decided that the competition would take place before dinner, as neither woman wanted to sing with food and wine clogging her throat. Once all the guests had arrived, they gathered in the parlor. The piano and the harpsichord had been moved to the lovely blue room earlier in the day. Katerina was trembling with nerves. This could all go very badly, and she had no idea what she was up against.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," Alessandro said loudly in Italian, thank you for coming tonight. I am so very pleased to introduce all of you to my granddaughter, Katerina Bennett and her husband Christopher, finally come to visit us. And for our entertainment this evening, Katerina has agreed to sing and play the pianoforte for us."
This caused a murmur. Alessandro’s affair with his musician was hardly a secret.
"She and Madame St. Jean will be competing for the title of musical expert. We are all going to be judges. Here are the rules. Each lady will sing three songs, accompanying herself on pianoforte or harpsichord. One song will be in Italian, one in English, and the third will be of the lady’s choice. Then we will decide who the better musician is. Madame St. Jean, are you ready?"
It had been decided also, as Aimée was the challenger, she would go first, giving the advantage to Katerina.
"Yes, I am ready," she replied in French-accented Italian. Curtsying to the crowd, she seated herself at the harpsichord and announced, "I would like to begin with ‘Greensleeves.’"
She played a few simple chords on the keyboard, setting the key, and then took a deep quiet breath and began to sing. Instantly, Katerina knew she was in deep trouble. The twelve years separating the two singers made a huge difference. Aimée was certainly a true professional. Her voice was flexible, rich, and captivating even though she didn’t play the harpsichord particularly well. Her accompaniment was simply a series of chords to help her keep in tune. Her English pronunciation was also rather bad, but it made no difference. The maturity of her tone would turn this competition into one between a pipe organ and a piccolo. There was no hope. And then, to increase the difficulty, she stopped playing and sang a capella during the middle verse. When she played again on the third verse, she was still perfectly in tune. The guests murmured in appreciation of the trick. She ended plaintively "who but my lady, Greensleeves?’"
The audience applauded. She rose and flounced to her seat. The opening gauntlet had been well tossed. It was NOT a performance Katerina wanted to follow. Her knees weak, she slid onto the harpsichord bench, swallowed hard, and looked at the instrument for a long moment, pleading silently with it to help her.
"Scarborough Fair," she said at last. Then she placed her fingers on the keys and began a complicated run of notes. She had never been so aware of the people staring at her back. She felt vulnerable, exposed, and she glanced up. Warm gray eyes met hers encouragingly. Christopher. That was better. Christopher would support her. Soothed by his sweet look, she turned her attention inward and began to sing. "’Are you going to Scarborough Fair/ Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme/ Remember me to one who lives there./She once was a true love of mine.’"
She sang the nonsensical lyrics lightly. She couldn’t match Aimée for depth and richness, so she didn’t try. Instead she focused on the feather lightness of
her nineteen-year-old voice, singing sweetly and prettily, and accompanied by flashy notes on the harpsichord. It would have to do. As the end of the song neared, she had a flash of insight about its message. True love could overcome insurmountable odds, perform impossible tasks. Hadn’t she and Christopher done that? They had. That meant something. It meant she loved him. Truly loved him. The realization was staggering and her voice faltered for a moment at the end of the second to last verse. She played a fancy interlude to cover the mistake, and when she began to sing again, it was for her husband’s ears alone.
"’When at last he has finished his work/ Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,/ He’ll come to claim his cambric shirt/ And ever be a true love of mine."
She finished with a flourish of fingers and was met with thunderous applause.
Feeling unsteady, she remained seated at the harpsichord. Aimée would be using the pianoforte for her other two songs. Not surprisingly, the other woman’s second was in French, another folk song, called "Jeune Fillette," a teasingly flirtatious number about falling in love in the springtime, with pointed references to fickle lovers, male and female. It was a clear invitation. She gave her rival’s husband a pointed look as she tripped lightly over the coloratura notes, demonstrating that a mature voice did not need to be heavy or slow. She could beat Katerina at her own game, and in her own marriage.
Again the pressure rose. How could she meet this challenge? Not in her rival’s own language, to be sure. She had intended to sing in French also, but abandoned the plan, making a last minute substitution. She couldn’t outflirt Mme St. Jean, but perhaps she could offer something more poignant.
Remaining at the harpsichord, she played a few simple chords and then began with "Drink to me Only with Thine Eyes,’ a plaintive love song. Again, it was a message to Christopher, as though no one else were in the room. They could have been in their row house for all the attention she paid to anyone other member of the audience. She could see from his intense expression that he understood she was singing to him… and liked it.
Last was each woman’s Italian song. Aimée had practiced hard to master the complicated accompaniment, so she could play it by muscle memory and turned her full attention towards Christopher as she began to sing ‘Se Tu m’Ami’ by Paolo Antonio Rolli. Everyone in the room but him knew Italian and understood what this woman was doing. The song was blatant, the message clear; a girl of easy virtue offering herself to a man but making it clear he should expect no fidelity.