Silent Crescendo

by Catherine George

  'There is a cushioned seat inside,' Rafael said, the glint in his eyes plainly visible even in the dim light. 'Come—let us rest a little, we two poor invalids, and cherish our infirmities together for a while.'

  To her disgust Judith actually was glad to subside on what proved to be a love-seat, cushioned in worn velvet. She sat down gratefully, not realising how close it brought Rafael until he sat down on the other half of the seat. Although they now faced in opposite directions their faces were a shade too close for comfort, and Judith kept her eyes on her feet, fairly sure Rafael's were fixed on her face in amusement.

  'Right,' she said briskly. 'It's your turn. Tell me about your life.'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  'But I have lived so much longer than you, Judith. It would weary you to hear about a life devoted to nothing but the music you find so uninteresting.' He touched her cheek for an instant.

  'No, it won't,' she insisted. 'I'd like to hear the authorised version instead of the gossip columnists'. Start by telling me how on earth you came to have a Welsh father.'

  'He was the only son of a Welsh colliery owner. His mother died at his birth and he was a lonely child who grew up hating coal and everything to do with it. His only wish in life was to paint. My grandfather, in true patriarchal style, told him to forget such effeminate nonsense, to do a man's job in the mine, or leave home. So my father left home and made for Paris, of course, but eventually ended up in Spain. He became quite successful there and sold well, both landscapes and the occasional portrait. Then one day he was commissioned to paint the portrait of a young opera singer, fresh from her success as Carmen—and so Gwyn David met Carmelita Valentin and that was that, the overwhelming love at first sight no one believes in but everyone desires.'

  'How very romantic!' Judith was fascinated. 'Go on—did they marry at once?'

  'Oh yes. My mother's family did not care for the match, you understand, but she was determined. A mere six months later my father was drowned, trying to rescue his easel, which had blown from the rocks into the sea. My mother returned to her family at the Casa de las Flores in Granada, where I made my first appearance three months later, and shortly after that Carmelita Valentin returned to the operatic stage. As far as I know she never looked at another man again.'

  'How sad!' Judith was deeply affected by Rafael's story. 'But I see now why you come over as all Spaniard.'

  Rafael laughed. 'I hesitate to contradict, Judith, but although I never knew him, or any of his family, I resemble my Welsh father much more than my red-haired Spanish mother. Even my aptitude for music could be a joint legacy—the Welsh are a musical race.'

  'So tell me more about you,' persisted Judith.

  He shrugged. 'If you wish.'

  His factual, rather matter-of-fact account of his early life failed to minimise his spectacular success in the operatic world, a hectic, exhausting saga of airflights, performances, television, recordings, endless interviews.

  'You seem to have precious little time to yourself,' said Judith, awe-struck. 'Have you never wanted to marry, Rafael?'

  'I did,' he said quietly. Judith's lip caught in her teeth, and she sat straighter in her seat.

  'Oh,' she said blankly. 'I didn't know—forgive me.'

  'How could you know? You would have been a mere child at the time. I was not so very old myself—neither was Lucia. I was just starting to make a name for myself, though only in comprimario—minor—roles, but beginning to be heard, and noticed. Lucia was the daughter of Claudio Matteo, the conductor. I was twenty-one and she was a year younger.' Rafael's voice hardened. 'She was very beautiful, white skin and huge eyes, the very quintessence of innocence and purity. I worshipped her. And when she told me she was expecting a child very soon after our marriage, I was ecstatic. Unhappily the father of the child was not myself, as I fondly imagined, but one of the leading tenors of the time. He was already married, unfortun­ately, with a string of legitimate children already to his credit. I was the poor ignorant dupe chosen as a cover of respectability.' The scorn in his voice raised the hairs on the back of Judith's neck.

  'What happened?' she whispered.

  'Once our marriage was—established, shall we say,' he said harshly, 'Lucia saw no need to keep up the pretence. My touch was not welcome after the caresses of the great star, so she confessed the truth to me. After which, of course, she had no cause for concern. I would not have touched her had she gone on her knees.'

  'And the child?'

  'It was born prematurely. Lucia died trying to give birth.' Rafael breathed in deeply. 'The day after her funeral I sang Cassio in a production of Otello which starred her lover in the title role. I sang well. So well I was offered the role of Cavaradossi in a forthcoming production of Tosca, and never sang a minor role again.'

  Judith leaned towards him diffidently, and touched his cheek in turn.

  'I'm so sorry, Rafael—I never dreamed, I mean I wouldn't have asked if I'd known.' She heard his sharp intake of breath and drew back, uncertain of his reaction.

  'Very few people know—or remember if they do. I'm glad you know.' His voice softened, the deadness in his tone vanished. 'All the statistics show that Rafael David married Lucia Matteo, and shortly afterwards she died tragically young in childbirth. She always swore that her father knew nothing of the affair with—with her lover, and I believed her. He was a fine man.'

  'Have you never wanted to marry anyone else?' asked Judith curiously.

  'No.' He gave a short laugh. 'The world is full of beautiful women, querida, I am not—neglected.'

  'No.' Judith got up, regretting her sympathy, then wavered slightly, suddenly conscious of the throbbing in her head. Rafael sprang up to steady her.

  'What is it?' he demanded. 'Are you not well?'

  'Just giddy for a moment—I must have got up too suddenly.'

  Without warning he gathered her into his arms, holding her close. 'Oh Judith,' he groaned, 'I feel it was all my fault. You left the party to escape from me, no?'

  'No! I just went home on my own much too late at night, got coshed for my pains and will never, ever do it again.' A little laugh shook her as she leaned against Rafael's warm, hard body. 'I knew it was you before you spoke to me at the party.'

  He chuckled softly.

  'You mean you saw my name on the programme!'

  'No, idiot—I meant your smell—'

  'Dios!'

  'No, no, your scent, then, if you want a more graceful word. When we fell in a heap together on that memorable occasion in the park would you believe that one tiny brain cell wasn't panicking madly like the rest. It was making a note of your particular, personal fragrance, to use a better word. It was the same last night when you leaned alongside me on the stage.' Judith gave a little breathless laugh and sniffed delicately. 'And tonight, Rafael.'

  Her face was jerked up to his by a peremptory finger.

  'Do you know what you invite by saying such things, Judith?'

  A tremor ran through her. 'There was no provocation intended, I was just—'

  'I know you meant none of it,' he said, suddenly fierce, 'you were teasing, little fool.' And he kissed her hard.

  Judith clutched him for support, gasping in surprise, and at once his mouth softened and his arms slid round her, holding her so close his velvet-clad knee slid between hers to maintain balance, demonstrating unmistakably the effect her words had made on him. The blood beat in her cheeks at the intimacy of the contact, and she pushed at him, but Rafael only lifted his head a little and said unevenly,

  'I too like to run and swim and play games, my little Amazon, but I'm bigger than you, tougher too, so I'll choose the game I enjoy best—the one only two can play.' And to emphasize his point he bent his head and took possession of her lips once more.

  To feel utterly helpless was a new experience for Judith. Not that it dominated her entirely—she was too taken up with the effects of this demanding mouth, which was calling up a response from some hitherto undiscovered region
deep inside her, a deep well of sensation never tapped until now. Oblivious to everything else in the world for the moment she gave herself up without reserve to the flood of heat penetrating to every part of her, unfolding to his urgency like a flower opening to the sun. She frankly adored what he was doing, revelled in his insistence, and when one of his hands moved by instinct to her breasts she arched her back, offering them proudly to his caressing fingers until the sensations they triggered off took her breath away and she tore her mouth from his to moan faintly, 'Rafael, please—'

  His only answer was a rasping sound deep in his throat as his mouth searched blindly for hers again, and he crushed her cruelly tight against him. Judith flung up her arms to lock her hands behind his head, opening her mouth to his tongue, her heart thudding, her breath mingling with his in great gasps that shook them both. Without a word Rafael dropped one arm behind her knees and lifted her, striding from the gazebo deep into the cover of the beeches lining the dark, grassy avenue. He laid her urgently on the grass and flung himself down beside her, recoiling in sudden horror at Judith's cry of anguish as her head made rough contact with the hard, dry earth.

  'Querida—what—Gran Dios!' Rafael hit his forehead with the heel of his hand and helped Judith to a sitting position with care, supporting her against his shoulder. 'Your head,' he said hoarsely, 'have I injured you further? Speak, Judith—speak!'

  'I will,' she said, breathless. 'Just give me a moment. I'm—I'm all right, honestly. I—I forgot I had a wound, for a moment there.'

  He rubbed a hand across his eyes. 'I did not think—I am an imbecile. Forgive me, Judith.'

  'It wasn't entirely your fault,' she said with justice. 'It's just that I'd never had first-hand experience before of what's meant by "the world well-lost for love". Only I rather fancy I mean "lust", don't you?'

  'Do you, Judith?' he asked soberly. 'Is that what you felt? Lust?'

  'Not having felt quite like that before I'm not really in a position to judge.' Judith sat erect gingerly, glad of Rafael's arm in support.

  'What do you mean? You have made love before, no?'

  'No—yes, well, not quite to that degree of sheer dementia, anyway,' she said candidly. 'Perhaps I could get up now—'

  'Stay where you are for a moment,' he said sternly. 'I behaved—I am not sure how I behaved, but I had no right to go wild like that, at least not under these circumstances, when you are injured.'

  'Then it's quite admissible with partners who are all in one piece?' she asked innocently.

  'You are teasing again, chica,' he warned. 'This doctor of yours—do you subject him to the same treatment?'

  Judith sobered. 'As I've said before, I don't consider that particular subject one for discussion. Please help me up now. It must be getting late.'

  Rafael helped her to her feet, then took her arm as they walked slowly back to the house.

  'Are you truly all right, Judith?' he asked with concern.

  'It depends on what you mean by "all right",' she said lightly. 'I'm fully recovered from the effects of last night, I think. Now all I have to do is recover from those of tonight.'

  'Which makes me feel like an animal,' he said bleakly.

  'Oh please—don't. I'm not blaming you in the slightest. It was just as you said.' Judith paused as they reached the terrace, smiling at him in the soft light coming from the house. 'One of those games only two can play. We perhaps brought rather more enthusiasm to it than was wise, that's all.'

  Rafael stared down at her, looking baffled, his brows meeting above his eyes. 'You perplex me, Judith. Do you take nothing seriously?'

  'Of course,' she said cheerfully. 'But only when necessary. During working hours I'm a very earnest lady, I assure you. But you're not part of every day life, Rafael, are you? So let's keep it light.'

  She went ahead of him into the drawing-room as the stable clock began to chime ten, catching sight of herself in one of the twin gilt-framed mirrors either side of the Adam fireplace. Her eyes were like flames in her flushed face, the discoloured one giving her a distinctly disreputable air, and her hair was a disaster. A quick, dismayed inspection of her dress did nothing to cheer her up, either. The thin green cotton was creased and crushed beyond repair. If Honor set eyes on her in this state there'd be blood on the moon, as their mother was always saying. Regretfully she turned away from the mirror to the man watching her.

  'Rafael, I think it best I turn in before the others get back.'

  He stood studying her, his eyes almost hidden by the thick lashes framing them. 'You mean my company palls?'

  This was a long, long way from the truth, Judith realised uneasily.

  'No,' she said steadily. 'I mean that if my sister sees me looking like this I'll never find an explanation to satisfy her. I can hardly change my clothes at this time of night, so I suppose I'd better just go to bed.'

  Rafael's eyes dropped slightly, and she flushed as she followed their gaze. To her embarrassment she found her dress was torn at one corner of the low, square neckline.

  He gave an eloquent, despairing shrug. 'Again I apologise—'

  'Please don't,' Judith said quickly. 'Good night.'

  'I shall see you to your room,' he said formally, and in silence escorted her up the stairs. He opened the door of the bedroom, then stood looking at her gravely for a moment. 'I go to London tomorrow, Judith, after which I am due in Bregenz, then Verona.'

  'You'll be very busy.' She looked away.

  'I shall think of you.' The vibrant voice was almost inaudible.

  'And I of you.' Which was an understatement.

  With a stifled sound he caught her by the shoulders and kissed her roughly, opening her mouth with his before he released her to walk away without a backward glance. Judith watched him go, a hand to her mouth, then went into the bedroom and closed the door behind her, leaning on it for a moment, dazed. After a while she took off her dress and folded it into her bag out of sight, then had a hasty bath and brushed her hair, her head throbbing dully, her face still on fire. She was lying in bed, her novel open at the same unread page when Honor came in half an hour later, her face anxious.

  'Feeling rough, Judith? You look very hot.' She went out of the room and came back in with a thermometer, popping it in Judith's mouth before she could protest, then inspected the dressing on her scalp, clucking her tongue when she found the patient's temperature was indeed up a couple of degrees.

  'Don't worry. I'll survive.' Judith smiled at her, eyes brilliant with suppressed guilt. 'Go back down to the others. I'll be fine.'

  'Did you manage to pass the evening pleasantly?' asked Honor when she was ready to leave.

  'Yes. Very pleasantly.'

  'You must have overdone things a bit. We'll get the doctor in the morning if you still feel rotten.' Honor smiled lovingly and closed the door.

  Judith let out an explosive sigh. She felt like a criminal. It was underhand to worry Honor un­necessarily like that when there was nothing medically wrong with her at all beyond three stitches in her scalp. The only thing that moderated Judith's guilt a little was the thought that if Honor knew the real reason for her sister's fever she would worry twice as much—at least.

  Flat on her back, Judith stared at the ceiling, making herself lie still and quiet. It was difficult. Her whole body felt riotously alive. She ran her hand slowly over the curve of her shoulder, trying to imagine how it had felt to Rafael, wondering if he had liked the feel of her—a sharp stab of reminiscent sensation shot through her at the mere thought of his seeking hands, and with a groan she turned on her stomach and buried her face in her pillow. She had always wondered idly why she remained so detached during any lovemaking demanded by various men-friends. The girls who trained with her had all seemed to revel in the pastime with partners many and various, comparing skills and thrills afterwards with gusto. Judith had avoided these discussions, not caring to admit that the warmest adjective for any of her romantic passages was pleasant. At least up to now. Tonight she
had learned a very surprising lesson. Everyone possessed the necessary switch, apparently. It just needed the right person to turn it on. Even if the right person turned out to be the wrong one in every possible way. And Rafael David was about as wrong as it was possible to be for someone like Judith Russell. She sighed gloomily as she thought of returning to work. It was likely to be a test of stamina. She could just picture the barrage of questions from her colleagues about her dramatic arrival in Casualty. At least tonight's episode was unknown to anyone. It was so different for Rafael, probably the type of thing he was used to, though presumably with less battered partners he was unlikely to be left frustrated, and possibly sleepless. Like she was herself.

  Next morning Judith was up early, with the idea of returning to Chantry Cottage as soon as she could. Her belongings packed, the room tidy, she went quietly downstairs, the scent of tempting coffee leading her towards the morning room, a small, pleasant little apartment overlooking the terrace. Martin was alone at the breakfast table, reading the morning paper. His thin, clever face lit with a surprised smile as he got to his feet.

  'Judith! Should you be up and about? Honor said you weren't too good last night.'

  There was no sign of Rafael. Judith relaxed a little and sat down in the chair Martin was holding out for her.

  'Good morning,' she said cheerfully, and shook out her napkin. 'I'm much better, and I really can't trespass on your hospitality any longer; it would be sheer malingering if I did.'

  'I don't agree, but I think I'll leave the arguing to Honor,' he said. 'At least let me ring for something cooked, Judith—what would you like?'

  'Nothing like that, thanks. Both of us are toast and coffee lovers in the morning. Honor sometimes even dodges that if I don't make a fuss.' Judith helped herself to toast and butter, and poured coffee for them both. Martin thanked her, frowning.

  'She's too thin. Does she look after herself properly, Judith?'