Score! (2 page)

L

ARA

P

EZCHEROV

Mikhail’s adored wife.

D

ETECTIVE

C

HIEF

I

NSPECTOR

G

ERALD

P

ORTLAND

Admin king and limelight hogger, Rutminster CID.

R

OZZY

P

RINGLE

Exquisite-voiced soprano playing Tebaldo the page in

Worn down by overwork and importunate family.

G

LYN

P

RINGLE

Rozzy’s husband — an accomplished drone.

P

USHY

G

ALORE

An ambitious and irritatingly good-looking member of the

chorus. Real name Gloria Prescott.

C

ECILIA

R

ANNALDINI

Italian soprano and world-famous diva. Rannaldini’s feisty second wife.

S

IR

R

OBERTO

R

ANNALDINI

Mega maestro and archfiend, with musical directorships in Berlin, New York and Tokyo. Co-producing

.

L

ADY

(H

ELEN

) R

ANNALDINI

Rannaldini’s fourth wife and Rupert Campbell-Black’s first wife, devoted mother of Marcus and less so of Tabitha. A legendary American beauty.

W

OLFGANG

R

ANNALDINI

Rannaldini’s son from his first marriage. Little Hitler exterior hides heart of gold. Former boyfriend of Flora Seymour.

S

ALLY

Another of Rannaldini’s pretty maids.

F

LORA

S

EYMOUR

Soprano and viola player and former wild child, traumatized by teenage affaire with Rannaldini, now living with George Hungerford.

A

LPHEUS

P. S

HAW

World-famous American bass, singing Philip II in

Splendidlooking, but pompous sexual predator.

C

HERYL

S

HAW

Alpheus’s justifiably jealous wife. Great tree and social climber.

D

ETECTIVE

C

ONSTABLE

S

MITHSON

A very PC DC.

B

ABY

S

PINOSISSIMO

Dazzling Australian tenor and sexual buccaneer of the modern school.

C

HIEF

C

ONSTABLE

S

WALLOW

A Rutshire god, and friend of Lady Rannaldini and Dame Hermione.

S

YLVESTRE

Sound engineer,

Man of few words but countless deeds.

S

YLVIA

Glyn Pringle’s housekeeper.

V

ALENTIN

Charismatic camera operator,

Oscar’s son-in-law.

L

ADY

G

RISELDA

W

ALLACE

Wardrobe mistress,

Nervous-breakdown van always on call during production.

S

ERENA

W

ESTWOOD

Record producer of

Cool, competent beauty.

J

ESSIE

W

ESTWOOD

Serena’s four-year-old daughter.

M

EREDITH

W

HALEN

Set designer,

Highly expensive interior designer. Known as the Ideal Homo, because he’s so much in demand as spare man at dinner parties.

T

HE

E

NGINEER

Tabitha Campbell-Black’s event horse.

G

ERTRUDE

Taggie Campbell-Black’s mongrel.

J

AMES

Lucy Latimer’s rescued lurcher.

P

EPPY

K

OALA

An Australian wonder horse.

T

HE

P

RINCE OF

D

ARKNESS

Rannaldini’s vicious and generally victorious National Hunt horse.

S

ARASTRO

Rannaldini’s cat.

S

HARON

Tabitha Campbell-Black’s yellow Labrador, later has walk-on part as the Grand Inquisitor’s guide dog.

T

ABLOID

Rannaldini’s Rottweiler.

T

REVOR

Flora Seymour’s rescued terrier.

THE INITIAL CAST OF THE FILM

P

HILIP

II, K

ING OF

S

PAIN

Alpheus P. Shaw

D

ON

C

ARLOS

, I

NFANTE OF

S

PAIN

‘Fat Franco’ Palmieri

E

LIZABETH DE

V

ALOIS

, P

RINCESS OF

F

RANCE

Hermione Harefield

T

EBALDO

, E

LIZABETH

’S P

AGE

Rozzy Pringle

P

RINCESS

E

BOLI

, A S

PANISH LADY-IN-WAITING

Chloe Catford

R

ODRIGO

, M

ARQUIS OF

P

OSA

F

RIEND OF

D

ON

C

ARLOS

To be filled

T

HE

G

RAND

I

NQUISITOR

Granville ‘Granny’ Hastings

T

HE GHOST OF THE

E

MPEROR

C

HARLES

V

Giuseppe Cavalli

C

OUNT

L

ERMA

,

THE

S

PANISH

A

MBASSADOR TO

F

RANCE

Colin Milton

Many men hated Roberto Rannaldini. Many women, after loving him passionately, hated him even more. To be regarded at twenty-eight as the most exciting conductor since the war had necessitated brutal trampling on the way up. But at least Rannaldini could count on the unqualified love of his ten-year-old godson, Tristan de Montigny. To Tristan, the dashing maestro, with his suave, catlike smile, his deep, caressing voice, and his recklessly fast cars, was the most glamorous person in the world.

Most importantly Rannaldini had been a friend of Tristan’s mother, who had died when Tristan was a baby, and was the only person prepared to satisfy the boy’s craving for information about her.

‘She was so beautiful, so sweet, so proud of you, Tristan, and she love you so much. Her death happen in moment of madness, when she feel she cannot cope, and was unworthy of your father.’

Tristan’s father, Étienne de Montigny, was France’s most illustrious painter. He was revered for his portraits and landscapes but most famous for his erotic paintings, many of which,
Salome’s Ecstasy, The Rape of Lucrece
and more recently
David and Jonathan
, hung in the great galleries of the world, elevating near-pornography to an art form.

Étienne, outwardly a laughing giant of a man, had spawned a pack of children from three wives and numerous mistresses. Twelve years ago, when he was sixty, he had met Rannaldini, newly arrived in Paris to make his fortune as a conductor. The two had struck up a rapport, and Étienne had taken the handsome, impossibly precocious teenager under his wing. In return Rannaldini had not only milked Étienne’s contacts but also posed for him.

Part of the fun for collectors of what became known as Étienne’s ‘extremely blue period’ was to identify Rannaldini in the paintings as everyone from Apollo to the head of John the Baptist. Rannaldini had also provided beautiful young models to titillate the old goat’s palate and palette.

The most beautiful had been Tristan’s mother, the sixteen-year-old Delphine. Even Étienne’s staunchest supporters had been horrified when he had made this exquisite child his fourth wife and within a few weeks impregnated her.

Nemesis moved swiftly. A proud, delighted Étienne was busy sketching his newborn baby, Tristan, when he heard that his fourth and favourite son, Laurent, a young army officer, had been blown up in Chad. Laurent had always been a rebel, and rumours persisted that he had been taken out by his own side. Too crazed with grief even to call for an inquiry, Étienne promptly lost interest in baby Tristan, and hardly seemed to notice when, a few days later, Tristan’s young mother committed suicide. She had been suffering from postnatal depression. It was left to Étienne’s sister, Hortense, a rusty old battleaxe, to organize Tristan’s christening, at which, as one of Delphine’s last wishes, Rannaldini was a godfather.

Étienne’s indifference persisted. Tristan was the only one of his children he pointedly ignored and never praised. The boy had been brought up with the rest of Étienne’s gilded pack in Paris or at the château in the Tarn, but he was always the wistful calf which grazes away from the herd, longing for yet shying away from love.

Which was why his godfather was so important to Tristan and why on that wintry November evening in 1977 he could hardly contain his excitement as, in his first dark suit, his gold hair slicked down with water, he peered out at the galloping black clouds and frenziedly thrashing trees of the Bois de Boulogne for a first glimpse of Rannaldini’s Mercedes.

Although Rannaldini got a Machiavellian kick from singling out Tristan for attention, knowing it irritated the hell out of Étienne, he was genuinely attached to the boy. He had also been a wonderful godfather: writing from all over the world, never forgetting Christmas or a birthday, taking Tristan to concerts whenever he swept through Paris. For his confirmation he had even given him a Guarneri cello, valued at thousands, which Tristan had been practising for days hoping Rannaldini might ask him to play. Tristan had also painted him a watercolour — not too much like Degas — of polo players in the Bois.

There was Rannaldini’s Mercedes. Tristan hurtled downstairs, beating the housekeeper, slithering on a rose-patterned rug across the floorboards, shyly shaking his godfather by the hand, before submitting to a warm, scented embrace.

As usual, Rannaldini was in a hurry. As a tenth-birthday present, he was taking Tristan to Verdi’s greatest opera,
Don Carlos
. The curtain would rise in an hour so they were cutting it fine, but first he wanted to hear Tristan play and whisked him into the library.

Here Rannaldini paused only to admire himself on the cover of
Paris-Match
, and clock any new artists on the dark red walls. Over the centuries, the Montignys had increased their fortune buying paintings ahead of fashion. Rannaldini had considerably bolstered his coffers by using Étienne’s eye to build up his own collection.

Opening the piano score of
Don Carlos
, at the great cello solo at the beginning of Act IV, he placed it on Tristan’s music stand.

‘Try this.’

Even though Tristan was sight-reading, he played with total concentration and the sad sound blossomed as his long fingers vibrated on the strings.

‘Excellent,’ cried Rannaldini in delight. ‘You work very hard. And this is excellent too,’ he added, putting Tristan’s watercolour inside the piano score. ‘I will hang it in my study. We must go.’

‘I hope you will not be bored,’ said Rannaldini, manoeuvring the Mercedes through the pre-theatre and dinner traffic at a speed that astounded even the Parisians. ‘It is long opera but very interesting. I will briefly explain story.

‘France and Spain are ending long, bloody war. To unite the two countries, Elisabetta, the French king’s beautiful daughter, is to marry Carlos, the son of King Philip II of Spain. Understand?’

Tristan nodded. He loved the way Rannaldini never talked down to him.

‘Young Carlos reach France in disguise, wanting to see if he has been lumbered with ugly cow, but when he see Princess Elisabetta out hunting in the woods,’ Rannaldini gesticulated at the Bois de Boulogne, ‘he find her utterly beautiful, with dark hair to her waist. When he reveal he is Carlos, her future husband, she fall in love too. They will live ’appy ever after.’ Jumping a red light, Rannaldini made a V-sign at an outraged crone in a Volvo.

‘Then awful thing ’appen. Carlos’s father, Philip II, decide he want Elisabetta for himself and marries her instead. This is very selfish because King already has beautiful girlfriend called Eboli.

‘Poor Carlos, however, cannot stop loving Elisabetta even though she is now Queen of Spain, married to his father, and she still love him. But everywhere in Spanish court they are spied on. I won’t spoil the ending.’

They were approaching the opera house.

‘Rannaldini, Rannaldini,’ shouted admirers, surging forward.

A group protesting against nuclear tests was also lurking. One, a handsome but ferocious blonde, banged on the Mercedes window, which Rannaldini lowered a fraction.