The Maestro's Mistress (31 page)

He reached out and took her hand.
‘And you mustn’t let it go – all your marvellous talent.’

The tall figure of Saul appeared
at the door. ‘Tara, I’ve been looking all over for you.’

‘I’m coming. Got a little tied
up.’ She withdrew her hand gently from the student’s eager clasp.

As regards her own aspirations
she felt there was no need to spell it out to him that within certain defined
spaces there was room for only one Maestro.

In New York, forty eight hours
later, Tara watched Xavier as he lay stretched out on the bed in their hotel
room, mentally preparing for his appearance at the Metropolitan Opera that
evening to conduct Smetana’s
The Bartered Bride.

The dress rehearsal had not been
happy. There had been tears from the lead soprano, who had fled temporarily
from the stage protesting that Xavier was a heartless sadist, sulks from the
lighting crew into whom the Maestro had lashed with a serpent’s tongue, and
glum resignation from the  orchestra who seemed to be able to do a single thing
to please him.

Tara knew that he was deeply ill
at ease with himself. He had, of course, always been tyrannical: brilliant,
egocentric and utterly powerful. But now the brilliance was becoming tarnished
with bitterness and cynicism. He had conquered the world, but he had maimed his
wife, robbed his mistress of her virtuoso talents and alienated his only child.
The guilt was there with him constantly, generating a self-hate which was now
beginning to turn outwards onto others.

He drove himself mercilessly. He
never stopped working – setting himself new goals, seeking out new interpretations.
Demanding the same level of obsessive excellence from all who worked alongside
him.

Tara sat on the bed beside him
and stroked the long bones of his face. They seemed to become more deeply
sculpted as each year passed. His face and his spirit seemed to be slowly
sinking into them, the whole effect making him more arrestingly attractive than
ever before.

She leaned down and kissed his
forehead in a tender, reverential manner as though saluting an historic hero.
His monumental drive and his breathtaking knowledge of music and conducting
still inspired her with awe and respect. There had been so many things to learn
from him over the years, so many benefits.

Her fingers traced over his firm
mobile mouth. He gave a faint groan. Tara pressed her lips on his.

He opened his eyes. For a moment
he seemed not to register her presence.

‘It’s all right,’ she told him
with a smile of irony. ‘There are still a couple of hours before curtain up.’

‘Ah.’ He lifted his hand and
slipped it inside her robe.

As he caressed her she wondered
which of the problematic aspects of the evening’s performance was exercising
him most. He had always had the capacity to do more than one thing at a time
with consummate skill.

His lovemaking remained
technically perfect, ever more refined and imaginative. But there was a growing
restraint to it, a curious throb of sadness.

Sometimes she wondered if he
would prefer to abandon the flesh and live the life of a monk.

CHAPTER
28

It was winter. Alessandra had several
songs to prepare for the prestigious Christmas recital being organized by her
singing tutor. Tosca required frequent exercising in preparation for the county
cross country event taking place at the riding centre in the same week. The
latter was taking up far more of her time and effort than the former and her
father was not pleased.

Driving Alessandra across to
Rachel’s cottage to ride Tosca, Tara wondered how to tell her daughter about
Xavier’s recent suggestion of a family skiing holiday to be taken in the
mountains above Salzburg in the New Year. She knew how important if was for him
that Alessandra should be there.

Diplomatically she broached the
subject.

‘When?’ Alessandra snapped
angrily.

‘February – half term.’

‘The riding school have got some terrific
open competition fixtures for then. I can’t possibly miss those.’

‘It would only be for ten days,’
Tara said encouragingly.

Alessandra rounded on her.
‘That’s a bloody lifetime!’ After a prickly silence she said, ‘I’m sorry.’

Tara sighed.

‘You go Mummy. You know how I
hate trekking round the world.’

‘It’s only Europe.’

‘You and Daddy will enjoy it just
as well without me.’ She was trying desperately to be reasonable. Tara could
see the expression on her face shrieking out, ‘don’t make me do this’.

‘I think Daddy really wants you
to go,’ Tara said quietly. ‘He sees so little of you.’

‘And whose fault is that? He’s
never at home.’

‘Neither are you,’ Tara shot
back.

Alessandra jerked her head away
from her mother and stared out of the window. ‘He doesn’t really want me there.
He just likes the idea that I’ll be around. He won’t spend any time with me.
He’ll get bored of sticking to the novice runs and go off on his own. Anyway I
loathe skiing; it’s a waste of time when I could be riding.’

Tara heard the truth in her
words.

‘Oh God!’ she groaned to Rachel,
having deposited a stormy, pink-faced Alessandra at the entrance to the
paddock. ‘How long does it take them to get through adolescence?’

‘With you it went on from around
eight to twenty-one,’ Rachel said drily. So I should prepare for a long siege.’

Tara stirred milk into the coffee
Rachel had put in front of her. She wondered if she and Alessandra would
eventually find the harmony she herself had discovered with Rachel.

‘I feel so helpless!’ she burst out
suddenly, thumping a clenched fist on the table. ‘I know what he’s doing to
her. And yet I don’t seem to find a way to do anything about it. Maybe I’m just
as bad as he is.’

‘You are both good parents,’
Rachel said, which she considered to be broadly the truth, taking into account
the impossibility of the general task of parenthood. ‘And he feels a real bond
with her, he really adores her.’

‘Is that the problem?’ Tara
wondered.

‘Too much love, too much need? Is
that what you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘Probably.’

‘History repeating itself,’ Tara
mused.

Rachel had often considered this
very issue. ‘Maybe some similarities.’ But Richard had been nothing like
Xavier, she thought privately. Richard had been a fine instrumentalist and a
committed musician, but he had never been driven. And he had at least tried to
look at things from the other person’s point of view, even if he had not always
succeeded.

Rachel had been truly shocked
when Tara presented her with her own version of the relationship between her
and Richard. She had never suspected the young Tara’s feelings of inadequacy in
comparison with her dead brother. The realization that she and Richard might
unwittingly have been a party to Tara’s lost opportunities, both musical and
personal, had been a bitter pill to swallow.

But there had been a huge
compensation. She had been emotionally reunited with the daughter who had
seemed determined to cast her off for ever.

‘It will sort itself out,’ Rachel
said practically.

‘I suppose something will turn up
to push her decision one way or the other. It usually does,’ Tara said with
faint resignation.

‘I’m surprised you agreed to go.
Since when did you like skiing? ‘

Tara shrugged and laughed. ‘Oh,
well – maybe this time I’ll manage to keep upright.’

Rachel shuddered inwardly. How
pliant and pragmatic Tara had become, using all her skills and energies in
negotiating the dangerous swirls and eddies of her relationship with Saul and
her daughter. ‘What have you got planned for the coming six months?’ she asked
Tara.

‘The usual – charming huge
amounts of money out of the Arts Council for the Tudor Phil and working on the
local council to contribute something as well.’

‘You’ve been the best ambassador
for that orchestra that Saul could have hoped to find anywhere.’

‘Yes, I have done a good job on
his behalf, that’s true. But then if it hadn’t been for Saul I’d never have had
the opportunity. We are good for each other, you know,’ Tara told her mother,
well aware of her view that Saul called all the tunes and thought of no career
except his own.

‘Then what? Are you teaching at
the Allegro Academy again?’

‘Yes - regular slots through the
spring coaching the orchestra. And we’ll be giving a special concert for the
children’s charity even in March.’

‘That sounds good.’

‘It’s enough,’ Tara told her
mother calmly. ‘Enough in terms of my time and my level of abilities. I was a
good player and I lost that – and now I’m a good teacher.’

Yes, but if you weren’t chained
to Saul  Xavier you’d be thinking about other things than teaching, thought Rachel.
It grieved her to see Tara like this, so outwardly brave and cheerful but in
truth fettered and isolated, her creativity stifled. Humouring a moody tyrant
couldn’t really be much fun. Her friends were all his, her time was all his.
And he was the one who had caused the loss of her fierce talent. She had given
him everything.

‘Don’t be worried about me,’ Tara
said gently. ‘Truly, there’s no need.’

She placed her hand over
Rachel’s; her left hand where the fingertips were still numb, the middle three
digits slightly wooden looking.

They sat for a time in silence.

‘I’ll have to persuade Alessandra
to go on this holiday,’ Tara decided. ‘He’ll be so hurt otherwise.  Anyway it’s
not good for any kid to have all their own way.

‘Hah!’ said Rachel, bursting into
sudden laughter.

CHAPTER
29

Saul was in the basement which
had been turned into a vast work space where he could carry out editing work on
his film project.

Projection machines, cutting
racks and all the paraphernalia of film editing were ranged around the walls.
Saul perched on a high stool at the centre of the cutting table in front of the
controls of the cutting machine which could be activated in three ways –
forward, fast forward and reverse. Tara, acting as his assistant on his
secretary’s night off, carefully loaded up the raw takes through a maze of
rollers, ensuring that each was in perfect synchronization with the other.

When all was prepared Saul set
the projection machine rolling.

Three images came up on three
small screens positioned side by side just behind the table. They each showed
Saul conducting, filmed from three different angles. Two cameras had picked up
a hazy chequerboard of black and white clothed orchestra members, whilst the
other carried an arresting image of Saul starkly outlined against a backcloth
of slender waving bows.

It struck Tara how completely he
dominated the frame on all the screens, how he was the continual and vital
focal point of the shot. He watched the film intently, his eyes narrowed in
assessing slits.  Around every forty seconds he switched the machine into pause
mode and then decided on the cuts he would make. Using a thick grease pencil he
sketched marks on the film accordingly.

After they had been working for
half an hour a considerable length of film had been loaded and assessed.
Looking up at the screen Tara saw the images on the screen had not changed
much. Saul was still there in triplicate from three different angles.

Sitting behind the table he
monitored the images of himself conducting. One hand glided with the music –
Beethoven’s fourth symphony – whilst the other made random stabs at the air in
front of the screens.

‘We don’t want any gimmicks,’ he
muttered. ‘The viewers mustn’t be distracted from the music by pretty pictures.
It’s got to be the music which counts.’

Tara looked at the dominant,
arresting images of Saul’s granite features and wondered. Nevertheless there
was no denying that the sound was fantastic. The new digital video disc, with
its vivid visual image, carried advanced fidelity laser tracking which produced
an uncannily brilliant and sparkling sound light years away from the old tapes.

Xavier had always been fascinated
with musical technology, and his life-long love affair with recording – begun
years before she met him – had persisted and was now something of an obsession.

The products of his years of work
and effort were stacked around the walls of his ground floor study: an army of
LPs, firstly in mono and then in stereo sound. After that the compact laser
disc had come along and he had started all over again.

Tara would sometimes take down
one of the old vinyl records and place it on the turntable of Xavier’s
cherished 1960s hi-fi equipment. Whilst listening she would survey the huge
collection, marvelling at the sheer volume of work Xavier had undertaken so as
to constantly update his repertoire, re-recording as many of the great works as
possible each time a new technological advance was made. The cycles of the
great symphonies; Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, Schuman, Brahms,
Tchaikovsky, Mahler were all there and countless others besides.