The Stars Shine Down (18 page)

Lara, seated in the audience, felt a thrill as she watched Philip walk out on the stage. There was a presence about him that was mesmerizing.
I am going to marry him,
Lara thought.
I know it.
She sat back in her seat and let his playing wash over her.

The recital was a triumph, and afterward the greenroom was packed. Philip had long ago learned to divide the crowd invited to the greenroom into two groups: the fans and other musicians. The fans were always enthusiastic. If the performance was a success, the congratulations of the other musicians were cordial. If it was a failure, their congratulations were
very
cordial.

Philip had many avid fans in Amsterdam, and on this particular evening the greenroom was crowded with them. He stood in the center of the room, smiling, signing autographs, and being patiently polite to a hundred strangers. Invariably someone would say, “Do you remember me?” And Philip would pretend to. “Your face looks so familiar…”

He remembered the story of Sir Thomas Beecham, who had hit upon a device to conceal his bad memory. When someone asked, “Do you remember me?” the great conductor would reply, “Of course, I do! How are you, and how is your father, and what is he doing?” The device worked well until a concert in London when a young woman in the greenroom said, “Your performance was wonderful, Maestro. Do you remember me?” and Beecham gallantly replied, “Of course, I do, my dear. How is your father, and what is he doing?” The young woman said, “Father is fine, thank you. And he’s still king of England.”

Philip was busily signing autographs, listening to the familiar
phrases—“You made Brahms come alive for me!”…“I can’t tell you how moved I was!”…“I have all your albums”…“Would you sign an autograph for my mother too? She’s your biggest fan…”—when something made him look up. Lara was standing in the doorway, watching. His eyes widened in surprise. “Excuse me.”

He made his way over to her and took her hand. “What a wonderful surprise! What are you doing in Amsterdam?”

Careful, Lara.
“I had some business to attend to here, and when I heard you were giving a recital, I had to come.”
That was innocent enough.
“You were wonderful, Philip.”

“Thank you…I…” He stopped to sign another autograph. “Look, if you’re free for supper…”

“I’m free,” Lara said quickly.

They had supper at the Bali restaurant on Leidsestraat. As they entered the restaurant, the patrons rose and applauded.
In the United States,
Lara thought,
the excitement would have been for me.
But she felt a warm glow, simply being at Philip’s side.

“It’s a great honor to have you with us, Mr. Adler,” the maître d’ said as he led them to their table.

“Thank you.”

As they were being seated, Lara looked around at all the people staring admiringly at Philip. “They really love you, don’t they?”

He shook his head. “It’s the music they love. I’m just the messenger. I learned that a long time ago. When I was very young and perhaps a little arrogant, I gave a concert, and when I had finished my solo, there was tremendous applause, and I was bowing to the audience and smugly smiling at them, and the conductor turned to the audience and held up the score over his head to remind everyone that they were really applauding Mozart. It’s a lesson I’ve never forgotten.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of playing the same music over and over, night after night?”

“No, because no two recitals are the same. The music may be the same, but the conductor is different, and the orchestra is different.”

They ordered a rijsttafel dinner, and Philip said, “We try to make each recital perfect, but there’s no such thing as a completely successful one because we’re dealing with music that is always better than we are. We have to rethink the music each time in order to recreate the sound of the composer.”

“You’re never satisfied?”

“Never. Each composer has his own distinctive sound. Whether it’s Debussy, Brahms, Haydn, Beethoven…our goal is to capture that particular sound.”

Supper arrived. The rijsttafel was an Indonesian feast, consisting of twenty-one courses, including a variety of meats, fish, chicken, noodles, and two desserts.

“How can anyone eat all this?” Lara laughed.

“The Dutch have hearty appetites.”

Philip found it difficult to take his eyes off Lara. He found himself ridiculously pleased that she was there. He had been involved with more than his share of beautiful women, but Lara was like no one he had ever known. She was strong and yet very feminine and totally unselfconscious about her beauty. He liked her throaty, sexy voice.
In fact, I like everything about her,
Philip admitted to himself.

“Where do you go from here?” Lara was asking.

“Tomorrow I’ll be in Milan. Then Venice and Vienna, Paris and London, and finally New York.”

“It sounds so romantic.”

Philip laughed. “I’m not sure romantic is the word I would choose. We’re talking about iffy airline schedules, strange hotels, and eating out in restaurants every night. I don’t really
mind because the act of playing is so wonderful. It’s the ‘say cheese’ syndrome that I hate.”

“What’s that?”

“Being put on exhibit all the time, smiling at people you care nothing about, living your life in a world of strangers.”

“I know what that’s like,” Lara said slowly.

As they were finishing supper, Philip said, “Look, I’m always keyed up after a concert. Would you care to take a ride on the canal?”

“I’d love to.”

They boarded a canalbus that cruised the Amstel. There was no moon, but the city was alive with thousands of sparkling lights. The canal trip was an enchantment. A loudspeaker poured out information in four languages:

“We are now passing centuries-old merchants’ houses with their richly decorated gables. Ahead are ancient church towers. There are twelve hundred bridges on the canals, all in the shade of magnificent avenues of elm trees…”

They passed the Smalste Huis—the narrowest house in Amsterdam—which was only as wide as the front door, and the Westerkerk with the crown of the Hapsburg emperor Maximilian, and they went under the wooden lift bridge over the Amstel and the Magere Brug—the skinny bridge—and passed scores of houseboats that served as home for hundreds of families.

“This is such a beautiful city,” Lara said.

“You’ve never been here before?”

“No.”

“And you’re here on business.”

Lara took a deep breath. “No.”

He looked at her puzzled. “I thought you said…”

“I came to Amsterdam to see you.”

He felt a sudden frisson of pleasure. “I…I’m very flattered.”

“And I have another confession to make. I told you I was interested in classical music. That’s not true.”

A smile touched the corner of Philip’s lips. “I know.”

Lara looked at him in surprise. “You know?”

“Professor Meyers is an old friend of mine,” he said gently. “He called to tell me that he was giving you a crash course on Philip Adler. He was concerned that you might have designs on me.”

Lara said softly, “He was right. Are you involved with anyone?”

“You mean seriously?”

Lara was suddenly embarrassed. “If you’re not interested, I’ll leave and…”

He took her hand in his. “Let’s get off at the next stop.”

When they arrived back at the hotel, there were a dozen messages from Howard Keller. Lara put them in her purse, unread. At this moment nothing else in her life seemed important.

“Your room or mine?” Philip asked lightly.

“Yours.”

There was a burning urgency in her.

It seemed to Lara that she had waited all her life for this moment. This was what she had been missing. She had found the stranger she was in love with. They reached Philip’s room, and there was an urgency in both of them. Philip took her in his arms and kissed her softly and tenderly, exploring, and Lara murmured, “Oh, my God,” and they began to undress each other.

The silence of the room was broken by a sudden clap of thunder outside. Slowly, gray clouds in the sky spread their skirts open, wider and wider, and soft rain began to fall. It
started quietly and gently, caressing the warm air erotically, licking at the sides of buildings, sucking at the soft grass, kissing all the dark corners of the night. It was a hot rain, wanton and sensuous, sliding down slowly, slowly, until the tempo began to increase and it changed to a driving, pounding storm, fierce and demanding, an orgiastic beat in a steady, savage rhythm, plunging down harder and harder, moving faster and faster until it finally exploded in a burst of thunder. Suddenly, as quickly as it had started, it was over.

Lara and Philip lay in each other’s arms, spent. Philip held Lara close, and he could feel the beating of her heart. He thought of a line he had once heard in a movie.
“Did the earth move for you?” By God, it did,
Philip thought.
If she were music, she would be Chopin’s
Barcarolle
or Schumann’s
Fantasy.

He could feel the soft contours of her body pressed against him, and he began to get aroused again.

“Philip…” Her voice was husky.

“Yes?”

“Would you like me to go with you to Milan?”

He found himself grinning. “Oh, my God, yes!”

“Good,” Lara murmured. She leaned over him, and her soft hair started to trail down his lean, hard body.

It began to rain again.

When Lara finally returned to her room, she telephoned Keller. “Did I wake you up, Howard?”

“No.” His voice was groggy. “I’m always up at four in the morning. What’s going on there?”

Lara was bursting to tell him, but she said, “Nothing. I’m leaving for Milan.”

“What? We aren’t doing anything in Milan.”

Oh, yes, we are,
Lara thought happily.

“Did you see my messages?”

She had forgotten to look at them. Guiltily, she said, “Not yet.”

“I’ve been hearing rumors about the casino.”

“What’s the problem?”

“There have been some complaints about the bidding.”

“Don’t worry about it. If there’s any problem, Paul Martin will take care of it.”

“You’re the boss.”

“I want you to send the plane to Milan. Have the pilots wait for me there. I’ll get in touch with them at the airport.”

“All right, but…”

“Go back to sleep.”

At four o’clock in the morning, Paul Martin was wide-awake. He had left several messages on Lara’s private answering machine at her apartment, but none of his calls had been returned. In the past, she had always let him know when she was going to be away. Something was happening. What was she up to?
“Be careful, my darling,”
he whispered.
“Be very careful.”

I
n Milan, Lara and Philip Adler checked into the Antica Locanda Solferino, a charming hotel with only twelve rooms, and they spent the morning making passionate love. Afterward, they took the drive to Cernobbia and had lunch at Lake Como, at the beautiful Villa d’Este.

The concert that night was a triumph, and the greenroom at La Scala Opera House was packed with well-wishers.

Lara stood to one side, watching as Philip’s fans surrounded him, touching him, adoring him, asking for autographs, handing him little gifts. Lara felt a sharp pang of jealousy. Some of the women were young and beautiful, and it seemed to Lara that all of them were obvious. An American woman in an elegant Fendi gown was saying, coyly, “If you’re free tomorrow, Mr. Adler, I’m having an intimate little dinner at my villa.
Very
intimate.”

Lara wanted to strangle the bitch.

Philip smiled. “Er…thank you, but I’m afraid I’m not free.”

Another woman tried to slip Philip her hotel key. He shook his head.

Philip looked over at Lara and grinned. Women kept crowding around him.

“Lei era magnifico, maestro!”

“Molto gentile da parte sua,”
Philip replied.

“L’ho sentita suonare il anno scorso. Bravo!”

“Grazie.”
Philip smiled.

A woman was clutching his arm.
“Sarebbe possibile cenare insieme?”

Philip shook his head.
“Ma non credo che sarai impossibile.”

To Lara, it seemed to go on forever. Finally, Philip made his way over to Lara and whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Sì!”
Lara grinned.

They went to Biffy, the restaurant in the opera house, and the moment they walked in, the patrons, dressed in black tie for the concert, rose to their feet and began applauding. The maître d’ led Philip and Lara toward a table in the center of the room. “It’s such an honor to have you with us, Mr. Adler.”

A complimentary bottle of champagne arrived, and they drank a toast.

“To us,” Philip said warmly.

“To us.”

Philip ordered two of the specialties of the house, osso buco and penne all’arrabbiata. All during supper they talked, and it was as though they had known each other forever.

They were constantly interrupted by people coming up to the table to compliment Philip and to ask for autographs.

“It’s always like this, isn’t it?” Lara asked.

Philip shrugged. “It goes with the territory. For every two hours you spend onstage, you spend countless more signing autographs or giving interviews.”

As if to punctuate what he was saying, he stopped to sign another autograph.

“You’ve made this tour wonderful for me.” Philip sighed. “The bad news is that I have to leave for Venice tomorrow. I’m going to miss you a lot.”

“I’ve never been to Venice,” Lara said.

Lara’s jet was waiting for them at Linate Airport. When they arrived there, Philip looked at the huge jet in astonishment.

“This is
your
plane?”

“Yes. It’s going to take us to Venice.”

“You’re going to spoil me, lady.”

Lara said softly, “I intend to.”

They landed in Venice thirty-five minutes later at Marco Polo Airport where a limousine waited to drive them the short distance to the dock. From the dock they would take a motorboat to the island of Giudecca, where the Cipriani Hotel was located.

“I arranged for two suites for us,” Lara said. “I thought it would be more discreet that way.”

In the motorboat on the way to the hotel, Lara asked, “How long will we be here?”

“Only one night, I’m afraid. I’m giving a recital at La Fenice, and then we head for Vienna.”

The “we” gave Lara a little thrill. They had discussed it the night before. “I’d like you to stay with me as long as you can,” Philip had said, “but are you sure I’m not keeping you from something more important?”

“There
is
nothing more important.”

“Are you going to be all right by yourself this afternoon? I’m going to be busy rehearsing.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lara assured him.

After they had checked into their suites, Philip took Lara in his arms. “I have to go to the theater now, but there’s a lot to see here. Enjoy Venice. I’ll see you later this afternoon.” They kissed. It was meant to be a brief one, but it turned into a long, lingering kiss. “I’d better get out of here while I can,” Philip murmured, “or I’ll never be able to make it through the lobby.”

“Happy rehearsal.” Lara grinned.

And Philip was gone.

Lara telephoned Howard Keller.

“Where are you?” Keller demanded. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“I’m in Venice.”

There was a pause. “Are we buying a canal?”

“I’m checking it out.” Lara laughed.

“You really should be back here,” Keller said. “There’s a lot going on. Young Frank Rose brought in some new plans. I like them, but I need your approval so we can get…”

“If you like them,” Lara interrupted, “go ahead.”

“You don’t want to see them?” Keller’s voice was filled with surprise.

“Not now, Howard.”

“All right. And on the negotiations for the West Side property, I need your okay to…”

“You have it.”

“Lara…are you feeling all right?”

“I’ve never felt better in my life.”

“When are you coming home?”

“I don’t know. I’ll stay in touch. Good-bye, Howard.”

Venice was the kind of magical city that Prospero might have created. Lara spent the rest of the morning and all afternoon exploring. She roamed through St. Mark’s Square, and visited the Doge’s Palace and the Bell Tower, and wandered along the crowded Riva degli Schiavoni, and everywhere she went she thought of Philip. She walked through the winding little side streets, crammed with jewelry shops and leather goods and restaurants, and stopped to buy expensive sweaters and scarves and lingerie for the secretaries at the office, and wallets and ties for Keller and some of the other men. She stopped in at a jeweler’s to buy Philip a Piaget watch with a gold band.

“Would you please inscribe it ‘To Philip with Love from Lara’?” Just saying his name made her miss him.

When Philip returned to the hotel, they had coffee in the verdant garden of the Cipriani.

Lara looked across at Philip and thought,
What a perfect place this would be for a honeymoon.

“I have a present for you,” Lara said. She handed him the box with the watch in it.

He opened it and stared. “My God! This must have cost a fortune. You shouldn’t have, Lara.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“Of course I do. It’s beautiful, but…”

“Ssh! Wear it and think of me.”

“I don’t need this to think of you, but thank you.”

“What time do we have to leave for the theater?” Lara asked.

“Seven o’clock.”

Lara glanced at Philip’s new watch and said innocently, “That gives us two hours.”

The theater was packed. The audience was volatile, applauding and cheering each number.

When the concert was over, Lara went back to the greenroom to join Philip. It was London and Amsterdam and Milan all over again, and the women seemed even more nubile and eager. There were at least half a dozen beautiful women in the room, and Lara wondered which one Philip would have spent the night with if she were not there.

They had supper at the storied Harry’s Bar and were warmly greeted by the affable owner, Arrigo Cipriani.

“What a pleasure to see you, signore. And signorina. Please!”

He led them to a corner table. They ordered Bellinis, the specialty of the house. Philip said to Lara, “I recommend starting with the pasta e fagioli. It’s the best in the world.”

Later Philip had no memory of what he had eaten for dinner. He was mesmerized by Lara. He knew he was falling in love with her, and it terrified him.
I can’t make a commitment,
he thought.
It’s impossible. I’m a nomad.
He hated to think about the moment when she would leave him to go back to New York. He wanted to prolong their evening as long as possible.

When they had finished supper, Philip said, “There’s a casino out on the Lido. Do you gamble?”

Lara laughed aloud.

“What’s so funny?”

Lara thought about the hundreds of millions of dollars she gambled on her buildings. “Nothing,” she said. “I’d love to go.”

They took a motorboat to Lido Island. They walked past the Excelsior Hotel and went to the huge white building that housed the casino. It was filled with eager gamblers.

“Dreamers,” Philip said.

Philip played roulette and within half an hour had won two thousand dollars. He turned to Lara. “I’ve never won before. You’re my good-luck charm.”

They played until 3:00
A.M.
, and by that time they were hungry again.

A motorboat took them back to St. Mark’s Square, and they wandered through the side streets until they came to the Cantina do Mori.

“This is one of the best
bacaros
in Venice,” Philip said.

Lara said, “I believe you. What’s a
bacaro?”

“It’s a wine bar where they serve cicchetti—little nibbles of local delicacies.”

Bottle-glass doors led to a dark, narrow space where copper pots hung from the ceiling and dishes gleamed on a long banquette.

It was dawn before they got back to their hotel. They got undressed, and Lara said, “Speaking of nibbles ”

Early the following morning Lara and Philip flew to Vienna.

“Going to Vienna is like going into another century,” Philip explained. “There’s a legend that airline pilots say, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’re on our final approach to Vienna Airport. Please make sure your seat backs and table trays are in the upright position, refrain from smoking until inside the terminal, and set your watches back one hundred years.’”

Lara laughed.

“My parents were born here. They used to talk about the old days, and it made me envious.”

They were driving along the Ringstrasse, and Philip was filled with excitement, like a small boy eager to share his treasures with her.

“Vienna is the city of Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven,
Brahms.” He looked at Lara and grinned. “Oh, I forgot—you’re an expert on classical music.”

They checked into the Imperial Hotel.

“I have to go to the concert hall,” Philip told Lara, “but I’ve decided that tomorrow we’re going to take the whole day off. I’m going to show you Vienna.”

“I’d like that, Philip.”

He held Lara in his arms. “I wish we had more time now,” he said ruefully.

“So do I.”

He kissed her lightly on the forehead. “We’ll make up for it tonight.”

She held him close. “Promises, promises.”

The concert that evening took place at the Musikverein. The recital consisted of compositions by Chopin, Schumann, and Prokofiev, and it was another triumph for Philip.

The greenroom was packed again, but this time the language was German.

“Sie war en wunderbar, Herr Adler!”

Philip smiled.
“Das ist sehr nett von Ihnen. Danke.”

“Ich bin ein grosser Anhänger von Ihnen.”

Philip smiled again.
“Sie sind sehr freundlich.”

He was talking to them, but he could not take his eyes off Lara.

After the recital Lara and Philip had a late supper in the hotel. They were greeted by the maître d’.

“What an honor!” he exclaimed. “I was at the concert tonight. You were magnificent! Magnificent!”

“You’re very kind,” Philip said modestly.

The dinner was delicious, but they were both too excited by each other to eat. When the waiter asked, “Would you like some dessert?” Philip said quickly, “Yes.” And he was looking at Lara.

His instincts told him that something was wrong. She had never been gone this long without telling him where she was. Was she deliberately avoiding him? If she was, there could only be one reason.
And I can’t allow that,
Paul Martin thought.

A beam of pale moonlight streamed through the window, making soft shadows on the ceiling. Lara and Philip lay in bed, naked, watching their shadows move above their heads. The ripple of the curtains made the shadows dance, in a soft, swaying motion. The shadows came slowly together and separated and came together again, until the two became entwined, became one, and the movement of the dance became faster, and faster, a wild savage pounding, and suddenly it stopped, and there was only the gentle ripple of the curtains.

Early the following morning Philip said, “We have a whole day and evening here. I have a lot to show you.”

They had breakfast downstairs in the hotel dining room, then walked over to the Karntnerstrasse, where no cars were permitted. The shops there were filled with beautiful clothes and jewelry and antiques.

Philip hired a horse-drawn Fiaker, and they rode through the wide streets of the city along the Ring Road. They visited Schonbrunn Palace and looked at the colorful imperial coach collection. In the afternoon they got tickets for the Spanish Riding School and saw the Lipizzaner stallions. They rode the huge Ferris wheel at the Prater, and afterward Philip said, “Now we’re going to sin!”

“Ooh!”

“No,” Philip laughed. “I had something else in mind.”

He took Lara to Demel’s for its incomparable pastry and coffee.

Lara was fascinated by the mix of architecture in Vienna: beautiful baroque buildings centuries old that faced neomodern buildings.

Philip was interested in the composers. “Did you know that Franz Schubert started as a singer here, Lara? He was in the Imperial Chapel choir, and when his voice changed at seventeen, he was thrown out. That’s when he decided to compose music.”

They had a leisurely dinner at a small bistro, and stopped at a wine tavern in Grinzing. Afterward Philip said, “Would you like to go for a cruise on the Danube?”

“I’d love to.”

It was a perfect night, with a bright full moon and a soft summer breeze. The stars were shining down.
They’re shining down on us,
Lara thought,
because we’re so happy.
Lara and Philip boarded one of the cruise ships, and from the ship’s loudspeaker came the soft strains of “The Blue Danube.” In the distance they saw a falling star.