I’d probably be as famous as Zukerman or Perlman but I found him,’ he chose his words carefully out of kindness, ‘too – er – forceful.’
‘I’ve grown accustomed to his force,’ sighed Abby.
She jumped as the french windows opened, but it was only a waitress after Abby’s autograph.
‘We’ll trade it for another bottle of red wine,’ Julian emptied the remains into Abby’s glass. ‘Where are you going next?’
‘England,’ said Abby unenthusiastically.
‘Christ, I’d love to work there. If I were single, I’d take the next plane. But the workload’s insane. You have to work twice as hard for half the money. I’d never see Luisa and the kids. But my dream is to end up in the Cotswolds, leading some West Country orchestra.’
‘I’ll join you. Are you coming to dinner?’
Julian shook his head.
‘I’ve got to rally the troops, stop them topping themselves or getting so drunk they don’t make the plane tomorrow.’
The orchestra was off to Rio in the morning.
‘But let’s keep in touch, I don’t want Christopher to stamp out that individuality.’
Looking up at the sky Abby noticed a drifting fleece of white cloud had put a great ring of mother-of-pearl edged with rust around the moon.
‘That moon’s got exactly the same round-eyed, round-faced pseudo-innocence as Hermione,’ said Abby, putting Julian’s card in her bag. ‘God, she’s hell.’
‘Hell,’ agreed Julian. ‘The number of times I’ve seen her jab another soloist in the foot with her high heel to steal a bow.’
Through the french windows, Abby could see her agent putting his empty glass of Perrier on a tray and picking up a full one.
He’ll dump me for Hermione just as effortlessly, thought Abby in panic. Hermione, who talked too much to drink a lot, was merely bending over the silver tray to check her reflection.
‘Placido is one of the only top-flight singers like me,’ she was telling Christopher, ‘who doesn’t have an agent, but his wife is very supportive. If my partner Bobby wasn’t so busy running the London Met—’
Despite having Christopher’s full attention, she was miffed that at the other end of the room Rupert was being happily propositioned by the ravishing wife of the Chilean Ambassador, and that Julian Pellafacini, who should also have been paying court, was out on the balcony with that sluttish Abby. Despite the tropical heating, Hermione gave a theatrical shiver.
‘Could you possibly close those windows, Christopher, I daren’t catch cold. As Placido’s always saying, one’s voice is a gift from God, one has a responsibility.’
But Christopher had already crossed the room.
‘Come inside at once,’ he ordered Abby furiously. ‘You’re supposed to be working, and you’re putting Hermione in an awful draught. How can you be so selfish?’
‘I figured you were keeping her warm with all that hot air,’ replied Abby.
Julian laughed. Christopher glared at him. The moment he’d signed up Rannaldini, he’d make sure Julian got the boot – particularly as now he was wearing one of Abby’s red roses in his buttonhole.
Grabbing Abby’s arm, Christopher frogmarched her across the room.
‘The French Ambassador’s wife wants a word about a charity gala.’
‘I don’t want to talk to her, right?’
‘You ought to do more for charity.’
‘I do a great deal too much for Help the Agent.’
Christopher turned purple.
‘What has got into you?’
‘You – you’ve been so mean.’
‘You’ve got to learn to take criticism,’ hissed Christopher. ‘Aaah, Madame Ambassador!’
Seeing Christopher belting back to Hermione a second later, Rupert decided to take the bullshitter by the horns. Trapping Christopher against a large yucca plant, he introduced himself as the chairman of Venturer Television.
‘Why won’t you answer Declan’s calls?’
‘No point,’ said Christopher dismissively. ‘Abigail’s diary hasn’t got a window in the next three
‘I’ve grown accustomed to his force,’ sighed Abby.
She jumped as the french windows opened, but it was only a waitress after Abby’s autograph.
‘We’ll trade it for another bottle of red wine,’ Julian emptied the remains into Abby’s glass. ‘Where are you going next?’
‘England,’ said Abby unenthusiastically.
‘Christ, I’d love to work there. If I were single, I’d take the next plane. But the workload’s insane. You have to work twice as hard for half the money. I’d never see Luisa and the kids. But my dream is to end up in the Cotswolds, leading some West Country orchestra.’
‘I’ll join you. Are you coming to dinner?’
Julian shook his head.
‘I’ve got to rally the troops, stop them topping themselves or getting so drunk they don’t make the plane tomorrow.’
The orchestra was off to Rio in the morning.
‘But let’s keep in touch, I don’t want Christopher to stamp out that individuality.’
Looking up at the sky Abby noticed a drifting fleece of white cloud had put a great ring of mother-of-pearl edged with rust around the moon.
‘That moon’s got exactly the same round-eyed, round-faced pseudo-innocence as Hermione,’ said Abby, putting Julian’s card in her bag. ‘God, she’s hell.’
‘Hell,’ agreed Julian. ‘The number of times I’ve seen her jab another soloist in the foot with her high heel to steal a bow.’
Through the french windows, Abby could see her agent putting his empty glass of Perrier on a tray and picking up a full one.
He’ll dump me for Hermione just as effortlessly, thought Abby in panic. Hermione, who talked too much to drink a lot, was merely bending over the silver tray to check her reflection.
‘Placido is one of the only top-flight singers like me,’ she was telling Christopher, ‘who doesn’t have an agent, but his wife is very supportive. If my partner Bobby wasn’t so busy running the London Met—’
Despite having Christopher’s full attention, she was miffed that at the other end of the room Rupert was being happily propositioned by the ravishing wife of the Chilean Ambassador, and that Julian Pellafacini, who should also have been paying court, was out on the balcony with that sluttish Abby. Despite the tropical heating, Hermione gave a theatrical shiver.
‘Could you possibly close those windows, Christopher, I daren’t catch cold. As Placido’s always saying, one’s voice is a gift from God, one has a responsibility.’
But Christopher had already crossed the room.
‘Come inside at once,’ he ordered Abby furiously. ‘You’re supposed to be working, and you’re putting Hermione in an awful draught. How can you be so selfish?’
‘I figured you were keeping her warm with all that hot air,’ replied Abby.
Julian laughed. Christopher glared at him. The moment he’d signed up Rannaldini, he’d make sure Julian got the boot – particularly as now he was wearing one of Abby’s red roses in his buttonhole.
Grabbing Abby’s arm, Christopher frogmarched her across the room.
‘The French Ambassador’s wife wants a word about a charity gala.’
‘I don’t want to talk to her, right?’
‘You ought to do more for charity.’
‘I do a great deal too much for Help the Agent.’
Christopher turned purple.
‘What has got into you?’
‘You – you’ve been so mean.’
‘You’ve got to learn to take criticism,’ hissed Christopher. ‘Aaah, Madame Ambassador!’
Seeing Christopher belting back to Hermione a second later, Rupert decided to take the bullshitter by the horns. Trapping Christopher against a large yucca plant, he introduced himself as the chairman of Venturer Television.
‘Why won’t you answer Declan’s calls?’
‘No point,’ said Christopher dismissively. ‘Abigail’s diary hasn’t got a window in the next three
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