The Maestro (16 page)

'Make your
life into an art.'

'You sound
like Delgado. He's always going on about how an artist makes art
out of life and how we should also make life into an art. Maybe
that part I can manage. Anyway, Linda, the point is, I won't be
studying with you any more. I'm off to Zurich in the morning to
sell some paintings. If these sales go well, I'll be in the big
league of art dealers. I'll be able to hold my head up high with
Las Rojas. By the way, I'm taking Maria with me.'

'I'm losing
all my friends here.'

'I'll be back
in two weeks. I want to see you then.'

'Of
course.'

'I mean
professionally. I have faith in you Linda. I think you can produce
wonderful art, and a lucrative profit for me. I want to be your
agent.' Alfonso held onto her hand while he spoke. I mean it.'

'I know you
do.'

'You're very
special to me, Linda, do you know that? I hope so.'

Alfonso stood
up, leaned over and kissed Linda on the cheek, a kind brotherly
kiss that seemed totally at odds with the activities that they had
just been engaged in; as was the present little scene where he was
now paying Suzanne for the bottle of wine, under the guarded gaze
of Paco.

'You're a
wonderful woman, Linda, but be careful with Delgado. He's so
strong. He can destroy you if you are not careful.'

'I'm not
worried about Delgado. I'm worried about myself.' She embraced
Alfonso, and smiled at Suzanne, somehow certain that she would see
her again.

Delgado
greeted her in the morning, inviting her into his room for coffee.
He listened patiently to her ideas and looked, as he always did,
intently at her sketches. He applauded her for exploring different
colours and tones, which he told her showed a new boldness in her
approach.

'It's very
promising Linda, but there is much work to do.'

'I know, but I
think I have a clearer idea now about my direction.'

'I think you
have to,' he said as he opened the door for her. 'I will get
somebody to bring your work up,' he said.

'Up, don't you
mean down?' Linda had assumed she was going to join the rest of the
group in the studio on the lower floor as she had done the previous
week.

'I have
decided,' Delgado continued, an imperious tone in his voice, 'that
you can work upstairs. There is another room there, one in which
you can work in isolation without being disturbed. You will be able
to develop your themes in peace.' He smiled gently. 'And one more
thing; there is a small apartment attached, so you can live there
too.'

She was
astounded at Delgado's generosity, the fact that he had so much
confidence in her work that he was bestowing such special
treatment.

'Are you
sure?'

'I am always
sure, Linda,' he said, no hint of jokiness in his voice.

He led her
into the studio. It was much smaller than either of the rooms
downstairs, but large enough for her to work in. A door at the back
of the studio led to a small clean apartment with a sloping
ceiling, and a window, which let out onto a great view of the city.
She could see the bottom of Las Ramblas, Columbus's column and the
harbour, the water glistening under the morning sun.

It made her
laugh a little. It was exactly the type of garret that Sebastian
had accused her of wanting to work in, a kitsch imitation of what
he called, 'all that starving artist in a garret stuff.'

'Make yourself
comfortable. I will get somebody to fetch your things from the
hotel and settle your bill,' he said, exiting the room before she
had had a chance to say anything.

Linda started
to work immediately, mixing colours, trying to use the light that
streamed through the window on the canvas in front of her. She had
talked about producing a non-figurative art that relied on the
intensity of colour, dark reds and clear blues, spindly lines of
black and brilliant golds. Although there were to be no figures as
such, within the thick splodges of paints ambiguous shapes could be
inferred. She used the erotic memories that reverberated inside her
to intimate the ambivalences of pain and pleasure, all on the
background of Mediterranean light and colour.

So intense was
her concentration and her efforts that she didn't stop until dusk,
and she probably wouldn't have stopped even then unless Delgado had
entered the room.

As he was to
do every night that she worked and lived there he would enter her
room and examine her efforts, and there would follow long
discussions about what effect she was precisely trying to achieve.
The consultation usually followed the same course. For an hour or
more they would discuss her work, Delgado making suggestions on how
she might improve. Sometimes his advice was startlingly brilliant,
other times she queried him, or decided not to follow the direction
he had intimated. After a discussion about her work, they would
invariably go to eat tapas on Las Ramblas or even one of the
champagne bars in Barcelonetta and they would discuss art more
generally, and specifically Catalan art. Delgado was very proud of
his nation's cultural achievements, and he also turned out to be an
inspired critic. He accepted too that he was talking to an equal
who had her own well considered opinions and incisive comments to
make.

Eventually,
and usually after the considerable consumption of two or three
bottles of wine, Delgado would disappear into the night and Linda
would make her way back to the studio.

It was strange
that their relationship, although seemingly so intense and
liberated in terms of their frank discussion of art did not contain
any physical element. Linda was waiting for Delgado to invite
himself back to the studio, but he never did. After a couple of
days Linda asked him if he wanted to come back but he declined
saying that he had to meet somebody.

She worked
solidly like that for ten days, not stopping for a break, and apart
from going out with Delgado most evenings, not leaving the
room.

One day -
Linda no longer knew what day it was, as every day was more or less
the same she had lost track - when she was particularly pleased
with the progress she had made, and knowing that Delgado would not
be calling to see her that night, she decided to go out for a
stroll. The room was particularly stuffy, and it was violently hot
and muggy and she sought refuge in the cooler air down by the
beach.

She saw
Rebecca sitting alone in one of the bars in the parasoled shade.
She was staring absentmindedly at the distant sea.

'Hello,
Rebecca, how are you?' She hadn't seen Rebecca since that afternoon
which Linda now regarded as having changed her life.

'Linda, you
look well. You're up in the garret aren't you?' There was a
spiteful tone in her voice. 'We never see you.'

'Yes I
am.'

'Ah, the
chosen one!' Rebecca said mockingly. Linda sat down, more than
anything out of a sense of English politeness.

'You think I'm
the teacher's pet?' she asked with an air of self-deprecation.

Rebecca
smiled, an edge of bitterness in the upturned corners of her
smile.

'I'm just
working on something.'

'I know.'

Linda could
see for all the naive attempt at hostility that Rebecca was
depressed.

'What's wrong,
Rebecca?' Linda asked, her voice showing concern. She hadn't liked
Rebecca at first but seeing how Delgado had humiliated her, seeing
her so frightened she had softened her opinion, realising how young
she was, how vulnerable.

The kindness
of Linda's concern broke down something of her defences. 'I don't
know. I suppose I just have so many self-doubts about my art, about
myself. I suppose I'm jealous of you.' She smiled again bitterly,
but this time her anger was directed less at Linda than
herself.

The waiter
came and Linda ordered a bottle of wine and asked for two
glasses.

'What's
happened?' Linda asked, pouring a glass of wine for Rebecca.

'No, it's just
that afternoon, you know, what happened, what Delgado did to me, I
felt special. He changed my life. He made me realise what a silly
little girl I had been.'

'Not silly,
just innocent.'

'Whatever, but
even when he was humiliating me I felt such power. Do you
understand?'

Linda nodded.
She understood perfectly.

'I really
thought I was getting somewhere, with my life, with my art. Delgado
told me to go out and get some experience of the world, meaning I
think sexual experience. And I did, first with Damian and then with
your friend, Alfonso, but my problem was that no sexual experience
with them moved me in the same way as what happened with you and
Delgado. I was so impressed with him. I started to go up to his
room without being invited, but he didn't like that. He was so
stern, so brutal with me. But I couldn't stop myself. I lingered on
the stairwell after class trying to see him, to talk to him, but he
would just brush past me. Oh, I'm such a silly girl!

'I was so
angry with you, so jealous, knowing that you were up there with
him, knowing that you were going out with him every night.'

'You know
nothing happens when I go out with him. We just talk. He hasn't
touched me.'

'I know he
hasn't touched you.' Rebecca gulped down her wine, emptying the
whole glass. Linda replenished it.

'How do you
know?'

'There was
somebody before you, a Swiss girl, the first week I came. We never
saw her. Damian told me what happened. Every couple of weeks he
will elevate somebody, take them on as a special student, and then
after a couple of days or a week he will decide whether he thinks
they are good enough. It was exactly the same with another girl
before that Damian told me. We never see them again. Damian told me
about one of these girls that he met one day in Plaza Catalunya.
Delgado had been very cruel with her, told her that even though she
had talent, she just wasn't dedicated enough to make it as an
artist, that she was a poseur, a cheat. He was much harder on her
than he was on Alfonso or Damian. I suppose because he expects
higher standards.'

'And has he
been hard on you?'

'No, he tells
me the truth. He's the first one to tell me the truth. In England I
used to win all sorts of prizes and scholarships. I thought I was
great, really brilliant, but Delgado has shown me that I'm just
good. For that, even though it depresses me, I'm grateful. I think
I'm going to go back to England. I'm sure I can use my talent, get
a job somewhere, you know. I'll be happy. I can give up this
struggle to produce a masterpiece.'

'I wouldn't
give up so easily.'

'Thanks.'
Rebecca smiled again. Linda could see how Delgado even if he had
told the truth, and he had given her a more mature attitude to the
world, had taken away all that bubbly exuberance that had been so
present when Linda first met her.

'Thanks,' she
repeated, 'but I know it's true. I'm okay, Linda, there are other
dreams, other lives apart from this one.' Linda thought how similar
she sounded to Alfonso when he had been telling her how he had been
rejected.

Linda reached
over and placed a reassuring hand on hers.

'I'm sorry if
I was a bit rude.'

'That's
okay.'

'I'm not sure
whether to love Delgado or hate him. He has this wonderful knack of
making me feel both emotions at once.'

'I know,'
Linda agreed, 'I know exactly what you mean.'

They ordered
some food and Rebecca talked a little bit about her home life, her
erstwhile boyfriend, her home counties family, about her ambitions
to travel, about how boring she found England. Linda was a skilled
listener, she always had been, and Rebecca seemed to become more
cheerful now that she had at last found somebody in which she could
confide in.

A couple of
hours passed. Both women became a little drunk, and it was in the
darkness and with the certainty that nobody around them would
understand what they were talking about that Rebecca began to tell
Linda what happened with the two French girls. The boldness
gathered from the wine and her natural eye for detail made Rebecca
recount the tale with all the erotic minutiae.

'You know,
Delgado lives his life like he paints his pictures.'

'What do you
mean?'

'You know how
he says that the end of every painting is the beginning of the
next.'

'Yes, he said
something like that to me the other night.'

'Well, it's
the same with life. As he never paints the same picture twice he
never has the same woman again. That's why he hasn't laid a finger
on you. Once he's had you, or with Delgado, once he's humiliated
you and punished you, he's finished, he's on to the next.'

'What happened
with the French girls?'

'They came on
the Monday after you. Nothing happened that day, but on the next he
invited them to his room. He invited me too, but only to help me
with my art, he said. He wanted me to make sketches of what he was
going to do. I saw everything.' Rebecca's eyes dilated as she
recalled exactly what she had witnessed.

'And what did
you see?' Linda asked, curious as always about Delgado's sexual
antics.

'He sat both
the girls down on two wooden chairs in the same way that he did to
us. The two girls were friends, Avril was the older of the two. She
had long, brown, chestnut hair and beautiful hazel eyes. She was an
absolute stunner. Even in Paris she would have turned heads, and
the girl really knew how to dress. She'd wear these really elegant
floral dresses, that maybe wouldn't have looked so good on me but
she had a wonderful curvy figure and this delightful light brown
complexion. Even when she had been talking that morning I couldn't
stop looking at her eyes and lower too, at the square cut dress
that showed off her cleavage really well, and she had this
tantalising little mottle of freckles on her chest.