The Maestro's Mistress (21 page)

And now they were walking onto
the platform together, Saul shepherding her through the ranks of the orchestra
to the front of stage. A roar of approval went up. Tara’s heart bucked with
mingled exhilaration and terror. She forced herself to smile, giving a brief
bow in acknowledgement of the warm reception.

Planting her feet firmly on the
platform, she straightened her back and breathed deeply. Now, at last, the
moment had come. A moment dreamed of for years. By her, yes – but most
especially by her father. His face swam briefly before her inner eye, that
beloved face of the past.

She took up her bow and looked
towards Saul Xavier, the man who now filled her present. His eyes held hers in
a long naked stare, making her recall some of their most intimate moments
together, the unfettered love-making hovering on the exquisite borders of
pleasure and pain. A glow of heat suffused her body.

‘Tara!’ Saul whispered sharply,
pulling her away from her inner thoughts. ‘Are you ready?’ His face was urgent
and intense. He was thinking only of the performance ahead, of his
responsibility to ensure that it went perfectly. Nothing but the music mattered
now. She drew her bow across the strings. Energy flew into her fingers.

In front of her the tall figure
of the Maestro bent the orchestra to his will, binding them together in a
silken net, drawing Tara into the golden circle. Now they were all breathing
wholly pure air, soaring up into the heights and carrying the audience along
with them on a carpet of magical sound.

Sweat began to stream off her. At
the end of the first movement Saul paused to look at her. Gravely he reached
into his pocket and took out a white cotton handkerchief. ‘I think you need
this,’ he said, leaning down to hand it to her. ‘And you’re playing
wonderfully.’

Tara mopped her face and ran the
smooth firm cloth around her neck and breast bone. She looked up at Saul,
seeing that he was still again, his face a stern mask in preparation fro the
next movement.

This was the most emotionally
touching part of the concerto in Tara’s opinion and as she played she felt her
heart merge into the music.

All the fear of anticipation had
left her now. With this orchestra – her father’s orchestra – and under the iron
guidance of Saul Xavier, her lover, she felt utterly safe. Able to play without
restraint from the very depths of her heart and soul.

An orchestra, a soloist, a great
and sensitive conductor all sharing in the task of bringing wonderful music to
life – that must be one of the most seductive things on earth Tara thought as
she strove to dig out every ounce of energy and emotion to give to this great
piece. When at last the final notes of the concerto rang out she felt her mind
and body swell with joy.

The audience reaction was
ecstatic. The applause roared and thundered, washing over Tara like warm waves
on a tropical beach. She smiled and bowed until her jaw ached and her back felt
like that of a puppet jerked on a clockwork string.

Saul stepped down from the podium
and took her hand. As their eyes connected a great bolt of feeling shot through
her body like a huge electric current.

‘You’re not going to get away
without an encore,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘How about a Beethoven romance?
The one in G?’

She turned back to the audience.
Energy surged through every nerve of her body. She could go on playing for ever
if they asked her. At the end of the encore the applause still went on and on.
Saul led her off the stage. They had to come back. Twice, three times.

‘That’s it!’ he declared,
dismissing the orchestra with the single sharp flick of the hand she had seen
him use on the night before her father’s death. ‘Enough.’

He propelled her off the stage
and out into the dressing room area. ‘We’re going home,’ he said, looking down
at her meaningfully. On each side of them, players were streaming into the bar.
As a matter of course they would be waiting for her – and Maestro Xavier also.

His eyes held hers and she sensed
the urgency of raw sexual desire in his touch. Instantly she was on fire for
him. She recalled that the house would be empty. Little Alessandra was staying
the night with Rachel. She shivered with anticipation.

‘Escape,’ she whispered to him.
‘Fast!’

In the car he stroked the soft
insides of her thighs with teasing fingers, driving her into a frenzy of
wanting.

Once in the house the growling
explosiveness of his passion overwhelmed her, blotting out the agitated jumble
of musical phrases which had been hammering in her brain, roaring through her
consciousness. Now there was only Saul, his lips devouring her, his hands
running over her skin bringing it into tingling life, firing millions of
electrodes.

Tonight it was as though all
their previous sex had been merely a long apprenticeship, some wonderful
extended overture. And now this was the real thing. The intensity of connection
with him made her feel dizzy. Waves of breathless anticipation swept through
her nerves.

She found herself trembling
violently as she lay sprawled on the bed and watched him loom over her. And for
a crazy moment she sensed some previously unknown madness in him.

‘Let yourself go, Tara,’ he
whispered. ‘Trust me.’

There had been times before when
his lovemaking had left her with an aching body and a heady sensation of
exquisite femaleness.  But tonight there was something new. Some demonic quality
which thrilled and troubled her.

But she would trust him absolutely.

And so she laid aside her fear as
took her to high crests of pleasure she had never before dreamed of reaching.

As he drove into her and the wild
tempo increased, she snapped back suddenly into the mundane realms of reality,
realising that she was unprotected inside, that she had not inserted her diaphragm.

She froze. His thrusts paused and
then intensified.

‘Saul’ she gasped, ‘stop. Let me
go.’

He pressed kisses on her mouth,
silencing her. Tara found herself melting, her resistance subsiding to a soft
inaudible plea. ‘I could get pregnant,’ she whispered, but his mouth was
covering hers and the words were lost.

When it was over, he gathered her
to him and stroked her face with infinite tenderness. His lips pressed gently
over hers. ‘I love you completely,’ he said.

And then turned away and was instantly
asleep.

CHAPTER
18

Rachel and Alessandra were in the
garden when Tara arrived.

Rachel had filled an old baby
bath with fine damp sand and Alessandra squatted beside it stirring the
contents with a large plastic spoon. Her smooth young face was grave as she
concentrated on her task, totally absorbed.

Tara stood watching her,
realizing how mysterious children were. What did she really know of Alessandra?
She knew her firm healthy body, but her mind was mainly hidden. And just at
this moment she looked exactly like her father.

Tara felt an urgent need to be
close to her small daughter, at one with her. She knelt down and wrapped her
arm around her. Alessandra looked up at her in the way a kitten does when
disturbed from its washing ritual. She turned back to her sand and her
stirring.

‘She cried for you last night,’
Rachel said. ‘So now she’ll probably ignore you to punish you from going away
and leaving her.’

‘Did I used to do that?’ Tara
asked.

‘Oh, yes – sometimes.’

Mother and daughter stood
together and watched the child in companionable silence.

Rachel felt uneasy. She sensed
some disturbing new aura around Tara, a new solemnity, a new adult reticence.
She reminded her of someone who has been in an accident, and though not
physically injured, now sees the world as a more dangerous place than it had
appeared before.

Rachel wondered about the concert
and how it had gone. She had no regret about not being there in person, and had
been glad of the excuse of having Alessandra to look after. She did not think
she could have borne the suspense of hearing Tara perform.

Privately she thought that Saul
had placed a tremendous burden on Tara by setting her up to do such a bold and
daring thing as appearing as the soloist at the Albert Hall. The musical world
abounded with rivalries and jealousies just like the theatre or the world of
films. A budding career could easily be snuffed out by a dud performance which
had received maximum exposure.

Or people could simply despise
and discount a young performer who was seen to be getting a leg up on the
ladder of success through their connection with the kind of people who
mattered. On the other hand she knew there was plenty of that around, so maybe
it wasn’t anything to be concerned about.

She had to admit that Saul had
been very good to Tara. He did seem to genuinely love her and have a care for
her well being. And he was breathlessly romantic, flying Tara around the world
so she could be with him at his endless performing and recording sessions,
wining and dining her in exotic locations, taking her on exclusive cruises with
his jet-set fans.

But to have in his gift an entrée
into the world of music was perhaps the most precious and most dangerous of his
indulgences. The idea of such power made Rachel uneasy.

She recalled that it had always
been Richard’s dream for his child to play solo at one of the great concert
halls; the dream being initially for Freddie and later for Tara. The occasion
last night would have thrilled him, but how would he have felt about the way it
came about?

‘I wonder what Alessandra will do
with her life,’ Tara said suddenly.

‘What do you hope for her?’
Rachel asked.

Tara paused, her face heavy with
thought. ‘To know what she wants. To feel the freedom to choose.’

‘Does that mean you didn’t?’
Rachel said quietly.

‘I got all mixed up,’ Tara said,
giving a swift impish smile. ‘Then I screwed things up. I don’t want her to be
such a fool.’

Oh hell, thought Rachel. She went
into the house, made coffee and brought it out into the garden. She and Tara
sat in the chintz-covered garden swing and kept a loving and watchful eye on
Alessandra who was still absorbed in her sand games.

Tara told Rachel about the
concert. She struggled to convey simple delight and enthusiasm, not wanting Rachel
to gain any inkling of the drone of anxiety humming ceaselessly within her.

‘The audience reaction was
amazing. Unbelievable,’ she said.

‘And Saul’s reaction? What about
that?’

‘He brought me back for an
encore. So that must speak for itself,’ Tara responded smartly, having
anticipated this question and rehearsed the answer. In fact she was stunned
with dismay and confusion that Saul had not yet made any direct comment on her
performance. Naturally there was always room in any performance to do better.
But on the whole she had felt pleased and satisfied with her achievement. Until
much later…

She could only conclude that
privately Saul had considered her performance so embarrassingly pedestrian that
he did not know how to break it to her. Always before he had been both fair and
free with his comments; both positive and negative.

And then there had been that
disturbingly satanic quality to his lovemaking afterwards, a brief moment when
she had feared things might tip over into some dark area of human interaction
that she did not begin to understand. She snapped her mind away from the idea.
She would not think about it. She would not believe it.

Today her body ached and tingled
with a dizzy cocktail of pleasure and pain. But she was troubled; subdued and dampened
down. She knew that the gears of her relationship with Saul had shifted and
changed, that nothing would be the same for them again. And yet she had never
felt so desirous of his love and approval.

She looked at her mother and saw
a new serenity in her face; a calm, mellow satisfaction with life that had been
growing over the last few months. She guessed that her relationship with Donald
had given Rachel some totally unexpected happiness, and she felt a rush of
warmth towards him for making it come about.

With Saul, of course, one would
never feel a sense of calm satisfaction. Saul was exciting, provoking,
gloriously dangerous. Tara knew she could never be happy with someone as safe
and good as Donald. Saul was not safe. He was tricky and unpredictable. He
battered her emotions. But he was as necessary to her as air to breathe. He
made her feel alive.

She could not wait to be with him
tonight.

Saul telephoned Tara in the early
evening. She had not been home for long, was in the middle of bathing Alessandra
and had to call him back.

She could hear the slight edge in
his voice. He hated to be kept waiting. And he thought her persistence in
managing on her own with the baby and refusing to engage a nanny was charming
but hopelessly impractical.