The Maestro's Mistress (36 page)

‘I think Daddy ought to share the
prize,’ Tara said. ‘The project was his idea. He did all the planning and the
spade work.’

‘Don’t forget that you were there
digging away with him – as usual. Grandma was forever worrying about how hard
you were working. Slaving in the shadows whilst he stood under the spotlight.’

‘Really? The cheek of it. You
two, chewing me over.’

‘Donald joined in. We all
agreed.’

Tara sighed and took a huge gulp
of wine.

‘Oh, come on, don’t be so
saintly,’ Alessandra exclaimed. ‘Daddy would hate to see you brooding like
this. And in any case he’d have nothing to do with sharing an award. He’s an
all or nothing man.’

Tara was inclined to agree. She
dropped a kiss on Alessandra’s head, proud of her daughter’s emerging
shrewdness.

‘More wine?’ Alessandra enquired.

‘No. I shall be driving later.’

‘Oh?’

Tara drew in a deep breath. She
decided now was the time to broach the subject of the performance at the Grosse
Festspielhaus that evening. ‘It’s a very exciting opera,’ she ventured.
‘Mermaids and dragons, but no horses as far as I can remember.’ She found
herself stiff with tension.

‘Live music in Salzburg,’
Alessandra said, with a knowing smile. ‘We’ll be rubbing shoulders with the
rich culture-vultures worshipping at the temple of Art.’

‘Did you read that somewhere?’
Tara said laughing.

‘No, it’s what Daddy said this
morning. And it’s OK Mummy, I’m fine about going along to view with the
vultures.’ She spoke with cheery irony, as though the morning’s bitterness had
been nothing more than a sharp frost which had melted away in the sunshine.

Maybe Saul was right. Maybe I am
over-dramatizing the situation, Tara thought.

‘Why the tortured face and the
big sighs?’ Alessandra demanded.

‘You and Daddy,’ Tara said
frankly. ‘I sometimes think I’m trapped between the hammer and the anvil.’

Alessandra leaned her head on
Tara’s lap. Her eyes slanted up into her mother’s face. ‘Never mind the Jupiter
gong,’ she exclaimed, smiling and whimsical. ‘You deserve the Nobel Peace
Prize. For divine tolerance and not committing violence on my father.’

CHAPTER
32

Dr Denton stirred cream into his
early morning cup of coffee at the same time glancing down the list of names of
possible new clients which Celia, his administrative assistant, had printed out
and left on the desk.

One name sprang out at him,
causing a slight acceleration of pulse. He walked through into Celia’s office,
the list in his hand.

Celia looked at him smiling. She
liked her employer. He was even-tempered, genial and unflappable. She had never
seen him irritable or moody. She had been with him for six years, and judged he
was the perfect boss.

‘This referral – Mrs Georgiana
Xavier?’ Denton queried,

‘Yes.’ Celia had been rather
excited to speak to Mrs Xavier when she had telephoned out of the blue the day
before. Being an avid devourer of glossy magazines Celia was well aware of Mrs
Xavier’s progress around the fashionable parts of London, forever changing her wardrobe,
her furniture and drapes. She was wonderfully elegant and photogenic, and in
interviews for magazines always hinted at a possible reconciliation with her
famous husband. Celia saw Mrs Xavier as the ever-loving forgiving and tolerant
wife. So romantic.

‘This isn’t a new referral,’ said
Dr Denton. ‘It’s an old case on which I spent a lot of time.’ His tone was a
touch on the sharp side.

‘Oh dear!’ said Celia becoming concerned
she had made some sort of gaff. ‘I simply assumed this was a first time
referral. We’ve no records on the data base – I checked.’

He nodded, recalling wiping the
records personally. He wondered how long it had been since his last contact
with Georgiana – more than ten years ago, he judged.

He pushed aside his anxiety at
this resurrection of a voice from the past. ‘It’s fine, Celia,’’ he said
reassuringly. ‘Go ahead and send out the standard invitation for an initial
appointment.’

Celia watched him walk back into
his consulting room. Something was going on, she thought, intrigued and yet
again reflecting on her luck in landing such an interesting job.

Georgiana stood before the full
length cheval mirror in her dressing room and took stock of her naked body: the
still firm small breasts, the flat stomach, the indent of a small waist and the
tautness of toned buttocks.

She awarded herself top marks.
Her body was magnificent for a woman of her age. It had been hard work of
course, this constant attention to the details of self-preservation. Even with
perfect bones and skin one could never let up on the relentless effort.

Her eyes still on the mirror, she
pulled on white silk underwear; bra, French knickers and sheer hold-up
stockings with lacy tops. Her dress was a simple cream sheath, skimming over
her figure and giving just a hint of female curves. The matching jacket had a
dreamy, drifting quality about it. Perfect.

She spent some time making up her
face so that it appeared not to be made up. The long blonde hair, still worn in
a classic bob style, swung and gleamed as she tilted her head.

Taking her jewellery box from the
safe, she took out a pearl necklace and tiny pearl earrings. Staring in the
mirror she unfastened the pearls at her neckline and replaced them in the box.

It was with a feeling of
satisfaction that she stepped out of her apartment, delighting in the beauty of
perfect simplicity.

Dr Denton looked at his watch. He
had an odd sensation in his stomach, an echo of hollowness he used to feel as a
boy when he stood on the high board above the swimming pool and stared into the
wobbling turquoise depth of the water below. The sensation was by no means
unpleasant, in fact quite the reverse. It was some time since he had
experienced any significant emotional turbulence. In fact it had sometimes
crossed his mind that the tranquil, unvarying nature of his moods and feelings
bordered on the pathological.

Celia, in the reception office,
was in a flutter of anticipation, glancing up at the clock and smoothing her
eyebrows with a moistened finger.

Mrs Xavier did not disappoint
her. She glided through the door, as graceful as a prima ballerina, with all
the presence of the high born and privileged. Intensely blue eyes fastened on
Celia, unnerving her a little, as though the Queen herself had unexpectedly
walked in.

Georgiana’s glance skimmed over
Celia’s unremarkable face and small, chubby body. ‘Mrs Saul  Xavier,’ she
announced with a faint smile.

Celia escorted her through to Dr
Denton’s room and closed the door softly behind her. Breeding, she thought.
Class. Quality. She felt no envy or animosity. The world needed magical figures
like Mrs Xavier to brighten up the general greyness of things.

Dr Denton rose from the
impressive leather chair behind his vast desk and offered his hand. Georgiana’s
fingers rested in his for a moment. For a split second their eyes locked
together. He waved her into a chair positioned at the front of his desk.

‘Not the chaise-longue!’ she
exclaimed, chiding and coquettish.

‘Not until I know what you’ve
come about.’ He was very much the impartial clinician.

‘You’re not angry that I’ve come
to you? I didn’t expect you to be angry with me,’ she said with a touch of
pathos.

‘I’m not angry,’ he told her.
But, my God, am I curious he thought.

‘You look rather stern,’ she said
with a light laugh. The wide blue eyes fastened on him.

‘I’m simply considering our need
to understand each other and be very clear what is at issue here.’

‘I need help,’ she said.

‘I appreciate that. But we can’t
simply start where we left off.’

‘But why not?’

‘A considerable time has passed.
And perhaps you have had treatment from other consultants, of which I know
nothing.’ This was all flannelling. Dr Denton could easily gain information
about Georgiana’s other therapists following the kidnap incident. He simply
felt a need to tread carefully, mindful that she was still married to the
daunting Xavier.

He wondered how much Georgiana
recalled of the nightmarish incident in the Cornish cottage. How much she had
managed to block out. His own memories of the incident were certainly
uncomfortable. There was a sense of professional failure and of not having been
fully in control of his patient. He recalled Xavier taking charge, and his
withering scorn of Denton’s efforts.

And there was another memory
also. One which was both fascinating and strictly taboo.

All of which made him very
doubtful of the wisdom and becoming involved again. It was surely safer to let
sleeping dogs lie. His mind started to run through a catalogue of alternative
clinicians whom he could recommend her to approach.

‘I need you,’ Georgiana
announced. She said this with such calm simplicity that he was taken aback and
instantly disarmed.

‘I need you to...’ Here she
paused, frowning. ‘I need you to help me explore my feelings,’ she concluded.

She had learned the appropriate
jargon, Denton thought, amused and curiously touched. Poor innocent Georgiana,
she would have been exposed to a procession of analysts and therapists during
the long months of residential treatment he had arranged for her. They would
all have been mouthing jargon at her, and she had obediently swallowed it.

‘Georgiana,’ he said softly,
causing her eyelids to flicker at the sound of her name on his lips. ‘If you
are feeling a need to explore possible routes of getting back to your husband,
then I’m afraid I’m not able to help you.’

He timed the minutes of silence.

‘That’s not what I’m wanting.’
She swivelled her eyes to his, locking into his feelings, refusing him the
permission to look away. He was startled to find that the sheer visual appeal
of the wide, china-blue gaze still had the power to move him.

He laced his fingers together and
forced his mind to move at speed. ‘I’m prepared to offer you five
appointments,’ he told her, calm and firm. ‘I suggest we go right back to the
beginning, looking once more at the reason you first came to see me. We can
examine that a little – then take things from there. At the end of the fifth
session I’ll be happy to give you my opinion on the best way forward. How does
that sound?’

‘I came to you because I was
frigid,’ Georgiana said. ‘But that’s no longer a problem.’

‘I see.’ He was becoming more and
more fascinated. He reminded himself of the need to maintain an expression of
kind, but clinical impartiality.

‘You cured me,’ she said.

Dr Denton’s heart gave one
violent buck, and then was steady. He would choose to ignore that statement.
‘You’re telling me that you don’t want to go along with my suggestion of going
back to the original problem?’

‘What would be the point? I’ve
had several lovers in the past few years. I’m no longer frigid.’

Dr Denton was riveted. ‘You
enjoyed these sexual encounters?’

‘Yes.’

‘You reached orgasm?’

‘Most times.’

Dr Denton was beginning to feel a
touch breathless.

‘Then I got bored,’ Georgiana
said. ‘They were all young men, just boys really.’

Dr Denton swallowed hard. ‘So
what is it you need now from a course of therapy?’

She stared at him, frowning at
his obtuseness. ‘I’m not quite sure what it is. That’s the whole point of
coming to talk to you.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘You will take me back, won’t
you?’ Her eyes were hunted and fearful. ‘You will?’

What one could read into that,
Denton thought, his emotions now thoroughly aroused. ‘Yes, I’ll take you back.’

‘I want it to be just like it was
before,’ she insisted. ‘I shall lie on the chaise-longue and you will sit
beside me at my head. I’ll look out of the window and see the line of cherry
trees. And the little light on your recorder will throw a red glow on the wall
when it’s a cloudy day.’

My God! Such recall. Such needs.
Impossible to resist. Dr Denton knew he had no choice but to capitulate
totally. ‘Yes. You shall have all of that, Georgiana.’

He asked her to make a further
appointment on her way out. As she reached the door, she turned. She did
something she had never done before. She asked him a question about himself.
She asked him if he was married.

He told her that he was not, that
he had never been married. She nodded and seemed satisfied. When she left him
she was looking far more composed than her, her therapist, now felt. He sat
down at his desk and ran the audio cassette tape back to its starting point. He
pressed the play button and leaned back in his chair.