The Italian Girl (28 page)

‘Rosanna, please! She is not important.’

‘Tell me. I must know,’ Rosanna urged.

‘Donatella. Donatella Bianchi. You will not know her.’

‘On the contrary. As you and I know perfectly well, she and her husband are great patrons of La Scala. They gave a large donation to the Beata Vergine Maria church. I know exactly who Donatella Bianchi is,’ she imparted coldly.

‘Please believe me,’ he begged her, ‘it’s all in the past.’

‘It began six years ago, you said. We’ve not been together six weeks, and already you have kept a secret from me.’

‘Rosanna, it’s over. It’s finished. It was nothing. Now, please tell me how you feel about returning to Milan alone?’

‘I cannot . . .’ Rosanna’s voice trembled. ‘I cannot even begin to think about it.’ She stood up and leant over the railings of the terrace. ‘Why don’t you go to the police? Tell them you’ve been threatened by this man?’

‘It will do no good. You know how things are in Italy. Corruption is everywhere, and you can bet Giovanni is part of it. I wouldn’t stand a chance against him and his connections.’

‘You think Signor Bianchi will carry out his threat?’

‘I’m in absolutely no doubt.’

‘What about Paolo? What will you say to him?’

‘Well, I cannot tell him the truth. I will ask Chris to say I need a rest, that my voice is tired, anything. I don’t much care about that, but the thought of you returning to Milan without me, of us being apart . . . I can hardly bear it. Of course, I cannot stop you going. In fact, you
must
go.’

Rosanna turned to him, tears glistening in her eyes. ‘And how will it look if I return to Italy alone? All the things you said people would think will be reinforced by your absence. I can’t tell them the real reason, so they’ll think the marriage has already gone wrong. I’m wondering if they are right.’

‘No!’ Roberto jumped up and went to her side. ‘Please, Rosanna, don’t say that.’

‘What am I meant to say? That I’m glad you had an affair with a married woman whose husband has threatened to have you killed? That I’m happy I must go back to Milan alone for weeks on end without my new husband? And, worst of all, that you have deceived me from the beginning? I cannot believe it! I . . .’ Rosanna, too shocked to find any further words, fled from the terrace and into the villa. Roberto heard the bedroom door bang shut.

He exhaled slowly and filled his glass from the half-full bottle of wine. Her reaction had been no worse than he’d expected. And no better than he deserved.

Rosanna lay on the bed, holding a pillow over her head in a useless attempt to block out the pain of Roberto’s confession. The exquisite, dreamlike feeling she’d had for the past five weeks had vanished in an instant.

Her new husband had not only told her of some sordid affair, but had also announced that, because of it, he could not return to Italy. There would be no triumphant return to Naples together to visit their families, either now or in the future. She realised that Roberto had known from the start that it had never been a possibility.

And La Scala . . .
La Bohème
. How many times had she imagined the two of them taking the applause of an ecstatic first-night audience? She was booked to sing at La Scala on and off until the following September. And now, each time she went, it would be without Roberto.

Of course, she didn’t have to go back to Italy. There were other houses that would welcome her debut as Mimi – Chris had told her of the offers that had flooded in since London. So far she had refused them all outright.

But to let Paolo down after all he had done for her . . . How could she?

Yet, if she allowed Chris to alter her schedule, she could sing with Roberto at houses around the world. Everyone wanted them together and, after the news of their marriage, Rosanna knew that the interest in their pairing would grow even more intense.

She also knew, deep down, that she was frightened of leaving him alone. She believed Roberto loved her, but a tiny part of her still wondered whether, if she was hundreds of miles away, he would be able to resist temptation.

Rosanna was sure the only chance she had of their marriage working was to be at his side. It would mean making the greatest sacrifice and hurting Paolo, but what was more important to her?

She already knew the answer.

Emitting a muffled scream of frustration, she pulled the pillow even more tightly over her head.

Much later, Rosanna walked back out onto the terrace, looking composed but ashen beneath her suntan.

Roberto jumped up. ‘How are you? Will you divorce me?’

‘Roberto, I have made a decision. But before I tell you, I must ask you one thing. Is there anything else I should know about you? Any other secrets you are hiding from me?’

Roberto wavered for a second, then shook his head. ‘No,
cara
. I’ve told you everything.’

‘Then I’ll tell you what I’ve decided. I cannot go back to Milan without you. When you telephone Chris Hughes to tell him you won’t be returning to La Scala, you speak for both of us. There are other houses, other places we can sing
La Bohème
.’ She managed a wan smile.

Roberto was stunned. ‘Do you mean it?’

‘Yes. I’m your wife. I must be by your side. There is no other choice because . . . I love you,’ she said miserably.

‘
Cara, mia cara
, that you would make this sacrifice for me, I . . .’ Roberto held out his arms to her. ‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise. You’re an angel, an angel of forgiveness. And yes, we must be together always. You have made the right decision, I am sure of it.’

As Rosanna melted into his embrace, she could think of many people who would not share Roberto’s opinion.

‘He’s
what
?’ The voice at the other end of the phone was like a gunshot.

Chris Hughes repeated his last statement. There was silence from the receiver.

‘I’m sorry, Paolo, and Roberto is devastated, but he feels that his voice isn’t up to it.’

‘But we’re talking about an entire season here, Chris, not just one performance! Has he cancelled his other bookings too?’

‘Umm . . . no, he hasn’t.’

‘So he’s making up this ridiculous excuse about his voice. Chris, at the very least, you owe it to me to tell me the truth. Why doesn’t he want to appear at La Scala? His new wife will be here often enough.’

‘Ah, yes, well, that’s what I was coming to. Rosanna is cancelling too.’

Paolo was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this, Chris.’

‘It’s true, I’m afraid. Apparently she’s written to you to explain. She’s desperately sorry and hopes that you’ll understand, but she feels she has to be with her husband.’

‘No! NO!’ Paolo groaned in rising despair. ‘Singing
La Bohème
at La Scala was her dream. I know Rosanna would not cancel that for anything.’

‘She just has done, Paolo. What can I say?’

‘
Mamma mia!
I simply can’t believe it. I must speak to her, Chris. Where is she?’

‘Look, Paolo, Rosanna doesn’t want to talk to you right now. She and Roberto—’

‘Rosanna doesn’t want to talk to
me
? She and her shit of a husband have just completely wrecked my season, which I might remind you begins in less than two months’ time. Quite apart from the fact I have personally guided her development for the past five years!’ Chris was very glad he was not in the same room as Paolo at that moment. Sometimes he hated his job.

‘Look, I understand how you feel. I’m there too. I’ve accepted a year of bookings on Rosanna’s behalf and this morning she tells me she wants them altered to fit in with Roberto’s schedule.’

‘She’s going to destroy her career before she’s even begun,’ thundered Paolo. ‘All that talent and—’

‘I know, I know. But look at it this way, Paolo: if you come down heavy on Rosanna now, you may lose her for good. On the other hand, if you stay cool, allow her to play happy families with Roberto for a while, she might just begin to see the light.’

‘So what you’re telling me is that she’s blinded by love?’

‘That seems to be about the size of it. I told her that even if Roberto is refusing to sing at La Scala this year, she must. She wouldn’t hear of it. If you want my opinion, there’s a hidden agenda in this somewhere, but I’m damned if I know what it is.’

‘I could sue Roberto for breach of contract, although I can’t touch Rosanna, as you well know. Her contract’s sitting here on my desk ready for her to sign on her return. I could never have foreseen this . . . Well, I obviously didn’t know her as I thought I did,’ finished Paolo crisply.

‘Sure, you could sue Roberto and with good reason. But, as we both know, Rosanna is becoming a big star. If you sue her husband, you’ll have no chance of persuading either of them back to La Scala.’

Paolo sighed. ‘I just don’t understand. This has got to be Roberto’s doing. It sounds as though Rosanna has lost her mind.’

‘Well, at the very least I’d agree that her mind’s completely made up on being with her husband every second of every day.’

‘Does he love her, do you think?’ asked Paolo, feeling sick at the finality of the situation and the loss of his home-grown star.

‘He’s certainly very protective of her. I’d say that yes, he does.’

‘Well, in my experience, Roberto Rossini loves no one but himself,’ growled Paolo.

‘Who knows? Only time will tell. Anyway, I apologise again for being the bearer of such bad tidings. Let me know if there’s any way I can help you find replacements for them.’

‘We’ll be in touch.’ Paulo dropped the receiver into the cradle and put his head in his hands.

The following morning, a letter addressed to him arrived from London.

Dear Paolo,

I’m sure that by now Chris Hughes has told you I will not be coming to Milan to sing Mimi. I’m so very sorry to let you, Riccardo and La Scala down, especially after all the help you have given me. Paolo, I cannot go into detail, but it is impossible for either of us to come to Milan. Roberto is my husband and that is where my loyalties must now lie. I have to be with him wherever he is. As you know, singing Mimi at La Scala was my dream, but please believe me, I have no choice.

I understand how angry you must be and I’m truly sorry. It’s the wrong moment to thank you for all you have done for me, but I say it anyway.

I wish with all my heart things could have been different.

With love,

Rosanna

Paolo reread the letter twice. He knew for certain now that this wasn’t Rosanna’s doing. It was Roberto’s.

The Metropolitan Opera House, New York

So, Nico, you can already see that our marriage started out in stormy waters. And yet, I count the two years that followed our wedding among the happiest of my life.

And, Nico, if there is one thing I wish for your future, it’s to find the joy that Roberto and I found during that time. We went everywhere together. Not only were we inseparable as husband and wife, but our names became entwined on stage too. We sang Puccini in London, Verdi in New York and Mozart in Vienna, and became the toast of the opera world. We were fêted everywhere we went. Our private passion only enhanced our performances and every opera house in the world begged us to sing on their stages. We were booked three years in advance.

The sadness I felt that the only country we did not sing in was that of our birth never left me. But it was the price I had to pay for the happiness Roberto and I shared.

And what of Roberto? Well, Nico, if only you could have seen him then. I could not have asked for a more devoted or loving husband. He protected me and nurtured me and loved me in a way that others who had known him before found difficult to believe. Admittedly, he made most of our important career decisions and I rarely questioned his judgement. I was simply happy to be with him and sing wherever he wished me to. It seemed then that the Roberto of old had well and truly disappeared. Love –
my
love – had changed him, I believed, forever.

Soon after we married, we bought a lovely house in Kensington in London. We used it as our base and returned to it as often as we could. In April 1980, we arrived back there from New York. We were to sing (at last)
La Bohème
at Covent Garden, our favourite opera house outside of Italy, and all seemed perfect

. . .

25

London, April 1980

Rosanna awoke to the sound of a car backfiring in the street. She lifted her head in the gloom and looked at the radio alarm clock beside the bed. It was six o’clock. She lay back with a sigh, knowing she’d spend the rest of the day feeling exhausted. The plane from New York had touched down late last night and she struggled terribly with jet lag.

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, she delicately removed Roberto’s hand, which was resting on her stomach, and slipped out of bed. She put on her robe and tiptoed quietly out of the bedroom.

Downstairs in the kitchen she made herself some coffee, then sat at the table to watch the birds as they chirruped in the tree in the small courtyard garden. Rosanna smiled contentedly, glad to be back. She loved this house. It was the one place that felt like home, after the endless impersonal hotel suites they stayed in when they were travelling. The house was arranged on four floors, with a large kitchen and laundry room in the basement, a sitting room, dining room and music room on the ground floor and the bedrooms and bathrooms on the two upper floors.

They had three weeks before they started rehearsals for
La Bohème
at Covent Garden. Roberto had suggested they escape to Corsica, but for once Rosanna had put her foot down. She wanted to be in
her
house, in
her
bed, with
her
things around her. The past two years had been unremitting and Rosanna felt drained.