Musical Beds Page 6

He ruffled her hair mockingly and she slapped his hand away.

  “Oh, shut up, Milan. You’re so vile sometimes.”

  He put his face right against hers, his handsome face ugly with hostility.

  “You knew what you were getting when you let me fuck you the first time, sweetheart. In front of another man. You aren’t the little virgin you like to play. You wanted it just as much as we did.”

  “Oh, God, sometimes I hate you.”

  Reminded of that first night, and how Evgeny had been there, his dark eyes glowing, Lydia felt the tears rush up from deep within. His hands had been so skilled and delicate. He’d been a beautiful, talented man who should still be alive now.

  “Don’t you even miss him? He loved you so much he’d have done anything…for…”

  Her throat caught and she couldn’t continue. She stormed out of bed and ran to the bathroom, locked herself in, then wept inconsolably on the hot tub step.

  It was some time before Milan knocked.

  “Come out of there. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you.”

  She wiped her face with the towel, took a deep breath and squeezed the last tears from her eyes.

  “I’m going home,” she said. “I think this is wrong, a mistake. You aren’t ready.”

  “Are you fucking dumping me from behind a closed door?” Milan sounded so outraged that she almost let out a nervous laugh.

  She unbolted the door and opened it just a sliver, in case Milan did something crazy. He sounded capable of it, frighteningly so.

  “No. I’m not dumping you from behind a closed door. I’m saying that I think the timing’s wrong. You aren’t ready. I can’t cope with your anger and your…insane competitiveness. Not now. I’m tired, Milan. We’ve both been through too much this year. Let’s give ourselves a break. Maybe rethink after you’ve done the counselling.”

  He stared at her, appearing stunned.

  “How can you be so…? Don’t you have a heart? Don’t you love me anymore?”

  “Of course I do.” And now she was crying again. “I always will. I love you so much. Too much. I can’t keep my head together and I can’t think. I’m too mixed up in you and I need to step back.”

  He reached out for her. She let him take her hand, but kept the space between the door and the frame as tight as possible.

  “I can’t lose you now. I’ve lost so much.” His eyes were like a sad child’s, pleading.

  “You aren’t losing me. I’ll still be here for you, but as a friend. You need to focus on getting better and playing at the Prom concert.”

  “For God’s sake, come out of there.”

  She relented, pushing open the door and allowing herself to be manipulated into his arms. Leaving them was going to be the hardest act of her life, even harder than walking away from him in Prague, and her resolve wavered dangerously.

  “I won’t let you go,” he said.

  “I’ll come back, Milan, I swear. I’ll come back when the time’s right. I just want you to be happy.”

  “You make me happy.”

  “Don’t make me responsible for you,” she said, recalling Vanessa’s words. “I’m not. I can’t be. It isn’t fair to put that on me.”

  He sniffed and held her tighter. “You’re growing up,” he said. “You’re so much stronger than when we met.”

  “Don’t you like strong women?”

  He sighed and dropped his head on her shoulder.

  “I love them.”

  “And they love you. But if you love someone, you have to, I don’t know, do what’s best for them. And, if we stay together, we’ll fight and you’ll say cruel things that can’t be taken back and we’ll split and it’ll be horrible, and maybe something neither of us can overcome. I just want to hope. If we break now, I can keep that hope. And so can you.”

  She shut her eyes, held a breath right at the top of her lungs, waiting.

  “If you leave me now, that’s it,” he said.

  It was hopeless. He wasn’t a man to negotiate with, and she should have realised. Even so, the words hit her like a punch to the stomach.

  She’d gambled and lost.

  She looked him long and hard in the eye.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  His gaze burned her.

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Then there’s nothing more to say.”

  She wrestled her way out of his arms and started to look for her clothes.

  Chapter Six

  Because Lydia had done so much grieving for their relationship after leaving Prague, she found that she was hardly able to do any more.

  She was grateful for her eyes, which were cried out, and her body, which wasn’t going to stand for any more sleepless nights. She was also grateful for her violin, which took the angst from her and turned it into music, setting the heartbreak free on the wind.

  She was most grateful of all for good friends, notably Vanessa. And Ben. Ben was around a lot these days, it seemed. When she mentioned how close they seemed to be getting, though, Vanessa brushed it off. With a blush.

  “Why don’t you come and stay at my place for the weekend?” offered Vanessa, at the end of their third rehearsal after the breakup.

  Like the previous two, it had resembled inserting a dagger into her heart and twisting it very, very slowly for hour upon hour. Every tragic note in the music made her chest heave and her violin bump on her breastbone. She had to get a grip or her playing would be affected.

  But Milan barely looked at her, bowing away with his head back and his face furiously focused. She was almost tempted to make stupid mistakes just so he would have to address them and, by extension, her. He was still in nominal charge while they waited for von Ritter to arrive at the end of the week, and he threw his weight about to such an extent that some sections of the orchestra were considering a rebellion.

  If he was still drinking, he was hiding it well. This was Lydia’s sole, tiny life-raft of reassurance. He was behaving like an arse, but he was getting better.

  “You sure?” asked Lydia.

  She and Vanessa were standing in the percussion section while Milan and some of his loyal acolytes were talking loudly about von Ritter’s reputation.

  “Of course.”

  “You’re not busy this weekend?”

  “Just practicing, as usual.”

  “Nobody to…see?” Lydia swerved her eyes over to Ben, who was chatting with some trombonists.

  Vanessa smiled, much too broadly, and looked at her feet.

  “No,” she said.

  “Okay, then. That’d be nice. Thanks.”

  “Pack a bag for tomorrow’s rehearsal, then.”

  Before Lydia could turn to leave, Vanessa seized her in an unexpected bear hug.

  “You’re doing the right thing,” she said. “He isn’t stable. You need stable.”

  * * * *

  It was reinforced to Lydia exactly how unstable he was that night, when she received a phone call.

  It was two in the morning, and the caller display said ‘Milan’. Fearing that he might have been involved in some terrible accident, she snatched up the phone and answered with a trembling voice.

  “Hello?”

  “Lydia,” he purred. He was drunk and there was lots of noise in the background. “Come and save me.”

  “What? What’s happening? Where are you?”

  She had one foot out of bed already, ready to fling on some clothes and fly to his rescue.

  “I’m at home,” he said. “Where else?”

  “What’s happening? Is something wrong?”

  “Come to me, miláčku. Come…to…ah, fuck.”

  The line went dead.

  Lydia felt competing waves of fury and fear. The noise had included music and laughter. It sounded like he was having a party. He’d got drunk and maudlin, that was all. Wasn’t it? What if that wasn’t all?

  She dithered for a while. Should she go over there? But it would mean getting dressed, getting an ex
pensive night taxi, probably just to find him lying passed out on the bed. If anyone let her into the building, that was.

  No. She wasn’t going to rise to this bait. It was the brandy talking, no doubt.

  And why the hell was he still drinking, anyway?

  She pulled her covers back up to her chin and failed to sleep until morning.

  * * * *

  Milan was terribly late for the next day’s rehearsal, Leonard taking over with much fussing and fretting for a scrappy and unsatisfying run-through of The Planets.

  When Milan arrived, he swaggered unrepentantly into the room, pausing to shoot a dazzling smile and a wink at Sarah the harpist before gliding up to the podium. He was deathly pale with pink-rimmed eyes, but he put up a good façade of exuberance, and the rehearsal perked up to near-competent levels.

  Back at Vanessa’s flat, the percussionist tried to open the subject of Milan, but Lydia had no desire to rehash it all yet again and begged to be allowed to slump mindlessly in front of a DVD with a bucket of ice cream instead.

  Lydia enjoyed the Bridget Jones marathon, but couldn’t help noticing how very often Vanessa’s phone bleeped to indicate an incoming text message. Her friend also seemed to be doing a lot of sly smiling and punching of keys.

  “Who’s that? Secret lover?” she asked.

  “No. Just Ben. Wondering if we want to go for a picnic in Richmond Park tomorrow. Do you fancy it? Supposed to be nice weather.”

  “Just Ben, eh?”

  A telling silence ensued.

  “Why are you looking at me like that, Lydia?”

  “Why do you think? You’re blushing!” Lydia reached out and gave Vanessa’s cheek a playful pinch.

  “It’s just a bit hot in here, that’s all.”

  “The ice cream should cool you down. Ness, are you and Ben…?”

  Vanessa sighed, looked away for a moment then turned her guilt-etched face back to Lydia.

  “Do you think it’s wrong?”

  “What? Why would I think that?”

  “Oh, you know. He’s so young and I’m…not.”

  “Ness! Don’t say that! You’re gorgeous. So have you…?”

  Vanessa nodded shyly and Lydia squealed.

  “That’s amazing! Oh, wow. I’m so happy for you. He seems really lovely.”

  “Yes, he does, doesn’t he? I’m hoping I’m not deluding myself.”

  “No. He’s not the type. He’s not a Jack-the-lad after a quick shag, is he? Oh, I really like him. This is brilliant.”

  Vanessa gave Lydia’s hand a quick squeeze.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “What for?”

  “I was scared to tell you in case you thought I was some kind of sick pervert.” Vanessa laughed miserably.

  “Oh, for God’s sake. You’re talking to the girl who was involved in a ménage and performed at a private sex party, remember.” The words sounded surprising to Lydia, even though she knew them to be true, and she put a hand over her mouth.

  “Oh, yes. I’d forgotten about the sex party.”

  “Did Milan ever take you to anything like that?”

  “Not that setup in Vienna you went to, no. There was an incident in New York, though.”

  Lydia leant forward.

  “Really?”

  “You want gory details, don’t you?” Vanessa sounded worried that Lydia might be looking for salt to rub into her relationship wounds, but Lydia was genuinely curious.

  “Of course.”

  Vanessa flicked a blob of ice cream from the end of her spoon onto Lydia’s nose.

  “You really are a sick pervert. Well, we’d just played Carnegie Hall, and we were all supposed to be going to a restaurant afterwards, but Milan got a call from some guy he knew. Next thing I knew, he and I were in a cab heading for the Meatpacking District. We went into this club—we were on the guest list, I think. I don’t know what I was expecting. Some kind of edgy techno-house music type thing in a warehouse full of graffiti. Excuse me, I’m not very good with the terminology. I haven’t been out clubbing since 1993.”

  “I can tell,” snorted Lydia, though she wasn’t exactly conversant with the latest trends in dance music, either. A Strauss waltz was more her bag. “So, go on. It wasn’t a dance club, I take it?”

  “No, it wasn’t. It was a fetish club.”

  “Ooh, seriously? He never took me to anything like that. Was he hiding a side of himself from me?” Lydia wondered, though Milan had never been one to hold back, so she guessed the opportunity had simply not arisen.

  “I doubt it. Milan is interested in everything to do with sex, I think. He likes to dabble and he’s extremely open to new experiences, as I guess you worked out.”

  “Yeah. What was this place like then?”

  “I would call it…interesting. I’m not really that way inclined, but parts of it got me quite, y’know… Other parts of it just made me want to run and hide. There were people dressed head to toe in suffocating latex and leather and stuff—gimp masks. I always find them frightening, don’t know why. Maybe because they remind me a bit of gas masks, which are scary objects in themselves.”

  “Ugh,” Lydia shuddered. “Hate them. And air-raid siren noises.”

  “And there were people in cages—one woman was cuffed into this cage thing that had a little space for her head, so guys could just go up to her and put their dicks in her mouth. She had this contraption between her lips that held them open.”

  “Milan didn’t…?”

  “No. He did join in with a whipping, though. A cute girl in a corset and stockings, getting her bum flogged by all and sundry. Actually, I might have given her a couple of strokes.”

  “Did you? Did it…do anything for you?”

  “It made me feel a bit squirmy, I think. In an ‘I wonder what she’s feeling?’ kind of way. More curious than anything. Milan said it wasn’t the pain she was getting off on as much as the humiliation. I can’t really relate to that, but I might have asked him to give me a little spank or two, just to see what it felt like…”

  Lydia giggled. “And what did it feel like?”

  “Quite nice, actually. He didn’t do it very hard, of course. I’m a coward when it comes to pain. I got my own back and did it to him. He seemed to enjoy it.”

  “Really? Milan?”

  “He’s a sensation junkie. If it feels good, he’ll do it.”

  “That’s true.”

  They sat in silent contemplation for a moment, Lydia replaying all the wild and wonderful things she’d done with Milan before she dismissed the thoughts with firm determination and picked up the thread.

  “And what about Ben? Do you think he wants a good spanking?”

  Vanessa grinned into her ice cream.

  “We haven’t got as far as S&M yet, strangely enough. If we do, I’ll let you know, okay?”

  * * * *

  Ben was waiting for them at the railway station the next day, holding a large hamper in front of him with both hands.

  They walked up through a pastoral idyll to the strangely named Leg of Mutton Pond, where they arranged themselves on tartan blankets and unpacked the goodies. Vanessa was ridiculously excited about having her friend and her lover together in a social situation, and she was full of rapturous exclamations about the beauty of the weather and the surroundings.

  “Where do you live, Ben?” asked Lydia as he unwrapped chicken drumsticks from some tinfoil.

  “Me? Oh, Wimbledon.”

  “Quite handy for Vanessa’s place then.”

  He looked up keenly, then his gaze switched rapidly from Lydia to Vanessa and back again.

  “I don’t know…is it?”

  Vanessa’s heart melted at his obvious conflict—he wanted to admit their relationship, but he didn’t know if she would approve. She saved him the angst.

  “Ben, I hope you don’t mind, but I told Lydia. Or, rather, she guessed. What with the somewhat alarming number of text messages I was sending and receiving last
night.”

  Ben looked stunned for a moment, then his face lit up.

  “So we’re Official, then?” he asked.

  “Semi-Official. Lydia’s the only person I’ve told. I don’t know about you…”

  “Not a soul. Thought you wanted it kept under wraps.”

  “Well, you know what the orchestra’s like. Gossip Central. Lydia knows all about that.”

  “I do indeed.” Lydia smiled. “I think you make a great couple. I give you my blessing.” She grabbed a bottle of prosecco from the hamper and brandished it in a mock-toast to Vanessa and Ben.

  A couple of fallow deer wandered past behind the lovers, as if curious to know what the big deal was over by the pond.

  “A blessing! Did you hear that, Va—I mean, Ness? We are blessed.”

  “It makes a change from being cursed,” said Vanessa dryly.

  Ben hurried over to her on his knees and sat beside her, wrapping her in one of his long arms.

  “Look, I can touch you in daylight and we don’t shrivel up. Isn’t it amazing?”

  “Very,” laughed Vanessa, rubbing her nose against his, pressing their foreheads together.

  Lydia popped the cork on the bottle and poured the sparkling wine into three glasses.

  Almost at once, her phone rang.

  “Sorry,” she said, standing and going to lurk a short distance away, under a tree, while she took the call.

  “Wonder who that could be,” said Vanessa, with heavy irony.

  “You think it’s Milan?”

  “Five quid says she scuttles off to answer the summons.”

  “Oh, no. You think he’s got her on a string?”

  “She’s doing her best, but he’s a bugger to shake off. He hates it when people leave him rather than the other way around. Just can’t let it go. An ego thing, I suppose. These artistes…” She sighed.

  “Poor Lydia. Still, if she does rush off…” He tickled her under her armpit and breathed hot air into her ear.

  Squealing, she tried to fend him off.

  “Don’t you go getting any ideas, Mr Chancellor.”

  “But I like ideas. Ideas make the world go round.”

  “Thought that was love?”

  “Yes, and what about ideas plus love? What a combination.” He spread his arms wide, as if he’d come up with a unique invention he had to broadcast to the world.