Symphony of Seduction by Christopher Lawrence

Author:Christopher Lawrence
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Schwartz Publishing Pty. Ltd

Puccini found her in the street, not far from the Chalet Emilio, the local bar that was his intended destination. Good – she could finish the mission.

‘Doria – Doria,’ he said, trying to restrain her.

She glanced at him, clearly terrified.

‘Signor Puccini … I cannot … I cannot speak with you here.’

‘Doria, I just want to tell you how sorry I am. You and I both know how wrong my wife is about this.’

‘Maestro, it’s no longer about what we think. I’m scared about how this may look to others.’

‘Others won’t know. It’s in both your and the Puccini family’s interests to keep this unfortunate situation to ourselves.’

‘We’re a small town, signor. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. How can people not know? My family don’t understand.’

‘Doria, we can help you find another employer. I’ll say and write the most complimentary things about your character. They’re the truth.’

‘Signor, the truth no longer matters. The signora’s made sure of it. People are interested only in the worst that can be said of others.’ Tears welled in her eyes.

Puccini placed one hand on her shoulder to steady the onset of grief. With his other he dipped into his fragrant trouser pocket and withdrew an envelope.

‘In the meantime, dear Doria, can you take this? You know where it must go.’

She looked at him again, puzzled.

‘Signor, are you joking? I can’t take any further part in this. It’ll destroy me. Perhaps it already has. People mustn’t see us together.’ She forced the envelope back into his grasp.

‘Doria, things may be easier this way. At least we’re away from the prying eyes of my house.’

‘WHORE!’ The voice bellowed from the other side of the street. Passers-by stopped dead.

A figure in men’s clothing strode towards them. The scene had the same sense of dire coincidence as a tawdry Act Two finale. This was the melodramatic dénouement of early Verdi; not Puccini.

Except it was the chatelaine of the Villa Puccini whose fantasy had now been vindicated by the wrong impression.

‘What’s that in your hand, Giacomo?’ She laughed. ‘A love letter?’

At last Elvira was correct, but only for a single sentence. Puccini folded the envelope carefully and returned it to his pocket.

‘It must be a chore to have to write everything down now instead of whispering to each other in bed,’ she continued.

Doria’s face turned white; she looked as if she was about to faint. An onlooker ran into the bar.

‘I only wanted to thank Doria for her years of service …’ Puccini began.

‘Surely you have thanked her enough? The same gratitude you have shown to so many others over the years,’ said Elvira.

‘Signora, this is not a conversation that should take place in the street,’ Puccini said in an undertone.

‘This conversation belongs in the street, as does your little servant here,’ said Elvira, raising her voice. ‘She is a filthy whore and a tart.’

She turned to address the growing number of spectators who had formed a circle around them.

‘This treasure of the village is a tramp who ran after my husband and seduced him in my own home.

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