The Maestro (22 page)

Maria's eyes
smiled brightly, and she leaned over and kissed her on the lips,
momentarily forgetting that she was driving a huge truck up the
motorway. They both laughed but only when Maria had regained
control of the steering wheel.

Once they had
unpacked the paintings in the cellar of the house, Linda rang
Delgado to rearrange their appointment. Delgado was gruff on the
telephone but she was assured that he would visit.

Maria mixed
her a long drink as they sat on the terrace and looked into the
calm Mediterranean.

'I don't know
what Alfonso's problem is. He said he had some information about
Delgado. He got it when he was in Zurich, but you know how
mysterious Alfonso likes to be. He wouldn't say anything.'

'You know that
I went with him to Zurich. And it was true that he did get a
telephone call. I wasn't very happy at the time because we were
making love, but all he said was that he had to go out. When he
came back he told me he had learned something very interesting but
he wouldn't say what it was. I thought the call was planned. That
he was going off on one of his adventures and that this time he
didn't want me to come. Maybe he was telling the truth.'

'Or maybe you
were right. Anyway I hope you don't mind, Delgado is coming at
six.'

'No, but I
don't want him to stay. I really don't like him.'

'Why?'

'Oh, nothing
more concrete than instinct. Anyway, I have some guests coming. You
have come at a very interesting time.'

Linda knew by
the mischievous smile that she was not going to learn more until
the evening.

She had never
seen Delgado dressed so formerly. He wore a black evening suit with
a matching dickey bow, and a white silk tasselled scarf was draped
loosely around his shoulders.

'You look very
surprised to see me, Linda. It must be the suit.' Delgado smirked.
It was the closest she had ever seen him come to laughing.

'Well,
yes.'

'Magritte used
to wear a suit. Half of the surrealists wore suits. It was to
confuse the bourgeoisie. Subversion, so they thought, was more
difficult to dismiss if its perpetrators were dressed like
accountants.'

'Is that why
you are wearing a suit?'

'Maybe,' he
said. 'I only have thirty minutes.' The voice, although calm had an
insistent edge, not only reminding her that the maestro did not
have long, but what a crime it was to waste his time in idle
chatter.

She thought
about mentioning Alfonso's changed attitude towards him, but
decided that for the moment it might be advisable to keep her own
counsel.

She led
Delgado down the rickety stairs to the cellar, unlocked the door,
and switched on the bare electric light.

'I know it's
not ideal conditions for a viewing.'

'I'll
manage.'

'They are over
there.'

'So I can see.
Linda, I'd rather inspect them alone.' He walked over to the huge
canvasses stacked in the corner of the room, turned around and
glanced back at Linda, a further encouragement for her to leave the
cellar.

She sat down
on the rickety steps outside the cellar door and waited for him to
come out. It was an agony waiting like that, wondering what Delgado
was going to make of the work she had obsessively laboured over in
his Pyrenees shack; it proved to her, for all that Alfonso had
said, how much she still valued his opinion.

There was no
light, nor was she wearing a watch so she had no idea how long he
was in there. She was stuck in this terrible limbo of Delgado's
imminent judgement, her heart pounding, her palms slicking with
perspiration.

Finally he
opened the door, and held it open for her, inviting her entry. She
walked in. Delgado pulled up two stools that he had found in a dark
corner of the cellar. She sat down.

'Well?'

He smiled at
her, but the smile was inscrutable. He peered into her eyes through
the dim light of the room, but said nothing.

'I know it's
difficult to see them properly, you know, to get the full effect of
the light.'

He nodded
painfully slowly. 'You've made progress, Linda, personal progress
at least.'

'But?' She
could tell by the tone of his voice that this was a preamble to
less positive comments.

'You have
encapsulated some very interesting ideas and I'm sure that you will
find some interest in the minor galleries, but I can't hide the
fact that I am personally disappointed. After all our
conversations, after everything we said, I had expected more. You
are still fighting to liberate yourself. There are too many nods to
other painters, too much that to my eye at least is derivative.
There were however one or two paintings that caught my eye, that I
thought we could do something with.'

'We?'

'I don't want
to say any more at this stage. I only want your promise that you
will not show the one that looks like a very elegant moonscape,
number eighteen I think it was, nor do I want you to show
twenty-five.'

'Why not? They
are two of my finest pieces of work.'

'I have my
reasons. We'll talk in a couple of days. I have some work of my own
to do. I don't want you to despair, Linda, this is a beginning. I'm
sure that you can do a lot better than this, a lot better.'

She felt tears
gathering in her eyes, her throat was dry. He had been much more
severe than even she had anticipated. Her sense of rejection, of
inadequacy honed to her bafflement that Delgado did not want her to
show some of her paintings. 'Why don't you want me to show
everything?'

'I have my
reasons. I really can't speak now about it. As I said, in a couple
of days.'

'Is that all
you've got to say about them?' She was angry with him, but she knew
even as her voice raised that her anger was only covering the pain
of his judgement.

'I could say
more. If you wanted more precise criticism but the overall comment
would not change. Maybe you have something more than talent, Linda,
after seeing your efforts I am no longer sure, but this work just
isn't good enough.' All the time he had spoken to her he held her
hand, his voice calm and measured, a declension of bathos in the
timbre of his voice.

He stood up.
'I'll contact you in a couple of days. The two paintings I
mentioned are promising, very promising. I might be able to get
them into a gallery for you under certain circumstances, but I'll
talk to you later about that. Now you need time to reflect. I need
time to reflect.' He squeezed her hand and then walked out the
door, as Linda placed her head on the table and began to sob.

Maria came
down and without speaking picked her gently from where she was
sitting and led her upstairs.

'He didn't
like them?'

'Not at
all.'

'He's not the
only artist in Barcelona.'

'He was for
me.'

They hugged in
Maria's bedroom.

'You know I
was so sure that I had produced something worthwhile. I mean, I
didn't expect to set the world on fire, but I knew I'd do something
good.'

'Know. You
know. Goodness knows what kind of power games Delgado is playing
with you. When you produce work of that quality, Linda, you don't
need Delgado's approval.'

Maria was
right of course. Linda knew this. She thought about her work again.
She was sure that she had produced something of merit, otherwise
every instinct she had ever had as an art critic or as an artist
had been wrong, but the sting of Delgado's words would not go
away.

'Linda, dinner
is in an hour. I would like you to meet my father and some of the
other guests. The art world here in Barcelona is much bigger than
Delgado. Listen to them! Take their advice! Now I will leave you
alone to shower. Come down when you are ready. We will eat on the
terrace.' Maria kissed her gently on the cheek, embraced her again
and slipped out of the door.

She did not
feel like eating or seeing anybody, but she felt that she should
make an effort; after all she was staying in the house of Maria's
father. It would be very impolite not to meet him. She climbed into
the shower, scrubbing herself briskly, trying to clean away all the
despondency she felt after Delgado's visit.

Maria had
kindly sent for her clothes and settled her bill at the hotel, so
Linda could choose whatever clothes she wanted. She thought of
wearing the pearl white dress again, but settled instead for a
cotton print dress with bright geometric patterns on a background
of aquamarine. To add to the ensemble she put on a necklace of
turquoise stones and tied her hair in a chignon that gave her, as
she realised as she stared at her reflection in the glass, a
sophisticated air. When she was ready she walked onto the terrace
and into the humid night air. In the middle of the terrace, near
the steps that led to the swimming pool, was a table laden with
food, and sitting around the table were five people helping
themselves to a buffet of cold meats, salad and fruit. A champagne
bottle popped as she approached and all heads turned to meet her
gaze.

She knew
instinctively who the other guests were from what Maria had already
told her. Apart from Maria, she assumed that the debonair looking
man with the silky hair and the handsome, distinguished face
sitting at the head of the table was her father. The handsome man
sitting opposite must be Hugo; his hair was darker and grey-flecked
at the temples, his eyes were dark and penetrating. Beside him
there was a young girl, maybe as young as eighteen with beautiful
dark, copper-coloured hair, a broad mouth and big brown eyes that
had been staring intently at the man sitting beside her. To his
right was a strong looking, blond woman with steely blue eyes that
Linda recognised as Laura.

She was
introduced to all in turn. Maria's father insisted that they desist
from formalities and that he be addressed as Matteo; the young
girl, so Linda discovered, was a distant cousin of Maria's called
Isabella.

Linda took a
seat next to Maria after the introductory greetings were over.
Matteo poured her a glass of champagne, and she thought she
detected a distinct, knowing smile pass across the table between
him and Hugo. Although the two men must have been roughly about
fifty, they looked robustly virile, and Matteo in particular had
high, patrician cheekbones and a long slender nose that to Linda at
least spoke of refined ideas and refined living.

The chat was
amiable enough. Linda drank more champagne than was probably good
for her, making her feel lightheaded, and eventually she reached
that stage of tipsiness which blanks out all other considerations
other than enjoying the moment. She flirted outrageously with
Maria's father, much to Maria's amusement, as the daughter noticed
how Linda's eyes frequently settled on her father's and how
coquettishly she smiled.

Linda had
decided that she wanted to fuck this man, as if sex could somehow
erase the final lingering of disappointment, at least temporarily.
She sensed that Matteo knew this too.

It came as no
surprise to Linda when Matteo invited her into his study to discuss
her work in more detail. She knew it was a ploy, as she suspected
the rest of her table companions did too, but by this stage she
didn't really care. She followed Matteo's strong lean body up to a
set of rooms that she had not visited before, and into his
study.

The spacious
room was filled with great works of modernist art. There was an
Egon Schiele painting behind Matteo's mahogany desk, and on one
wall an early Braque hung next to a late Chagall. On the facing
terracotta wall three fair-sized Mogdiliani's imposed their
presence.

'You are
impressed,' he said in his heavy accented Spanish.

'Yes
very.'

'Not as impressed I would imagine as this
senor
who stands before you gazing at
one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen in the
world.'

She smiled at
his outrageous flattery.

'The art we
will discuss tomorrow, now I want to see you.' He was leaning
against his desk while Linda stood in the middle of the room gazing
at the modernistic splendour around her, before her eyes settled on
the tall, handsome man in front of her. She hadn't noticed, but
Hugo had entered the room and was standing behind her.

'That sounds
like an interesting proposition,' she said mischievously, thinking
about unleashing his prick from the neat cut of his khaki
trousers.

It was then
that she noticed Hugo's presence. He moved forward and leaned
against the desk, nodding at Linda as he passed her. Now Linda
thought that the evening's entertainment was going to get even more
exciting.

'You have to
understand, Linda, that sometimes we like to take our pleasure
roughly. We like to play a little with our guests. You
understand?'

Linda nodded.
She understood perfectly.

'We will bring
the pleasure to you,' Matteo added, his ungrammatical English
sending a little tingle of anticipated delight up the back of her
spine. Linda was sweating now. All the rooms seemed air-conditioned
apart from this one. Linda surmised that this had been done on
purpose, as Hugo cast a lascivious glance at the beads of sweat
that had gathered at the top of her cleavage, well exposed by her
low cut dress.

Hugo went to
the corner of the room and retrieved a soda siphon.

'Would you
like to cool down, my dear?' Hugo asked, pointing the siphon at
her. Before she had a chance to answer, he pressed down on the top
and sprayed the cool water across her face then down her dress.
Matteo pulled her to him roughly, so that she stood in front of him
facing Hugo. He lifted up her dress and Hugo fired the water at her
patterned lace panties.