anxiously at the rest of the actors hovering in the corridor. ‘Be firm. We’ll go on down but make sure you’re right behind us.’
I could clearly hear a tinny voice talking excitedly down the line but not the words. Not that I needed to. Pietro’s face said it all.
‘Porca Miseria!’ The vehement words rattled around the room as he started to pace the floor, Italian expletives exploding from his mouth periodically.
Keeping a panicked eye on my watch, I deliberately walked into his path.
‘Er Pi…’ His eyes flashed furiously at me and he shook his head, putting me in mind of an angry lion – one that would be quite happy to rip my head off there and then.
‘They’d better not print a word! Not one single word you hear me,’ he bellowed. Gone was avuncular grandpa. His anger permeated the room in shock waves. Standing so close, it felt as if I was holding a punch bag while Muhammad Ali practised his right hook.
I could feel sweat beading on my forehead. This was awful. I had to get him down to the wings.
The tinny voice started jabbering again like a rabid Dalek.
‘I don’t care about that!’ Pietro took another turn at the end of the room and stopped – an angry bull about to charge. ‘You stop it. Take out an injunction.’ Menace hissed in his voice.
His gaze came to rest on me, the steel grey eyes glinting and my heart stalled for a minute. Hell, it was The Godfather all over again.
‘You stop it! You’re my agent Max. I don’t want the story getting out.’
He listened and then turned puce. ‘You wouldn’t want your grandchildren to see pictures like that in the paper. Stop it. That’s your job! Do it!’ Pietro snapped the phone shut with a vicious clench of his hand.
‘Merda’, he spat, throwing the phone with such force onto the table that it flew across to the back wall and bounced onto the floor.
The sudden action stirred me. ‘Pietro, I’m sorry but we have to go down. Now.’ I was quite impressed with how calm I managed to sound. Inside, it felt as if there was a bat trying to beat its way out of my chest. I had to get him backstage.
‘Now. You expect me to go on stage now?’ His hand touched his throat and he stood there with his head thrown back.
‘Yes,’ I said, feeling as if I’d stepped off a cliff and desperately hoping I sounded firm. Oh crap, he couldn’t not. Jeanie would kill me. She trusted me to get him there.
‘My vocal chords are far too tense. I’m too upset.’ He started towards one of the chairs, every inch the prima donna.
I tentatively touched his arm. ‘Not as upset as the audience, Pietro. Some of them may have waited years to see you. You can’t disappoint them.’
He straightened. Narrowing his eyes, he nodded.
‘Do it for them. Don’t let,’ I nodded to the phone discarded on the floor, ‘them win.’ I held open the door, standing back to let him through before following in his wake. He strode down the corridor, leaving me almost running to keep up. When he stopped suddenly, I cannoned into him. Whirling round, he grabbed my forearms in a tight grip and stared intently.
What now? With my arm clamped in his, I risked an agonised glance at my watch. Four minutes to curtain up.
‘You love your job,’ he fired at me. ‘It’s all you ever wanted to do?’
I nodded, thinking it could all be over if I didn’t take charge of him. He knew how much I loved my job.
Pietro’s hands gentled suddenly, his eyes filled with regret and something else.
‘Like you, this is all I ever wanted to do. My father, a poor man, worked the fields. A farmer. His voice. Bellissimo. He would have been greater than me but he never had the lessons. I needed lessons. The money to pay for the best lessons.’
I nodded, trying to be patient and not let my agitation show – he’d told me this many times before.
His usually flawless English deserted him. ‘Now… in…when a youth, I …’ he stopped and then whispered the rest.
I couldn’t help the gasp of surprise that whistled out next. Bloody hell!
The curtain went up two minutes late. The audience probably didn’t notice but the production crew knew. Backstage there was a noticeably tense atmosphere. Jeanie nodded and mouthed. ‘You OK?’
I held up crossed fingers and shook my head. Vince sidled over and gave me a quick hug.
‘God that was awful,’ I muttered into his ear. ‘Really thought he was going to refuse to go on. He’s really shaken up.’
Vince pulled a sympathetic face.
Thanks to the quick scales practice in the lift that I’d manage to coerce Pietro into doing, his voice settled quickly and soared in the theatre within the second bar. Hopefully the audience would forgive his quavery first few notes.
‘What the fuck do you think you are playing at?’ hissed a furious voice, pressing right up to me in the wings. Alison Kreufeld, Artistic Director and head honcho virtually had steam coming out of her ears.
‘I … I …’
‘That is fucking unforgivable. See me tomorrow. My office.’ With that she turned her back and disappeared through the stage door. When I looked around all the crew were absorbed in looking down at the floor.
Nursing a large G and T, I sat at the kitchen table resting my forehead on the wooden top. What a day. I wanted to cry. Why did scary, super superior Artistic Director, Alison Kreufeld, always manage to catch me doing something stupid or getting something stratospherically wrong? Like the time, in a fit of enthusiasm, I thought I’d impress her by doing a series of hair designs for the corps de ballet in Swan Lake. Only I hadn’t read her briefing notes properly. It was the Matthew Bourne all male production. She dined out on my stupidity for weeks.
And after a day like that I should have known better than to answer the phone. We still had a landline. Only three people used it. Felix’s mum, my mum and my sister.
‘Hello Tilly. It’s Christelle.’ I winced guiltily as I heard the carefully enunciated words, spoken as usual in her precise fussy way.
‘Hi, Christelle,’ I did my best to inject some enthusiasm into my tone. ‘How are you? Has your cold gone?’
‘Yes, thank you. It was several weeks ago, you know.’ Had it been that long?
‘Well, sometimes they linger,’ I said, determined to keep the conversation afloat. ‘How’s work? Are you very busy?’
‘Exceptionally. My caseload keeps growing. But I’m getting more and more of the high-profile stuff, which is a good sign.’
Idly, I straightened the photos on the mantelpiece. All of them were of me and Felix in various silly poses, accompanied by assorted friends. It struck me that in all of them, there was always someone else in tow. A day
