Maestro

Copyright © Elizabeth Coldwell 2014. All Rights Reserved, Total-E-Ntwined Limited, T/A Totally Bound Publishing. Mercury, the messenger of the gods, stood basking in the afternoon sunshine. His broad, bare chest gleamed with sweat, and his winged sandals were laced all the way up his muscular calves. Seemingly lost in thought, he nonetheless turned his head at my approach. “Hey, Jax, pet. How’s it going?” Any illusion of his actual divinity that hadn’t already been dispelled by the cigarette he held between his fingers was shattered by his ringing Geordie accent. “I’m fine, Richie. Looking good by the way.” My gaze lingered on his pleated leather kilt. It had taken a couple of nights’ hard work in my studio to stitch the thing together, but the result, even at close range, was pleasingly authentic. So was his staff, adorned with a pair of writhing snakes, that had been manufactured out of wood and plastic. For anyone sitting high in the circle, or at the back of the stalls, Richie Beresford would truly appear godlike. He flashed me a smile, clearly appreciating the compliment. “Hey, I heard that Marshall’s going to be announcing who’s got the lead in Perpetua today. Rumour is it’s Kieran Vale.” “Really?” I tried to keep the surprise out of my voice. Marshall Wincott had promised a big name for what would be the centrepiece of the London Opera Company’s two hundred and fiftieth season. Announcing that he would be performing Giuseppi dalla Bonna’s masterpiece Perpetua, a work that had fallen out of favour due to its notorious difficulty to bring to the stage, had already raised eyebrows in critical circles. Securing Kieran Vale, currently the hottest property in opera, to play the leading role would be a real coup. “Well, I’d better be off.” Richie ground out his cigarette beneath his sandaled heel. “I’m due to make my curtain call.” He dashed off, not quite reaching Mercury’s superhuman speed, in the direction of the backstage area. Being late for a cue was the surest way to earn the full hairdryer blast of one of Marshall Wincott’s dressing-downs, and Richie clearly didn’t want to risk that. More sedately, I headed for the costume department, clutching a ham salad sandwich and pot of fruit compote and yoghurt that formed a very late lunch. With all the costume changes for today’s matinee performance of Francesco Cavalli’s La Calisto completed, I’d at last been able to nip out for something to eat.