Highly Strung (Food Of Love 1) - Page 70

“Okay, now listen.” Milan’s tone was stern and he took hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Maybe we haven’t always made the right choices. Maybe we haven’t been as kind as we could be. But nobody has been intentionally cruel and the important thing is that we are together, yes?”

Lydia sniffed. “Yeah,” she said in a tiny voice.

“Evgeny will go back to London. Mary-Ann will go back to London. They will have successful careers—especially Mary-Ann now I’m out of the picture—and they will meet other people. Won’t they?”

“I suppose so.”

“People who are better suited to them, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“You and I will stay in Prague, get orchestra work, or maybe I’ll get a conducting gig. We’ll be happy. Nobody else will get hurt. Okay? This part is painful, but it will end, and everyone will be happier and better off for it. Look at me. Say ‘I know, Milan’.”

“I know, Milan.”

“Good girl.”

He hugged her, briefly but tightly, then stepped back.

“Now we need to wash our faces and get ready for rehearsal. Go on now.”

He slapped her bottom, sending her on her way to the ladies’ restroom.

As she mopped her flushed face with a damp tissue, Lydia thought about her situation. The rest of the day was going to be horrible—a rehearsal under the baton of a betrayed Mary-Ann, facing a heartbroken Evgeny, would be anything but pleasant.

But, after the concert, Milan’s mother would come backstage and they would give Mary-Ann their resignations then it would all be over. New beginnings; a new life.

She put a comb through her hair, sprayed a freshening spritz of perfume on her wrists and temples and headed back out to the concert hall, where various orchestral players were arriving in small groups.

By the time a pale and subdued Mary-Ann showed up, everyone was at their seats tuning up their instruments. Everyone, that was, except Evgeny.

Milan’s theory about him getting drunk at a bar seemed doubly plausible, thought Lydia. Oh, well. It was understandable. Optimistically, she pictured him drowning his sorrows in a gay bar and meeting a handsome stranger.

The thought cheered her enough to sustain her through the afternoon rehearsal, even though Mary-Ann’s quiet, defeated demeanour gave her plenty of guilty pangs.

Once they finished and headed to the dressing rooms to change into their concert wear, Lydia tried to hang back and catch a few words with the crestfallen conductor.

“Mary-Ann,” she started, blocking her way to the wings.

“Let me pass, will you? I’ve got interviews with the Czech press and TV. One of them’s a two-hander with Milan. That’ll be nice.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to mislead you—”

“Yes, you did. You presented yourself as my friend—as someone who was with me and against Milan. And all the time he was shagging you. How the hell do you expect me to feel? How would you feel?”

“Awful. I’m sorry…”

“It’s not going to be good enough. I’m going to do this concert then I’m going to resign as soon as we’re back in London.”

“Oh, Mary-Ann, don’t! You mustn’t!”

“Don’t tell me what to do. Now, are you going to get out of my way, or do I have to make a fuss with security?”

Lydia stood aside and let Mary-Ann pass. Tears pricked her eyes, but she knew she didn’t deserve the luxury of self-pity. Mary-Ann had every right to her anger and sorrow.

“What’s up?” Vanessa zipped herself into her slinky black gown and turned to Lydia, who still sat on a stool in her jeans and shirt, staring at her reflection.

“I’m a horrible cow, Ness,” she said.

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