Mozart’s Blood Read Online Free Page B

thin, there was something appealing about his fragile physique that housed such a gifted musical instinct. Octavia could hardly wait to sing Donna Anna under his baton. When Russell took the podium, his hesitant manner disappeared. He became a figure of power, a pale, steady flame.
    She knew it was this that intrigued Ugo. She kicked again, and this time her shoe glanced off his shin. His lips twitched, but his eyes never left Russell’s face.
    Russell cleared his throat, glanced at Octavia, and stammered on about the performance of Aïda he had just conducted in Edinburgh. Ugo gave him a brilliant smile.
    Russell said, a little plaintively, “Yes, it may seem amusing. But she simply wouldn’t follow me, no matter what I did.”
    â€œRussell, dearest, I’m not laughing,” Ugo protested. “I’m simply thinking what an absolute bitch she is!”
    Octavia rolled her eyes, and Ugo smirked at her. She touched Russell’s arm. “Ugo’s right, if a bit crude, Russell. And I promise I will follow every one of your tempi. ” She gave him her close-lipped smile.
    He smiled back at her. “We’ll work them out together, of course.”
    She pushed her hair back from her face. She had worn it down, to trail on the shoulders of her white wool suit. She wore a discreet pair of diamonds in her ears and a matching pendant on a thin gold chain that accentuated her long neck. She had taken pains to present herself in the rôle of a young soprano on the verge of a great career.
    She felt certain Russell believed it. He would not be the first.
    Russell was still blushing, but his face was intent as he leaned toward her. “You know, Octavia, Nick Barrett-Jones was our Amonasro. I hope you’ll like working with him.”
    â€œAh,” she said. “They say his voice is magnificent.”
    â€œWell…” Russell pursed his narrow lips. “Yes, the voice is good. But his singing—”
    She tilted her head thoughtfully. “A little stiff?”
    â€œJust not musical,” he answered. When it came to music, all his diffidence fell away. His manner sharpened, and his voice steadied. “He looks well on the stage, and he learns his cues, but he just—” He waved one hand. His fingers were long and spatulate, the fingers of a pianist. “He doesn’t make music.”
    Octavia listened, nodding as if it were all new to her, although she had heard a good bit of it in New York, and before that in Seattle. Nick Barrett-Jones, of course, had not had her advantages—specifically, her one great advantage. His was a career, by all accounts, that would never be more than mediocre.
    She kept all of this to herself, only asking, “How is the alternate cast, do you think? I’ve heard wonderful things about Simone.”
    Simone would be the other Donna Anna. Russell said he had worked with her before and that she was pleasant and reliable. Animated now, he began to speak of the challenges of La Scala’s orchestra.
    Octavia, listening, looked across at Ugo. He had put his head back against his chair and closed his eyes. Russell noticed, too. He interrupted himself, leaning forward with a concerned expression. “Are you all right, Ugo?”
    â€œSì, sì, Maestro,” Ugo said. He straightened. “ Sto bene! I’m just a little sleepy.”
    â€œYes, it’s late. And you had a long flight.” Russell signaled to the waiter. “And Octavia needs her rest before the read-through.”
    â€œIt was a lovely dinner, Russell. Thank you,” Octavia said. As they walked together to the small bank of elevators, she said, “I’m looking forward to the read-through. And to working with you.”
    His ready blush suffused his thin cheeks again. Even his sharp-pointed nose turned red, and she thought, irrelevantly, how much he must hate that. “I am, too,” he said. “It’s about time you