2 - Painted Veil Read Free Page B

you?”
    “I’ve been working on it at home. I think you will be pleased.”
    He nodded and shifted his weight in his chair. “How are you getting along with Signor Florio? Not crossing swords too much, I hope.”
    “I find that there are things I can learn from him,” I replied, choosing my words with care.
    “I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some tension between you. Florio can be… a difficult colleague.” The director used soothing tones. He cocked his head. Was he inviting a confidence? Maestro Torani had always reminded me of a determined sheepdog herding an untidy flock of singers and musicians. If we were late to rehearsal, Torani barked in quick, clipped phrases. If we dawdled in learning our words, he snapped at our heels until everyone fell in line. This new show of fatherly concern had me baffled.
    I cleared my throat. “I do wish I had known that Florio would be coming to Venice to head the cast of
Cesare
before I heard it in the coffeehouse.”
    “Ah, yes. I must apologize for that.” Torani bowed his head. “If you had been in the city I would have made sure you were informed. As it was, the Savio sprang the news on me while you were in a coach on the road between here and Florence. It took but a few hours for all Venice to be buzzing about it.”
    I spread my hands in a gesture of resignation. “What’s done is of no consequence now. We all know our places and rehearsals for
Cesare
are progressing.”
    “I detect a note of bitterness, but I can’t blame you. I suppose I’d feel the same if I were in your position.” Torani rose and crossed to a sideboard holding a large pewter pot and some mismatched cups and saucers. “Will you take some chocolate? I have some every morning.”
    I nodded, more bewildered than ever.
    He served me a cup, poured one for himself, then leaned against the front of the writing table with his legs crossed at the ankles. “Florio has been accused of overweening vanity. I’d be foolish to argue against that charge, but it might help you to bear him if you knew something of his background.”
    Torani contemplated the frothy liquid he was swirling in his cup, then continued. “Our new star did not study at a
conservatorio
as you and most of your fellow singers did. He was trained for the stage by private tutors. The director of a choir in a small chapel outside Bologna discovered Florio’s voice and recommended him to a music enthusiast in that city. That gentleman arranged for his, em…” Torani sent me a quick glance. “…arranged for his surgery, and spared no expense to school him, not only in music, but also in the social graces that a singer moving in exalted circles is expected to possess.”
    “I’ve been told that he was only fourteen when he first sang in public.”
    “True. He was pushed to the stage early, but debuted to unprecedented acclaim. In the span of one evening’s performance he exploded from complete obscurity into the brightest star in the heavens.”
    “Unlike the stars that remain fixed in the night sky, Florio’s fame continues to spread and brighten.”
    Torani nodded. “The man is feted and showered with gifts wherever he appears. In London, the Prince of Wales was so enthralled that he had a medal struck in Florio’s honor, as if he were a general who had just saved the empire.”
    “I’ve heard the story. When some of the courtiers objected, Florio said that when an English general sacrificed as much as he had for his voice, then he would gladly give up his medal.”
    Torani gave a dry chuckle. “Florio has a sharp tongue, but few men could bear such unremitting adulation without it marking their characters for ill. Do you know he doesn’t even have a home? He talks of using his riches to build a
palazzo
fit for a duke in the Umbrian hills, but he has never stopped traveling long enough to find a suitable estate.”
    I smiled to myself. Here, at last, was something I possessed that my rival did not. My home might