1 - Interrupted Aria by Beverle Graves Myers Page B

high. A castrato who achieved the highest order of fame could retire a wealthy man in just a few years.
    Felice and I glanced at each other. I said, “We never found out for sure.”
    In the same breath, Felice replied forcefully, “It had to be that pig of a Calabrian, Bruno Cambiatti. He always hated you.”
    “But we never really knew.”
    “It never happened again after I dealt with him, did it?” Felice closed his eyes and smiled slyly, like the fox relishing the bunch of grapes in the old fable.
    I shook my head as he put his hand over his heart in a mockingly plaintive gesture, and said, “Just a few well placed punches in the fat belly of his.”
    Annetta’s eyes widened and I could almost see her readjusting her mental assessment of Felice’s character.
    “Oh Tito, you’re far too kind. Bruno’s curls weren’t even ruffled,” Felice finished defensively.
    We were each lost in memories for a moment, then Annetta rose and pulled Grisella up after her. “It’s time someone was in her own bed.” Grisella’s dark eyes had turned misty. She allowed herself to be led away, too sleepy or dazed from her elixir to protest.
    Felice stretched his long legs and jumped up from the stool to pace the room. Reminiscing about our adventures at San Remo had energized him, while the cozy warmth of Annetta’s armchair was making my eyelids as heavy as Grisella’s.
    “So, our gondolier was right about Adelina Belluna and Viviani. Were they really that obvious?” he asked as he paced.
    “Oh, you heard that, did you?”
    “Most of it, yes.”
    “There’s no doubt they are lovers, but she would still be prima donna without that advantage. She couldn’t be anything else. I’ve never met a woman like her…so beautiful and so strong. No wonder half of Venice is at her feet.” Felice’s inquiring look encouraged me to continue. “You must hear her sing, Felice. What skill she brings to that trite score we have to work with. She can shade a note with a hundred different emotions. She infuses the music with such passion.”
    I paused on hearing Annetta’s footsteps and husky laugh. She threw herself across her bed with hair and skirts flying and propped her chin up on one hand.
    “Is the music the only thing she infuses with passion?” she teased.
    “You don’t understand,” I said wearily. “Adelina was so kind to me today, and she certainly didn’t have to be. She was even gracious in the face of Caterina’s malicious remarks. I wish I had just half her composure.”
    “Oh, we understand.” Annetta chuckled again. “Is he always this easily infatuated, Felice?”
    My friend had stopped pacing and was leaning glumly against a bedpost. The lines of strain I had noticed around his eyes at the beginning of this long day had returned. He kept his gaze on me while he answered Annetta. “Not at all. I’m afraid your brother has never given his affection easily.”

Chapter 7
    The day of the reception at the Palazzo Viviani began wet and overcast but ended with a blazing sunset that reflected off the canals in fiery oranges and pinks. Maestro Torani had ended rehearsal early and sent us home on a wave of last-minute instructions and exhortations. As a gondola bore me toward the Campo dei Polli, I wondered if Annetta had started getting ready. Torani had easily secured Viviani’s permission for me to bring my sister to the reception, and Annetta had talked of nothing else for the past two days.
    I had originally thought that our group of singers would set out from the theater, but Adelina had announced other plans. To perform at the palazzo , she had demanded plenty of time in her own boudoir with the services of her maid and hairdresser at hand. Torani and Orlando had sparred over who would collect Adelina and escort her to the reception. Torani, being the director, won that battle hands down.
    I had hardly closed the door of the house behind me before Berta trotted clumsily down the hall.
    “Oh, it’s you,