After Ariel: It started as a game by Diana Hockley Page A

Bill Seymour who presented an expressionless face. Only I saw him wink at the agent, before he confronted the Impaler. I took a chair near the door and sat down to watch the show.
    Bill lowered his tone to a sympathetic croon. ‘I fully understand how you must feel, Mr Rezanov, being paired with a woman whose concert tour has been lauded by the critics. What if she outplays you! Now, I don’t know if you realise this, but Ms Miller is also a highly accomplished pianist, so if you feel you have to cancel out of the concert, I am sure she is more than able to take your place. Right, Ms Miller? And we can easily announce a change to the program for her to do a piano item as well.’
    Oh no! I couldn’t – he turned to me, carefully shielding his face from the pianist and winked again. The agent became engrossed in a painting on the wall.
    ‘Oh yes, I could do that!’ I replied with a smile, quaking inside. What if Rezanov told us to get on with it then and charged out of the concert hall? The silence lengthened. I didn’t dare look at him, but kept my eyes on the poker-faced manager.
    ‘It’s not good enough! This woman can’t play the work!’ Rezanov leaped to his feet, sending the chair crashing onto its side. ‘Ridiculous!’ He reached me in two strides and thrust his face into mine. ‘You can’t play the Mozart. You’re not a bloody pianist!’ He’d forgotten to be Russian in his angst. I almost laughed aloud. No, of course I‘m not, you berk, but that set you back a peg or two. I leaned back in my chair and met him stare for stare. ‘Sez who?’
    His nostrils flared; as a turn-on it was spectacular. ‘I do. I, Rezanov, am booked for this performance. I will play! But not with you.’ You’ve remembered to be Russian now have you? Too late!
    ‘Oh yes you will, Mr Rezanov, you’re contracted and we’ll sue if you don’t. Get over it. Pam hasn’t had any problems throughout her whole concert tour. It’s lasted six weeks and the critics have gone wild over her.  No problems, right ?’ The last word clanged like the hinge on a steel strap.
    A silent communication took place between the mad pianist and his agent. Something must have been decided to their satisfaction, because the agent faced the manager.  ‘He will play. Everything is alright.’ He turned to glare at the pianist. ‘And he apologises to Miss Miller.’
    Rezanov’s mutinous expression indicated that he no more wished to apologise than fly to the moon. Still, better to quit while we were ahead.
    ‘We’ll just have a look around. There’ve been some changes since you were here last.’ Bill raised his voice. ‘Give Mr Rezanov time to cool down.’ As he put his arm around my back to guide me from the room, someone growled. Don’t laugh for God’s sake, Pam...
    Suppressing a grin, Bill looked at his watch. ‘Let’s go and look at the river.’ He took my arm and tucked it under his own, snug along his ribcage. Startled, I was about to pull away, but before I could, we were headed for the front of the concert hall. I allowed him to lead me through the concrete maze, down past the restaurant and across the grass to the edge of the water. ‘See here, you don’t have to put up with that, Pam. He’s just pulling rank because he thinks we can’t do without him!’
    ‘But we can’t! He’s under contract for this concert, same as I am.’
    Bill picked up a small stick and lobbed it into the water. ‘Yes, but we all know he has to front up or lose a stack of money. I just wanted to stick it to him that we can pull the rug out from under his size thirteens. Actually, we can sue, but I would have to contact the directors first. I can’t do that my own and really, it’s a little late with the concert tonight.’
    A chill wind came off the water. I shivered and my companion put his arm around me. By common consent we started to walk along the path beside the water. Ducks bobbed in the backwash from a passing City Cat – one day,