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

I thought, I must have a ride on one of those – the sun was shining and in the distance the city went about its Saturday business.  No matter what happens, Rezanov is not going to ruin this concert for me.
    ‘So where do you go from here, Pam? I know you’re joining the orchestra for the outback tour.’
    Bill’s voice startled me. ‘My next concert is in Ipswich, and then I do a short tour in the UK. Oh, and the Outback Tour with the Pacific!’
    Bill turned and put his hands on my shoulders, miraculously, a man the same height as me. ‘Can you make some time for dating?’ he asked, his eyes shining with mischief. 
    I looked back at him. ‘Possibly. What did you have in mind?’
    ‘Well, how about after the shindig is over tonight we go and find some supper in the city?’
    I already had plans, but would it be a good idea to bring my social life so close to my professional? I liked him immensely, although he didn’t pack the sexual punch of Rezanov...where did that come from? Disappointment flashed across Bill’s face and he withdrew his hands, obviously thinking I wasn’t going to respond.
    ‘I’ve already made an arrangement to go with friends, but perhaps another time? I’m looking forward to winding down afterwards, though I might have bashed His Maj over the head with my flute by then and be under arrest.’ In the distance, the town hall clock chimed. I looked at my watch. ‘OMG, I really must go back and see if that twit will rehearse with me.’
    ‘No problems. We’ll go out to dinner one night next week if you’re free, and Rezanov’ll have to work with you because I’ll make sure of it!’ Bill replied grimly. We didn’t speak much as we almost trotted back to the concert hall. The fact that there were no shouts coming from the dressing rooms was a good sign. The door to Rezanov’s room was closed and Bill knocked quietly.
    A cleaner thrust the mop-head into his bucket and grinned. ‘If you’re looking for ‘his nibs,’ he’s gone upstairs.’ Obviously they all knew what was going on, which was more than I did.
    ‘Right. Thanks, John.’ Bill turned to me. How about you grab your gear and I’ll go ahead and test the waters?’ He ushered me into a nearby dressing room, straightened his shoulders and winked before striding off to battle.
    Someone had prepared the room – the air conditioner was running and my music and flute cases had been placed on the makeup bench. The room was small but comfortable with two easy chairs, coffee table, makeup bench and on the side, next to an open cupboard with hanging space and hangers, was an en suite complete with shower.
    I nipped in and freshened up, then took a moment to deep breathe, allowing my mind to float to a space recommended by my hypnotherapist. A kaleidoscope of colours and memories swept through my mind...the audience, smiling at me...the orchestra approving...the conductor – the face of Sir James’ Macpherson’s precocious son, Lance, danced into my vision. Lance was a bit of a hunk; anticipation stirred within me. Things were shaping up to be interesting.
    The years I’d worked for my career, always striving to give of my best, I felt deeply privileged to carry what I believed were messages from the great composers to my audiences, giving them the beauty from the brilliant minds of men such as Mozart, Beethoven, Handel and Bach. No one, certainly not a Russian thug, was going to disrupt my concentration and jeopardise my performance. I picked up my flute case and turned the air-conditioner and light off before I left the dressing room – my mother taught me frugality – and headed for the concert hall stage.
    Rezanov was talking to his agent as he softly played the opening bars of the second movement to his major work for the night. Neither of them acknowledged my presence, so I walked over to the music stand beside the pianist and placed my case on a nearby chair. A waft of his after shave came to me and I stepped back a