We went out of the back garden gate into a council car park. I was renting a double garage that opened on to the car park. Angelina gasped when I opened the garage door.
“What is it, Tony? She asked.
“It was my grandfather’s car. It is a 1960s Bentley. It is totally impractical, but I love the comfort and its presence.”
I drove the car out of the garage, got out and opened the door for Angelina. I get back into the driver’s seat and drove off. Angelina wriggled herself into a comfortable position.
“It is very quiet and comfortable,” Angelina said.
“Quiet? It should be. At the time Bentleys were made by Rolls-Royce. It is almost the same as a Rolls of the same period. There were a few differences — the radiator grill, and the car is slightly faster, not that it matters to me. Rolls-Royces were intended to be driven by a chauffeur with the owner in the back. Bentleys were intended for people who would drive themselves.”
“Seat belts?”
“Yes, there wouldn’t have been seat belts when new. My grandfather had them added after he was in an accident with a previous car. He wasn’t hurt but felt that seat belts would be good.”
Angelina was almost purring beside me.
“The car doesn’t seem to go with the house. It ought to have a mansion to go with it…”
I nearly said something then. Perhaps I should have done, but I kept quiet.
We had our first argument in the supermarket, or really a discussion. I wanted to buy what I usually did — frozen and chilled ready meals. Angelina insisted that we should buy proper food that required preparation and cooking. She ended the discussion by saying:
“Tony? You are giving a lot. In exchange you’re going to have a resident cook and housekeeper, so shut up.”
I did, but Angelina carried on.
“You’ve been eating poorly. I’m not a food fanatic, but ready meals all the time? What do you have for lunch?”
“Usually sandwiches from the shop a few doors away.”
“Not anymore. You’re getting a packed lunch, and every evening at 6.30 you will get a proper meal.”
“Yes Ma’am,” I replied.
Angelina laughed.
“Seriously, Tony, your eating was disastrous. I can feed you far better than that.”
“OK, Angelina, if that’s what you want to do. But I have one proviso. Once a week we will eat out at a restaurant, not on Friday or Saturday when they are crowded. I think this Sunday should be the first. I’ll choose. Next week, and alternate weeks, you can choose. Is that acceptable?”
“Can you afford it, Tony?”
“Yes.”
“Then I agree. But tonight, and tomorrow night before the Operatic Society’s meeting, you are having an Angelina cooked meal.”
It took some time to put all the supermarket purchase away and then Angelina started cooking. While she was doing that, I was online dealing with a number of business emails.
I was astonished at the meal that Angelina had produced. It seems as if she can cook as well as she can sing. If all her meals are going to be like this, I was very pleased I had taken her in.
After the meal we went to the piano for Angelina to practise some of the arias from La Cenerentola. Her voice was amazing. I had shiver down my spine after some of her arias. After an hour she wanted me to sing some of Dandini’s pieces. She wasn’t impressed. She said I was adequate for an amateur but could do much better. After an hour even I could tell I had improved. It seems as if as well as a cook I now have a music tutor as well.
+++
On Friday evening we went to the Operatic Society’s meeting. There were about sixty people present. I told the Chairman that I thought Angelina could take the role as La Cenerentola. We went into a side room which had a piano, accompanied by the five major committee members. I played the piano accompaniment. Angelina started with Nacqui all’affanno.
The Chairman and committee members were stunned. After Angelina had finished, they sat in silence until the Chairman said:
“That was fantastic. Yes, we would love to have you. Can you perform for all of us, please, Angelina?”
We went out in the main hall. I sat at the grand piano and played whatever Angelina wanted.
After a quarter of an hour the room erupted in applause and a standing ovation. Angelina was far above the best of our singers. Angelina asked me to sing a couple of Dandini’s arias, the ones we had practised on Thursday evening. I surprised myself, and my fellow members. I was applauded, mainly because the members could recognise that I was better than usual, but I didn’t get the standing ovation. I didn’t deserve it, not after Angelina.
+++
For the next few weeks, I was eating better, singing better, and enjoying Angelina’s presence. As the date of our production approached, Angelina had become almost the musical director, supplanting or rather supporting the man who normally had the role. The whole group were being tuned to do their best. We were optimistic that this would be our best production ever. But Angelina was also working with the women’s choir that was going to the contest.
The women’s choir were in the audience for our final dress rehearsal. They were impressed, as were all of us. They would be away for most of our performances but would be back for the last one.
The word had got around that La Cenerentola would be exceptional, and every performance was sold out.
The audience weren’t disappointed. Angelina had standing ovations after every one. I had one after the first when the audience was mostly friends and relations. That was a recognition of how much I had improved but Angelina still though I could do better. Practising whenever we could, by the last performance I was excelling myself, but always outshone by Angelina.
When the curtain finally fell after our last bow, after each performance Angelina hugged and kissed me. All the Operatic society members knew that Angelina was mine, and I was hers, even if we hadn’t admitted to ourselves.
The women’s choir had come second in their competition, the best result they had ever had.
Our next production was the annual pantomime, staged just before and just after Christmas. Angelina was the principal boy; I was her bumbling henchman. Every time Angelina sang, the whole thing stopped for extended applause. One evening she had to sing two encores before the audience would let us continue.
When I had to go away for a few days on business and other things, I missed Angelina and her cooking. It seems that she missed me too. When I arrived back, I was hugged and kissed very effectively.
The next time Angelina and Tony would sing together would be in mid-May for the university’s production of La Cenerentola. By the end of March, we were both more demonstrative. Singing practice, with me playing the piano, often meant that Angelina had her arms wrapped around me in a hug.
April 1st was Angelina’s 21st birthday and a day when I wasn’t working, and Angelina had no lectures. We went out in the Bentley to a country park for a walk in the spring sunshine. We were sitting on a bench looking at a distant view when I finally plucked up the courage to tell Angelina what I should have said months before.
“Angelina? I have a confession to make,” I said.
“Yes, Tony? What?”
“I don’t normally live in that small house.”
“You don’t? Where do you live?”
“I was only in that house while the builders were working on my main house. They’ve just finished so I can move in. But…”
“But?”
“Do you remember months ago you said that the Bentley ought to have a mansion to go with it?”
“Vaguely. So much has happened since then, Tony.”
“I have the mansion to go with the Bentley. If you like we could go and look at it after lunch.”
“You have a mansion? I suppose you are rich?”
“I’d describe myself as comfortable instead of rich. But the house we’ve been in is only one of fourteen student houses I own.”
“Fourteen?”
“Student houses. I also have another twenty occupied by families.”
“OK, Tony. If is confession time, I’ve got one too. When you collected me from the street, I wasn’t really homeless except nominally. It was a bet with some of my friends. I had been evicted but I had a choice of three student houses to stay in until I got my deposit back, or my parents returned, whichever was sooner.
My parents are comfortable too. They had paid all my student fees so I will have no debts when I finish. They also gave me an allowance of five thousand pounds a term. That term’s cheque wasn’t deposited to my account until the Friday, and I had lent some money to my brother until his payday, so I was nearly broke when we met. But not since that Friday. I have been paying nothing for my accommodation…”
“Nothing? Cooking, giving me packed lunches, providing music tuition? That’s not nothing.”
“It seems like nothing compared with the rent I could have been paying. But let’s go to see your mansion.”
It was about twenty minutes’ drive to a village on the outskirts of the university city. I drove through the parkland gates and a quarter of a mile to the house. Angelina gasped when she saw it. It is black and white timbered and large, gleaming in the sunshine. The roof was new, the walls had ben stabilised and painted, and the gardens had been rescued by a garden contractor.
“How big is it?” Angelina asked.
“It has ten main bedrooms but the servants’ quarters on the top floor are unused because there are staff cottages. Oh, and now after the builders have finished, each bedroom has an ensuite plus two family bathrooms, one on the ground floor.”