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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.”