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'David needs to play as he needs to breathe, and if he must suffer a little in the process…' an eloquent shrug that emphasised her lovely bare shoulders above a beautiful black gown '… all great artists suffer for their art. The European critics say he is better than ever. 'A new fire in his interpretation that richly complements a superhuman technique',' she quoted, as if that put an end to the matter.
'And that's all you care about, his playing?' demanded Clare hotly, appalled by the callous attitude. 'What about his life! What use is a dead musical genius?'
Someone gasped at her bluntness, and Anna smiled pityingly. 'David's genius is immortal. He's made recordings that will give pleasure to millions for generations to come.'
'And do any of those millions give a damn for David as a human being? Do you? Would you stick around if he got sick and couldn't play any more? Or would you just whip out some of his recordings and substitute the music for the man? I think all that about suffering artists is a load of rubbish! It's just an excuse for people to ease their own consciences, so they don't have to suffer!'
Anna's dark eyes flashed, her long black hair swirling like silk over her shoulders. 'You have no conception of what you are talking. What are you? Some sort of domestic employee at David's school who happens
to have a talented child? I suggest you—'
'Ladies…ladies…' David intervened at last, with the lazy satisfaction of a sultan breaking up a fight among his concubines. Clare, humiliated that she had betrayed herself, took a vicious swipe at his conceit.
'You may still play like an angel, David, but you look a wreck,' she told him bluntly. 'I think you should see a doctor. Do they starve you on these tours? You look as if you've lost a lot of muscle tone.'
Anna wasn't going to be silenced, either. 'Of course we don't starve. David's manager always organises first-class accommodation.'
'You mean his secretary does, from his office in New York.' Clare knew from Tamara that Efrem conducted most of his business with David by phone, unless David was appearing on the American East Coast. 'And since his manager takes a percentage cut of David's income, it's in his interests to keep him in constant work. Who looks after David's personal requirements? Makes sure he doesn't forget to eat and sleep like the rest of us more ordinary mortals? You?' Clare raised her eyebrows in magnificent scepticism. 'If so, you're not doing a very good job.'
'David is a mature man, quite capable of looking after himself; he doesn't need a nursemaid!' snapped Anna, on the defensive as everyone looked at the unmistakable signs of exhaustion on David's face, the taut skin by his shadowed eyes, the febrile flush that lay along his cheekbones as he endured the inspection. 'He's had a slight case of flu, that's all… we both did. In fact, I was the one who caught it first, just before Berlin.' Her smile cut Clare to the heart. 'Perhaps I passed on the infection…'
'Let's hope that's the only infection you passed on,' Clare muttered but, to her horror, there was a lapse in conversation in the crowd around them and her words were clearly audible.
There was a moment of shrieking silence. Clare went scarlet with embarrassment. She closed her eyes, hoping she could shrink into a small, dark hole in the floor.
A hand closed possessively on her wrist. 'Excuse us, won't you?' she heard David say through her cringing haze. 'I believe Clare wants to apologise for that appalling lapse in manners in private. She's shy like that. Virginia, will you see to Tamara and Tim?'
Clare was dragged through the gathering like a prisoner in a chain gang. This was the second time she had made a scene in public over David, and it was all his fault!
'I'm not going to apologise,' she hissed furiously as she stumbled along an empty corridor after him. 'She was asking for it. She was practically raping you with her eyes!'
'It's just her way,' dismissed David as he tried first one side door and then another, and muttered something in Russian when he found them locked.
'Oh, I see,' gritted Clare. 'How nice for you. No wonder you're looking so gaunt and exhausted. You must have trouble keeping up with her. She must be young enough to be your daughter!'
'Not quite.' He tried another door and rattled it impatiently when it too was locked.
He wasn't denying it! Clare dug the nails of her free hand into the back of his hand.
'Ouch!' His grip didn't budge. 'Don't damage my hands, Clare.'
'Why? Are you afraid Anna might dump you if you can't play any more?'
'I'm sure she would.' Her mouth fell open at his uncaring shrug. 'Look, Clare, despite the open invitation, I haven't slept with Anna and I don't intend to.'
'But… she… you…' She faltered under the power of his dark stare, and then rallied. 'You let everyone think…'
'It was the only thing that seemed to get a rise out of you.' His mouth curved, his dark eyes gleaming. 'You hated her the moment you laid eyes on her, didn't you? If looks could kill, Anna would have been dead on the platform.'
'I…no…' Clare could feel herself weakening, melting as she always seemed to do when he looked at her, touched her, whether in passion or in anger.
'Ah, Clare, that's the first spark of life I've seen in you for months…'
'You haven't seen me for months.'
'Not through my choice. That was your idea, that we could live perfectly well without each other. I have bookings that run five years into the future, commitments that I am morally obliged to fulfil. I had to leave. But I don't have to like it. You're to blame for the way I look, Clare. It's not too much sex that's draining me, it's too little love.'
Clare thought she would faint. She stared at him dizzily, her head buzzing. He jerked on her hand and she stumbled against him, and for a moment she dreamed he was going to kiss her, but then there was a noise at the other end of the hallway and he turned to the nearest door. It resisted his temper. 'Dammit, is there nowhere private in this whole bloody building?' he howled in majestic frustration.
