The Maestro Page 12

  'I have decided,' Delgado continued, an imperious tone in his voice, 'that you can work upstairs. There is another room there, one in which you can work in isolation without being disturbed. You will be able to develop your themes in peace.' He smiled gently. 'And one more thing; there is a small apartment attached, so you can live there too.'

  She was astounded at Delgado's generosity, the fact that he had so much confidence in her work that he was bestowing such special treatment.

  'Are you sure?'

  'I am always sure, Linda,' he said, no hint of jokiness in his voice.

  He led her into the studio. It was much smaller than either of the rooms downstairs, but large enough for her to work in. A door at the back of the studio led to a small clean apartment with a sloping ceiling, and a window, which let out onto a great view of the city. She could see the bottom of Las Ramblas, Columbus's column and the harbour, the water glistening under the morning sun.

  It made her laugh a little. It was exactly the type of garret that Sebastian had accused her of wanting to work in, a kitsch imitation of what he called, 'all that starving artist in a garret stuff.'

  'Make yourself comfortable. I will get somebody to fetch your things from the hotel and settle your bill,' he said, exiting the room before she had had a chance to say anything.

  Linda started to work immediately, mixing colours, trying to use the light that streamed through the window on the canvas in front of her. She had talked about producing a non-figurative art that relied on the intensity of colour, dark reds and clear blues, spindly lines of black and brilliant golds. Although there were to be no figures as such, within the thick splodges of paints ambiguous shapes could be inferred. She used the erotic memories that reverberated inside her to intimate the ambivalences of pain and pleasure, all on the background of Mediterranean light and colour.

  So intense was her concentration and her efforts that she didn't stop until dusk, and she probably wouldn't have stopped even then unless Delgado had entered the room.

  As he was to do every night that she worked and lived there he would enter her room and examine her efforts, and there would follow long discussions about what effect she was precisely trying to achieve. The consultation usually followed the same course. For an hour or more they would discuss her work, Delgado making suggestions on how she might improve. Sometimes his advice was startlingly brilliant, other times she queried him, or decided not to follow the direction he had intimated. After a discussion about her work, they would invariably go to eat tapas on Las Ramblas or even one of the champagne bars in Barcelonetta and they would discuss art more generally, and specifically Catalan art. Delgado was very proud of his nation's cultural achievements, and he also turned out to be an inspired critic. He accepted too that he was talking to an equal who had her own well considered opinions and incisive comments to make.

  Eventually, and usually after the considerable consumption of two or three bottles of wine, Delgado would disappear into the night and Linda would make her way back to the studio.

  It was strange that their relationship, although seemingly so intense and liberated in terms of their frank discussion of art did not contain any physical element. Linda was waiting for Delgado to invite himself back to the studio, but he never did. After a couple of days Linda asked him if he wanted to come back but he declined saying that he had to meet somebody.

  She worked solidly like that for ten days, not stopping for a break, and apart from going out with Delgado most evenings, not leaving the room.

  One day - Linda no longer knew what day it was, as every day was more or less the same she had lost track - when she was particularly pleased with the progress she had made, and knowing that Delgado would not be calling to see her that night, she decided to go out for a stroll. The room was particularly stuffy, and it was violently hot and muggy and she sought refuge in the cooler air down by the beach.

  She saw Rebecca sitting alone in one of the bars in the parasoled shade. She was staring absentmindedly at the distant sea.

  'Hello, Rebecca, how are you?' She hadn't seen Rebecca since that afternoon which Linda now regarded as having changed her life.

  'Linda, you look well. You're up in the garret aren't you?' There was a spiteful tone in her voice. 'We never see you.'

  'Yes I am.'

  'Ah, the chosen one!' Rebecca said mockingly. Linda sat down, more than anything out of a sense of English politeness.

  'You think I'm the teacher's pet?' she asked with an air of self-deprecation.

  Rebecca smiled, an edge of bitterness in the upturned corners of her smile.

  'I'm just working on something.'

  'I know.'

  Linda could see for all the naive attempt at hostility that Rebecca was depressed.

  'What's wrong, Rebecca?' Linda asked, her voice showing concern. She hadn't liked Rebecca at first but seeing how Delgado had humiliated her, seeing her so frightened she had softened her opinion, realising how young she was, how vulnerable.

  The kindness of Linda's concern broke down something of her defences. 'I don't know. I suppose I just have so many self-doubts about my art, about myself. I suppose I'm jealous of you.' She smiled again bitterly, but this time her anger was directed less at Linda than herself.

  The waiter came and Linda ordered a bottle of wine and asked for two glasses.

  'What's happened?' Linda asked, pouring a glass of wine for Rebecca.

  'No, it's just that afternoon, you know, what happened, what Delgado did to me, I felt special. He changed my life. He made me realise what a silly little girl I had been.'

  'Not silly, just innocent.'

  'Whatever, but even when he was humiliating me I felt such power. Do you understand?'

  Linda nodded. She understood perfectly.

  'I really thought I was getting somewhere, with my life, with my art. Delgado told me to go out and get some experience of the world, meaning I think sexual experience. And I did, first with Damian and then with your friend, Alfonso, but my problem was that no sexual experience with them moved me in the same way as what happened with you and Delgado. I was so impressed with him. I started to go up to his room without being invited, but he didn't like that. He was so stern, so brutal with me. But I couldn't stop myself. I lingered on the stairwell after class trying to see him, to talk to him, but he would just brush past me. Oh, I'm such a silly girl!

  'I was so angry with you, so jealous, knowing that you were up there with him, knowing that you were going out with him every night.'

  'You know nothing happens when I go out with him. We just talk. He hasn't touched me.'

  'I know he hasn't touched you.' Rebecca gulped down her wine, emptying the whole glass. Linda replenished it.

  'How do you know?'

  'There was somebody before you, a Swiss girl, the first week I came. We never saw her. Damian told me what happened. Every couple of weeks he will elevate somebody, take them on as a special student, and then after a couple of days or a week he will decide whether he thinks they are good enough. It was exactly the same with another girl before that Damian told me. We never see them again. Damian told me about one of these girls that he met one day in Plaza Catalunya. Delgado had been very cruel with her, told her that even though she had talent, she just wasn't dedicated enough to make it as an artist, that she was a poseur, a cheat. He was much harder on her than he was on Alfonso or Damian. I suppose because he expects higher standards.'

  'And has he been hard on you?'

  'No, he tells me the truth. He's the first one to tell me the truth. In England I used to win all sorts of prizes and scholarships. I thought I was great, really brilliant, but Delgado has shown me that I'm just good. For that, even though it depresses me, I'm grateful. I think I'm going to go back to England. I'm sure I can use my talent, get a job somewhere, you know. I'll be happy. I can give up this struggle to produce a masterpiece.'

  'I wouldn't give up so easily.'

  'Thanks.' Rebecca smiled again.
Linda could see how Delgado even if he had told the truth, and he had given her a more mature attitude to the world, had taken away all that bubbly exuberance that had been so present when Linda first met her.

  'Thanks,' she repeated, 'but I know it's true. I'm okay, Linda, there are other dreams, other lives apart from this one.' Linda thought how similar she sounded to Alfonso when he had been telling her how he had been rejected.

  Linda reached over and placed a reassuring hand on hers.

  'I'm sorry if I was a bit rude.'

  'That's okay.'

  'I'm not sure whether to love Delgado or hate him. He has this wonderful knack of making me feel both emotions at once.'

  'I know,' Linda agreed, 'I know exactly what you mean.'

  They ordered some food and Rebecca talked a little bit about her home life, her erstwhile boyfriend, her home counties family, about her ambitions to travel, about how boring she found England. Linda was a skilled listener, she always had been, and Rebecca seemed to become more cheerful now that she had at last found somebody in which she could confide in.

  A couple of hours passed. Both women became a little drunk, and it was in the darkness and with the certainty that nobody around them would understand what they were talking about that Rebecca began to tell Linda what happened with the two French girls. The boldness gathered from the wine and her natural eye for detail made Rebecca recount the tale with all the erotic minutiae.

  'You know, Delgado lives his life like he paints his pictures.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'You know how he says that the end of every painting is the beginning of the next.'

  'Yes, he said something like that to me the other night.'

  'Well, it's the same with life. As he never paints the same picture twice he never has the same woman again. That's why he hasn't laid a finger on you. Once he's had you, or with Delgado, once he's humiliated you and punished you, he's finished, he's on to the next.'

  'What happened with the French girls?'

  'They came on the Monday after you. Nothing happened that day, but on the next he invited them to his room. He invited me too, but only to help me with my art, he said. He wanted me to make sketches of what he was going to do. I saw everything.' Rebecca's eyes dilated as she recalled exactly what she had witnessed.

  'And what did you see?' Linda asked, curious as always about Delgado's sexual antics.

  'He sat both the girls down on two wooden chairs in the same way that he did to us. The two girls were friends, Avril was the older of the two. She had long, brown, chestnut hair and beautiful hazel eyes. She was an absolute stunner. Even in Paris she would have turned heads, and the girl really knew how to dress. She'd wear these really elegant floral dresses, that maybe wouldn't have looked so good on me but she had a wonderful curvy figure and this delightful light brown complexion. Even when she had been talking that morning I couldn't stop looking at her eyes and lower too, at the square cut dress that showed off her cleavage really well, and she had this tantalising little mottle of freckles on her chest.

  'Her friend was called Veronique. She looked like a lot of girls I remember meeting in Paris. Her hair was darker and clipped shorter, just below the ear. She was quite petite and dressed more casually than Avril in a lemon yellow tee-shirt and these black and white stripy pants. Even though she was the younger one she was much haughtier than the older girl. She couldn't have been more than twenty-three but she seemed to know everything about art and culture and particularly about sex. I mean at least in theory. She'd done some dissertation on the Marquis de Sade and contemporary art. You could tell she was much more interested in learning about Delgado than in drawing or painting. You know that Delgado has this thing about eroticism and art and she wouldn't stop asking him about it, wanting to know what his opinion was on this painter and that painter and how important did he think sex was in the creative process.'

  'I can imagine Delgado got a bit fed up with that. A good teacher he is, but he hates theory,' Linda piped in.

  'Exactly. But you know how imposing he can be. I mean, sometimes I think there is something very base about him, very crude.'

  'Delgado would call it primitive but I know what you mean,' Linda said, thinking back to the first time she had met him, and how he had imposed himself into her erotic fantasy.

  'I mean, what I'm trying to say is that I think Veronique, in particular, was very impressed with him. I think it was her way of flirting. Delgado is not stupid. He picks up on these things. Like it was clear that Avril and Veronique had a very strong friendship, but that even though Avril was the older one, Veronique dominated her. She'd correct her all the time, criticise her, and at one point she told her that what she was drawing was silly. After what had happened to us I had a clear inkling what Delgado was going to do, or at least how he was going to start.'

  'What was the theme of the week?' Linda asked, curious to know what Delgado had asked them to do.

  'It was 'truth'.'

  'I think this idea of painting themes is nonsense, you know.'

  'I agree. I realise that now.'

  'It's just an excuse for Delgado to get on his hobbyhorse. Anyway, please go on Rebecca.'

  'They sat down in those chairs, do you remember, and Delgado sat opposite them and I sat behind. They didn't like me being there without participating in any of the discussion. Delgado said in this really hard, cold voice: "This is my studio and in my studio I decide the rules. If you object so strongly, there is the door." They were speaking in English. Both the girls spoke little to no Spanish, but their English was quite passable.

  'Well when Delgado said that it was like a chill entered the room. Both girls glanced at each other but were shocked into silence. Delgado went on in that dark, sombre voice of his. "Veronique you talk about sex a lot, but it's all in your head. I don't think you have any experience of it all." "I have a husband and a lover," she said quite imperiously. "Don't interrupt me when I'm speaking, please. Yes, I know you have a husband and I could have guessed that you have a lover," Delgado was speaking in this really patronising voice as if he was talking to a stupid child, "but I know what type of sex you have." He paused here. Veronique looked as if she was sulking. "You have," Delgado continued, "sex that can't satisfy you, sex that leaves you always wanting more. You would like to explore. I am sure you do with your own hands, but it's not enough is it. Isn't that why you have been fighting with me all morning? It's because you want to explore and you are frightened to. And the only thing that you need to know about sex and art is that if you are not sexually satisfied you will not create well. There will be too much repression, too much sadness, too much coldness. And you know that this is true."'

  'Delgado likes that line about sex and art,' Linda mused.

  'Well it seemed to make her think. You know how hypnotic his voice can be. I mean there is something very sexy about the way he talks and the way he seems to know all about what you feel inside. Veronique tried to resist. She said quite petulantly: "You seem to know a lot about me." "Are you denying it?" Delgado said provoking her. Her skin flushed red. She was embarrassed because she knew there was a lot of truth in what Delgado was saying.

  'Her friend could see how uncomfortable Delgado had made her feel. She tried to defend her. "I don't know what all these things have to do with our art." She tried to say it confidently but she had also been affected by Delgado's dominating personality. "Oh shut up, Avril, just shut up you stupid, silly rich girl," Delgado barracked her. Avril blushed too, outraged that she should be talked to like that. She looked to her friend to support her as she had just done for her, but Veronique said nothing. Avril sunk back into her chair. She was so submissive, a fact that Delgado was only too aware of, and with hindsight probably Veronique. She was so beautiful but it seemed to me that she had never had the wit or the inclination to use her good looks to manipulate or to give her strength over people. "For example, Veronique, take your friend here, Avril. You know why you stay with her. My god i
t can't be because you find the girl stimulating. It's because you like to boss her, to dominate her and at the centre of this is, you know, your sexual desire for her. Wouldn't you now for example like to pull up her pretty skirt and pull down her panties and touch that place that you have only dreamed of?" Avril looked aghast, but Veronique kept her eyes the whole time focused on Delgado, a perceptible smile in the corners of her mouth.'

  'And what were you doing all this time?' Linda asked.

  'Oh me? My heart was racing. I mean it was so exciting knowing what was likely to happen next, but not knowing exactly, and to watch Delgado with that big booming voice going through his routine. "And Avril," he said, "don't look so pathetically shocked. This will be an education for you."'

  'That sounds familiar,' Linda said smirking.

  'Yes it did to me, but as he said it I thought about what had happened to us in the room.' Rebecca reached over her hand to Linda, stroked the palm. 'You know that day really did change my life, opened up so many possibilities in me that I had never really known existed.'

  'I know,' Linda said, clasping Linda's hand. 'Tell me what happened next.'

  'Oh yes, well, Avril looked shocked again. She gave a good impression of being indignant, until Delgado stood up and towered above her, and staring down at her, he lifted up her chin and gazed into her eyes. I don't know whether he has powers of hypnotism and I couldn't see from where I was sitting, but he said in this really measured voice, "You Avril, will do exactly what you are told." He let her head drop and she gazed at the sturdy figure in front of her.

  'It all happened so quickly, Linda, or it seemed to, but when I replay the scene in my imagination it all seems as if it was in slow motion. He walked behind her chair. You know he likes to wear those loose fitting trousers with the bottomless pockets. He reached down inside them and pulled out a knotted cord, the type you sometimes find on an old dressing gown. Delgado is just so strong. Avril's hands had been resting on her hips in a kind of posture of defiance. He gathered first one wrist and then the other and with using only one hand he held them together. At first Avril was really struggling, but with his other hand he bound them together, looping the cord through the wooden rail at the back of the chair so that it was impossible for her to move her arms.