A conversation with a Countess
…
Opera was one of those events most people could take or leave. Violetta loved it and we went often. I went because it was more interesting to observe the people who went.
This time was no different.
Rodby was bored, his long-suffering wife, as I came to believe she was, loved it, and used it as a form of torture, and the countess, well, it was difficult to say. She had other matters on her mind.
I spent the first half wondering what the connection was between Mrs Rodby and the countess, the half-time interval listening to their friendly banter about the old days, discovering they had got up to all sorts of high jinks in a boarding school for elegant ladies of which they were decidedly most not, and then the second half thinking that life was so much easier for the wealthy and powerful fifty years ago than it was today.
In the end, where an opinion had to be professed, I said that had I not been an expert in languages, all of it would have been lost on me. Even so, as a love story with tragedy, wouldn’t it be better to be more upbeat?
Obviously, I didn’t get it. Other than that, it was an opportunity to dress up and meet people you’d never normally get to see.
There was a brief debate in the lobby about where we would finish the night and it ended up being at the hotel where the countess was staying. She made a call, and a room was set aside, with catering.
The countess and I took the chauffeur-driven car, the Rodby’s by their own transport. I was expecting, after the car moved out into the traffic, our exit from the Opera House far more anonymous than our arrival, she would give me an indication of what I was there for.
And then remembered that she was as surprised to see me as I was to see her, and then to be referred to as a potential suitor, not a troubleshooter. That label had been attached later by Mrs Rodby.
But I had to ask, in a roundabout way.
“Have you known Mrs Rodby a long time? I gather it started at school?”
“Boarding school. We were both daughters of diplomats, though my father was a Lord, hers what the English quaintly referred to as a Gentleman. My mother was Italian, very feisty but with no maternal instincts. We used to spend holidays in the South of France at a chateau in Antibes. We lost touch for a while, living in different worlds.”
“She mentioned to me you might need some help. Perhaps a relief for you to know that she was not matchmaking but asked me along for a different reason.”
I watched her expression change several times. Whatever the problem was, it was one she was reluctant to share. Was it an embarrassment, or an errant child in trouble, or something worse? I could not imagine her asking me to ‘retire’ an adversary, an over ardent lover, or a business rival.
“She did say you used to take your wife to the opera.”
“Rather the other way around. She loved it. I tried.”
“I must confess, it was my husband’s thing, not so much for the spectacle, but the hobnobbing, if it could be called that. It was all about ‘being seen’. That, the races, balls, galas, and everything in between. Do you dance?”
“Before Violetta, I used to pretend I didn’t. I had a mother who made it mandatory because you never knew when it would be useful. I fancy she had high hopes I would marry a princess. She didn’t live to find out I did. Not a royal princess, by to me everything but having royal blood. And., yes, I would not have got that second glance if I could not do the tango.”
“Your favourite?”
“After I met her, it was all I needed to know she was the one.”
“It’s curious, is it not, that it takes just one. My moment was the quick step, and I hated it. For a long time, I could never quite get it right, but then the Count turns up, spies me trying to hide on the other side of the ballroom, and picks me out of a gaggle of girls vying for his attention.”
“You were not?”
“I was barely out of school, and totally out of my depth. My mother decided he was going to be the one, and unbeknownst to me had talked up my attributes to the point where I could never fulfil her lofty expectations, or his. I thought, then, one dance and I could go. Damn and blast it was the quick step, and his reputation as a demanding, fussy, easily annoyed with those who fumbled, stumbled, and grumbled, of much renown, I just wanted the floor to open up and suck me it.”
“Up till that moment was it like a fairytale?”
“Odd you should say that, but yes. Up to that moment.”
“Obviously you pulled off the challenge.”
“Somehow, I managed, but in the process, I made a lifelong enemy. Perhaps it is this that your friend alludes to. I mentioned it in passing, but it is of no consequence. The Count’s family will deal with it, as they always have. You need not concern yourself, simply enjoy the evening, and tomorrow life will be as it should be.”
Perhaps she should have told Mrs Rodby that, because I had a feeling my life was not going to be ‘as it should be’.
…
© Charles Heath 2023
