requires me to return to London. I’ll be leaving at first light.’
His guests reacted with dismay. ‘But we’ve been here less than a week,’ one said, slurring his words a little.
Leo smiled round the table. ‘And you are all most welcome to continue to enjoy my hospitality until I return.’
The ladybird on Leo’s immediate right laid a caressing hand on his sleeve. ‘But it wouldn’t be the same without you, dear Leo. Who shall take charge of our frolics?’ She fluttered her long, dark eyelashes at him and gave his flesh a tiny squeeze.
Leo lifted her hand and set it gently on the polished wood table. ‘Have no fear. M’brother, Jack, shall act as host in my absence. He is fixed here until I return.’
‘Jack?’ The protest came from one of the older men at the far end of the table. ‘No offence, Leo, but I can give Jack the best part of fifteen years. As can others.’ Some of the other gentlemen nodded. ‘We didn’t come to The Larches to gamble with your madcap little brother. If you’re off tomorrow, then so am I.’ There were murmurs of agreement around the table.
Leo was not sorry. He would not show his friends the door, but he was heartily glad they had decided to leave.
‘Quite understand, of course, if you feel you wish to leave. And I cannot, at this moment, say how soon I might return. Apologies for that.’
‘Not your fault, old fellow. Business is business. Besides, the night is still young.’ The man got to his feet rather unsteadily. ‘Since this is to be the last night of one of Leo Aikenhead’s famous orgies, I give you a toast, gentlemen. To our next meeting at The Larches. To beautiful women and flowing wine.’
Chairs scraped across the polished wooden floor. The men raised their glasses to the ladies. ‘The Larches. To beautiful women! And flowing wine!’
By the time Leo returned, ten days later, it was impossible to tell that the house had ever been full of scandalous goings-on. Apart from Jack and the servants, the house was empty. Every bawdy ballad and erotic picture had been banished. The Larches could have been the home of the most upright of clerical gentlemen.
Jack was sitting soberly in the library, reading a magazine, when Leo walked in. ‘You’re back. Thank God!’ Jack sprang to his feet. Then he stood still. He did not ask the question that was clearly on the tip of his tongue.
‘I have brought your man, and some clothes,’ Leo said, looking Jack up and down. ‘My coat may be well cut, but on you it looks decidedly disreputable.’ Since Jack was of a much slighter build than Leo, it was hardly surprising that Leo’s clothes did not fit him. ‘I suggest you go and change. We can have a quiet dinner, and an early night.’
‘But aren’t you going to tell me what—?’
‘We have work to do tomorrow, Jack. The Foreign Secretary has ordered the Aikenhead Honours to Vienna. While Ace is in Russia, I am to take charge. I have already written to Ten. He is to make his own way to Vienna and join us as soon as he can.’ The Ace in the Aikenhead Honours was Dominic, the eldest Aikenhead brother. Leo’s codename was King and Jack’s was Knave. Ben Dexter, the fourth member of their spying band, codenamed Ten, was Jack’s closest friend. Unlike Jack, Ben did not gamble. His father had been killed in a duel following a quarrel over cards.
‘So we’re leaving immediately?’ Jack asked, puzzled.
‘Yes. As soon as may be. Castlereagh has already left for Paris.’
‘Oh. I see. But what about—? I mean—I can’t leave England if—’
‘Forget about it, brat. Your little Prussian friend took ship for Holland over a week ago, with all his winnings tucked safely in his pocket.’
Jack’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened.
‘And now, if you don’t mind,’ Leo said pointedly, ‘I should be grateful for the return of my coat.’
‘Again.’
Obediently, Sophie took a breath, braced her stomach muscles, and began again, humming the top three notes and then opening her throat to allow the volume to increase as she sang down the scale. Her head was buzzing from the humming. Very satisfying. Her voice was placed precisely as it should be.
‘Hmm. Good enough. Now, a semi-tone higher, if you please.’ Verdicchio touched a key on the pianoforte.
Sophie sang the scale. But she had to repeat it three times before her voice coach was satisfied. Then, gradually, he took her up another half-octave until she had reached the top of her range. The sound was good, and right in the centre of the notes. Sophia Pietre was famous as the Venetian Nightingale, the singer who was never shrill, and never sang flat. It had taken her years to perfect that round, gleaming tone. It had brought her wealth, and a certain notoriety. But she remembered, very well, what it had been to be poor, totally dependent on Verdicchio, and never sure whether she would be thrown out on the street for failing one of his interminable tests.
‘Sophie! Pay attention!’ He slapped his hand down on the keys, producing a loud, discordant sound.
‘I apologise, Maestro. I will do better.’ She swallowed. ‘What would you have me sing now?’
He took her through a number of simple ballads, of the kind she sang to entertain the guests at private parties. They showed off the range and colour of her voice, without overpowering the audience as operatic arias sometimes did. After the songs, Verdicchio insisted she rehearse two of the arias from the operatic role she was currently performing. Sophie did not need to practise them, but she humoured him, omitting only the highest notes, as he always advised her to do during practice. ‘Your top Cs, my dear Sophie,’ he used to say, ‘are diamonds of the first water. Not to be squandered. Only to be shared with those who are prepared to pay the price for them.’
He was nodding now. ‘Good, good. Excellent even. Your phrasing has improved here.’ He pointed to a passage in the score. ‘It makes the words clearer and the effect more emotional. You will have the ladies swooning in their boxes tonight.’
Sophie smiled. ‘Let us hope so. For we have only two more performances and no promises yet of any further roles. We live a very expensive life now, Maestro.’ She gestured round their rehearsal room which, at Verdicchio’s insistence, had been furnished with every possible luxury, just like the rest of their Venice apartment. ‘If I am not offered another role soon, we shall be hard pressed to pay the bills.’
‘You do have another role, my child.’
Sophie’s stomach clenched. How long had he known? Why had he said nothing until now?
‘You are to sing for a most august audience.’ He looked up from the pianoforte and smiled into her face. It was a sly, knowing smile. She distrusted it totally. ‘You are to sing at—But, no. Let it be a surprise. We leave Venice on Friday.’
Sophie opened her mouth to protest, but Verdicchio was no longer looking at her. He had turned back to the pianoforte and was idly playing a composition of his own, closely modelled on a Mozart sonata.
She bit her lip. After so many years, he still had her in his power. He controlled not only her career, but also every penny she earned, for he was determined that she should never be able to break free. He was succeeding. For now. The little cache of money she had saved was not yet enough to allow her to flee from him. But it was growing, week by week, and month by month. In another year, perhaps, she would have enough.
‘That was beautiful, Maestro,’ she said dutifully, as he played the final extravagant arpeggio and turned to receive her approval. She hoped he would not notice that she was avoiding his eye. ‘And our new home? I can wait until Friday to learn where we are going, if that is your wish. Though it would perhaps be profitable to allow me to mention our destination to some of my gentlemen admirers. They might wish to follow us, or even to provide a parting gift. Some of them, as you know—’ she lifted her left hand so that the diamonds at her wrist caught the light ‘—have been exceedingly