word for it. Conservative, more like. You mustn’t try giving them
anything too different from what they heard yesterday.’
‘It wasn’t all my fault,’ declares Lalli. ‘With different music
it could have been a success.’
Vivaldi shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Ruggiere may be a dilettante
but his music isn’t bad. I think it was more to do with the genre.’
‘Look, if I’d put that on in Naples I’d be a celebrity by
now!’
‘Oh?’ responds Vivaldi with eyebrows raised. ‘Why then
did you not perform it there? What brought you to Venice?’
Lalli colours. ‘Oh, you know how things are. You want to
see something of the world, spread your wings. And I honestly
thought I’d find all sorts of chances awaiting me here.’
‘You come from Naples, Signor Lalli?’
The priest watches as his blush spreads. The fellow is
certainly hiding something. That could prove useful! Antonio leans
back calmly in his chair and reassesses the man before him. Small
beads of sweat have broken out on his forehead. Lalli is clearly ill at
ease.
‘Yes, that’s right, from Naples,’ he answers, confusedly.
‘But it’s a long time ago, you know!’ he adds with a short, nervous
laugh.
‘I see.’
‘Yes. I’ve travelled about a lot. Lived in Rome a while, and
then ended up here.’
‘Ah,’ answers Antonio. There is another silence.
It occurs to Lalli that perhaps it had not been such a good
idea after all, agreeing to meet the Maestro. Vivaldi looks him
straight in the eye, as if capable of seeing down into the most
hidden depths of his soul. Bloody hell, isn’t being a composer
enough for him? Does the man have to be a priest as well? Lalli can
see no way out for himself.
‘And what are your plans now, Signor Lalli?’
Domenico swallows hard and examines the glass he’s
rolling back and forward between his hands.
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