Free Errant Angels by Stuart Fifield

piano, where Elizabeth had unceremoniously deposited her burden of the large tea tray, Renata di Senno suddenly caught a whiff of the rotten eggs again. With a flash of diamonds she raised her hand to her nose in an attempt to block the smell. Something was going to have to be done about the little beast. Things had gone on for quite long enough. Assuming the role of the perfect hostess, she poured a cup of tea for the Contessa and moved towards the keyboard to put the hot drink on a cork mat, which the Contessa kept next to the piano’s music stand; it would not do to leave a ring on such an expensive instrument. As she did so, she walked past the chair on which Carlo lay snoring, undisturbed by Elizabeth’s interruption. Renata was somewhat surprised and more than a little perplexed to find that the air in the immediate vicinity of Carlo Quinto lacked the unpleasant hint of the sewers she had detected at the foot of the piano. In fact, apart from the gentle sound of grumbling, the air around the little beast was filled with nothing more unpleasant than that which is associated with the freshness of a pleasant sum mer’s day out in the countryside. Renata turned and retraced her steps to the foot of the piano to collect her tea, which Julietta Camore, with artificial generosity, had poured for her. As she stood stirring her tea, it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps it wasn’t the unpleasant little dog that was sharing the results of its internal gaseousproblems with everyone within reach. Perhaps it was the equally unpleasant maid. Of course, nothing could be said in the Contessa’s presence. In any case, whilst this trivial little conundrum had occupied Renata’s mind, or more correctly her nostrils, the Contessa was explaining her latest idea for their next fundraising project. It was something to do with horses and donkeys in Egypt.
    No sooner had the Contessa finished than the doors burst open once again to reveal an angry-looking Elizabeth, her face a picture of atmospheric disturbance, her chest heaving with the effort of having had to negotiate the stairs once again, so soon after bringing up the tea tray.
    â€˜The new one’s here now!’ she snapped between wheezes. ‘Elzeebit has brought her straight up to yourself, as instraticted …’ The last word was lost in a fit of coughing, as she waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss the entire company, turned on her heel and lurched away. Her place in the doorway was taken by the quintessential concept of the fair English Rose.
    â€˜Good evening, Contessa.’
    â€˜Welcome. Yvonne, my dear, do come in and meet everyone,’ said the Contessa, advancing from behind the piano. ‘ Angeli miei , let us welcome Yvonne Buckingham. I am sure that our new member’s musical ability will enable her to rise to any future challenges.’
    Riccardo Fossi felt his member tingle at the thought. A new object for his insatiable appetite had crossed his sights.

8
    The Contessa’s rehearsal had gone well and she was confident that, with another rehearsal still in hand, COGOL would be well and truly prepared for their forthcoming gala concert. The singers had left the Contessa’s spacious apartment and had gone their separate ways, returning to the reality of their everyday lives in the world beyond the music room and the escapism of opera. In Via Antonio Mordini , close by the old Roman amphitheatre, Riccardo Fossi sat in the semi-gloom of the street lights. He was nervously tapping the varnished wooden steering wheel of his new Alfa Romeo, as he glanced repeatedly in its wing mirrors. Suddenly, the catch on the passenger door clicked, the door swung open and the car was immediately filled with the subtly heady fragrance of Renata di Senno’s very expensive perfume.
    â€˜I thought you weren’t coming,’ he hissed as he turned to kiss her passionately.
    â€˜Riccardo!’ she replied, fighting him