“Ah, right. I did wonder about the wisdom of Má Vlast, but the trustees insisted.”
“That’s at the heart of it,” said Lydia, wondering how much more to reveal. “Plus it seems to be his dream to be the orchestra’s leader-conductor. You’ve come in and scuppered that one for the time being.”
“Hmm. But he’s just one man, Lydia. Surely they don’t all want to be conductors?”
“No, but they all want him to get what he wants. He has them in the palm of his hand.”
“But not you?” Mary-Ann leaned a little closer, her coffee-breath drifting up to Lydia’s nostrils.
“I don’t really approve,” said Lydia weakly. “I think he should make his case with the trustees if he wants to conduct, instead of waging war campaigns.”
“The trustees don’t know this goes on?”
“Oh, don’t tell them!”
“Don’t worry. I won’t run and tell tales. But thanks for this, Lydia. I’ve got a handle on Milan now. I can work on it.”
“Right.” Lydia heaved a relieved sigh. She might not like Milan’s tactics, but putting the cat amongst the pigeons with the trustees was the last thing she wanted to do.
“So…about that boring night of watching Sky Arts…”
Lydia looked up, seeing a warm, rather mischievous smile on Mary-Ann’s face.
“Yes?”
“Wouldn’t you rather go and see a film instead? There’s a terrific biopic of Yehudi Menuhin on at the ICA… Oh, but I suppose you’ve seen it?”
“Actually, no.” Lydia contemplated the evening that stretched ahead, cold and lonely in her tiny South London flat. “I’d love to.”
“Fab! Let’s drink up and go and see about tickets, then.”
Chapter Five
The film was good, and it was just as good the second time of viewing with Milan the following afternoon. Only this time it was enhanced by the way Milan’s long, pale fingers stroked Lydia’s hands throughout.
He took a piece of salted popcorn and fed it into her mouth, bending to whisper in her ear.
“When this finishes, I’m taking you shopping.”
“Shopping?” Lydia almost swallowed the bloated kernel whole. She hadn’t figured Milan to be a man who enjoyed browsing the racks in the boutiques of the West End.
“No more fleeces,” he said emphatically.
She huffed a little, but allowed him to slip an arm around her shoulders nonetheless, wondering what Mary-Ann would have to say about it if she could see their blissful intimacy. Should she have mentioned that she was seeing Milan? Oh, her personal life was nobody else’s business.
She dismissed the uncomfortable thought then suppressed a squeak as Milan placed her hands in her lap and moved his own wicked fingers up to the waistband of her jeans, fiddling with the buttons until they were undone.
“Milan,” she whispered, craning her neck to make sure nobody was watching them.
“Shh, it’s okay. Nobody can see,” he soothed, and it was true that their position in the back row protected them from curious eyes.
“But what if they do?” Lydia tried to clamp her thighs together, but Milan patted her upper arm in reproof, somehow winning her submission.
“They won’t. Now be good, bad girl and let me have my way with you.”
Lydia shuffled back on her bottom a little, spreading her legs a little wider to enable ease of access. His fingers, bunched together over her mons, crept slowly down, struggling to invade the tight space at her crotch. Looking down, Lydia saw them bulge and strain against the denim, sliding under her knicker elastic and taking possession of everything within.