La Cenerentola

Copyright oggbashan February 2022 _ Edited April 2022

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

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On April Fool's Day it was Angelina's twenty-first birthday. I thought it was a suitable day to propose. Angelina thought I was joking. I wasn't. We had been sharing a house with no arguments or disputes for six months, even if today we finally admitted to each other that we had been lying for months. Both of us had inklings that all we had told each other wasn't wholly true, but now we were in love, we wanted to clear the air and reveal the truth.

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It had started on a Wednesday early afternoon during the previous September. I belong to an amateur operatic group. We had a problem. We were going to do a production of Rossini's La Cenerentola mainly because it didn't need a female chorus. There were three female roles -- Angelina as La Cenerentola, and the two ugly sisters.

Our women's chorus would be competing in a regional contest for choirs and would be away from the production. We had three strong women for the roles, and enough men for the male roles and the chorus.

I was to take the part of Dandini, the Prince's valet.

But three weeks before the production our main singer, the Angelina, had to go with her husband to a three-year posting in Dubai. We had no one available who could contemplate such a role. All our passable singers would be with the choir, and even if they had been available, they just weren't good enough.

Despite our straightened finances we were considering whether we could hire a professional person for the role. We would discuss our options on Friday evening.

I was walking through the City Centre on the way to the house I was living in while contractors were renovating my main residence, when I heard a woman singing in the street. Her voice had a luminous quality and there was a small crowd around her. There was a large, wheeled suitcase behind her.

She was singing some operatic arias, backed by a Bluetooth speaker run from her mobile phone. I stopped to listen. I was entranced for ten minutes until she stopped and gathered up the money that had been thrown into a small carboard box in front of her. That box read 'Homeless. Please help.'

I walked forward as the crowd dispersed and put a five-pound note in the box. She looked up and me and said, 'Thank you.'

"Can you sing 'Non Piu Mesta'?" I asked.

"Yes, but I haven't got the backing track for that. I'd have to do it A Capella. Do you want it from Non Piu, or from 'Nacqui all'affanno'?

"I'd be delighted with either," I said.

She sang from 'Nacqui all'affanno'. I was almost speechless. Even without the orchestra or chorus her performance was stunning, and I was her sole audience.

"That was amazing," I said as I put a twenty-pound note in her box.

She did a curtsey.

"Thank you, sir," she said.

"Have you eaten recently?" I asked.

"No. Why?"

"I'd like to buy you a meal and talk to you, please?"

"Talk? That's all?"

"And a meal."

"McDonald's is over there."

"If that's what you want but there are many other restaurants nearby."

"Thank you, but McDonalds will do."

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Over the meal we talked. She had been evicted from a student house she had shared with two other women this morning. The landlord, who had three student properties, had died three months earlier and his heirs had decided to sell the houses. Her two friends had managed to find space with other students but until she got her deposit back, in about a month's time, she couldn't afford anywhere else. Her parents might have been able to help but they were visiting her elder brother and his family in Canada. She might be able to sofa surf for that month but since so many students had lost their rented properties at once, that could be awkward.

I told her about our production of La Cenerentola and how we had lost the principal. Would she consider it?

"Perhaps," she said, "but my homelessness is more important."

"I can understand that. But I could have a solution. The house I'm living in is only fifty yards away and has two unused bedrooms, each with an internal bolt because it had been a student house until the end of last academic year. You could have a bedroom at least until you could get your deposit back and sort yourself out."

"But I don't know who you are," she said.

I produced my business card and gave it to her.

"Tony Atkins? Property developer? And what's that?"

"JP. Justice of the Peace"

"You're very young to be a JP, Tony."

"I'm the youngest locally and have been one for just over a year."

"I think I can trust a JP, even if you are young."

"OK. What is your name?"

She laughed.

"Angelina. I'm Angelina Foster, a student at the university studying Geography and child psychology. I hope to be a teacher eventually. My name is why I knew La Cenerentola. I've been singing it for years. I took that part in a university production in my first year."

"I saw that production as did our director. That's why we chose it. But I didn't recognise you."

"I'm not surprised. I was wearing two blonde wigs and had a very pale make-up. As you can see, I'm not blonde."

Angelia had short-cropped dark brown hair and a tan.

"And the singing, Angelina?"

"I had considered being a professional opera singer. My grandmother was. But it is very difficult unless you are exceptional, to make a living at it. I know I am good, but ordinary good, not one of the few virtuosos. I could perhaps do musicals and some semi-professional performances. I'd never be good enough for the Royal Opera House except perhaps as one of the poorly paid chorus. Competition even for them is fierce."

"Let's go to my house and see what you think."

The house is a small three-bedroom terrace house with the front door opening straight onto the pavement of a busy road. The front door opens into the main living room. Angelina put her suitcase down and noticed the upright piano. We walked through to the Kitchen/Breakfast room.

"This looks new," Angelina said.

"It is, as is the bathroom, the wiring, the roof etc. My grandfather was having it renovated to be a student let again but he died just after the end of last year's academic year, and everything stopped. When his will was sorted out it became my house. I needed somewhere to live, and this is now mine."

"You own it outright, Tony?"

"Yes. He left it to me, and his car. He had divided most of his property between me and his other grandchildren seven years ago to avoid inheritance tax so technically this has been mine for the last seven years, but I moved in three months ago."

"It seems to be a nice little house. What's it like upstairs?"

"We'll go and look. The disadvantage of this house is its location. You cannot park a car outside and the traffic is present all day and night. But it is close to the town centre and the university."

"It is. Much closer than most of my friends' places."

I showed Angelina my bedroom at the front of the house. It is the largest room but an ensuite had been installed. The second bedroom wasn't much smaller but only had a washbasin. The family bathroom was at the top of the stairs and the small third bedroom was beyond it.

In the third bedroom I said:

"Angelina? This could be your study room. The house has full fibre internet and there is an ethernet point in here and in all the other rooms as well -- except the bathrooms."

"Full fibre? Is that very fast?"

"About ten times faster than standard internet."

"That would be even better than at the university. They have full fibre to the campus but with so many users it slows down. I like this house but..."

"But?"

"Tony, what are your conditions for letting me stay here?"

"Let's go to the kitchen, have a cup of tea, and I'll tell you."

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"Angelina? I'm offering you your own bedroom, another room for your study, and a share of the house. In exchange?"

"In exchange?"

"Only two things. First, you come with me to our operatic society meeting on Friday evening and take an audition for the part of La Cenerentola..."

"I'm OK with that. Second?"

"If you pass the audition, which I'm sure you will, you take the role in our production. That's it. Nothing else."

"Nothing else? What about rent?"

"None. You stay here rent-free."

"Rent free? For how long?"

"Until you find somewhere else, or to the end of your final year."

"To the end of my final year? I've got two and a half terms to go. Won't there be increased costs for you?"

"Not really. I could claim a quarter of my council tax for being a single occupant, but I have already paid this year in full. For such a small house on a busy road I'm in the lowest band. A quarter of a small amount isn't much, and I've already paid. I would be a hassle to get a rebate."

"OK, Tony. Provisionally I accept but I have a condition for you too."

"Which is?"

"The university are staging La Cenerentola again in the Spring term. But we are short of a Dandini. Could you audition for that?"

"With you as La Cenerentola?"

Angelina nodded.

"Yes. I will."

Angelina kissed me on the cheek.

"Tony, on those conditions I'm your tenant. Can I unpack now?"

Half an hour later we were sitting in the kitchen discussing what to eat this evening. Eventually I persuaded Angelia to go with me to a restaurant. I booked a table for two online.

Over the meal we talked about La Cenerentola and the difficulties of my role and hers. She asked if we could use the piano before Friday evening for practice. Of course, I agreed.

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We had coffee back at the house and then spent too long singing. I was enjoying Angelia's voice. It was exquisite. She seemed to like my voice too. We finally went to bed about midnight with arias from La Cenerentola still as earworms.

Over breakfast we had a discussion about food. I didn't have enough for two of us. She had lectures until two o'clock and then she would be back at the house within five minutes, and I would drive to a large supermarket. We could have walked but I thought we would have too much shopping to carry.

We went out of the back garden gate into a council car park. I was renting a double garage that opened on to the car park. Angelina gasped when I opened the garage door.

"What is it, Tony? She asked.

"It was my grandfather's car. It is a 1960s Bentley. It is totally impractical, but I love the comfort and its presence."

I drove the car out of the garage, got out and opened the door for Angelina. I get back into the driver's seat and drove off. Angelina wriggled herself into a comfortable position.

"It is very quiet and comfortable," Angelina said.

"Quiet? It should be. At the time Bentleys were made by Rolls-Royce. It is almost the same as a Rolls of the same period. There were a few differences -- the radiator grill, and the car is slightly faster, not that it matters to me. Rolls-Royces were intended to be driven by a chauffeur with the owner in the back. Bentleys were intended for people who would drive themselves."

"Seat belts?"

"Yes, there wouldn't have been seat belts when new. My grandfather had them added after he was in an accident with a previous car. He wasn't hurt but felt that seat belts would be good."

Angelina was almost purring beside me.

"The car doesn't seem to go with the house. It ought to have a mansion to go with it..."

I nearly said something then. Perhaps I should have done, but I kept quiet.

We had our first argument in the supermarket, or really a discussion. I wanted to buy what I usually did -- frozen and chilled ready meals. Angelina insisted that we should buy proper food that required preparation and cooking. She ended the discussion by saying:

"Tony? You are giving a lot. In exchange you're going to have a resident cook and housekeeper, so shut up."

I did, but Angelina carried on.

"You've been eating poorly. I'm not a food fanatic, but ready meals all the time? What do you have for lunch?"

"Usually sandwiches from the shop a few doors away."

"Not anymore. You're getting a packed lunch, and every evening at 6.30 you will get a proper meal."

"Yes Ma'am," I replied.

Angelina laughed.

"Seriously, Tony, your eating was disastrous. I can feed you far better than that."

"OK, Angelina, if that's what you want to do. But I have one proviso. Once a week we will eat out at a restaurant, not on Friday or Saturday when they are crowded. I think this Sunday should be the first. I'll choose. Next week, and alternate weeks, you can choose. Is that acceptable?"

"Can you afford it, Tony?"

"Yes."

"Then I agree. But tonight, and tomorrow night before the Operatic Society's meeting, you are having an Angelina cooked meal."

It took some time to put all the supermarket purchase away and then Angelina started cooking. While she was doing that, I was online dealing with a number of business emails.

I was astonished at the meal that Angelina had produced. It seems as if she can cook as well as she can sing. If all her meals are going to be like this, I was very pleased I had taken her in.

After the meal we went to the piano for Angelina to practise some of the arias from La Cenerentola. Her voice was amazing. I had shivers down my spine after some of her arias. After an hour she wanted me to sing some of Dandini's pieces. She wasn't impressed. She said I was adequate for an amateur but could do much better. After an hour even I could tell I had improved. It seems as if as well as a cook I now have a music tutor as well.

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On Friday evening we went to the Operatic Society's meeting. There were about sixty people present. I told the Chairman that I thought Angelina could take the role as La Cenerentola. We went into a side room which had a piano, accompanied by the five major committee members. I played the piano accompaniment. Angelina started with Nacqui all'affanno.

The Chairman and committee members were stunned. After Angelina had finished, they sat in silence until the Chairman said:

"That was fantastic. Yes, we would love to have you. Can you perform for all of us, please, Angelina?"

We went out in the main hall. I sat at the grand piano and played whatever Angelina wanted.

After a quarter of an hour the room erupted in applause and a standing ovation. Angelina was far above the best of our singers. Angelina asked me to sing a couple of Dandini's arias, the ones we had practised on Thursday evening. I surprised myself, and my fellow members. I was applauded, mainly because the members could recognise that I was better than usual, but I didn't get the standing ovation. I didn't deserve it, not after Angelina.

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For the next few weeks, I was eating better, singing better, and enjoying Angelina's presence. As the date of our production approached, Angelina had become almost the musical director, supplanting or rather supporting the man who normally had the role. The whole group were being tuned to do their best. We were optimistic that this would be our best production ever. But Angelina was also working with the women's choir that was going to the contest.

The women's choir were in the audience for our final dress rehearsal. They were impressed, as were all of us. They would be away for most of our performances but would be back for the last one.

The word had got around that La Cenerentola would be exceptional, and every performance was sold out.

The audience weren't disappointed. Angelina had standing ovations after every one. I had one after the first when the audience was mostly friends and relations. That was a recognition of how much I had improved but Angelina still though I could do better. Practising whenever we could, by the last performance I was excelling myself, but always outshone by Angelina.

When the curtain finally fell after our last bow, after each performance Angelina hugged and kissed me. All the Operatic society members knew that Angelina was mine, and I was hers, even if we hadn't admitted to ourselves.

The women's choir had come second in their competition, the best result they had ever had.

Our next production was the annual pantomime, staged just before and just after Christmas. Angelina was the principal boy; I was her bumbling henchman. Every time Angelina sang, the whole thing stopped for extended applause. One evening she had to sing two encores before the audience would let us continue.

When I had to go away for a few days on business and other things, I missed Angelina and her cooking. It seems that she missed me too. When I arrived back, I was hugged and kissed very effectively.

The next time Angelina and Tony would sing together would be in mid-May for the university's production of La Cenerentola. By the end of March, we were both more demonstrative. Singing practice, with me playing the piano, often meant that Angelina had her arms wrapped around me in a hug.

April 1st was Angelina's 21st birthday and a day when I wasn't working, and Angelina had no lectures. We went out in the Bentley to a country park for a walk in the spring sunshine. We were sitting on a bench looking at a distant view when I finally plucked up the courage to tell Angelina what I should have said months before.

"Angelina? I have a confession to make," I said.

"Yes, Tony? What?"

"I don't normally live in that small house."

"You don't? Where do you live?"

"I was only in that house while the builders were working on my main house. They've just finished so I can move in. But..."

"But?"

"Do you remember months ago you said that the Bentley ought to have a mansion to go with it?"

"Vaguely. So much has happened since then, Tony."

"I have the mansion to go with the Bentley. If you like we could go and look at it after lunch."

"You have a mansion? I suppose you are rich?"

"I'd describe myself as comfortable instead of rich. But the house we've been in is only one of fourteen student houses I own."

"Fourteen?"

"Student houses. I also have another twenty occupied by families."

"OK, Tony. If is confession time, I've got one too. When you collected me from the street, I wasn't really homeless except nominally. It was a bet with some of my friends. I had been evicted but I had a choice of three student houses to stay in until I got my deposit back, or my parents returned, whichever was sooner.

My parents are comfortable too. They had paid all my student fees so I will have no debts when I finish. They also gave me an allowance of five thousand pounds a term. That term's cheque wasn't deposited to my account until the Friday, and I had lent some money to my brother until his payday, so I was nearly broke when we met. But not since that Friday. I have been paying nothing for my accommodation..."

"Nothing? Cooking, giving me packed lunches, providing music tuition? That's not nothing."

"It seems like nothing compared with the rent I could have been paying. But let's go to see your mansion."

It was about twenty minutes' drive to a village on the outskirts of the university city. I drove through the parkland gates and a quarter of a mile to the house. Angelina gasped when she saw it. It is black and white timbered and large, gleaming in the sunshine. The roof was new, the walls had ben stabilised and painted, and the gardens had been rescued by a garden contractor.

"How big is it?" Angelina asked.

"It has ten main bedrooms but the servants' quarters on the top floor are unused because there are staff cottages. Oh, and now after the builders have finished, each bedroom has an ensuite plus two family bathrooms, one on the ground floor."