Old Hall Chambers, January 2005
As a lawyer I believe I have a duty to my clients even, in some circumstances, after their death. Problems arise when personal relationships conflict with professional obligations. This has only troubled me once but it has been a source of great concern and soul-searching. It is only after much deliberation and lengthy discussions with senior colleagues whose absolute discretion I trust that I have decided to publish certain documents, and to do so on this site with its strong sexual content.
I made a brief but disastrous marriage many years ago. My ex-husband disappeared to Australia soon after the divorce and, as far as I can guess, is still there. However, I remained close to his parents (who also disowned him), first to his mother, Celia, with whom I became very close, and later to his father, Robert. Celia died prematurely in 1990. Robert survived her by five years. Both appointed me as sole executrix of their separate wills. It is the fulfilment of Robert's wishes that has burdened my conscience.
The year after my father-in-law's death I received an approach from an author who planned to write a biography of Robert (I still find it difficult to think of him as Sir Robert). His career as conductor of many of the world's finest orchestras, as well as his trenchant views on modern music, made him an eminently suitable subject. I could not - and did not - refuse to release the articles, letters and private jottings he had left; as far, that is, as they related to his professional life.
However, I decided, rightly or wrongly, not to disclose a number of items I found among his papers which are of a highly personal nature. Robert was a serial fornicator who had frequent opportunities with compliant women and seldom declined them. Not a hint of that appeared in the book when it was published.
Had I not been personally involved with Robert and Celia, I have little doubt that I would have released all the papers to his biographer. Because of my decision, the public has been deprived of a full portrait of a remarkable man. Now ten years have passed since Robert's death and I wish to make amends for the benefit of posterity; but, taking advice from experienced colleagues, I have chosen to make these revelations here where they will be read by those who will not be shocked and therefore will not diminish a great man's memory.
I should point out that Robert never kept a diary. These recollections were jumbled among his other writings with which I had to deal, although they all seem to have been set down in the course of a few days shortly before his death. Why Robert committed these thoughts to paper, I do not know, but they exist and so, still with some trepidation, I publish them here.
The only editing has been to remove or disguise the identity of persons still living. Where necessary I have appended brief notes in square brackets.
GJ
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Strange how the mind works involuntarily. Tomorrow morning I shall be rehearsing an all-Brahms programme - the Double Concerto and the Fourth Symphony - with one of the world's finest orchestras. If those musicians are to respect their foreign conductor, I must approach them in a manner that conveys utter certainty. Therefore, although these are both works I know well, I have been spending the evening studying the scores afresh. And yet, from time to time, unbidden into my mind have come thoughts, memories, images of the young woman who came to interview me this afternoon and then made her body available with such libidinous generosity.
Should I have refused? Sent her away? If the possibility had occurred to me, which I doubt, I would have ignored it. The longer my career has continued, the more I have become aware that many women are irresistibly attracted to a sexual encounter with a celebrated conductor. When the situation has arisen, I have declined on only a handful of occasions. The results have varied widely, from the totally unsatisfactory to the wildly unexpected and rewarding. I do not believe I am being boastful when I tell myself (it is hardly something to proclaim to the world on a television chat show) that I have become a connoisseur of woman as a sexual partner.
Take, for example, the young lady who is under the impression that she seduced me this afternoon. She came from a reputable newspaper, accompanied by a photographer. After he had taken his pictures and departed for another assignment, the interview proceeded along conventional lines until she asked me about Celia. She had done her research and knew that I had lost my dear wife almost two years ago.
"Since your wife died," she said, "you must find travelling so much a very lonely business."
I acknowledged that it was. She crossed her legs, allowing her skirt to ride up a little, and unfastened the top button of her blouse. If not blatant, the action was obvious enough. At my age, I can still enjoy being seduced but this young woman did not impress me as being worthy of the time-honoured manoeuvrings. I said, "Are you suggesting that we should do something to relieve my loneliness?"
Her blush was certainly not due to modesty; more probably she was embarrassed that her approach had been seen for what it was. In American show business, these women are called starfuckers. Well, so be it. I was prepared to accept her on those terms and told her so. Then I suggested that she should undress. When she had stripped to bra and panties, I stopped her and indicated that she should lie across my lap. Her bottom, I have to admit, was enticing: tight, round buttocks that stretched the pale blue material of her panties. I slapped her a few times and she responded encouragingly. When I removed the panties, her cheeks were no more than a gentle rouge: I am no sadist.
My pleasure was in fondling between her legs, where I discovered, as I expected, the vagina to be wet and receptive. I took her into the bedroom of my suite, turned her on to her back, removed my trousers and offered my penis to her mouth. The rest was satisfactory but routine. She was acquiescent to every approach, writhed, wriggled and moaned in full measure. Whether she reached orgasm I am not sure. For myself, I withdrew in time to direct my sperm across her breasts. I am not interested in paternity suits from opportunist young women.
To her credit, she cleaned herself in the bathroom, thanked me for my time and departed without rancour. The encounter was a welcome relief of tension before tomorrow's rehearsal, but she will not find a place among the women whose memories I cherish in the silent hours.
Besides, the time is not far distant when I will have to resolve the situation that has developed with my daughter-in-law. Gemma is more than twenty years my junior, an attractive woman with prominent cheek bones, dark eyes and smooth lips. As a successful and ambitious lawyer, she dresses formally yet still shows a subtle awareness of the appeal of her small, high breasts and fine legs. I admit I have not been immune. Instinct and experience suggest to me that there could be an extremely interesting tension between her cool professional persona and the sexual being beneath the surface. To explore further is tempting, despite the fine line of taboos one might be treading.
Gemma drew up Celia's will and acted as an executor. In the process they became close and - I now know - Celia gave her some clear indications about the way she and I arranged our lives. At our last meeting Gemma asked me, without dissembling, whether it had been an open marriage. There was no reason to deny it, so I explained how it had come about.
[I had been aware long before Celia's tragically early death that she had had a number of affairs while married to Robert, but it was only in the conversation recorded below that I learned the details. GJ]
We were having breakfast before the limousine came to take me to the airport; the orchestra of which I was then Chief Conductor was about to embark on a three week tour of the Far East and the United States.
"How will you manage, darling?" Celia asked. "While you are away."
"Manage?"
"Robert, darling, don't be coy. How will you manage for sex?"
I knew perfectly well what she meant but I was unprepared for the question to be raised over breakfast. I stayed silent for a moment.
Celia went on, "I'm not naive, you know that. I know all about your appetite for sex, and I've had good reason to be grateful for it. But I guess you don't abstain when you are on tour. Am I right?"
"Well - "
"Of course you don't, and I can't say I blame you. But I thought this might be a good time to regularise the arrangement."
"Regularise?"
"If you like, put cards on the table. As long as you always come back to me, and as long as I am your number one, I want you to know that I've no objection to casual screwing to satisfy a need."
I leaned across and kissed her fingers. My conscience doesn't often trouble me, but I do have occasional pangs. It seemed that Celia was absolving me of any self-doubts.
"But," she said, "what about me?"
It took a moment for the implication so sink in. "Do you mean a reciprocal deal?"
"I do. Sauce for the gander, and all that. I don't enjoy being deprived, you know."
So a deal was struck. We were both free to go to bed with whomever we chose, provided we never lost sight of our basic relationship. We sealed it by agreeing that, if asked, we would each give the other details of our dalliances. Celia thought that might be not merely honest but positively stimulating. And in time she was proved correct. Now she said, "What time is your driver coming?"
"Just before ten."
"So we have time. Sit there." With that she cleared away the breakfast dishes and, when she returned from the kitchen, bent across the table and lifted her skirt round her waist. "If I'm going to be wicked," she said, "perhaps I should be dealt with in advance."
