Noretta - The Beginning

The Lady on the Lake

In the summer of 1960 Otto wished to call together the international committee he had formed and invited them to Alpbach. There was an immediate objection from the Italian member, Baron Cles, who during the summer moved from his job with OECD in Paris to his ancestral castle in the Trentino and invited the committee to foregather there. We found ourselves within cool metre-thick medieval walls, which led to useful discussions and long friendships. Outside, a helpful electricity undertaking had created a glorious artificial lake to feed the deepest dam in all Europe. Strolling along its banks was particularly restorative during breaks. On one of these, I found myself there deeply engrossed with Otto, when we saw a white rowing boat approaching the shore. In it were two young ladies who disembarked a little way ahead. When we reached them, Otto - a great Lothario, and a Viennese - at once engaged them in a lively conversation. They were clearly not from the Castle and then went their own way. Otto later gleefully reported the encounter to our host, who knew them and thought it would be a good idea to invite them to a Ball he intended to give in our honour.

In return, we were also invited to S. Vito, a floral paradise and an extensive country house with its own chapel half-way up a mountain, set in 7 ha of mainly apple trees. I had brought a bouquet of gladioli for our hostess - only to find her garden amply stocked with them. It was a charming encounter, and one which stayed deeply in my heart. We departed the next day, and I tried hard to find a way to discover more about the family. All I knew was that the father was a public notary whose permanent home was in Trento. But at least I had Noretta's address in Hartford Conn. where she was teaching piano at the Hartt College of Music. So at least I could send ardent Christmas cards, though there was never a reply. Then, at last, in May two years later, there came a letter saying that Noretta would be passing through London for her summer vacation, to visit friends of her parents who directed the Italian Cultural Institute.

Determined to suffer unrequited no longer, I replied asking leave to monopolise her, managed to find the flight she was on and went to the Airport to begin doing just that. On the first weekend, I invited her to dinner and took her to the romantic Swan at Pangbourne on the Thames. The roads were clear in those days and we drove through beautiful and mysterious countryside until first light. Then there was no longer a question of whether, only when.

When I returned to S.Vito in August 1962, it was to ask formally for Noretta's hand. I had made a full declaration to her on her visit through London in May of that year, and there was never any doubt in either of our minds. The process with her parents was more complicated, above all linguistically. I could reach an understanding with Noretta in English, with Silvia in French and with Antonio in German; but I lacked enough Italian to speak to all of them together, especially when under emotional stress. The interview with the Father would be the crucial point, not least because of my divorce. As the kindly Gods willed it, it took place in the swimming pool. In water up to my chest, I made my confession and petition. The big man Antonio standing before me seemed to reflect for a while, then tried to clear his major concern. 'And how would you see Noretta's career?' he asked, not unkindly. 'That is up to her. I would like her to continue to play, but it is her decision.' He seemed relieved. 'When I married Silvia, I said to her she was free to go on performing - but I would refuse to stand at the door with a hat to collect entrance fees.' We agreed among genuine chuckles of relief that that part was over. I later learned that he married Silvia when he was a young public notary in Levico, a fashionable spa not far from Trento where she often gave public performances, as in other parts of the Trentino. It was not hard to picture the scene.

Noretta had clearly played her part and had resolved the far greater problem of marrying outside the Church, having to bring the family to a simple wedding in London rather than a traditional one in her home town, and all that that implied amongst their more orthodox family members and friends. They were both genuinely happy for Noretta and determined not to let their feelings and attachments stand in her way. On 5th August I gave Noretta an antique amethyst ring with the Reitzenstein crest, and we were engaged. Only one other rite of passage had still to be crossed. In October that same year I needed to visit Munich and, seizing the opportunity to see Noretta again, I invited her to join me there. The umbilical cord of parental responsibility was still taut and Noretta experienced the sad moment when they had to yield to her independent future.

The wedding proved a joyous affair for everyone, with full respect and decorum, but conventions lightly borne. I even observed the decencies by spending the vigil night not at home but at the Travellers Club. Even though a civil ceremony, the City of London's ancient Guildhall lent it glitter and rank. In more modern but vaguely rococo style, so did the Normandie Hotel in Knightsbridge. There could be no doubt for anyone that we were well and truly married, and firmly believed it to be indissoluble. That did not absolve us from continuing to search for any possible crevasses in canon law that might enable us to marry in the Catholic Church. That, however, eventually took the form of having our marriage blessed at St Mary's Church, Cadogan Street in 1969. Blessed not only by the Clergy but also by the Veuve Cliquot, in the person of Noretta's friend Mme de Voguet of that family; having tried for many years to marry Noretta off to the eminent violinist Henryk Szeryng, she had the infinite grace to provide the champagne for the celebrations.

I was then inhabiting a bachelor flat in Cliffords Inn, in the midst of the legal profession and opposite the Temple and the Inns of Court. In fact, my local Registry Office proved to be in the Guildhall, the apex of institutions of the City of London. With us for the reception at the one-time Normandie Hotel in Knightsbridge were Mutti and our closest friends, Douglas Robinson, Hugh Beesley from the Council of Europe in Strasbourg and his wife Pat, as well as Richard and Diana Goold-Adams. Richard was a well-known economist and commentator who was aiming to translate into practice the continuing dire need for Britain to earn more foreign currency. He had set up a small company designed to lead British specialist firms to export to the EEC; he had offered me a job to facilitate contacts abroad so that I was then working for this enterprise, Joint Industrial Exports, as well as continuing my voluntary activities with the European bodies. This work tuned in well with my FIME obligations, both taking me across much of the heartlands of the Continent.

With my new Wife and a rented practice piano, we moved into a larger flat in Cliffords Inn, on the strict understanding that if anyone complained, the piano would disappear at once. Happily, there were none, only signs of furtive movement in the corridor as one disturbed the odd listener outside. However, my new responsibilities also argued for securing some more stable employment. As I joyfully said farewell to batchelordom, I was clearly in need of a more firmly based livelihood.

Maso San Vito, above Castel Cles