Detective Markham Mysteries Box Set

by Catherine Moloney

  It was an arresting cameo.

  The ballet mistress reached into a fold of her gauzy dress and withdrew a photograph carefully preserved in its leather holder.

  ‘Look at that face,’ she said dramatically. ‘Does he look like Mr Suburbia to you?’

  Respectfully, the DS scrutinized the picture. The high forehead, from which the dark brown hair was brushed back. The Roman nose and razor-sharp cheekbones. The expression of ironic amusement in the dark eyes… A pale Russian face, almost Mongolian, with the hint of a great deal withheld…

  ‘No,’ she agreed quietly, thinking that Marguerite Aroldingen must be somehow in thrall to the dead choreographer to keep his image in her pocket.

  Could obsession be the key to this case?

  At that moment, the door banged and a tall figure in scarf and overcoat burst into the classroom. Alexandra Fairlie stopped mid-pirouette and went over to embrace him.

  ‘Paul Gayle,’ the ballet mistress said quietly.

  ‘Alex Fairlie’s husband?’

  ‘The very same.’

  Excellent. Burton swiftly revised her running order.

  ‘I’d like to speak to Mr Gayle before the rest, Ms Aroldingen. Could you bring him up here please? I’ll try not to take too long about it… Perhaps you and Mr Shaw can keep the other dancers occupied in that time.’

  The ballet mistress uncoiled herself gracefully.

  ‘Certainly, Sergeant.’

  The DS retrieved her notebook and waited with some anticipation to see the man whose marriage to Alexandra Fairlie had caused such ructions in the ballet world, leading George Baranov to turn them both out of the English National Ballet. While Baranov had eventually allowed Fairlie to return to the fold, she knew he had remained implacably opposed to any rapprochement with Gayle.

  The man had to have hated the choreographer.

  Paul Gayle had a gentle sensitive face, expressive black eyes and handsome features only slightly marred by a prominent nose. Burton knew that he was half-Peruvian on his mother’s side, which no doubt accounted for his strikingly exotic looks.

  After taking contact details for the organizers of the choreography workshop Gayle had attended on Saturday evening, and ascertaining that he had spent the rest of the evening alone – ‘I was absolutely wiped out, went straight home to bed’ – the DS moved on to the question of his relationship with Baranov.

  The young soloist was disarmingly enthusiastic about the dead man.

  ‘Oh, he was a genius, Sergeant. You would see him stand there and stand there, and seem to be thinking, listening to his inner music, anxious to move but unable to take a step that didn’t flow out of the step before. He’d have his arm around someone as a partner, his fingers moving, almost as if he were giving himself over to some kind of inner prompt… He wasn’t eliminating a dozen ideas, he wanted to know what felt right to do. It was incredible to watch. It was heady stuff… You were on top of your capacities and he had taken you there… You were going into an unknown future.’

  ‘But he didn’t take you all the way with him, did he, Mr Gayle?’ Burton decided there was no point pussyfooting around the issue. ‘He didn’t let you develop your capacities in the way you wanted … booted you out.’

  ‘Well, Alex and I worked with smaller outfits after we left ENB.’ Gayle seemed unperturbed. ‘It’s understandable that the major companies didn’t want to risk hiring us and alienating Mr B.’ He met Burton’s gaze frankly. ‘When she rejoined him, I managed to get work with a new innovative company that was just starting up. Ballet For All.’ Almost defiantly, he added, ‘It’s a satellite touring company which introduces ballet to kids in schools and colleges… I’m their choreographer as well as a soloist.’

  Schools and colleges. A far cry from partnering Alexandra Fairlie under the glamorous auspices of the ballet establishment.

  ‘If it wasn’t for Mr B, I probably wouldn’t have thought of choreography. He gave me quite a lot of encouragement in the early days.’

  Before you made the moves on his muse.

  ‘Look, Sergeant.’ Gayle’s voice was sad. ‘I loved him too, believe it or not.’ His eyes were suddenly misty, as though he was looking nostalgically back down the years. ‘I always struggled with tours en l’air… There was one performance when I just couldn’t finish a sequence and went on one knee and waited for the conductor to finish the music. It was so embarrassing, an awful moment to live through, one of those things you would rather never remember, but which, of course, you remember burningly well. The next day Mr B said, “Oh, this isn’t right for you.” Very kind. “Let’s do a little something nice.” He then gave me a wonderful step which I was able to execute perfectly well… Yes, he could be really kind when he chose.’ In the same dreamy manner, as if conjuring the choreographer’s presence, he continued, ‘I was terribly quick to pick up any sort of mannerism and there he was one day, sniffing away. “Look, dear, you must go up. And you go tremendously up. But then you must be sure to get out of ballerina’s way.” Watching his nose, I began imitating him unconsciously. He said, “You don’t do this nose, I do this nose. You dance.”’

  Burton was charmed listening to these anecdotes. So much so, that she had to remind herself to stay objective and stick to her brief.

  ‘But he wasn’t always kind, was he?’

  ‘God no. He could be really brutal. He said to one poor little girl, “You know, dear, I know you someday might want to dance Swan Lake, but you know if you ever do Swan Lake I will never come to see you, because you will be terrible.” When you’re that vulnerable and your ego’s out there, you would feel he was being cruel. But looking back, you realize he just couldn’t compromise his creativity. If a dancer was not what he felt he needed for his creative juices, then he would just eliminate the dancer. As soon as that dancer was no longer what he felt he could use, that dancer had to be eliminated. From the creative point of view, you can’t be human.’

  Gayle’s empathy was impressive. But was it the genuine article?

  ‘What Mr Baranov did to you didn’t have anything to do with his creativity, though, Mr Gayle. It was jealousy, pure and simple.’

  ‘Not in the ordinary sense of the word, Sergeant. The real meaning of the relationship between Mr B and Alex wasn’t about whatever ties they formed or didn’t form as human beings … it was all about the release of art and imagination they gave to each other.’ A wry smile. ‘He was Pygmalion with his hammer and chisel and she was his masterpiece… Of course he was bound to react in the way that he did.’

  ‘So, you’re saying there was nothing sexual about it?’

  ‘Oh, there’s something very erotic – almost sadomasochistic – about the teacher-student relationship in the closed world of a ballet company, Sergeant … it’s all about threat and surrender.’

  Burton’s discomfiture must have shown in her face because he added, ‘There’s a culture of physical correction in the Russian tradition. If a teacher hits you, it means they’re paying attention to you … that you’ve got promise.’

  ‘Unhealthy, surely.’

  ‘To the outsider, yes. Like one of those child sex-rings we’re all so appalled to discover existing under our very noses … with that talented scout-master, that grandfather so devoted to young children, that priest, that charismatic director of a children’s theatre group … that ballet master.’

  After the stream of affectionate reminiscence, this unexpectedly brutal observation had the effect of a slap in the face.

  The policewoman and dancer regarded each other in silence.

  At that moment, there came the sound of raised voices below.

  Looking down curiously over the balcony, Burton saw Brian Shaw furiously berating Ivan Plucis in a fierce undertone while the Romanian dancer stood regarding him haughtily, a contemptuous smile hovering about his lips. The other dancers stood round them in a circle. In that instant, these waif-like creatures appeared to the DS as almost wolfish, waiting to see which man would stri
ke first.

  Then the moment was over, Plucis stalking across to the barre, his back to the rest.

  Burton wondered what he had said to get under the ballet master’s skin…

  ‘Shall I send him up to you, Sergeant?’ Paul Gayle interrupted her speculations.

  ‘I’m not quite with you…’

  ‘Brian. Shall I fetch him up here … get him away from Ivan before there’s blood on the floor.’ The young man flushed. ‘I’m sorry, that’s tasteless after what happened with poor Sheila.’

  It was just what she herself had been thinking.

  ‘No matter, Mr Gayle. I think everyone’s a little off kilter right now.’

  He smiled gratefully at her.

  ‘Did you know Sheila Bloom?’

  ‘Not as well as Alex. They were great buddies. But I liked her… She was absolutely devoted to Mr B… I remember the two of them nattering away together in St Cyril’s – that’s the church he went to. “Look,” he kept telling her, “I want to show you the difference between Russian angels and Roman angels. The wings on the Roman angels go out and down, and the Russian angels go straight up and down.” Typical Mr B. Always had to have the last word.’

  And with that he was gone, disappearing down the staircase with loose-limbed grace.

  Burton just had time to scribble a few notes in her pocketbook before Brian Shaw appeared, his face still flushed from the encounter with Plucis.

  The DS smiled cordially and motioned to him to sit down. After introducing herself, she said, ‘I believe my boss DI Markham has already spoken to you, Mr Shaw, so I won’t keep you long.’ Her voice was sympathetic. ‘This has to have been the most awful time for you.’ She paused, before adding carefully, ‘I imagine emotions are running high in the company.’

  ‘You’re very tactful, Sergeant.’

  The bald stocky ballet master didn’t look like a former dancer, Burton reflected, with his white shirt and tie, dark trousers and soft-spoken manner. More like a bank clerk, in fact, though she knew from her research that he had been a notable danseur noble in his day.

  The DS decided not to ask straight out what had happened with Plucis. She would come round to it by degrees.

  ‘Tell me how it was between Mr Baranov and Paul Gayle. Mr Gayle seems remarkably well-adjusted, but the personal dynamic sounds, well, complicated.’

  Shaw looked relieved.

  ‘There was a great liking between them at one time. Paul was his favourite among the boys for a while.’

  ‘But it didn’t last.’ Burton glanced down at her notebook. ‘He got in the way of Mr Baranov’s Pygmalion complex.’

  The ballet master laughed.

  ‘Is that how Paul described it? Yes, it’s quite true. George was a great romantic. He would get these crushes on girls who were very unlike what one would think he would like… But I wonder if he didn’t just use all the women as a means of further building his fantasy ideal of what womanhood was about.’

  The DS struggled to keep her expression neutral, but Shaw intuited her disapproval.

  ‘It was healthy enough because, when the girls became mature and developed their own personas, that released him to find another young one who was developing. And every time he found a young one, it released a new spurt of creativity on his part. It was as if he were building these perfect female creatures, and the minute they were done, he would find another one. It sounds cruel, but in a way don’t all artists do that? At the time, I felt George was in love with each woman. But there was always a reserve there that indicated he knew he was going to be on to the next…’

  Ballet’s answer to Bluebeard. Burton decided she didn’t like the sound of it at all.

  ‘Mr Gayle put it in similar terms,’ she said levelly. ‘To be honest, I was surprised he was able to speak about Mr Baranov so objectively… Wasn’t there some story about the two of them walking into an ENB fundraiser when Mr Baranov suddenly turned around and slapped his face? Neither of them said a word, apparently.’

  ‘Oh, the press made all sorts of mischief.’ Shaw looked as though there was a bad smell under his nose. ‘It took a few years but I think they each understood where the other was coming from.’ The ballet master’s lips quirked. ‘When Paul was a student, one of the male principals found him very attractive. George noticed this and was worried he’d be steered into a homosexual groove before he knew where his inclinations lay. So he told Sheila to have a quiet word with the principal in question and warn him off. After that, the man left Paul alone. Whenever he remembered this, George used to say, “No good deed goes unpunished.”’

  The homosexual groove.

  ‘There were rumours about Mr Baranov’s own orientation, I believe.’ Burton looked keenly at the serene, almost hieratic, man. ‘Did he move in homosexual circles?’

  ‘He wasn’t bisexual if that’s what you mean, Sergeant.’ Shaw’s expression was wistful. ‘No, George was incorrigibly heterosexual.’

  ‘You had feelings for him?’ The DS was very gentle, strangely reluctant to probe the wound.

  ‘Yes.’ A long silence. ‘But George was only interested in women. He wanted a sort of Svengali relationship with them, so that he could run their lives and there would be no distractions. “Being a dancer is like a nun,” he used to say.’

  This sounded distinctly at odds with the press reports that Baranov had given young ballerinas amphetamines and was always snapping at them for sex. But perhaps the truth was too painful for Shaw to handle.

  ‘The argument downstairs?’ she ventured.

  ‘Ivan Plucis… That’s one of our male principals… Never liked George… Was making snide digs. Even suggested George and Sheila were fighting over Alex.’

  The eternal triangle.

  A flush slowly mounted up the ballet master’s neck. ‘I was having none of it, Sergeant. Told him to stop dragging everyone down to his own disgusting level.’ His passion subsiding, Shaw rose to his feet. ‘I’d better get down there and help Marguerite organize things,’ he said. He walked to the top of the staircase then stopped.

  ‘What is it, Mr Shaw?’

  ‘A strange thing happened to me this morning, around the time George used to come and check in with me. The little elevator to the men’s dressing rooms upstairs came up and the door opened, but there was no-one there.’

  An hour and a half later, Burton was back in the theatre auditorium, desultorily flicking through her notes.

  What to make of what she had heard? The whole set-up was beyond complicated.

  The DS didn’t feel she had learned much from Alex Fairlie, who just rattled on in an irritatingly fey manner about how Baranov had given her ‘strength, technique, line and musicality’. The DS had felt somewhat nauseous when the young ballerina, eyes downcast, declared, ‘My last curtsey will always be to Mr B.’ No, she hadn’t much taken to the coltish star. But perhaps, she told herself ruefully, that had something to do with the contrast between their respective physiognomies. I’m a right Plain Jane next to that one, she thought.

  Still, there had been some interesting nuggets. Some of the syrup dissipated when Burton pressed her on the rupture with Baranov.

  ‘I told him one day that I loved him as a master rather than as a man. That was a huge mistake.’ And it was clear there had been tension with Sheila Bloom. ‘Sheebie,’ Sheebie? ‘didn’t get it,’ Fairlie said testily. ‘Even when things were tense with Mr B, the emotional friction disappeared beside what was really important to both of us, and that never changed… Even if we’d rowed, there would be a knock on my dressing room door after the performance and Mr B standing there, saying how well it had all gone, or how he liked the way I had done a certain step that night … and I’d tell him what a wonderful ballet it was, and what a wonderful step he’d devised, and we’d be just as close as ever.’ No, with an emphatic shake of the head. ‘Sheebie didn’t get all that.’

  One of the older women eschewed the moonshine.

  ‘Mr B loved his female danc
ers, so you’d have to decide whether you could trust him in a relationship. Personally, I always questioned his intentions. I suppose I was suspicious because I had seen the ploys and games… I had quite a thick skin about that. It was just water off my back when all the new young girls came in and became the apples of his eye, or when there would be only one apple that he could look at and other people left – sometimes very talented people… In rehearsals for Swan Lake last year, he couldn’t take his hands off me. When a group of us were dancing together in the finale, he’d be caressing my neck, and I would look at him and think, what’s he going to do now? Everybody else is watching. Oh, he was just irrepressible. I loved it, even though he was making me nervous. I didn’t want that kind of liaison with him.’

  Perhaps this was what Sheila Bloom ‘didn’t get’. Was it enough for her to flip and confront Baranov? Enough for someone else to lose patience with the choreographer? Paul Gayle perhaps, or Brian Shaw?

  But why did the wardrobe mistress have to die?

  Burton rubbed her temples wearily.

  She wanted to show Markham she was on top of this case, but the ballet world was unlike anything she had ever encountered – a world where normal values seemed to be reversed, where brutality was seen as a gift, fear as devotion, sadism as love…

  Suddenly, she had a vision of herself as a child. Chunky and awkward, pointing her toes and flapping her arms in those after-school dance classes her mum had insisted she take. There had been nothing even vaguely sexual about that … not even when they danced with the lads from the boys’ school.

  But in Baranov’s ballet universe, touching was full of signs … meanings understood by dancers, each in its own context. The ballet master could touch you, anywhere. The way you were touched, and when, and by whom, was a code. Every dancer knew it and was alert to it.

  ‘He was a letch and vain too,’ Ivan Plucis told her flatly in his heavily accented English. ‘The fact that he was quite a mediocre dancer is what made him such a brilliant choreographer. The premier danseur is always in the wings watching to see which rival may take his place. As a choreographer, Baranov was more in control, more the centre of attention than he would have been as a dancer. Ballet for him was a question of ego.’ Insinuatingly, he added, ‘And a chance to grope young girls.’