‘What are you rehearsing, Max?’ Andreya looked sharply at his tousled hair, and his white shirt open at the throat. ‘A little cradle-snatching?’
‘Not quite,’ he said, and for a heart-stopping moment Lauri thought he was going to say outright that he was teaching her the role of Giselle. She knew he was annoyed; she could feel it in the grip of his hands and in the tenseness of his body. ‘I am not the sort to feel amorous about infants, and Miss Garner will tell you herself, Lydia, that she finds me a taskmaster from whom she was hurrying away when you almost thrust the door in her face.’
‘Really?’ Andreya’s long fingers plucked at the ruby of her antique poison-ring. ‘You should be flattered, my girl, to receive personal instruction from Max. No doubt he thinks you a slow learner who might spoil the precision of the corps de ballet—not a thing, you know, is ever allowed to mar an evening of di Corte ballet.’
Colour stung Lauri’s cheeks, and she wished fiercely that she was brilliant and that Maxim would say so.
‘You are right, Lydia, I allow nothing to spoil a performance by the di Corte Company.’ He gave Lauri a lazy little push away from him, towards the door. ‘In ‘that I am more ruthless than in anything else.’
‘You are ruthless about love as well, Max. You will not give in to your feelings until you feel it is right to do so...’ Lauri caught this remark just before she closed the door and shut Andreya in with him. She hurried away, and was glad to enter the hall where coffee was being served to the dancers, along with cheese and ham rolls. Michael held up two mugs of coffee and indicated that he wished to share the break with her. She knew he was fond of cheese and took him over a couple of rolls. They sat side by side on the stairs, and he tossed his cardigan around her shoulders.
‘You look a trifle tortured, pet.’ He bit into a roll and eyed her with concern. ‘Maxim can be a demon in the practice room, so I gather he has been putting you through the mill and grinding you down into small pieces. Don’t let him grind too hard, Nijinka. I think you are a very good dancer, despite what Andreya says.’
‘What does Madame Andreya say?’ Lauri spoke tartly, and felt real dislike of another human being for the first time in her life.
‘She says that Maxim will dismiss you because you are too nervous to be a real professional. You are a nervous little thing, Lauri,’ he gave her a curious but affectionate glance. ‘You should be proud to have talent, and not act like a shy little mouse. A cat is always ready to pounce on a mouse.’
Lauri sipped at her coffee and supposed, wryly, that he was right. Andreya did pounce at every opportunity, and right in front of Maxim, as though she was so sure of him that she didn’t have to pretend to be nicer than she was. But then he was very worldly and adult, and had more or less said that love was too basic to be wrapped in the veils of illusion.
‘What have you been doing all the morning?’ she asked Michael.
‘Practising, practising!’ He gave a sigh followed by an exaggerated groan. ‘It feels good to be relaxing with you, pet.’
‘Pet mouse?’ She gave her throaty little laugh. ‘What have you been practising? I saw Madame Andreya a while ago dressed in street clothes, so I gather you have not been working with her.’
‘I have been working on my solo, the Dance of Devils-hoof.’ He winked at her. ‘You will love me as a gipsy bandit.’
‘The dance sounds exciting.’ Lauri eyed him with the old schoolgirlish admiration, and she was struck anew by the strangeness of events. One moment she had been a ballet pupil living peacefully with her aunt at Down-hollow ... and the next a tall, dark maître de ballet strode into her life and carried her off to his Venetian palace to be, quite literally, his bondmaid, his slave of the dance...
‘One moment your thoughts are all for me, then the next a shadow erases them.’ Michael followed the fragile line of her profile with his fingertip. ‘What troubles yon, little mouse? Surely by now we are friends enough for the sharing of a—secret?’
She gave a little shiver at the word and drew his cardigan closer about her. CI was just thinking what a complex person the Director is, the way he shields himself behind a mask, almost, the moment you stop dancing for him.’
‘If he makes an artist of you, what does all the rest matter?’
‘It matters, because I am pretty sure he wouldn’t waste a minute on me if I had no real dancing ability.’ She frowned at Michael, who was smiling as though at a little oddity. ‘Don’t you ever wonder if he has ever spared time’ to notice people as human beings rather than puppets, or artistic creations he has moulded?’
‘Pauvre enfant, you think too much,’ Michael was lazily amused, then all at once on the alert. Do you mean you want to be noticed by him—as a girl?’
‘Good heavens, no!’ She looked alarmed by the idea.
‘Women have been known to love him,’ Michael said wickedly. Tut he, of course, is a true falcon. All the Falcone di Cortes have been men who attached themselves to one person for life ... and we both know the name of the lady to whom Maxim appears to be attached.’
Lauri nodded and thought of Andreya in the street suit cut perfectly to the sleek lines of her figure. She thought of her on-stage, supreme in certain roles, beautiful in a terrifying, Ellida-like fashion.
A man would have to be stronger than the need for warmth and affection to love a woman like Andreya ... and such strength struck Lauri as inhuman.
‘There are deep-burning fires in him that melt the iron now and again.’ Michael’s breath brushed her ear. ‘What is Maxim teaching you? I have danced Lurline with you and I know you have gone beyond the pupil stage. I think you could dance a major role—’
‘No!’ Her face went white. ‘I am not ready for anything like that. It means nothing that Signor di Corte is teaching me the role of—’
There she broke off, aghast. Michael’s eyes glittered and he caught at her hand. ‘Which role?’ He was breathing with excitement. ‘You can tell me, Lauri. I don’t like Andreya well enough to give away a secret that could hurt you.’
‘Let go of my hand,’ she pleaded. ‘Bruno’s class is about to begin and I must go!’
‘I know which role Maxim is teaching you.’ Michael spoke in a low, exultant voice. ‘He wouldn’t be able to resist it when you look so much like—Lauri, we would be the sensation of the season in Giselle together. I know it, feel it! You are the right age for me, the right temperament—I am going to ask Maxim to let me have you as a partner.’
‘No, Michael.’ She caught at his shoulder with her free hand, and her face was only a few inches from his as she pleaded with him. ‘He would laugh at the idea, and be terribly angry at the same time.’
‘I have had confrontations with the grand signor before this.’ Michael was looking reckless, his hair in damp disorder from a morning of strenuous practice, his black sweater slashed open to the waist. ‘Lauri, little mouse with the big eyes, I must have you?
The words rang out in the silence that had followed the dispersal of the other dancers, but the hall wasn’t entirely empty. A tall figure was crossing towards the door that led to the palazzo tower. He paused and turned his gaze upon the couple on the stairs—his gaze was so direct that to evade it was impossible, and after he had gone on his way, Lauri still felt him looking right through her. She still saw his compressed lips, his haughty nose, and the chin like a piece of Italian marble that had got chipped in the centre.
‘Michael, do you think he heard us?’ she whispered. ‘What of it? He will now be forewarned about what I am going to ask him.’
‘You can’t.’ The whiteness of her face was very noticeable in contrast to her black leotard. ‘I—I shall run away if you do. I couldn’t bear to stay here with Signor di Corte thinking I am after a role that belongs to Andreya.’
‘I think it belongs to you,’ Michael said obstinately. ‘Why should you not be given a chance to dance it? Why is he teaching you the role if he does not intend you to dance it?’
‘He sa
ys that I need to gain confidence, and the diversity of the role is good practice for me.’
‘Why all the secrecy?’ Michael demanded.
‘You know Andreya.’ Lauri shrugged, and still felt as though a cold fist had taken hold of her heart. ‘Michael, promise not to say anything. He’ll think that I go running to you with—with tales.’
‘Every little mouse must have a bolt-hole.’ Michael studied her in some perplexity. ‘Would you squeak if I kissed you on the neck?’
At once she leapt to her feet, supple as a switch and as ready to strike. He laughed up at her, with a glinting male light in his eyes. ‘What is it to be?’ he mocked. ‘A kiss on the neck—but not right now—or a talk with Maxim?’
‘I won’t be blackmailed,’ she gasped.
‘All right,’ he rose to his feet with animal grace and took a couple of steps in the direction of Maxim’s private door. Lauri hesitated only long enough to visualize Maxim’s angry frown.
‘You win,’ she said, with a flash of temper. ‘And I hate you for it.’
He swung round to face her, a lean dark pagan with the silent tread of a puma. As he drew near, she backed against the baluster of the stairs. ‘You’re outrageous,’ she said.
‘But also a rather good dancer, and I know you like that about me.’ He grinned down at her. ‘Come, everyone has a redeeming quality and mine is honesty. You have a rare enchantment, if you did but know it.’
‘You have a lot of experience, Mr. Lonza, and I intrigue you for no other reason than that I am a new member of the di Corte Company, and I do not run after you.’
‘ “Do I not see a heart naturally furnished with wings?”.’ He quoted Keats, and his smile was curiously tender. ‘Someone once said of romance that it is bittersweet wine, a ravishing sadness, a dancing shape waiting to waylay a man. Methinks I am waylaid, little mouse who thinks too much.’
‘I think I should be on my way to class,’ she said firmly.
‘And when do I collect my forfeit?’ As he took his cardigan from around her shoulders, his fingertips brushed the nape of her neck. ‘Tomorrow, when I take you to see the House of Gold on the Grand Canal?’
‘Michael,’ she pressed a hand against her throat, ‘I—I can’t come with you tomorrow.’
‘Why not?’ There was a sudden menacing stillness about him.
‘Signor di Corte has made other arrangements for me. You know his high-handed way of doing things—I’m to hear the choir of San Marco, and afterwards he’s taking me to meet the Contessa Riffini. I suppose he feels I need educating in the arts.’
‘Is this educational outing to be a threesome?’ Michael spoke sarcastically. ‘It should be fun, with Maxim cramming you with culture, and Andreya hating you because you are sweet seventeen.’
‘Michael!’ She looked so cast down that in an instant he was laughing and pulling her hair.
‘I am keeping you from your class, you poor child. Have supper with me tonight to make up for tomorrow?’
She nodded, and then ran to her class as though pursued.
Sunday at the palazzo was always a lazy day. And the bronze music of the many church bells seemed to add to the air of peace and rest
Lauri stood listening to the bells over the water as Maxim di Corte paid the gondolier who had brought them to the steps of the San Marco Piazza. Then he joined her and they walked among the pigeons to the sculptured entrance of the great Byzantine church.
The clear spring air etched in classic outline the spires and domes, about which the pigeons fluttered like doves of peace. The Greek horses that decorated the facade were bronze-green in the sunlight.
There was a barbaric majesty about the great golden church, and Lauri’s heart seemed to open to the beauty, then to close and hold it within her.
‘All the romantic mythology of Venice is blended in that one building,’ Maxim said to her, and when she glanced at him-the sun on his hair made it gleam like a falcon’s wing...
She smiled, slim and barely reaching to the shoulder of his pin-check suit in her own Sunday suit the colour of wood violets. What a relief that Andreya was not with them; her hostile presence would have spoiled Lauri’s pleasure in the bronze pealing of bells, the spring sunshine, and the bustling by of nuns in immense coifs, shepherding a brood of convent pupils.
As they entered San Marco, a golden twilight seemed to enclose them, and through it the mosaic-lined cupolas glowed with colour and flashes of gold. Each told a Bible story. Adam and Eve, and their Paradise Lost. Noah and the animals of the Ark. Moses performing one of his God-given miracles.
The floors were also mosaic-tiled. There were marble columns, cloisters and Gothic arches. More cupolas, and galleries; stone angels and prophets outlined by the colours of the great rose windows.
The atmosphere was dusky, oriental, mystical.
Lauri knew that she would never forget that service at San Marco, the flicker of candle flames, and the glorious echo made by the choir music. It moved her unbearably, and when at last she followed Maxim out into the bright sunlight of the Piazza, she felt a dampness on her lashes and glanced away quickly when he looked at her.
‘Have you seen the campanile from the balcony of the lantern tower?’ he asked.
She shook her head, and they went up in a lift with other visitors to San Marco, and Maxim took her to a gallery just behind the big bronze horses and they gazed down upon the gold-washed domes, the statues of the winged lion of St. Mark, and St. Theodore with his crocodile, mounted on gigantic columns, the people and pigeons mingling below in the immense square, and the vista of sea-green beyond the campanile.
Casanova might have stood here with his lady of the moment, admiring this very view,’ Maxim smiled. ‘Venice, the most unchanging city in the world, a dream and yet a reality.’
Lauri watched him touch with a lean hand the~~ haunch of one of the bronze horses, fashioned long ago in Athens, and once a part of the Triumphal Arch of Nero.
And then from a nearby clock tower, two metal Moorish figures struck the hour. As the strokes echoed, pigeons fluttered. Maxim’s lean hand found Lauri’s elbow and he said they must be on their way to the Villa Nora, which was situated on one of the Laguna islands.
The Contessa’s privately owned gondola awaited them at the steps leading down from the Piazza, a big peaked vessel with a pair of rowers dressed in smart dark livery. Lauri sank back against the fringed black cushions of her seat, and for a moment Maxim loomed dark above her and she was reminded vividly of her evening alone with him in his tower, when he had made her confess to having been serenaded in a gondola with Michael.
He sat down facing her, and she thought how strange it was to be sharing a gondola with him. As the graceful black boat slid away into the green water of the lagoon, an awareness of him as a man rather than a master came to her. He could be very kind in his aloof fashion, and she had glimpsed how vulnerable he was in his love of beauty. His gaze was on the medieval facade of the Basilica as they drew away from it, and she had never seen him look so gentle.
‘Did I react to the choir as you hoped, signor?’ she asked with a smile.
‘Your reaction was very agreeable.’ He returned her smile. ‘Young people are not easy to please, and the things that delight an older palate are sometimes dull to a younger one.’
‘You are not dull,’ she said, and then glanced away from him in some confusion and took in the Venetian boats that sailed on the lagoon, their bows painted with strange magical designs, their sails rust-brown against the blue-green of sky and water.
‘Oh, look! She pointed to a small flotilla of gondolas that went by, bright with flowers and merrymakers. Music came across the water, and laughter.
‘A Venetian wedding party,’ Maxim told her.
‘How lovely’, she murmured, ‘to go to your wedding in a gondola. It’s so picturesque and gay.’
‘You child,’ he said, and shielded the flame of his lighter from the lagoon breeze as he lit a cigarette. ‘You sh
ould get on well with the Contessa, who remains as young at heart as a girl. Her villa is like something wafted on a magic carpet from the orient; it stands exotic as Scheherezade’s pavilion on the shores of the island. Her indulgent husband had it built for her many years ago as a summer residence, and at present she has her goddaughter staying with her. Venetia is a widow. Her story is a sad one, and the Contessa fears that she will never recover from the double loss of her husband and her small son of three.’
His glance probed Lauri’s sensitive face. ‘Venetia adored her husband,’ he said quietly, ‘and their son was the crown on that happiness. Their home was on the outskirts of Florence, in the direct path of those terrible floods of last year. Venetia is a sculptress of small child-figures and animals, and she had gone to Rome where an exhibition of her work was being arranged. She was away from home the night the flood waters broke through their barrier and destroyed half the city ... and swept her husband and child out of her life for ever.’
‘How awful!’ Lauri whispered.
Even more so because Venetia is a fine and lovely girl.’ He drew hard on his cigarette, and his eyes were shadowed by his dark brows. ‘Her life has been cruelly shattered, and she shows little interest in continuing with her work. She spends hours by herself, just looking at the river—the river that took her husband and the little one.’
‘Would it not be best for the Contessa to take her into the country?’ Lauri asked, ‘You say the villa is on the shores of the island—’
‘Devils pursue, Miss Garner. They are not driven away if we run from them ... you realize now why I wished you to meet my friends, Venetia in particular?’
‘Yes. because of my parents,’ she said quietly. ‘I learned to live without them, signor, but those you love are special people and it never really stops hurting that something should hurt them. What happens is that a skin grows over your grief, shielding it from other people’s impatience.’
Maxim’s eyes seemed to harden when she said that. ‘You think I am impatient with you?’ he demanded.
She nodded and looked away from his unnerving frown. ‘Sometimes you—you seem to be.’
Tender Is The Tyrant Page 11