"Don't you go with them?" Laura asked.
"No."
"Why not?"
"If I tell you, you'll laugh at me."
"No, I won't."
"Promise?"
"Yes."
"I get seasick."
"You do?"
"Yup." She shook her head. "Remember when we had to take the boat out to the lighthouse for Nick and India's wedding? I thought I'd die. Literally. It was all I could do to keep from getting sick over the side of the boat."
"I remember. If I'd known ahead of time. I'd have gotten you some medication to keep you from getting sick." Laura pulled her hand out from the down wrapping and patted Georgia on her shrouded knee. "Remind me, next time."
"Next time?" Georgia raised an eyebrow.
"Sure. If you think watching the sun come up over the ocean is a thrill from the beach, wait till you've watched from the prow of a boat afloat in a dark sea."
Georgia blanched at the thought. "I think this is as much early-morning drama as I can handle."
"When we were little, our dad used to take Matt and me out on this old Boston Whaler he had. We would sit right up front on the prow and watch the little shards of light come alive on the water." Laura smiled at the memory. "It's like nothing else you'll ever see. It's always surprised me that Matt didn't go into a field that would have kept him near the water; he's always loved it so much."
"What does he do?" Georgia asked, curious about the boy who had been adopted by Laura's adoptive parents.
"Matt finished veterinary school last year and is doing a sort of extended internship at a vet hospital up toward Cambridge. Eventually he'll be opening his own clinic."
Georgia was about to ask where Matt wanted to go into practice when Laura shrugged out of her wrappings and stood up.
"I really should get back to the inn and help Jody with breakfast. We were shorthanded yesterday— flu season, you know—and I don't know who will be showing up to work this morning." She leaned down and stuck the thermos bottle in the sand next to Georgia's foot. "You might want a little more of this."
"Wait. I'll come with you and give you a hand."
"No." Laura said firmly. "You are on a well-earned vacation and you are going to relax. You just sit and watch the ocean; it's beautiful this time of the day."
"But I could wait on a few tables…"
Laura had already turned toward the dunes. "No, you can't," she called over her shoulder.
Georgia peered out from the dark-blue hood of the sleeping bag that was draped over her head. The beach was deserted for as far as she could see. She wondered what time it was, but there was no way to tell. Sliding her hands out of her gloves, she poured a half cup of coffee and watched the steam rise from it before taking a tentative sip.
If I were back in Baltimore, I'd probably just be getting up now. Maybe go for a run. Back to the apartment for a shower and a light breakfast. Probably wouldn't have seen a soul I knew or spoken a word aloud until I got to the studio.
She contemplated the difference between waking in Baltimore and following her usual routine, and waking in Bishop's Cove to watch the sun rise over the ocean with Laura. There was, she concluded, no real comparison to be made. Nothing—but nothing—could have been more wonderful than sharing this cold, early morning with her older sister. It had filled her somehow in a spiritual way, and she felt better for it.
Of course, she reminded herself, now that the sun had risen and the day had begun, there were hours to fill with… what? Back in Baltimore, a typical morning would find her at the studio no later than nine-thirty. By ten she would be at the barre for an hour or so, practicing endless plies in all five of the classic ballet positions before moving to the center of the room, where another hour would be spent working on jumps and pirouettes. Then, if there was a performance to prepare for, rehearsal would begin immediately after the exercise session had concluded. If Ivan was feeling generous that day, they might have a lunch break that lasted more than thirty minutes. However, because the breaks were generally so brief, allowing for little time for their food to digest, few of the dancers ate more than yogurt or fruit.
A tide of panic began to rise inside Georgia. She should be there, at the studio, changing into well-worn pointe shoes and pinning up her hair; not here, on a quiet stretch of beach, fighting back the feeling of playing hooky. But of course, she sighed, she had pretty much burned that bridge when she told Ivan that she would like to take a leave of absence.
She had tried to make a private appointment with Ivan to discuss her wish to take some time off. She began the conversation in the doorway to his office, fully intending to close the door behind her to ensure that whatever transpired would be kept private. But Ivan had walked past her, forcing her to follow him into the studio as he walked away and gestured for her to follow behind and continue talking, as Georgia had feared he might do.
Ivan's eyes had smoldered as the full meaning of her words sank in.
"A leave, Miss Enright?" he had crowed archly. "A leave?"
He stood in the middle of the studio floor, hands on his hips, his head tilted to one side with a slight exaggeration of motion.
''Quiet, ladies," he waved at the chattering dancers, a breezy command made with one hand. "Miss Enright, I don't recall that anyone has ever taken a leave from this dance troupe."
He had glared at her, his eyes narrowed, his mouth a tiny pucker. Whatever she said from this point on would be met with scorn. Georgia had seen him punish so many others for any number of sins or omissions over the years. Today would be her turn, and she braced for it.
"It's out of the question," he told her before she could respond. "Simply impossible. This is a dance company, Miss Enright, not a social club." He half turned toward her, his brows arched.
"Ivan, I had every intention of discussing this with you in private—" Georgia began in a low voice, exuding a carefully rehearsed calm she most certainly did not feel.
He waved away her response as insignificant. "I demand an explanation. What could possibly be so enormously important that you would even consider disrupting not only my schedule but that of your fellow dancers, as well?"
"I want to take some personal time off."
"Personal time?" He thundered. "There is no personal time in a dance troupe, Miss Enright. And why now, Miss Enright? Did I not make myself clear enough when I offered you the opportunity to dance a principal role…?"
A sly, malicious smile spread slowly across his narrow face. "Ahhhh, but perhaps Miss Enright is afraid to take such a giant step away from the security of the corps. Perhaps she fears that she will discover that she was meant always to be a sparrow, but never a swan?"
"Ivan, I would be more than happy to discuss this with you in your office, but I really don't think that this is the—"
"Well, that's it, of course," he interrupted caustically. "You know that you are not now, and never will be, the stuff prima ballerinas are made of, don't you? That you are good, but not good enough? That this chance that I offered you will be as close as you will ever get to dancing so much as a solo?" His voice became harsher with every word, his eyes widening and taking on a barbarous glow. Georgia knew the signs all too well. And Ivan was just warming up.
"'This is ridiculous." Recognizing the futility of attempting a serious discussion with such an individual, Georgia shrugged her shoulders and turned toward the dressing room, wondering if she would be able to escape with a scrap of dignity intact.
"What?" He bellowed at her back, grabbing a white towel from the barre and throwing it at her head. He missed, but didn't seem to notice.
"There is no point in continuing this discussion." She spun around, willing her back to stay straight and her voice to remain strong.
"So you are simply going to go into the dressing room, prepare for your exercises, and take your place at the barre calmly, as if you had not disrupted my morning?" His back arched at the very thought of something so incredible.
&nbs
p; "No," she replied. "I am going to empty out my locker, pack my bags, and leave."
It took a long moment for her intent to sink in, but when it did, his demeanor turned murderous.
"No one has ever walked out on my troupe, Miss Enright, and I can guarantee that if you do so, you will never dance with a reputable troupe again. Never!" His voice rose another few octaves.
The other dancers stared in disbelief. Had Georgia Enright just quit?
Forcing herself to look him squarely in the eyes and refusing to blink, she said in a level voice, "I'm sorry we were not able to resolve this in—"
"Oh, we have resolved this, Miss Enright!" He moved toward her stealthily, the other dancers taking furtive steps back as he advanced. "You may consider yourself dismissed. Dismissed! Whatever made me think that I could make anything of you but what you are? Why, if not for the fact that your mother is so generous with her endowments, I would never have even taken you on… ooh, it appears we may have struck a nerve, doesn't it?"
She had turned back slowly to face him, his words ringing in her ears.
"Surely you know that your mother heavily supports the arts?" Ivan sneered, leaving no doubt in Georgia's mind—nor in the minds of her fellow dancers—of his implication. "Why, what better way to attract some of that lovely money than to invite Delia Enright's daughter to join your troupe?"
Georgia's face flushed scarlet and her eyes widened. She blinked back tears she refused to let him see and slipped into the dressing room, where she grabbed the backpack she had not even opened that morning. With Ivan's insinuations ringing in her ears, she fled down the steps without another backward glance, leaving Ivan to fume and fuss. As she closed the door behind her, she silently begged forgiveness from the other dancers for having unleashed the beast that was Ivan, and leaving them to deal with his wicked wrath.
Fleeing to her apartment, she sat in quiet rooms with shades closed against the sun, where she could contemplate the enormity of what she had just done. Fear filled her and she began to cry, wondering what had ever possessed her to even consider such a thing.
Maybe Lee was wrong and Ivan was right. Maybe he could keep other directors from hiring her. He was certainly not above telling terrible stories, the truth of which might or might not be questioned. Maybe she should have thought this through a little more thoroughly.
Fear gave way to panic, and she began to pace the length of her living room. What would she do if she could never dance again?
And had her mother, as Ivan implied, paid for her position with the Inner Harbor?
Georgia's hands began to shake as she contemplated this last insult of his. Ivan was not above lying, but the troupe had gone through a period when money had been terribly tight. And then there had been talk of an anonymous benefactor who had gifted the company with money for the costumes, the travel expenses, the new stage equipment…
Had that anonymous person been Delia Enright? There was only one way to find out. Georgia reached for the phone and dialed her mother's number.
"Sweetie, you've done what?" Delia had asked with no small amount of disbelief when Georgia called to relate what she had done just an hour earlier.
"I quit the dance troupe," Georgia repeated in a whisper.
"I'm sure you had a very good reason," Delia said levelly. "And I feel certain that any moment now you're going to tell me what that reason is."
"Oh, Mom—" Georgia sighed—"It all seemed to make sense at the time."
"And I'm sure it still does." Delia bit her bottom lip. It had been clear to her that her youngest child had been less than happy for the past several months. Though Georgia had never complained about anything in particular, her mother had not failed to notice that her eyes now lacked some of their usual sparkle and, too often, her smiles had appeared somewhat forced. "Why don't you start from the beginning and tell me what exactly brought you to this point."
Georgia tried to explain the growing malaise, the feeling that she had gone as far as she could go. The feeling that there might perhaps be something more to life than blistered, bleeding feet and ceaseless hours of practicing the same steps and the same exercises to the same music. The feeling that she could do more, be more…
"Oh, Mom, are you terribly disappointed in me?" Georgia lamented when she had finished.
"Darling girl, why ever would you think that?"
"Well, I always thought that you liked the idea of having a ballerina for a daughter."
"I always liked having you for a daughter. Yes, of course I was proud of you; what mother would not be proud to call so wonderful a girl—so beautiful and graceful and talented a girl—her own? But whether you chose to continue with dance or pursue another path, why, Georgia, that's entirely up to you. It's your life, sweetie. It's your heart that you have to answer to, and all I've ever asked of any of my children is that they follow their own hearts." Delia tried to speak evenly, tried not to let concern creep into her voice. "Now, do you have any thoughts on where you might like to go from here?"
"Actually, I thought I would take some time off to think about it. I thought maybe I'd see if I could visit Laura for a few days."
"A wonderful idea," Delia enthused. "I'm sure that Laura will be delighted to have your company. I doubt the inn sees quite as much business this time of year as it does in the warmer months. And besides, some time away from Baltimore will do you a world of good. Broaden your horizons, sweetie."
"That's sort of what I was thinking." Georgia paused and bit her lip in the same manner in which her mother, on the other end of the telephone line, had done. There was something she had to know.
"Did you… I mean, have you…" Georgia hated to ask, but needed to know the truth. "Did you give money to the troupe to hire me?"
"What?" Delia exploded. "What?"
"Did you give money to the troupe—"
"What a preposterous suggestion," Delia exclaimed. "What on earth would make you ask such a ridiculous question? As if I had to—" She cursed under her breath and asked, "Where would you get such a thought?"
"When I tried to tell Ivan that I wanted to take a leave—and that's all I really wanted, Mom, just some time off to think things over—he went totally off the wall. Not unexpectedly—and I was pretty much prepared for his reaction—but then he…" Georgia paused. The entire idea was odious, and suddenly she wished she hadn't bothered to bring it up at all.
"He suggested that I had perhaps purchased a place for you?"
"Well, he intimated that you had made large contributions."
"I made the same contributions that other parents made during your pledge season, those fundraisers he was always having." Delia's jaw tightened. "I always thought Ivan was a little twit. What a perfectly nasty little man he is. And I suppose that he told you he'd have you blackballed or some such nonsense if you left?"
"How did you know?" Georgia fought back hot tears.
"Because bullies always say things like that. I wouldn't give Ivan Markovich a second thought, darling. You're good enough to dance in any troupe you set your sights on—"
"In the corps," Georgia said pointedly.
"What's that, sweetie?"
"I said I'm good enough to dance in just about anyone's corps. But I'll never go beyond that."
"Oh, sweetheart, I remember a time when that was all you dreamed of." Delia sighed. "When the dance itself was enough to feed your soul. Is it no longer enough, Georgia?"
"I don't know, Mom. That's one of the things I was hoping to learn."
"Well, then, I say to hell with Ivan the Terrible. You cannot live your life hoping to please the likes of him. Casting pearls before swine, as my father, the very Right Reverend William Hanesford Hampton used to say. You're far better off without having to deal with such negative influences in your life."
"That's what Lee said."
"Ahhh, and Lee would know." Delia smiled. She had liked Lee Banyon from the very first time she had met him, and it had been obvious that he had taken Georgia
under his wing. He had been a steady factor in her daughter's life; and had become a dear and trusted friend. "Lee truly cares about you, Georgia; he would give you only his very best advice. And I would imagine he is not without influence in the world of dance…"
"He said he'd help me to find another company when I'm ready to go back."
"There you are, then," Delia said. "Have your cake, sweetie, and take all the time in the world to eat it."
"Mom, you always know just what to say."
"That's because I'm the mom. Actually, I had been hesitant to pry, but I had thought there was something not quite right for some time now. I was hoping it wasn't anything serious. I hadn't expected it to be anything quite like this, although…" Delia stopped, wondering just how much liberty a mother should take.
"Although…" Georgia encouraged her to continue.
"I can't say I'm sorry to hear that you're taking a break, sweetie. You've never really seen much of life beyond the barre."
"That's pretty much what I was thinking, Mom. Maybe after some time off I'll find that there really is nothing else that I want to do. And that would be fine. But I can't help but feel that maybe there's something else, somewhere…"
"Well, then, Georgey-girl, I'd say it's time to find out. And I think that the Bishop's Inn is a fine place to start. Now, I want you to hang up this minute and give Laura a call to let her know that you're on your way. Pack a few casual things and set off for the beach. I was there for a week last month, before I started this latest book, and I can tell you that there's nothing in the world that will clear away the cobwebs like a cold breeze off the ocean."
Frigid wind is more like it. Georgia recalled her mother's words with amusement as she shivered inside the down sleeping bag. But Delia had been exactly right about the restorative powers of a cold and windswept beach. Georgia did feel renewed, filled once more with the same sense of resolve she had experienced when she had first discussed the matter of her future with Lee.
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