Roberta Leigh - My Hearts a Dancer
Melanie's marriage had ended before it had begun — but happily it was not long before she found herself in love once again.
Yet even now happiness looked like eluding her, when her career as a ballet dancer, began to come between her and the man she loved.
CHAPTER ONE
The last haunting notes of the violins throbbed into silence and the red velvet curtain swept down, temporarily muffling the thunderous applause. Pale arms relaxed and heads lowered, stiffening into position again as the curtains rose to give the audience a final view of the dancers.
'How much longer?' Melanie thought, and darted a quick glance at the wings. Her eyes met Madame Verenskaya's piercing black one, and she stiffened into position again, knowing that even a momentary relaxation at the very end of the performance would be treated with the same severity as if it had occurred at the beginning. Not for nothing was the Verenskaya Ballet renowned throughout the world; and if this brought with it the autocracy of Madame herself, it also brought the cachet of belonging to a Company that ranked second to none.
Finally the curtain fell for the last time, and with a swirl of white net skirts the corps de ballet ran off the stage, leaving the principal dancers to take their solo calls.
Standing in her place at the long dressing-table, with its naked light bulbs, Melanie listened to the excited chatter around her and tried not to think that this was the last time she would be dancing with the Company; indeed, if truth were told, it was the very last time that she would be dancing at all. Tomorrow everyone would be going to Australia to commence a three months' torn: and she herself would be beginning a new life as Mrs. Timothy Ransome.
'Hey there, stop dreaming,' said Anna, the girl who shared the dressing-table on Melanie's right.
With a start Melanie came back to the present. 'Sorry. I was thinking about the future.'
'It doesn't need much thinking about - it's twenty-two-carat gold! Honestly, I never thought you'd snazzle a man like Timothy; loads of money and as handsome as—' Words failed Anna and she pulled a face. 'It just isn't fair!'
Melanie grinned. 'For the first month I met him I didn't think he had a bean.'
'He was just putting on an act to make sure you loved him for himself!'
'I suppose so,' Melanie said thoughtfully, and remembered her surprise when, after four weeks of penny-pinching, with suppers in cafeterias, he had suddenly burgeoned out and money had been no object. Only once had she questioned him about it, but his reply had been so evasive that she had not asked him again. No matter whether Timothy had been rich or poor, her feeling for him would have been the same, but if by pretending to have nothing he had convinced himself of her love, she was too intelligent to mind. What mattered was that she was now his wife. The thought was so wonderful that she closed her eyes and relived the simple wedding ceremony that had taken place that morning - with two dancers their only witnesses — culmination of a whirlwind courtship that had changed her life.
'I hope you won't hate being done out of a big wedding?’ he had asked when he had produced the special licence.
'I'm delighted,' Melanie had confessed. 'I'm just sorry your mother won't be here to meet me first.'
'You'll see her the moment she gets back from Jamaica. Anyway, you've nothing to worry about. She'll love you as much as I do.'
‘Won't she be upset that you've married a dancer? Men of your background don't usually—'
'Stop it!' Timothy had silenced her with a kiss. 'Mother may be old-fashioned about some things, but she isn't a snob.'
Although at the time Melanie had been reassured by his confidence, she was not so sine now, and wondered whether in his eagerness to marry her, Timothy had been too optimistic.
'You'd better hurry up and change,' Anna said. ‘Verenskaya will be furious if you're late for your own wedding party.'
'Particularly as she's giving it!' the girl on Melanie's left added.
Hastily Melanie unhooked her tutu. There was the sound of tearing net and she looked down and saw that her diamond engagement ring had caught in her skirt.
'Darn it!' she said. 'I've completely ruined it.'
'I wouldn't let it worry you,' Anna shrugged. 'It's the last time you'll be wearing it.'
'I was going to keep it as a memento.'
'To show to your grandchildren?’
Melanie laughed. 'I hadn't thought that far ahead. I just wanted it as a reminder of the years I've spent here.'
'I wouldn't have thought you'd need reminding of that,' Anna said dryly. You're lucky to be leaving this. I'd give my eye teeth for an easier job than this one.'
'What's stopping you from finding one?'
'I'm crazy about dancing!'
Melanie laughed. Only too well she knew that this attitude applied to all the girls around her. One could not go through years of arduous training and continual daily practice unless one did it from choice; to be a ballet dancer was not something one did for money; it was a vocation, stemming from a need to express emotion by dance.
Hey there!' Anna said. 'You're dreaming again.'
'Melanie's always dreaming,' a guttural voice said, and there was silence in the dressing-room as the girls turned to see Madame Verenskaya in the doorway. The old woman rapped on the door with her ebony and silver cane.
'You've had long enough to change. I want to speak to Melanie alone.'
Quickly the room emptied and as the door closed behind the last girl Verenskaya stepped forward.
'So,' she demanded with the accent she had not lost in over thirty years in England, ‘what does it feel like to be a bigamist?'
A flush stained Melanie's cheeks. 'I don't understand.'
Verenskaya snorted. 'This morning you married Timothy Ransome. Yet I had always believed you were married to the ballet.'
Melanie smiled. ‘Luckily it was a marriage that could be annulled!'
‘Not as easily as you think,' came the answer. Dancing has been your life since you were a child; you will not find it easy to give up.'
'I know,' Melanie admitted, 'but Timothy wouldn't be happy if I were dancing each night.'
'Ballerinas do not dance every night.'
'I'm not a ballerina,' Melanie grinned, 'just a cog in the corps de ballet. And that means I would have had to dance every night.'
'One day you would have been a prima ballerina,' came the answer. 'You have talent, my child. It only needs more time.'
'It's too late now,' Melanie said firmly. 'I've already made my decision.'
If Timothy loved you - the real you - he would realize that dancing is a part of your life. To take you away from it is taking away the core of your existence.'
He doesn't see it that way.'
'I know. He looks at you, but he sees only himself.' The dark eyes narrowed. 'Anton believes you will come back to the Company.'
Melanie crossed the room and touched Verenskaya's arm. ‘It's no good, Madame. I have already made my decision.'
Verenskaya's crepey lids lowered, but not swiftly enough to hide the tears that dimmed her eyes. 'I am a stupid old woman to go on at you this way. But it is not only because I see you as a dancer. To me you have been like a daughter; and now I am losing you.'
'You haven't lost me,' Melanie said swiftly. I'll never forget the way you took care of me when my parents were killed. If it hadn't been for you, I would have been in an orphanage.'
‘Your parents were dancers in my company,' the old woman said brusquely. 'I could do no less.'
‘You did more than anyone could have expected. You brought me up and gave me a home.'
'It was my pleasure to do so.' A gnarled hand str
oked Melanie's cheek in an unaccustomed gesture of affection. It is not surprising Timothy loves you.'
Melanie smiled, 'A moment ago you said he didn't love me at all!'
‘Love has many meanings,' came the answer. To me it means allowing a person to achieve their fulfilment. To dictate what they should do is to destroy them as personalities.'
Timothy didn't ask me to give up dancing,' Melanie protested. 'I'm doing it because I know it's the only way our marriage can work.'
'Then his love is too shallow. Dancing is a part of you. You will regret your decision, my child. Not now perhaps - but in six months or a year…' Verenskaya moved to the door. 'It is better if we do not discuss this any more. Make yourself beautiful, Melanie. The party is for you and it will be your last entrance with the Verenskaya Ballet Company!'
Left alone Melanie finished dressing. Nerves made her clumsy and her fingers trembled as she drew her dark hair smoothly away from her face and fastened it into a low chignon at the nape of her neck. The simple style accentuated her wide brow and high cheekbones, emphasizing her faintly foreign and exotic appearance. An unaccustomed flush tinged her ivory skin, giving depth to slanting aquamarine eyes fringed by lashes so long and thick that she had never had to wear false ones on stage. Yet an observant onlooker would have known that the sophistication was merely a veneer, product of years of training that served to hide an unawakened spirit.
For an instant as she looked at her reflection Melanie was sombrely aware of her inexperience, and as she left the dressing-room and raced down the narrow spiral staircase, she sent up a silent prayer that she would be able to make her marriage work.
‘Where are you rushing to?' A soft voice halted her flight as she reached the bottom step, and she drew back to see a thin, sallow-faced man looking at her. It was Anton Marek, leading male dancer and second-in-command of the Company. She should have known he would not let this day pass without telling her what he thought of her behaviour!
Although not much taller than herself, Marek had a sinewy grace that gave him the appearance of great strength. As his name indicated he was of Polish descent, a fact made visible by soulful brown eyes marked by high-winged brows. His sharp chin was softened by a sensual mouth that was now stretched into an angry thin line, and as he tilted his head to look at her, his beige blond hair, worn long and thick, fell back from his forehead.
'What's the rush?’ he asked again.
‘Verenskaya's waiting for me.'
'So she'll wait a bit longer.' Though Anton's voice was quiet, Melanie sensed the tension in him and diplomatically said nothing. If her lateness caused comment, he was well able to take the blame.
'You won't be missed,' he continued. 'At least not by your devoted bridegroom. He's too busy playing havoc with the female section of our corps de ballet!'
'Is that supposed to make me jealous?' Melanie asked.
'Doesn't it?'
'No. I happen to trust my husband.' Pushing past him, she ran down the corridor to the rehearsal room and opened the door. The heat and noise hit her as though it were a physical force and for an instant she longed for the peace of the dressing-room. Then the mood passed and she went in, scanning the throng for sight of a blond head. She saw Timothy at the same moment he saw her, and he pushed his way through the crowd to her side. His face was red and as he bent to kiss her she was enveloped in a cloud of alcohol.
'I'd forgotten I had such a beautiful wife,' he whispered. 'Come and say hello to my friends. Until they actually see you they won't believe I'm married!'
Following his glance she saw a group of unfamiliar faces at a table near the buffet. 'You didn't tell me you'd invited anyone.'
'It was a surprise. Come and meet them.'
She held back, unexpectedly afraid. 'I hope they like me.’
'Why shouldn't they?'
'Because I'm not their sort. I haven't led their kind of life. I'm a working girl and—''
'For heaven's sake! You're my wife now, Melanie, not an unknown little dancer.'
Hurt by the remark, she withdrew her hand from his and followed him across the room. Although she could understand his desire to show her off, she could not help wishing he had chosen another time and place for her to have met his friends.
But then there was no more time for thought, for she was surrounded by more than a dozen people all pumping her hand and talking at once. It was not until the flurry of Introductions was over that she was able to pick out his friends individually, recognizing many of them from remarks he had occasionally let drop. How well they fitted his description, and how closely they followed the pattern she had anticipated: elegant, charming, smooth; the conversation typical of the Jet Set… and that month in Gstaad was fabulous - much better than Bermuda…'
'I said if he couldn't fly over from Canada to see me, he shouldn't bother calling me again…
'I still think St. Laurent's passe. But there's a super Italian designer…'
The voices droned on around her, none of them bringing her into the conversation, and all of them increasing her feeling of being the odd one out.
You're not at all what I expected,' a low voice drawled, and Melanie swung round to see a willowly blonde girl beside her.
‘What were you expecting?' she asked.
'Someone who looked like a chorus girl.' The rudeness was so unexpected that Melanie was speechless.
'I do hope you're not angry with me,' the girl went on hastily. 'I suppose there is another name for what you do, but I don't know it.'
'I'm in the corps de ballet,' Melanie said shortly, 'but it doesn't matter. I am a girl and I am in the chorus.'
'It must be frightfully exciting. Timothy said something about your being born in the wings.'
Melanie glanced round to see where he was and he caught her eye and came over to her. 'So you've met Bibsie already?' His voice was more slurred than before, his face unbecomingly flushed. 'I hope you're going to like each other. Bibsie was my first girl-friend, darling. We met in our respective prams!'
A blare of music made it impossible for Melanie to answer, and even as she wondered frantically how much longer she and Timothy would have to stay here, the girl he called Bibsie pulled him on to the small area of floor that had been cleared for dancing.
In a moment they were swallowed up in the crowd, and as Melanie turned away, intent on finding Verenskaya, a young man pushed a drink into her hand.
'Don't take any notice of our little kitten,' he said. 'She's just sore you married Timothy instead of her.'
'It's nice to know there was a reason for her bad manners!'
'There's never any reason for bad manners. It's stupid and bad-mannered!'
She laughed and he laughed with her.
'Are you a friend of Timothy's too?' she asked.
'We went to school together, so I suppose that must qualify me!' He looked at her with undisguised admiration. 'I can see why Timothy kept you hidden, though. If I'd met you first I'd have done exactly the same.'
'You're too flattering.'
'No pretty girl should say that!' He continued to talk aimlessly, and only half aware of what he was saying - for she was waiting anxiously for Timothy to return - she gave monosyllabic replies.
The music seemed to go on interminably and she was again wondering desperately how to slip away when Anton appeared by her side like a Genie.
'Verenskaya's waiting for you to cut the cake.'
'I must tell Timothy.'
'I have already done so.'
Catching her hand, he pulled her after him through the crowd to where Verenskaya was standing by the large wedding cake which had been given pride of place on the buffet table. Timothy was already there and he caught her hand and drew her close.
'Where did you disappear to?' he whispered.
'I should ask you that.'
'Just a duty dance,' he reiterated, and gave her arm a squeeze. Instantly she was happy again, and as Verenskaya signalled for the music to stop, Melanie pi
cked up the knife to cut the cake.
The next hour passed in a blur of congratulations, yet all the time she was aware that Timothy was still dancing exclusively with the blonde girl. No doubt he felt as out of place with the ballet Company as she herself felt with his friends, and she wondered how long it would be before they could - without hurting anyone's feelings - leave for the peaceful quiet of Timothy's flat where they were spending the night before flying to Madeira for their honeymoon.
Their honeymoon. The thought made her so acutely aware that she was his wife that she knew an intense longing to be held in his arms and reassured that in marrying him after so swift a courtship she had not done the wrong thing. If only the Australian tour had not precipitated her decision; but on learning she would be away a minimum of three months - possibly even six - he had refused to let her go.
'It's out of the question,' he had protested bitterly. 'If you love me as much as you say, you can't go. I need you, Melanie. If you're so many miles away I'll…' he had stopped abruptly and, pulling her into his arms, kissed her so passionately that all her doubts had subsided. Timothy was her love and he needed her. She would have to stay.
Anxiously she searched the dance floor, but there was no sign of him and she wondered whether he was showing the blonde girl what the theatre looked like from the wings; it was a sight many people liked to see.
As the music stopped she managed to slip from the room, and she was speeding down the corridor to the wings when her name was called. With a sigh of exasperation she turned and saw Anton by the door of his dressing-room.
'Going to make a sentimental farewell to the boards?' he asked sarcastically.
'I'm looking for Timothy. Have you seen him?'
He's the last person I'd want to see! Only a Philistine would have made you give up dancing.'
'Oh, not again!' she exclaimed, and turning her back on him, ran towards the stage. But it was deserted and shrouded in darkness; just bare boards and canvas flats with a desolate air that would only be relieved when the lights came on and dancers filled the stage.
For a moment she paused, breathing in the atmosphere and fighting back an overwhelming sense of loss. Then blinking back the tears she retraced her steps, pausing to see if Timothy was in the wardrobe room where the costumes were kept. But this too was empty and one by one she entered the workshop, the dressing-room of the leading ballerina and the largest makeup room. But nowhere was there any sign of him.
Roberta Leigh - My Hearts a Dancer Page 1