Roberta Leigh - My Hearts a Dancer

by Roberta Leigh

  She paused, wondering if he had returned to the rehearsal room. In front of her was the door leading to Madame Verenskaya's private office and without knowing the reason why - almost as if she were returning to the womb - she went in. The room was in darkness and she switched on the light.

  Instantly two figures closely twined together sprang apart and she found herself looking at Timothy and the blonde. But now the girl was no longer soignee: her face was flushed and the bodice of her dress was undone.

  Melanie drew a shuddering breath and with shaking body turned and groped for the door.

  'Melanie!' Timothy called and stumbled towards her. The sound of his footsteps acted as a spur and she rushed headlong from the room, intent only on flight. Behind her she heard his footsteps, and afraid he might gain on her she swung round the nearest corner. In front of her was Anton's dressing-room and without hesitation she pushed open the door and rushed in.

  He was sitting in front of his dressing-table and, seeing her face through the mirror, he swung round. Without a word she stumbled towards him, collapsing on the floor and resting her head in his lap. Outside in the corridor Timothy could be heard calling her name, but Anton made no move to answer for her, silently stroking her hair until Timothy's voice grew fainter and disappeared. Only then did Anton speak.

  ‘What's happened?' he asked quietly.

  She shuddered, tried to answer him, but found it impossible to speak. Gently he lifted her away from him and placed her in an armchair. Then he walked over to a cupboard and returned with a glass of brandy. 'Drink this,' he ordered. 'It will make you feel better.'

  She obeyed him and swallowed the contents in a gulp. The liquid burned her throat and brought tears to her eyes. She tried to blink them away but they fell faster, increasing until she could no longer control the sobs that racked her body. Timothy, Timothy. His name was a silent cry inside her, burning into her brain like fire. For a long while she continued to cry, but eventually exhalation took over and she lay back in the chair and closed her eyes.

  'Now then,' Anton said, ‘tell me what happened. I've got to know.'

  Still keeping her eyes closed she answered him. It's over,' she said dully. ‘You and Verenskaya were right. I should never have married him.'

  There was a momentary silence, broken only by Anton moving back to the cabinet and pouring himself a drink. 'Isn't this a rather unexpected change of mind?' he said at last. 'What's caused it?'

  Still she could not answer him, and suddenly she felt his hands on her arms, drawing her up so that she was standing in front of him, his face so close to hers that she could not look away. 'What's wrong, Melanie? You've got to tell me.' She shuddered and would have fallen if his hands had not been gripping her arms like a vice. 'Tell me,' he commanded. In a voice so faint that at times it was barely audible she did as he asked, but only as she reached the final point in her story - the discovery of Timothy in another girl's arms - did her voice break down completely.

  'Is that the only reason you're upset?' Anton said. 'Because of a kiss?’

  'No,' she cried. 'It was more than that I He knew her before he married me - since they were children.'

  ‘What's that got to do with it?'

  'Everything. He knew he'd made a mistake marrying me and he turned to her.'

  'Rubbish! He was drunk and he wanted a woman. You weren't there so—'

  'You're making it worse!' she cried. 'He's not an animal that's got to turn to the nearest…' She could not go on and Anton shook her roughly by the shoulders.

  'When men are drunk they often become animals. He wanted to make love and - and - well, it was unfortunate you weren't there.'

  Unfortunate!' she gasped. Is that all you can say? Do I have to follow him around all the time to make sure I am there when he wants to make love? Hasn't he any control - any sense of what's right?’

  'No man has sense when he's drunk,’ Anton reiterated.

  She shook her head, unconvinced by his reasoning. 'Not on his wedding night - not the first day we're married.' Unbidden, Verenskaya's warning came to her mind and involuntarily she glanced round the dressing-room, taking in the pots of greasepaint lying haphazardly on the table, the brilliantly lighted mirror and the disarray of costumes. 'Verenskaya was right,' she murmured. 'I was crazy to have married him.’

  'Crazy or not, you are married.'

  'No. It means nothing to him.'

  'But it means something to you.'

  'All the more reason to end it then.' She looked him in the face. 'Do you think I can forget what I saw tonight? Do you think I can ever trust him again?'

  'Yes'

  Then you don't know me.' She pulled away from him and moved over to the mirror. 'I want to go on the tour with you. It's where I belong.'

  'You're crazy. By tomorrow you'll have changed your mind.'

  She shook her head. 'I know exactly what I'm doing. I had a dream, Anton, but now I've woken up.' Even in her own ears her voice sounded calm, filled with a detachment that must have communicated itself to him, for he stared at her for a long moment before he nodded, 'Very well. I'll tell Verenskaya you'll go home with her. Then at least you can still change your mind in the morning without anyone in the Company being any the wiser!'

  'I won't change my mind,' Melanie repeated, 'and I won't go home with Verenskaya. That's the first place where Timothy will look for me.'

  'Then you'll have to stay with one of the girls.'

  ‘No! I couldn't. It would mean having to give some sort of explanation and I… and I…' She put out her hand in a pleading gesture. 'Help me, Anton. Help me!'

  'Talk to Timothy first.'

  Angrily she flung away from him. ‘You're the last person I expected to hear defend him!'

  'That's why I'm doing it,' he rejoined without any humour. 'I'm trying my damnedest to be fair!'

  'Stop wasting your time. I know exactly what I'm doing.' Her voice trembled and she walked nervously around the small room as she continued to talk, half to herself, half to him. 'In the last hour I feel as if I've lived a lifetime… a whole lifetime. It wasn't just seeing him with another girl - it was the way he acted the whole evening… it was as if I were seeing him with different eyes. He made me realize how far apart we were. He's a spoiled boy with too much money and not enough sense. We're worlds apart and we should have stayed that way!'

  She swung round and came over to Anton's side. 'You've got to help me get to Australia. If you don't I'll - I'll run away!'

  'Stop being so dramatic,' he said crossly. If you're determined to go, I'll do what I can to help. I just wanted to make sure you knew exactly what you were doing.’

  'Are you convinced now?'

  'For the moment Though you may well think differently in the morning.' He gave a rueful smile. ‘Have you got your passport?'

  ‘Yes. And I've had all my shots too.’

  'Then it's just a matter of fixing you up somewhere .tonight and getting you on our flight in the morning. If you won't stay with Verenskaya or one of the girls, you'll have to doss down with me. Will that be okay?’

  She nodded, afraid to speak in case she burst into tears. Silently she watched as he took a thick cardigan out of the wardrobe and handed it to her.

  ‘You'd better not risk going up to the dressing-room for your coat. Come on, let's get going before I change my mind!'

  Grateful to leave the thinking to someone else she followed him down the corridor to the stage door. At every corner she expected Timothy to pounce on her, and not until they were out of the theatre and speeding in Anton's car towards his flat was she able to relax. But with relaxation came a return of emotion, and in an effort to ward it off she forced herself to make conversation, knowing it was trivia but knowing too that it was the only way of preventing herself returning to the theatre and Timothy.

  'I've never seen your flat, you know,' she said quickly. 'I've often wondered what it was like.'

  'Different from Verenskaya's.'

  In wha
t way?'

  ‘You'll see for yourself in a minute.' He drew up outside a tall house and pointed his hand towards it. Top floor left,' he said. 'A conversion, of course, but the rooms are bigger than you'd find in a modern block.’

  Guiding her as he spoke, he led her up to the front door, unlocked it and shepherded her to a small lift that glided swiftly to the fourth floor and a small but exquisitely furnished studio flat. At the touch of a switch several lamps came on, illuminating the modern paintings on the walls and the few, but choice, pieces of sculpture.

  ‘Put on the electric fire and sit down,' he ordered. Til make some coffee.’

  He left the room and, still wrapped in his cardigan, she went over to the window. Below her a street lamp shimmered upon a Bayswater square, but the sky was already lightening above the rooftops with the approaching new day. Yet for her it signified a return to the old life and, acknowledging it, she vowed that for no man - no matter how much she loved him - would she ever again give up dancing. It was part of her life - the one source that would never fail her.

  'Coffee's up,' Anton said behind her, and with a start she turned and saw him placing a tray on a table in front of the electric fire, which was now glowing red. ‘When you've finished your coffee I suggest you have a rest on the couch.'

  ‘Where will you sleep?' she asked.

  'I've another room off the kitchen. A glorified larder actually; but I hardly eat in, so I've turned it into a guest room.'

  ‘Let me stay there.'

  He shook his head. ‘You do as you're told. You'll be less of a nuisance in here. Anyway, neither of us will have time for more than a couple of hours' rest. I've got to talk to Verenskaya as early as I can.'

  Yawning, Melanie set down her cup and curled back on the settee. Only then did she realize how tired she was, and though certain she would only be able to cat-nap, the moment she closed her eyes she fell into a deep and heavy slumber.

  The ringing of a bell brought her sharply back to consciousness and as she sat up and rubbed her eyes she saw Anton cross to the door and open it.

  Verenskaya swept into the room, the folds of her long black coat sweeping behind her as she advanced forward. 'So,' she said, glaring at Melanie, ‘not content with upsetting everybody by marrying the wrong man, you now want to upset us all again by unmarrying him!'

  'It's not that at all,' Melanie protested. Hasn't Anton told you—'

  ‘Yes,’ Verenskaya intervened. 'I know everything. But coming to Australia won't solve your problem.'

  'At least it will give me time to think.'

  'Not very much time.' The ringed fingers flashed in the air. He's rich enough to follow you round the world and back, my child. Run away from him today if you wish, but in the not too distant future you will have to see him.'

  'At least let me try and get a breathing space… time to decide what to do.'

  'So be it,' Verenskaya glanced at Anton. ‘I have packed all she will need for the trip. The luggage is downstairs in the taxi.'

  Anton glanced at Melanie and half smiled, his look giving clear indication that the battle was won.

  During the journey to Australia Melanie felt as though she were two separate people; one who was able to pretend to be calm and rational, the other who looked down on the scene and knew it to be merely a mirage that would eventually crack and release the torrent of emotion being held in check. She was grateful that no one had made any comment on her unexpected arrival at the airport, and guessed at the dire threats that Verenskaya must have made in order to silence a group of dancers who were the most avid gosslpers in the profession!

  During the last lap of the journey the plane was buffeted by an electric storm that reduced the majority of the passengers to nauseated silence or fear. Only Melanie was incapable of fright, and lay with her eyes closed as the aircraft plummeted and rose like a bird in a hurricane, knowing that death, if it came now, would be a fitting end to the tragedy of her brief marriage.

  But within an hour the storm passed and blue skies, bright sunshine and a battery of press photographers greeted their arrival in Sydney.

  ‘We've never had publicity like this,' one of the girls whispered excitedly. 'It's fantastic!'

  'It's normal,' Anna corrected. 'Aussies aren't used to celebrities, so they give 'em all royal treatment.' She grinned. 'That's why so many has-beens try and make their comeback here. When you're top of the pops you don't go touring the outback!'

  'We aren't a has-been company,' Melanie interrupted. 'If Verenskaya kow-towed to the Establishment we'd have been given a decent grant and—'

  'Hey,' Anna protested, 'what's the matter with you! I'm a member of the company too. I was only making a comment.'

  Instantly Melanie regretted her outburst. 'Sorry,' she apologized. 'I'm a bit on edge at the moment.'

  'I know. Verenskaya said something about it.'

  'I'll tell you the whole story later… when I can talk about it clearly. For the moment I can't…'

  'You don't need to talk about it at all,' Anna said. 'I'm just glad you're with us again. It's where you belong.'

  The words were an echo of Verenskaya's, and Melanie wondered whether a ballet dancer, once she had committed herself to a full training, could ever have a life of her own. Of all the professions in the world, it was one which seemed to require an overwhelming determination and single-mindedness, so overwhelming that everything paled into insignificance beside it. Yet for Timothy she had been willing - even eager - to give it all up. How wrong she had been.

  With usual White Russian lavishness Verenskaya had booked them into Sydney's best hotel. 'If we wish to be judged as first- rate,' she said as they entered the lobby, 'we must act first- rate!'

  But the gesture was more hollow than it appeared, for only the principal dancers were allocated rooms of their own, and everyone in the corps de ballet shared a bedroom between two or three. Melanie was the only one to be given a room by herself, though this gesture was explained away by Verenskaya as being due to the unexpectedness of her arrival.

  'But you'll be sharing with Anna next week - if you're still with us.'

  Without replying Melanie turned and followed the last of the girls to the lift, but as she was half-way across the lobby a young pageboy ran after her to say someone was calling her from London.

  Instantly Melanie knew it was Timothy. She flashed a look at Verenskaya, but reading no response in the dark eyes, knew she must make the decision herself.

  'I won't accept it,' she told the pageboy. 'Ask your operator to tell Mr. Ransome I won't take any calls from him ever!'

  But despite her emphatic refusal to speak to him, Melanie was realistic enough to know that Timothy would not be easily dissuaded; ego alone - to say nothing of conscience - would make him whitewash his behaviour. Yet she was unprepared for the ceaseless persistence of his calls and cables, and at the end of four days, when she could bear it no longer, she went to Verenskaya for help.

  'You talk to him,' she pleaded. Tell him to leave me alone.'

  That's something you must tell him yourself.'

  'I don't want to hear his voice.'

  ‘Are you afraid?’

  'Of course not!' It's just that…Melanie turned and walked over to the window. She was in Verenskaya's bedroom, no larger than her own but filled with masses of flowers, gifts from the Russian emigres who seemed to swarm around Madame whenever she set foot in a strange city. 'It's hard to put my feelings into words,' she went on, ‘but I feel as if - as if my marriage never happened.'

  ‘You are still in a state of shock,' came the guttural reply. That is why it is important that you speak to Timothy. I do not tell you to go back to him. That is something you must decide for yourself. But at least hear what he has to say. Until you stop running away from the past you will never be able to build a future.'

  ‘Right now I'm not interested in building anything. All I want to do is live in the present.' She turned from the window. 'And also to get my marriage annul
led. That's more important than anything.'

  'Perhaps so. But there is a right and wrong way of doing it. And the way you wish to do it is wrong. You are behaving like a heroine in a Victorian melodrama!'

  'How would you have felt if you'd seen the man you'd just married making love to another woman?'

  'It would depend whether or not I married him with my eyes open or closed! And as far as Timothy was concerned, your eyes were closed tight!'

  'Well, they're wide open now, and I don't want to see him again!'

  'Then you could never have loved him.'

  'On the contrary. I loved him too much.'

  Verenskaya shook her head. ‘Love cannot be turned on and off like a tap. It may dry up - I grant you that. But even then, it would take time.'

  'What are you trying to make me do? You're behaving in the same way that Anton did. You didn't like Timothy, yet you're defending him.'

  'Only because I care about you. Talk to him, child. Hear what he has to say, and then… then if you still feel the same, I will not discuss it any more.'

  Knowing herself beaten, Melanie sighed, 'Very well. Next time he calls, I'll speak to him.'

  But to Melanie's surprise there was no further word from Timothy that day or the next, and for the first time since her arrival in Australia she dreamed about him and woke up with tears on her face.

  Anxious to leave the solitude of her bedroom, she bathed and dressed and went down to have breakfast in the busy and noisy grill room. She was drinking her second cup of coffee when a pageboy came in and handed her a cable. Quickly she opened it and read the message, the words dancing madly in front of her eyes before they finally settled and made sense.

  'By time you get cable will be on my way Australia. Stop. See you soon. Stop. All my love. Timothy.'

  Pushing back her chair Melanie ran from the room, reaching Verenskaya's bedroom just as the woman was coming out.