Pas de Deux
Page 3
“Yeah, well, that’s me. Full of sweet Southern charm,” Addison replied with an exaggerated drawl.
Mallory chuckled softly. “That’s some accent.”
Addison smirked as she replied in the same exaggerated drawl, “Glad you approve, Sugah.” She took a deep breath and let it go as she shrugged. “Honestly, I’d probably still sound like that if I hadn’t moved to New York when I was a kid.”
“Oh, your family moved when you were young?”
“No, they stayed in Georgia. It was just me,” Addison explained, her smile sheepish even though shoulders rolled back just a bit, making her look like she was torn between being embarrassed about rehashing her history and proud of it at the same time. “I won a position in The School of American Ballet when I was ten and a half and moved to New York to train just before I turned eleven.”
“Did you dance in New York? Professionally, I mean…”
“For a few years. I was promoted from the school to the corps when I was sixteen.”
“That seems young,” Mallory couldn’t help interjecting. She’d been carrying around the label of prodigy since she was barely out of nursery school, but even though she was performing with the LSO and other prominent symphonies around Europe as a guest soloist well before she had even entered her teens, she still finished a full course of studies at the Royal Academy of Music before officially beginning her career and continuing her education elsewhere.
“Oh, it was,” Addison agreed with a little laugh. “I felt so out of my league that it was honestly ridiculous, but I learned a lot more dancing in the corps those first couple of years than I would have in school. Anyway, I danced with the NYC Ballet for a couple years, started to make something of a name for myself, and when a position opened up over here, I decided to throw my pointe shoes into the ring and see what happened.”
“And the audition went well,” Mallory said, no question in her tone. Even though she had no idea how old Addison was, she was obviously still in her early twenties, and if she was beginning her fourth season with The Royal Ballet, there was no other possible outcome to the audition in question.
Addison tipped her head in a small nod. “The audition went very well. They offered me a job, and I packed up all my things and moved to London two weeks before my twentieth birthday.” She shrugged. “Anyway, yeah. That’s me. How about you?”
“In a way, I guess you could say my career took a similar approach,” Mallory began with a fond smile. She told Addison about becoming a boarder at the Royal Academy of Music when she was nine, briefly touched on a few of her more memorable solos, and then her decision to go to America. She spoke of her time in Chicago, Boston, and Los Angeles—okay, she all but glossed entirely over that final chapter of her life abroad—and was in the middle of telling Addison about how she came to find herself back in London when her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen and sighed. It was Max Cole, the LSO’s Music Director. And, while she hated to do it, she gave Addison her most apologetic look as she murmured, “Sorry, but I’m going to need to answer this.”
“Nah, go on ahead.” Addison waved her off as she sipped at her coffee. She made a face as she tilted the cup and shook her head as she set it back down. “Ugh. It’s cold. What time is it?”
Mallory glanced at her watch as she lifted her phone to her ear and groaned. “It’s a quarter till ten.” Shite. She was going to be late. “Yes, hello Max,” she answered the call in her most professional voice as she pushed herself to her feet and began gathering her things. She hated to run on Addison like this, but she hoped she would understand.
“Are you almost here? I need to speak with you about something before the music selection meeting with the Board.”
“Barring transportation issues, yes,” she lied as she shouldered her bag. If the train was at the underground station when she got down there, it would still be close to half an hour before she got to the Barbican Centre, but it would still be faster than hiring a cab for the trip. “Where would you like to meet?”
“Come to my office when you get here. If we’re a little late getting the board meeting started, it will just give them more time to come up with even more complaints about there not being enough Mozart on the calendar,” Max replied, sounding almost giddy at the idea of keeping the Board waiting. His devil-may-care approach to music had drawn the Board’s ire on more than one occasion, but he was dealing from a position of power as their ticket sales had only gone up the last couple years when most of the arts were suffering.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Mallory promised before hanging up. She shook her head as she looked at Addison. “I’m terribly sorry,” she apologized as she grabbed her violin and slung the strap over the same shoulder as her purse, “but I completely lost track of time and am going to be late to work.”
“Go, go,” Addison insisted, waving her off. “Maybe we’ll run into each other in here again soon.”
“I look forward to it,” Mallory murmured.
Addison smiled that wide, beaming smile that once again made Mallory’s breath catch in her throat as she replied softly, “Me too.”
“You’re late!”
Mallory glanced around the lobby of the administrative wing of the symphony’s main offices, looking for the familiar face that went the teasing voice, and rolled her eyes when she spotted her best friend in the entire world, Will Adrian, smirking at her from one of the chairs in the corner beneath a potted ficus. His black trousers and dark blue shirt were a more masculine version of her own outfit, and his light brown hair was its usual unkempt style that he insisted made him look dashing despite all the times she tried to tell him it only made him look like he didn’t know how to use a comb.
Even though she was already running later than expected—there was, of course, some kind of mishap at King’s Cross that delayed her train to the Barbican—she still made her way over to where he was sitting. “You think I don’t bloody well know that?” She hefted the straps of her briefcase and violin higher on her shoulder once she was close enough to speak in a normal voice. She had been so worried about getting to Max’s office as quickly as possible that she honestly hadn’t been paying too much attention to her surroundings, and as she glanced over her shoulder at the sound of laughter, she realized the lobby was much busier than it should have been considering the first of their meetings on the day was supposed to have started twenty minutes ago. Never mind the fact that, as the players’ representative to the Board, Will should have been in the conference room already. “What are you doing out here?”
“The first meeting’s been postponed an hour. I guess something came up that Max needed to take care of.” He shrugged. “So, you’re good still.” He waved at the chair beside him. “Have a seat and catch your breath.”
Mallory shook her head. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time for that. While I have no idea what’s going on, Max wants to speak with me before the meetings. So I’d wager that whatever it is that’s holding things up, I’m somehow involved.”
“Any idea what’s going on?”
“None.” She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “Save me a seat in the conference room. I’ll fill you in later.”
Will nodded. “Sounds good. You better get going, then.”
“Right,” she muttered. “Wish me luck.”
He grinned. “Break a leg, you sexy beast, you.”
She laughed and flipped him off as she turned on her heel and started for the stairs to Max’s office, grateful for his knack of always knowing just the right thing to say to lighten her mood. Of course, now that she had nothing to distract her from this break from the schedule for the day, her thoughts returned to trying to figure out just what, exactly, was going on. Nothing Max had said over the phone gave her any kind of clue as to what she would be walking into.
She had been expecting the impromptu meeting to be just the two of them, so the sight of Clara Martin, her favorite of the LSO’s two principal
guest conductors, leaning against the edge of Max’s desk, and Joseph Hayes, the Managing Director of the LSO Board, lounging on the sofa in the small seating area that fronted Max’s desk gave her pause. A meeting between herself, Max, and Clara wasn’t unusual, but the addition of Joseph Hayes to the mix was enough to make her wonder just what in the hell was going on. She plastered on her most professional smile and knocked lightly on the doorframe, drawing their attention as she swept into the room.
“I apologize for my tardiness. The trains weren’t cooperating this morning.” She sounded appropriately contrite even as she shot Max a curious look. His answering smile was both apologetic and cryptic, and it set her stomach abuzz with nerves. Had she done something wrong? Was she being fired? Or, worse, demoted? It was only her many years of experience keeping a straight face in front of an audience no matter her nerves that kept her expression from showing just how much this surprise meeting, with the Managing Director in attendance no less, affected her.
“Ah, here’s the woman of the hour,” Hayes greeted her with a smile as he heaved himself to his feet, grunting a little with the effort. His left hand drifted toward his midsection, where his navy blue blazer curved around his stomach, as he offered her his right. “Ms. Collingswood, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“You, as well, Mr. Hayes,” Mallory replied as she shook his hand.
“You were exceptional on tour this summer,” Hayes declared as he released his grip and motioned for her to sit.
“Thank you, sir,” Mallory murmured, as she slipped her violin and briefcase from her shoulder and lowered herself primly to the edge of one of the chairs that faced the group.
“So, Max, Clara—now that everyone’s here, would one of you please explain why it was so imperative that I push the meeting back an hour?” Hayes asked.
Max waved a hand at Clara and pushed himself up so that he was sitting on top of his desk. His lips twitched with a smirk at the small huff of disapproval the move got from Hayes. Though, to be fair, Hayes’ disapproval could have also been for his bright blue Cookie Monster socks that were decidedly unprofessional but perfectly Max. “I’m going to let Clara take this one,” he said as he leaned back on his hands to listen.
“Ta, Max,” Clara drawled, smiling as she ran a hand through her long, dark hair, and Mallory felt some of her panic begin to ease when she turned her smile onto her. Despite technically being her boss, Clara was also a friend, and Mallory was reassured by the knowledge that she didn’t seem worried about whatever this meeting was about. “Nina Devereaux over at The Royal Ballet called me yesterday. As you know, I promised to work with the Royal Opera House at least once this season, and she wanted to discuss a ballet that she is looking to produce. Now, I will be the first to admit that everything I know about ballet is drawn from my time conducting at the ROH, so I’m by no means an expert, but she is an uncontested genius in the ballet world, and she proposed an interesting endeavor—if we’re willing to help, that is.”
“Help how?” Hayes demanded.
Clara turned her sharp brown eyes onto Mallory and gave her a look that was half-apology, half-pleading for her to be heard out. “She would like to borrow Mallory for a new production.” She held up a hand to cut off the argument Hayes was so clearly poised to make. “Now, she assured me that she is not looking to, and I quote, ‘steal Ms. Collingswood’s talent from the LSO,’ but she was rather insistent that there is literally nobody else who can fill the role.”
Hayes scoffed. “Is she serious?”
While Mallory was slightly offended by his comment, she nevertheless nodded in agreement. The violin was one thing, but the ballet was something completely different. This had to be some kind of elaborate prank.
“Nina doesn’t joke around when it comes to her company, so I can assure you that she is quite serious,” Clara declared. She had spent close to eight years early in her career conducting at the Royal Opera House, and it was clear that she was still quite fond of the principal ballerina-turned-artistic director. She spared Hayes only the briefest of glances before she looked back at Mallory and continued, “But she also understands that Mal is committed to the LSO and, as such, has sought our permission”—she waved a hand between Max, Hayes, and herself—“to approach her about the role. All she’s asking for is a chance to meet with Mallory to pitch this grand vision of hers. If Mallory isn’t enticed by the idea, she will accept that and move forward with, and I quote again, ‘a less talented violinist who will surely force the ballet to be shelved entirely.’”
Max chuckled. “She sure has a way with words, that one.”
“And an impeccable eye,” Clara agreed as she arched a brow at Mallory.
Mallory blinked as she tried to wrap her head around this whole thing. It was flattering that the artistic director for The Royal Ballet would ask for her personally, but it didn’t make any sense.
“So you want the Board’s blessing for this meeting?” Hayes surmised.
“Max and I wanted to at least sound you off on it. If Mallory agrees, we will, of course, go to the Board for approval.”
Hayes turned to Max. “As Music Director, you support this?”
Max shrugged. “If Mallory is interested in the project, I have no problem with it as long as it doesn’t conflict with any major LSO performances. I don’t know Nina Devereaux as well as Clara does”—he shot Clara a look that was a little too smug and earned him a rather impressive glare in return—“but her reputation is stellar, and her productions attract a lot of critical attention. I want to see the details first, of course, but offhand, I have to say that a collaboration between our companies, with the implication that only we can supply Mal’s caliber of talent…”
“Yes, well…” Hayes mused, nodding slowly. “It would be excellent PR for the LSO.”
“But I’m not a dancer,” Mallory pointed out, staring imploringly at Clara.
“She wants you for your skill with the violin,” Clara assured her with a little laugh, “and seems to feel that she can teach you to handle whatever movement the role would require well enough.”
“Well, it certainly sounds like it wouldn’t hurt to at least hear her proposal,” Hayes said, slapping his hands on his knees for emphasis. “Let’s mention it during the meeting, Max, but provided she understands that Ms. Collingswood’s obligations to the LSO come first, I see no reason why the Board of Directors would have an issue with this if you’re all on-board with the whole thing.”
Mallory bit the inside of her cheek as she looked from Max to Hayes to Clara, who were all staring at her, waiting for her decision. Part of her wanted to tell them exactly where they could shove this whole crazy idea—she had not spent her entire life honing her skills to be made a fool of—but there was also something intriguing about it all as well. Maybe it was because she spent her mornings at Higher Ground, surrounded by stunning photographs of dancers on stage at the Royal Opera House, or perhaps it was just because she was flattered that Nina Devereaux had called to ask about her, but whatever the case, she was interested enough to at least meet with the renowned artistic director. “So long as I’m under no obligation to accept her proposal,” Mallory started, and she waited until she had nods of agreement from them before she continued, “I will meet with Ms. Devereaux to hear what she has to say.”
“Excellent,” Joseph Hayes declared as he pushed himself to his feet. “Well, now that that’s settled, I’m going to go get a cup of coffee before the meeting starts.” He checked his watch. “I’ll see you in the conference room in fifteen minutes.”
“See you then,” Max confirmed.
Clara smiled at Mallory as Hayes made his way toward the door, muttering something about inmates running the asylum. “Thank you, Mal. Nina will meet you at the Neo at five tonight.”
Mallory huffed a laugh and shook her head. “You were that certain I’d agree?”
She shrugged. “Not especially. But she insisted on setting a time in case you did.”
“Nina can be very forceful when she has an idea, but she didn’t want to ambush you. And before you ask, she didn’t give me much more than the broadest idea of what she has planned. She was quite adamant that if you were to agree to the role that it would be of your own volition and not because you felt pressured to accept it.”
Mallory smiled, suddenly feeling much more comfortable with her decision to meet with Nina Devereaux.
“Right, well,” Max declared as he pulled on his blazer, “I think coffee sounds like an ace idea.” He smiled at Mallory and Clara. “Don’t rush out of here on my account. I’ll see you ladies down there.”
“We won’t,” Clara assured him with a smile. “Thanks for having my back on this.”
“Always.” He winked and then, whistling softly under his breath, gathered his leather folio and strolled out of the room.
“Sorry to have cornered you with Hayes like that,” Clara spoke up once they were alone. “Max and I didn’t want to tell him why we wanted the morning meetings pushed back until we’d spoken to you in case it wasn’t something you were interested in but, Hayes being Hayes, he demanded he be a part of ‘whatever was so important that his meetings needed to be postponed.’”
Mallory shook her head. “Not surprised, really. He likes to be the one in control of everything.”
“Typical public school white male,” Clara agreed wryly. “But I want to make sure that you know you’re under no obligation to accept the role. I know last year was rough for you, and if you’re on the fence about it or just don’t want to deal with the extra stress or whatever, tell her no—okay? Your mental health and well-being are more important than any artistic production.”
“I understand,” Mallory assured her. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with her,” Clara countered as she gathered her leather portfolio notebook from the desk and waved it toward the door before tucking it under her arm so she could use both her hands to secure the buttons on her black blazer. “I haven’t heard her this excited about a project in a long, long time.”