by Adle Geras
‘Come, come here,’ she said, indicating that Hester should sit on the bed. She thought of how she used to sit on her grandmother’s bed when she was a little girl, and the memory of how they used to play with the contents of the jewellery box brought tears prickling into her eyes. But Hester knew that Madame never wore jewellery. Not even a ring. Nothing. The only time there had ever been a cross word between her and Madame was when Hester, years ago, refused to remove her gold necklace for class. She had threatened to stop coming to ballet lessons altogether if Madame Olga made her take it off.
‘What will you do in a real ballet?’ Madame Olga cried. ‘There is no costume designer, no choreographer in the whole world who will let you wear that around your neck on the stage. Impossible.’
‘I’ll take it off for performances,’ Hester had answered, quite calmly. ‘But I will wear it for the rest of the time. I promised my grandmother. And I’ll wear it to class.’
Madame Olga had gazed at her pupil and seen how determined Hester was. She never mentioned the matter again. Now she said, ‘Open the suitcase.’
Hester opened it, and nearly fell backwards off the bed when she saw what was inside. Her grandmother had jewels, but this was treasure such as only pirates in storybooks possessed. The interior of the case was a twisted mass of intertwined necklaces, glittering, glowing and catching the light – rubies, amethysts, topazes – strings upon strings of them, tangled up with bracelets and brooches and rings set with pearls and jet and onyx, all just lying there in a jumble. Madame Olga plunged a hand into the suitcase and brought it up with lengths of gemstones dangling from every finger.
‘Do you see this? All these things? They are rubbish.’
‘But they look …’ Hester couldn’t speak. She wanted to say they looked like real jewels; looked as though they were worth more money than she could imagine. Then, a thought struck her.
‘Are they pretend? Did you wear them on stage?’
Madame Olga laughed. ‘No, no they are real jewels. Men gave them to me. They give when they love you; they give when they stop loving you. They give when they say hello, also when they say goodbye. There have been so many men who have loved me.’ She laughed. ‘This is my bank. All I have. It’s a lot, I think, but I never wear it. Never. It lies here, and when I die, it will be yours. There. One day, you will be a rich woman when I am gone. But now, I will take out some necklace or some brooch for you to buy all the things you will need when you go to London, to the Charleroi Company. What use are these jewels to me? No use.’
‘I couldn’t …’ Hester began. ‘And my grandmother left me some money of my own when she died. I’ll use that.’
‘It is good to have more than you need. Do not think of it again. I will give to Piers for you. He will take care of it, I am sure.’
As she spoke, she took out an Easter egg studded with green and red stones, and tiny seed pearls in a pattern which made the initials OR, Madame Olga’s own initials. She lifted her lorgnette and peered at them more closely.
‘A man,’ she said. ‘He gave this to me when I danced Firebird in Paris. After 1917, the Revolution in Russia. A Frenchman. An aristocrat. Very wealthy.’
Madame Olga held the egg gently in her hand. The rubies and emeralds caught the light. ‘This is made by Fabergé, a very famous maker of such things. I have never told anyone what happened. This very rich man falls in love with me. I love him, naturally, or I think I love him, which is the same thing, yes? All is well till I become pregnant. I do not tell him, because I am horrified, and I know if he realises, then he will insist on marrying me. And I am so ambitious. I want so much to be the great, the wonderful prima ballerina. Pregnancy interferes with the dancing. To be a ballerina is not a job, but a way of life. It is for always. I had it taken away.’
‘Taken away? What do you mean? Did someone take your baby away?’
‘I went to the doctor and he removed the baby. It’s called an abortion. Perhaps you are too young to know of such matters?’
Hester didn’t answer, but she felt sick as she listened to Madame Olga. ‘Do not be shocked. Many, many people, they go to the doctor. I was sad, yes, but it is not so dangerous if the doctor is a good one.’
‘But the baby. You’re killing your baby, aren’t you?’
Madame Olga shook her head. ‘It is not a baby when it is so small. So tiny you cannot see or feel it yet as a person. Much better to do what I do, to finish the pregnancy. It is sad not to have a family, but my pupils and my friends, they are the family I have now.’
Hester said nothing, but she wasn’t entirely sure that she agreed with Madame Olga. She still missed and mourned her grandmother, and when she was younger, she’d often longed for brothers and sisters, imagining them as versions of herself who would adore her and agree with her and to whom she could say anything. If she could have changed a single thing about her life, it would have been that. She would have wished to belong to an ordinary family, instead of having a mother who had died so long ago that she could scarcely remember her, and a father whom she saw so rarely that she practically never thought of him.
‘What happened to the man? The rich man who loved you and was the father of your child?’
‘I did not tell him I was pregnant. I left him afterwards, but he begged me to marry him and sent me, oh, you cannot believe what gifts. Including this egg.’ She tossed it back into the suitcase and it lay among the other jewels as though it were no more than a stage prop.
Madame Olga stood up and smiled at Hester. ‘But when I left him, I said, never again. I devoted myself to the dance. I longed, I cannot tell you how I longed, to be a great dancer. But soon, after a few years, I saw I didn’t have the talent for greatness. So I stopped before my age made me stop, and decided that I would spend the rest of my life teaching other dancers who would be great ballerinas for me. I have never put on one of these things after I said goodbye to the man who gave me that egg. Some has gone of what I had. With some, I bought this house. This is the rest.’
‘What if burglars come and steal it?’
Madame Olga laughed. ‘Who thinks the funny Russian lady who lives in the shabby old house has anything worth stealing? No one. But you are right. This is primitive, to keep it in a suitcase in a cupboard and not even locked. I will take it to the bank, I promise.’
*
A few days later, Hester heard someone knocking frantically at the Wellicks’ front door. She went to open it, but Uncle Bob was on the point of leaving for work and got there before she did. Madame Olga was on the step, waving a small, beige piece of paper. She hadn’t even bothered to button her coat and was wearing her indoor shoes, soaked through by the snow which still lay on the ground.
‘It’s a telegram!’ Uncle Bob shouted, and Auntie Rhoda and Paula came running out of the kitchen. Uncle Bob had taken it from Madame Olga who spoke to Hester directly and ignored the others. ‘He said yes! Your papa, he said yes. You can go to London and live in Moscow Road … oh, I’m so happy. So happy. Now you will be ballerina. Piers is so kind to send telegraph.’
‘I would like,’ said Auntie Rhoda, ‘to read the message, if you don’t mind.’
‘Certainly! Read it please. I know it by heart and I will tell Hester what my friend says. He says: Your young pupil’s father agreeable stop She should come to London soonest stop Expecting her 24 Moscow Road. Tel. Bayswater 1551. Fond regards Piers.’
‘I can’t believe it!’ Hester held on to the banister, feeling a little weak. ‘He said yes. My father. He’s allowing me to go to London …’
Hester was so happy that she did a series of entrechats in the hall. She could sense that Auntie Rhoda, Uncle Bob and Paula were all staring at her as though she’d taken leave of her senses.
‘All will be well now,’ Madame Olga said. ‘I am going. Please come and see me later, Hester. We have much to talk about. Goodbye, goodbye. Such a happy day.’
She left as swiftly as she’d come. Auntie Rhoda watched her going down th
e path and then collected herself. ‘Well, there’s nothing to be done, I suppose, but we have to talk about arrangements. Where, for example, does Mr Cranley think the money’s going to come from to pay for all this travelling lark?’
‘There’s Grand-mère’s money,’ Hester answered. ‘The money she left me. I’ll take it out of the bank. It’s a lot of money, isn’t it? Five hundred pounds. And the money Papa sends – I could have that if I lived in London.’
‘Well,’ Uncle Bob began, but Auntie Rhoda pushed him out of the door. ‘You go off to work, Bob,’ she muttered, ‘and leave this to me.’
‘Leave what?’ Hester knew the signs, and felt suddenly faint.
‘Come into the kitchen, Estelle,’ Auntie Rhoda said, and her mouth had tightened till it was no more than a thin line in her face.
‘Hester,’ Hester said automatically, though her mind wasn’t on her name, but on the thing, whatever it was, that Auntie Rhoda was about to tell her. She knew, she was convinced, that whatever it was, it would be bad and worse than bad.
‘Sit down there, dear,’ said Auntie Rhoda, ‘and listen to me. You’re not going to like what I’ve got to tell you, but needs must.’
Hester stared hard at her, saying nothing. Auntie Rhoda looked straight back.
‘Some of your grandmother’s money has been spent. That’s what you need to know. We had to do it. No one could possibly blame us. After all, we spent it on you. You had to have clothes, things for school, shoes, and not to mention all the ballet equipment. Ballet slippers and goodness knows what all else.’
‘You spent my legacy? On school uniform? And ballet shoes?’ Hester could feel herself growing ice-cold, and for the first time since she’d arrived in England, she was filled with hatred, real hatred, for this person who was supposed to have been like a mother to her.
‘How much is left?’ Breathing in and out was hard. Hester felt as though her chest was filled with rocks.
‘About a hundred and fifty pounds. Quite enough to set you up nicely in London, I’d have thought.’
A note of syrupy, false friendliness had crept into her aunt’s voice. Hester did the sum. They, she and Uncle Bob, had stolen more than three hundred pounds. How did Auntie Rhoda dare to sit there simpering and pretending that all along she’d had nothing but Hester’s ballet future in her mind as she spent that money, her money? All at once Hester was quite sure that ballet shoes and school cardigans had nothing to do with it. The money her father sent the Wellicks each month would have paid for those. The money, her grandmother’s legacy, had been spent on other things. She stood up.
‘It’s not true! None of it’s true. You’ve not spent that money on me! It’s a lie. You bought a car. It’s the car. You used some of my money to help you buy your stupid Austin and you’re no better than thieves, both of you, and I’m not spending a minute longer under this roof than I have to. As soon as I get what’s left of my money out of the bank, I’m going and I don’t care if I never see you ever again. You’re horrible and I’ll never forgive you as long as I live.’
She burst into tears of rage as soon as she’d finished speaking. Her throat felt raw. Auntie Rhoda sprang to her feet, red in the face and shrieking loudly enough to make the cups rattle on the dresser.
‘We’re horrible? And what about you? How d’you think we feel when you make it so obvious that we’re not fit to lick your boots? You think you’re better than us, that’s your trouble. You always have, too. We take you in when your own father wants rid of you, and what thanks do we get? Not a word, that’s what. Not one word in more than eight years. Good riddance to you, I say. Uncle Bob will take you to the bank tomorrow and you can get your money and go and see how far you’ll get on your own in London. Not very far, I’ll be bound. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got ironing to do.’
She swept out of the kitchen and left Hester there shaking with fury. She wanted to run after Auntie Rhoda and scream I never thanked you because I’m not grateful for any of the horrible things you’ve given me; horrible food, a cold house, no love at all, not even when I was five years old and crying for my lost home every night. Even then you didn’t come and cuddle me, never. Not once. I’m glad I never thanked you.
Paula had followed her mother out of the kitchen, pausing just long enough at the door to smirk before she disappeared. It was clear that she was delighted to see Hester being taken down a peg or two. She’d resented her cousin’s interest in ballet from the very first, roaring with unkind laughter if ever she caught Hester practising her foot positions in front of the mirror, or trying to do exercises using the metal bedstead as a barre.
I don’t care, Hester thought. I’m going to London. I’m going to live in 24 Moscow Road and be a ballet dancer. Madame Olga will help me. Some of her treasure will be used to pay for things I need. She said so. I’m never coming to this place ever again in my life.
*
For the last two weeks of her stay in the Wellicks’ house, scarcely a word passed between them and Hester. She refused to have them help her in any way. When the time came to leave, she got into the taxi with Madame Olga and the Wellicks remained by the front gate. To have sulked indoors as she left would have made them the subject of gossip among the neighbours, so they pretended they were saying goodbye as though they were a normal family. Hester shook Uncle Bob by the hand, and forced herself to peck Auntie Rhoda and Paula on the cheek. When it was Auntie Rhoda’s turn, she said, ‘Thank you very much for having me,’ as though the last eight years were no more than a birthday party.
As the taxi drove away, Hester sat facing straight ahead and never looked back. She felt lighter and happier with every yard they travelled, as though someone had let go of ropes that had been holding her tight, reining her in.
Saying goodbye to her beloved teacher at Leeds station was quite a different matter. Hester couldn’t stop crying as she kissed her, and Madame Olga wiped away the tears with a handkerchief that smelled of violets.
‘Do not cry, child,’ she murmured. ‘It is good, what you are doing. You have a great gift. You must always remember this. I will come to see you dance, do not worry. Piers will invite me and I will come. I will sell more jewels and come many times. I will come to applaud the new ballerina. And you will write to me, won’t you? I want to hear every bit of news. Go with God, darling girl.’
‘Thank you, Madame. Thank you for showing me—’
‘There is no need for thanks, Hester. You have given me nothing but pleasure. I will live through your gift as if it was my own.’
Hester burst out crying all over again. ‘But I’ll miss you so much. I feel as though you’re a kind of mother to me. Better than a mother. How will I thank you?’
‘You will thank me with your hard work. That is all I ask. Do not waste your gift. We will meet again soon when you are a ballerina. I will live for that day. Go, go now and find a seat.’
Hester picked up her suitcase. It was the one she’d brought with her to England; the one her grandmother had packed so carefully. Once again it held her clothes, the photographs she’d brought with her from France and her doll, Antoinette. She knew she was too old for a doll, but she couldn’t leave her behind at the Wellicks.
She peered through the window at Madame Olga, dressed for the occasion in her coat with the fox-fur collar and the hat with a spotted veil. She was waving and smiling, and Hester waved and smiled back and recognised the sadness that filled her: she felt exactly as she had on the day she had left Grand-mère. Loving someone meant leaving them and going far away. That, Hester thought, is how life has arranged it, for me at least.
27 December 1986
Silver McConnell opened her eyes and got out of bed, immediately wide awake. It always surprised her to learn that other people took time to come to life in the morning; that they didn’t spring instantly to life. She’d never been what her mum called ‘a sleepyhead’. Quite the reverse. Her body managed just fine with a minimum of sleep, and she felt ready for action within
seconds of waking up. She was good at catnaps too, and ten minutes with her eyes shut in the dressing room before a performance gave her enough energy to keep her going late into the night.
This morning she was particularly excited, so it was even easier than usual to get out of bed and get started. She was on her way to Yorkshire in a few hours, to join the members of the Carradine Company at Wychwood House. The idea of a big house with a theatre in its grounds appealed to her. The Arcadia was famous in ballet circles. She’d first read about it in a magazine, and had decided there and then that one day she’d dance on that stage, in the place that Hester Fielding, who was one of her all time greatest heroines in ballet, had created after she stopped dancing.
Silver wasn’t falsely modest. I’m good, she told herself, whenever she compared her achievements with those of her contemporaries. She felt properly alive only when she was involved in dancing, whether rehearsing, in class, or performing. She was aware of a harmony in every part of her, and it would have been strange if the pleasure she took from the things her body was capable of didn’t somehow communicate itself to others. That the critics agreed with her assessment, that her fellow-dancers regarded her with awe and envy, that choreographers were forever asking her to do this or that ballet with them – those were external signs of her success, but her own opinion counted more than anything the world said. From the first day she started in her dancing class as a small girl, everything had come to her with the minimum of effort. She seemed to be able to do whatever was asked of her then, and she still could. But Silver was certain of one thing: she would stop dancing the second she thought that this or that aspect of her work was getting ragged at the edges. Ballet’s about perfection, she’d told a television presenter only last month, and she believed that. When she was about fourteen, she’d read a magazine interview with Hester Fielding in which she said that exactly, and Silver had felt more than ever that here was a dancer she could admire unreservedly. They agreed about the important things, and Silver couldn’t wait to meet her.