by Adle Geras
Ilene Nolan and Silver McConnell sat together, chatting quietly. Ilene was tiny and very fair and Silver, Alison decided, was like someone out of a movie. Alison was used to ballet dancers, and took their grace for granted, but Silver, in black tights and long-sleeved leotard, made everyone else look clumsy. Alison felt like a sack of potatoes just looking at her. She turned towards the door, expecting Claudia to come through it at any moment. She couldn’t have overslept, because Hugo would have woken her up. Maybe she wasn’t feeling well? Perhaps, Alison thought, I ought to go and look for her.
The men were dressed in shabby-looking sweatshirts and ancient tracksuit bottoms, and they had sports bags which now lay under a table in a corner of the room.
‘God, everyone, sorry sorry sorry …’ The door next to where Alison was sitting flew open and a man stood in the doorway. He waited till everyone was looking at him, and only came forward when Hugo waved him to a chair. Alison watched him as he sat down. This must be Nick Neary. He was the only member of the company she hadn’t met. He was very good-looking, with light brown hair, highlighted with ash-blonde streaks. His eyes were greenish-blue, like sea water. Hugo got up then and coughed a little, which meant he was going to say something.
He came to the centre of the circle of chairs to speak. Alison tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but her gaze kept straying to where Nick was sitting. She made a big effort and looked at Hugo instead.
He was very tall and thin, like a rather elegant bird. He had dark eyes and hair, rather sharp features, a high forehead and a wide mouth and he always wore the same clothes, dark polo necks and dark trousers. You couldn’t call him handsome exactly, Alison thought, but he had a smile which changed his whole face. He looked round at everyone, and then began to talk about the ballet.
‘Sarabande is a fairytale,’ he said. ‘As you all know, I’ve choreographed it around a piece of music by Edmund Norland called Sarabande. It’s quite a short piece, so the jazz composer, Frank Marron, has devised some wonderful variations on the original. For the performances, we’re very lucky to have the Mike Spreckley Trio accompanying us on piano, bass and drums. They’re fantastically in demand, as you know, but they’ll be here in time for the dress rehearsal. What that means is that you won’t have too much opportunity to dance to live music, but I’ve got a good tape till the guys arrive. All of you will soon get to know every note better than anything you’ve ever heard, I promise you. It’s great stuff. Claudia is the Princess, Ilene is her Nursemaid, Andy is the Fool, naturally,’ – here Hugo paused for laughter, which arrived on cue – ‘Nick is the Lover and Silver McConnell is the Angel. You’ll all know Silver by reputation of course, and we’re very lucky that she’s got the time in her schedule to dance with us at this Festival.’
Alison watched Silver bend her head to acknowledge the smiles that everyone was beaming at her. She wondered why Hugo didn’t seem bothered about her mother’s absence. Maybe they’d had a row and she’d told him she wasn’t coming. Hugo went back to talking about Sarabande.
‘There’s not that much of a story, really. It’s just a fable about a princess who has to decide between the pleasures of the world and love and so forth, and the attractions of death. No contest there, really, but the piece does emphasise something we don’t often see on a stage, and that’s how attractive the idea of death can sometimes be. The action is divided into ten scenes. None of these lasts more than ten minutes. I’ll go over them with the individual dancers later when we map out the rehearsal schedule but, basically the Princess is urged by her Nursemaid to go out and enjoy life; the Fool shows her all sorts of diversions; the Nursemaid tries to persuade her of the joys of domesticity and marriage; the Princess meets the Lover; they fall in love; they dance with the Nursemaid and then with the Fool. Then the Angel of Death makes an appearance and tries to seduce the Princess away from the Lover. The Lover and the Angel dance together, vying for the Princess’s favours. She chooses Love in the end, and the Angel has a final farewell solo. Then the others rejoice; the Princess and the Lover have a pas de deux which merges into an ensemble dance for the finale. And in a sort of coda, the Angel and the Princess dance together when the Lover is asleep, each of them knowing, of course, that they will meet again when Death returns to claim her at the end of her life.
‘Shortish ballets are the tradition at Wychwood, and of course we start at half past seven so that after the performance there’s time for people to get back to civilisation before the restaurants shut. And on the first night, of course, there’s the Twelfth Night party that Hester traditionally hosts for the company, Friends of the Arcadia and other honoured guests. She does, by the way, like being called Hester rather than Miss Fielding.’
‘How come you know so much, Hugo?’ Andy asked. ‘I thought you moved in the real world with the rest of us plebs, not in these posh circles. I’m a bit of a fish out of water, me. All this grandeur. Not my usual scene, I can tell you.’
Hugo laughed. ‘I came to last year’s first night, just to get to know the set-up. It’s been an ambition of mine to win the Wychwood competition and I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to be here, and with such amazingly talented dancers, too. No, I mean it. This is going to be a tremendous production, but I’ll just say this. I expect one hundred percent commitment from all of you. All the time. I don’t have any patience with slackers, as those of you who’ve been in the company for some time know very well. In return, of course, I’m at your disposal whenever you want to talk things over, or ask questions and so forth. Okay?’
He paused to see if anyone had anything to say, but everyone was nodding and smiling so he carried on. Had they all noticed that Claudia hadn’t arrived yet? That, Alison thought, didn’t show one hundred percent commitment, but she was sure that Hugo wouldn’t quarrel with her in front of the others. He carried on with his talk. ‘The set’s been designed by Aubrey Godfeld, and later on you can all have a look at the model. It’s in the props room. It’s simply beautiful. I felt we had to make up for the simplicity of the story and the brevity of the piece by going all out for lavish decor and costumes.’
‘When’ll those be arriving, Hugo?’ Ilene asked.
‘Should be here the day after tomorrow. You’ll have a good few days to get used to them, don’t worry. Right, are there any questions?’ Hugo glanced at his watch. ‘Hester will be coming to welcome us all officially in a moment. She’ll also take the first class. That’s another tradition.’
‘I knew about that one!’ said Andy. ‘I read an article about her in a magazine somewhere. Look, I’ve worn my untorn T-shirt in her honour!’
He stood up and did a pirouette and everyone laughed. People began pushing the chairs back against the walls and getting the room ready for Hester’s arrival. The men had taken off their tracksuit bottoms and stuffed them into their bags. Everyone was now wearing leotards and tights and Alison watched Nick in his beige T-shirt and black tights and wondered what it would be like to have him as a dancing partner.
Ballet dancers took ages getting ready. It was always such a palaver. They had to change their shoes, tie up ribbons on those shoes, get their hair out of the way in elasticated hairbands, and on and on.
‘Hester’s coming,’ Hugo said over his shoulder. He held the door open and she walked in, smiling and glancing from one person to another. She went to stand next to Hugo who stepped forward to introduce her.
‘Right, everyone. This is Hester Fielding, and she needs no introduction from me. I know I speak for everyone when I say how thrilled and proud we are to be here, and how determined to make this year’s festival the very best ever. Hester’s going to say a few words and also very kindly take the first class. Ladies and gentlemen, Hester Fielding.’
Hester, Alison saw, wasn’t in anything half as magnificent as the dressing-gown she’d worn last night, but still, she seemed like a person from a magazine. Her trousers were black and silky and with them she wore a high-necked sweater of very soft blueish-mauv
e wool. She stood up very straight and managed to have her hands in a position that made them look beautiful. I’d never know where to put my hands if I had to get up and make a speech in front of everyone, Alison thought.
Hester began to speak in a soft, rather low voice. Alison sort of listened, but she was also looking at everyone and seeing if she could work out what they thought about everything. Silver was gazing at Hester with something like adoration in her eyes. Ilene and Andy were leaning forward as though they could learn how to be living legends like Hester Fielding just by listening to her.
‘Hello, everyone. I’m really delighted to welcome you all to Wychwood House and the Arcadia Theatre, and I won’t bore you with a lot of talk, but I just want to say this: please treat the house as your home and be very happy while you get the ballet ready. I’ll take this first class, but then I’ll leave you to your own devices, so that I can have a wonderful surprise at the dress rehearsal. I’m going to find it really hard not to sneak in and watch rehearsals because I’m always so curious to see how everything’s coming on, but I am rather busy organising the master classes that start here in February. So have a wonderful time, all of you, and thank you for coming to Wychwood. I’m sure Sarabande is going to be wonderful.’
Alison applauded with the rest. It’s odd, she thought. I haven’t been a bit bored, and I’m glad I came and didn’t stay behind in the house all by myself. She noticed that the dancers had begun to warm up at the barre, bending and stretching. Look at Silver, she thought. How can anyone get their body to do that? She’d put one leg up on the rail and then leaned her whole body forward over it, so that her head was touching her knee. The others were touching the floor with their hands, or practising yoga-type lunges to loosen up.
Then Nick caught sight of her looking at him and came over to where she was sitting.
‘Hello!’ he said and smiled right at her. ‘I don’t think I know you, do I? I’m Nick Neary. What’s your name?’
‘Alison Drake. I’m Claudia’s daughter.’
‘Oh, right. Hugo did say she was bringing a kid. I thought he meant a little kid. Silly of me. Do you like ballet?’
Alison hesitated. It wouldn’t do to be too honest.
‘I don’t mind it sometimes. I’ve never thought of doing it myself though.’
(Oh, God, you stupid thing. How could you say something so mad? As if anyone with an ounce of sense would imagine someone as fat and galumphing as you wanting to be a ballet dancer!)
‘I often think of doing all sorts of other things, actually. Like being a film star. That would be far less work, I’m sure.’
Alison thought: You’d be brilliant. ‘Yes, ballet is hard work. Lots of people don’t realise.’
Hugo was looking as though he was about to get everyone into line to start the class. Nick smiled at Alison and then out of the blue, stretched his hand out and touched her arm lightly.
‘Smashing to talk to you, Alison. But duty calls, right?’ he said, indicating Hugo and Hester with a movement of his head. He liked her. He seemed to like her. Happy, she thought. I’m feeling happy.
‘Now,’ said Hester, standing in front of the dancers. ‘Is everyone ready? I’m going to begin with the steps which are the basis of everything. This is the routine my first teacher, Olga Rakovska, used to take me through every day, when I was about nine years old. It still works, I think—’
At that moment the door of the rehearsal room opened and Claudia came into the room in a great hurry. Alison knew she was flustered because her hair was still down over her shoulders and she was a little red in the face. It did look as though she’d overslept. She was about to rush over and take off her coat and get ready when Hester stopped speaking and stared at her. ‘I am not in the habit of saying things twice, so I’m afraid you’ve missed the beginning of this class. We will all have to wait now, while you change into your shoes. It’s a waste of our time.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Claudia began. ‘I overslept.’
‘Please don’t oversleep again. Real professionals don’t oversleep. I’m not prepared to give my time to a company where the principal thinks she can turn up whenever it suits her.’
‘I said I’m sorry,’ said Claudia, in what Alison recognised as her ‘dangerous’ voice, the one which was extra sweet and cloying and which signalled the fact that she might very well lose her temper. ‘I don’t think I’ve missed very much, have I?’
Her mother’s smile would have blistered paint. Alison wondered whether Hester could sense just how furious Claudia was. No, probably if you didn’t know her, you’d never guess.
‘You have missed the beginning of my class. I believe you’ve also missed the talk Hugo’s given to the company. Not very much at all.’
Alison looked at Hester with admiration. She was clearly not going to be bullied by Claudia or by the threat of a temper tantrum. She continued to speak, but to the whole company now.
‘While we wait for Claudia to get ready, I’d like to say this. I expect the highest standards from any dancers who come here to Wychwood. I don’t tolerate second-best. I am impatient with excuses. I believe that real dancers come to class on time, work hard, think of their colleagues and, above all, think of the ballet that they’re going to be putting on. It’s a cooperative venture and that means that everyone has to work together. I hope you all agree.’
Everyone was nodding, and by now Claudia had taken her place right in front of Hester, ready to start the class. Hester smiled at her. ‘Good. Now we can begin. We’ll start with demi-pliés, please.’
They went into a routine they must have practised hundreds of times. Alison listened to the instructions – pliés, entrechats, demi-pliés, jetés – but now that her mother was busy doing the exercises with everyone else, she could look at Nick again. She watched him going through the movements, marvelling at how graceful he was. She could still feel the touch of his hand on her arm. He had made it seem as though he really liked her.
*
Bitch, Claudia thought, watching Hester leave the room after the class. How dare she pull me up in front of the whole company, as though I was some kind of naughty schoolkid? The cheek of it! Doesn’t she know who I am? For God’s sake, what did I miss? Precisely nothing. Hugo’s pep talk (big deal!) and a few clichés from Madam, probably. Bloody living legend! I’m the star now. I’m the one with my face on the cover of Vogue, not her. Her days are over and what is she now, when all’s said and done, but a festival director. And that’s it. The ballet could go on perfectly well without her, but it would collapse without me. I should have said something. I should have told her what’s what.
As she thought this, Claudia knew that would have been quite impossible. The whole future of Sarabande would have been placed in jeopardy. I might be selfish, but I wouldn’t want to spoil Hugo’s big chance. She congratulated herself on her maturity. She had to admit that part of her reason was her own desire to dance the role of the Princess. She knew that if Hester put pressure on Hugo, he’d have no hesitation in giving the part to someone else. He was always saying it: Nobody’s indispensable. The mere idea of being pushed out of the cast made Claudia want to cry. This was her chance to stop all those who, she knew, were starting to talk about how much longer she would be able to dance, speculating about how old she was, just out of her hearing. No, she would behave herself and all would be well. That cow they all thought was so marvellous would have to admit how good she was. She imagined the scene – Hester presenting her with flowers, Hester saying, that was wonderful. I couldn’t have done it better myself.
The rehearsal proper had begun now. She was waiting for Hugo to call her, and was only half-attending to the routines he was going over with Ilene and Andy. Nick was right on the other side of the room and looked deep in thought. Probably an act, Claudia reckoned, like most things he did. But he was undoubtedly gorgeous. She looked at his long legs and wondered about him. She’d heard that he was gay, but he seemed always to have an eye for any pretty gi
rl who happened to cross his path. She began to feel, as she looked at him, the first stirrings of an all too familiar sensation: new desire. She sat up straighter, wondering whether there was anything else in the whole world as thrilling as the possibility it presented. It was like having tiny little thrills uncurling green roots all through her veins. She could feel them. Pull yourself together, she told herself. Concentrate on the rehearsal.
The music droned on. It was a bit too modern for Claudia’s taste. Tchaikovsky was her very favourite and almost everything after Rimsky-Korsakov and the divine Schéhérazade too tuneless in her opinion. She never said so to Hugo because he loved anything where the melody was completely unhummable. Where, in fact, there was no melody. You couldn’t say that about the Sarabande music but it wasn’t exactly Swan Lake and it took some concentration fitting the steps to the notes.
‘Let’s do your entrance now, Claudia,’ Hugo said, turning to her. She went to stand in front of him and he turned the music on for her first entrance.
‘No, Claudia. No, no and again no. We’ve been through this, haven’t we? Three steps and then a pause. Listen to the music. It’s all there. Do it again, please.’
Claudia went through the entrance again, but her mind wasn’t on it. She would have to have a word with Hugo. For a moment there, he’d nearly lost his patience with her and if she’d said it once she’d said it a thousand times to more choreographers than you could count on the fingers of both hands: I don’t do conflict situations in the rehearsal rooms. I don’t respond to bullying, so you can forget it or I walk. Most of them got the picture immediately and fell over themselves to be nice to her. Hugo was sometimes just plain bossy and there was no need for it. You got better results from being kind, she thought, and she’d have to tell Hugo about it before it became a problem.
He wasn’t one to lose his temper. He was cleverer than that. He was rather obviously exasperated with some of the things she was doing. And okay, perhaps she hadn’t been working as hard as she could have, but it was early days on this ballet. Tons of time yet to get it right, and who’d arrived at dead of night yesterday and had overslept and not managed to get breakfast before bloody class started? Now she came to think about it, it was Hugo’s fault she was late. He could have woken her, couldn’t he? She did have a memory of someone shaking her shoulder, but that had been too early altogether and she’d gone back to sleep. She’d be more focused tomorrow.