The Olive Tree

by Lucinda Riley

  Helena glanced at it now, hanging sheathed in protective polythene on the rail, ready – after some minor adjustments – for her to take home with her after tonight’s performance. As if on cue, Klara herself bustled into the dressing room, carrying the fluttering layers of white tulle, chiffon and sequins that made up Helena’s stage costume for this evening.

  ‘Come now, Frau Beaumont, you must get ready, we have little time,’ she commanded in her heavily accented English.

  She proceeded to style Helena’s hair into a high bun, adding small pearl and diamanté clips that would shimmer and sparkle under the lights. Then she sprayed it with enough hairspray to withstand a nuclear attack before helping Helena into the costume, taking great care not to mark it with her heavy stage make-up. Her beady eyes fell on the open velvet box sitting on the dressing table.

  ‘This is a gift?’ she said, indicating the box.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who from?’

  ‘A friend.’

  ‘You mean the Prince?’

  Helena nodded, embarrassed.

  ‘There is no need to be shy. You are a lovely woman. And I know he takes you to the ball tomorrow night. This necklace will look perfect with your dress.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it will.’

  ‘And I have been thinking, Frau Beaumont. Tomorrow I will come to your apartment and help you in the preparations,’ Klara announced, as though it was a fait accompli.

  ‘Really, there’s absolutely no need,’ protested Helena.

  ‘But how will you fasten the dress without my help? There are many small pearl buttons at the back. And I can also fashion the hairstyle that will make you look your best.’

  Helena capitulated, knowing from experience that resistance against Klara was futile. ‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you.’

  There was no time for further conversation as Klara tutted fretfully at the five-minute bell, administering a further misting of hairspray as Helena rose from the chair to inspect herself in the full-length mirror. The exquisite costume, with its delicately beaded bodice and flowing white skirts, epitomised the ethereal qualities of the character she would inhabit in a few minutes’ time.

  ‘You are ready,’ said Klara, admiring her handiwork too, as ‘Beginners’ was called over the intercom. ‘Good luck,’ she added as Helena left the dressing room.

  Two hours later, Fabio led Helena forward amid the thunderous applause that signalled the end of what they both knew had been a magical performance. The audience rose to their feet with much stamping and cheering as the two of them took bow after bow and bouquets were flung onto the boards of the stage.

  After the curtain fell for the final time, Helena made her way back to her dressing room. The adrenaline was still flowing round her body and despite her current offstage problems, she was still on a high. Almost immediately, there was a knock at the door, heralding the arrival of what she knew would be a steady stream of visitors dropping by to congratulate her.

  A handsome face, framed by pale blond hair, appeared round the door.

  ‘I do hope I am not disturbing you,’ he said.

  ‘Not at all. Please, Friedrich, come in.’

  Helena walked forward to greet her guest, thinking how very distinguished he looked in his white tie and tails, with a scarlet sash bearing his family crest draped across his broad chest. Friedrich took her hand and kissed it.

  ‘Words cannot express how enchanting I found your performance tonight. You are truly the embodiment of a fairy-tale sylph. And I see that you received my flowers,’ he added, indicating the roses.

  ‘They’re stunning. And the necklace is beautiful too, Friedrich, but really, it’s far too generous—’

  ‘Hush, my dear Helena. It is no more than you deserve. Please, I should be most dismayed if I thought it did not please you. And I am very much hoping that you will wear my gift to the ball.’

  ‘Then all I can say is that I will, and thank you.’

  ‘The only thanks I need is to have you on my arm as we walk into the Hofburg Palace tomorrow evening.’

  Helena was about to reply when there came another knock at the door.

  ‘So, I will take my leave for now, Helena – and look forward to a wonderful New Year’s Eve.’ With that, Friedrich bowed deeply and left the room, as a crowd of well-wishers surged inside and swarmed around her.

  Eventually, everyone departed the dressing room, leaving Helena alone. The adrenaline that had propelled her through the evening had now left her body and she felt weak and deflated. Once Klara had helped her out of the costume and she’d removed her stage make-up, she changed into her jeans and sweater, shrugged on her coat and snow boots then left the theatre.

  The following day, Helena met Fabio for a New Year’s Eve lunch at Griechenbeisl.

  ‘Cara.’ He rose to greet her as the waiter showed her to the table. ‘Come, sit, and let us celebrate the success of last night’s performance.’ He pulled a bottle of champagne from the ice bucket that was already waiting, and poured out two glasses.

  ‘Here’s to us! And to the New Year!’ he toasted as he chinked his glass against hers. ‘I have already read the reviews of La Sylphide in the morning papers, and they are superb. They say you are a star rising to the celestial firmament. Now, when we premiere our new ballet, they will know more than ever that we are a force to be reckoned with. We are on our way to the top, Helena, I know it.’

  Helena tried to mirror Fabio’s obvious euphoria, but was unable to manage more than a weak smile.

  ‘And apart from your triumph on the stage last night, you are to attend the ball at the Hofburg Palace this evening with the dashing Prince. Are you not excited, cara? It must be every woman’s, and man’s’ – he chuckled – ‘dream to have such a night.’

  ‘Fabio, you must understand that I can’t just . . . switch off from what happened.’

  ‘Pffft!’ He flapped his hand dismissively. ‘You are talking still about that scoundrel, Alexander. Of course I understand how much he hurt you, cara, but it is time to forget him and live your life. I thought the Prince pleased you?’

  ‘I . . . he does, I suppose, but . . . I’m not sure if I’m ready.’

  ‘Maybe it is simply because you are exhausted.’ He leant forward across the table and examined her face more closely. ‘You look pale, Helena, and you have not even taken a sip of your champagne. Are you sure you are not sick?’

  ‘No, no, I’m not . . . it’s just that . . . I’m tired, that’s all.’ She bit her lip as her voice trailed off.

  ‘Then as soon as we have finished lunch, I call a taxi to take you back to your apartment. You must have some rest, so that you are prepared for the ball. I want you to enjoy yourself for a change, Helena.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ She managed a tight smile to reassure him. ‘I’ll be fine after a nap.’

  Fabio shot her a suspicious glance, but refrained from further comment and changed the subject, quizzing her instead about her gown for the ball, then as usual regaling her with titbits of gossip about other members of the ballet company. When their food arrived, she felt his keen eyes assessing her as she barely touched it.

  It was as if, Helena thought, he already knew.

  Having got through lunch, she went home and did as Fabio had ordered her and lay down on her bed. Try as she might to get some sleep, her brain was whirring and her stomach churning. She found herself trying to calculate yet again if it was really possible, or whether she was simply panicking.

  Shortly after her first physical encounter with Alexander, she had been thrust into the maelstrom of the ballet season and, like most ballerinas, had taken the Pill continually without the usual one-week break, in order to prevent the monthly bleeding. This was regarded as an essential practice for performing onstage.

  Consequently, she had no clear idea of when she had last bled ‘normally’.

  But then . . . there was the nausea, the heavy feeling in her stomach, the exhaustion – symptoms
that she remembered only too well from last time . . .

  Eventually Helena gave up trying to rest, and rose from the bed. She’d procrastinated time and time again, but there was only one way to find out and put her mind at rest.

  Realising that the pharmacy on the next street would almost certainly be closing early today, she threw on her coat, grabbed her purse and ran out of the apartment. After she’d bought what she needed she walked back home, her heart sinking as she saw Klara already waiting for her outside the front entrance to her building.

  Damn! ‘Sorry to keep you waiting in the cold, Klara,’ she said. ‘I ran out of . . . toothpaste.’

  Klara pursed her lips as Helena unlocked the front door. ‘We must make a start if you are to be ready in time.’

  Back in the apartment, as Klara chattered constantly about the evening ahead, Helena zoned out, merely nodding at what she thought were appropriate junctures, her mind still occupied elsewhere.

  I was mad to accept the invitation to the ball. I’m leading Friedrich on . . . What on earth will I do if . . . ?

  By the time she was finally ready to Klara’s satisfaction, Helena could stand the tension no longer and stood up. Retreating to the bathroom, she locked the door and went to the cabinet, where she had hastily hidden the test away earlier. She drew out the contents of the packet, her heart thumping against her ribs as she stared at it miserably and began to peel off the plastic wrapper.

  Then she froze as she heard the door buzzer, followed almost immediately by loud knocking on the bathroom door.

  ‘Frau Beaumont! Your car has arrived! Your prince is waiting for you!’ called Klara.

  ‘Coming!’ Helena hesitated for a moment, then stuffed the white stick into her jewelled evening bag before she left the bathroom.

  Klara was waiting for her outside, holding out a gossamer-fine silk wrap in one hand and a pair of long satin opera gloves in the other. After helping Helena on with the gloves and draping the wrap around her slender bare shoulders, she stood back as she surveyed her charge. The fitted silk bodice of the blush-pink dress was artfully cut to reveal Helena’s flawless décolletage, then cinched around her tiny waist before cascading into voluminous, floating skirts made up of layers of delicate chiffon. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head, wispy tendrils curling around her face, and the diamond necklace sparkled like tiny shards of ice at her narrow throat.

  ‘You look beautiful.’ Klara gave a satisfied sigh. ‘Now, liebling, you must go and greet your prince.’ She shooed Helena out of the front door of the apartment and towards the lift.

  ‘Have a wonderful night!’ she called as the doors closed.

  Friedrich, looking svelte in full evening dress, was waiting for her in the lobby and let out an audible gasp as Helena emerged from the lift and walked towards him. He took her gloved hands in his and held her at arm’s length for a few moments as his eyes swept over her, before drawing her to him and kissing her gently on both cheeks. ‘You are radiant, my Helena,’ he whispered. ‘I will be the envy of every man at the ball.’ Then he offered her his arm, and they walked together out to the waiting limousine.

  The lightest sprinkling of snow was falling as the imposing curved facade of the Hofburg Palace came into view, aglow with lights. They drove beneath the high ceremonial arch and into a huge lamp-lit inner courtyard, where a red carpet was laid over the cobblestones leading up to the entrance. The car drew to a halt and Helena stepped out, taking Friedrich’s proffered hand as he led her inside and up a grand staircase into a sumptuous palace stateroom, where a champagne reception was already in full swing.

  Helena accepted a glass from a waiter and took a sip to try and calm her jangling nerves. She was going to need Dutch – and every other nationality’s – courage to get her through the evening. She was greeted with deference by an endless stream of other guests, all eager to offer congratulations on her performances at the Opera House and to greet the prince by her side.

  Eventually they made their way to their table, where more champagne waited for them and waiters plied them with platters of gorgeously presented canapés. Helena ate nothing, but if the Prince noticed her lack of appetite or her subdued conversation, he gave no indication.

  When the announcement came for the guests to enter the main ballroom, Helena couldn’t help but gaze in awe at the rows of marbled Corinthian pillars supporting an ornate coffered ceiling, from which hung dozens of crystal chandeliers. An orchestra was playing a Viennese waltz on a raised dais, beneath a huge clock that would count the minutes and seconds leading up to midnight.

  Then a hush fell and columns of young women, all dressed in white gowns, filed into the ballroom on the arms of their young men.

  ‘Who are they?’ Helena asked Friedrich.

  ‘They are the debutantes, and now they will perform a dance to mark their official entry into Viennese society.’

  Wondering if she had slipped into unconsciousness and was actually dreaming a ritual from a bygone age, Helena watched them. She couldn’t help but feel a pang in her heart as she saw the innocent, excited faces; young women with their whole lives ahead of them, and not a care in the world.

  As she had once been.

  She was snapped back to the present as the debutantes departed sedately, to a round of applause. The red cordons that had held back the rest of the guests were swiftly removed so that the dancing could begin. Helena lost track of time as Friedrich swept her into his arms and around the golden parquet floor in waltz after waltz. There were other men wanting to dance with her too, and she did her best to smile and charm them like the princess Friedrich seemed to want her to be.

  ‘You look so ravishing tonight, Helena. You have truly cast a spell on me and every man here,’ he murmured as the band at last slowed the tempo, and he took the opportunity to draw her close to him.

  Helena felt strangely removed from the proceedings, as though she was watching herself from above. Friedrich bent his blond head to gently caress her neck. ‘I hope that you and I will be able to spend a great deal more time together in the new year to come.’

  ‘I’m . . . sure we will,’ she heard herself replying.

  Interpreting her answer as encouragement, Friedrich pressed his cheek against her hair as they moved in an elegant circle beneath a chandelier. ‘Please, Helena . . .’ he whispered in her ear, ‘say you’ll come home with me tonight.’

  At his words, Helena came back down to earth with a jolt. She pulled back her head to gaze up at him, his kind eyes shining with obvious adoration.

  What am I doing here? she thought in panic. She glanced up at the clock, suddenly feeling horribly sick and very faint, and saw it was barely more than ten minutes to midnight. Friedrich’s face immediately became a picture of concern.

  ‘Helena, liebling, are you all right?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I . . . feel a little strange. I think I need to sit down.’

  Friedrich solicitously escorted her from the floor and settled her back at their table, then left to find her a glass of water. As she sat there, her head continued to spin. Wanting desperately to be alone for a few moments, she rose from the table and headed in the direction of the ladies’ powder room.

  After splashing her face with cold water, Helena felt a little better. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and her hands reached for her bag so that she could retrieve her lipstick. Still shaky, as she fumbled with the clasp she managed to drop it on the floor, spilling its contents onto the tiles. Bending to pick up the scattered items, she saw the white plastic stick staring up at her like a miniature sword of Damocles.

  How can I even contemplate a relationship with another man while this is hanging over me? she berated herself.

  She knew Friedrich would be waiting for her, and that this was hardly an appropriate moment, but she also knew that she had to find out for sure before she could begin to think clearly.

  What the new year would hold for her and her future depended on the object in her han
ds. Heart hammering, Helena headed for a cubicle.

  And three minutes later, she had the answer.

  Groups of people were milling around the foyer and hardly noticed the young woman running across the marble floor, the skirts of her pale-pink ball gown billowing out behind her.

  Almost tripping down the staircase that led to the main entrance, Helena paused for a second to tug off her high-heeled evening shoes, throwing them heedlessly to one side before she fled out into the sparkling, frosty night.

  Just as the bells of St Stephen’s Cathedral began to toll midnight. And ring in the New Year.

  She barely noticed the freezing snow beneath her stockinged feet as she ran across the courtyard, then under the domed arch and eventually out onto the street. Through the pounding of blood in her ears, she dimly heard a male voice behind her, shouting her name.

  She did not turn to look back.

  κε

  Twenty-five

  Helena glanced upwards through Alex’s window and saw a full moon shining down, just as it had on the night she’d run from the Hofburg Palace. The mother of the skies – calmly watching over her human children as they tripped and fell beneath her, lighting their way in the darkness as they picked themselves up.

  ‘So . . .’ Helena pulled herself back from her memories. ‘That’s the story. I wish I could make it better for you, Alex, but I can’t.’

  Finally he spoke. ‘No, you can’t. But I still don’t understand why this has anything to do with Alexis.’

  ‘I . . .’ Helena paused in an agony of indecision as to whether she should tell him. It was too much for any son to learn about his mother, let alone at the age of just thirteen.

  ‘Whatever it is, Mum, you can’t make it any worse.’ Alex read her thoughts. ‘So come on then, spit it out.’

  ‘I got pregnant by Alexis when I was staying here at Pandora.’

  ‘But . . . you were only fifteen.’ Alex’s voice was barely more than a strangled whisper.

  ‘Yes. And I . . . didn’t have it. I felt I had no choice. And it was so, so dreadful. I’ve never forgiven myself to this day for what I did. So, when I found out I was having you, I couldn’t, just couldn’t, do it again. I had to have you, whatever the cost.’