The Ballerina Bride

by Fiona Harper

  A spark lit inside him. That was his out. In survival situations you always had to have an out. He looked away, back at the ruins, as he noticed Tim and Dave watching them from the top of the rocks. Dave had his camera on his shoulder.

  ‘You don’t love me,’ he said. ‘You can’t. It’s too much, too soon…’

  The smile disappeared. The eyes grew huge.

  Finn kept going. ‘You ran away from your life because you were looking for an escape, and you found me. I can’t let you anchor yourself to me instead. It wouldn’t be right.’

  She shook her head. Stubborn as well as beautiful. Yes, he remembered that now.

  ‘I can’t be your escape route, Allegra. I can’t rescue you.’

  It sounded so reasonable, so sane. Then why did he feel one step down from a leech on the evolutionary scale?

  ‘But I know you feel the same way. I—’

  ‘I can’t,’ he said firmly. ‘You’ve been wonderful company this week, but that’s all it will ever be. It’s not a fairy tale where I can fall instantly in love with someone else, swap partners and then ride off into the sun—’ he blinked at the heavy globe on the horizon ‘—rise.’

  He saw it. The moment the poison worked, when it reached her eyes.

  ‘Real life is harder,’ he said, feeling steadier now, feeling slightly justified, even. ‘You do what you must to survive.’

  As he was, right now.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. And he really meant it, but his words sounded superficial and hollow.

  She looked at him, sadness and anger and longing warring for supremacy on her rain-soaked features.

  He didn’t have anything left to say, so he turned and walked back up the beach to join his crew—his team—and left her to watch the rain pooling in his footsteps, making little puddles.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  PUDDLES. They were so very London, Allegra decided, as her plane taxied towards the gate at Heathrow. Outside the dirty plane window the sky was grey. The terminal building was grey. The tarmac was grey, and even the flat puddles collecting on it were grey.

  Welcome home, Allegra.

  Home to what, she wasn’t sure. She was half tempted to stay in the terminal building and run away again, book a flight to somewhere pretty and forget about everything. Everyone. Especially someone.

  They’d shared a speedboat off the island and the same hotel for one night before going their separate ways. They hadn’t discussed what had happened on the beach, or the night of the thunderstorm. In fact, they’d hardly even talked. There had been post-island interviews to complete, and she’d had the feeling Finn was deliberately keeping out of her way. Then she’d flown east—back home to London—and he’d headed west. He hadn’t told her exactly where.

  Didn’t matter, though. She still felt as if a part of herself had gone with him.

  It wasn’t fair. She would have been able to let him go easily if she’d really believed that was what he wanted, but she’d seen his eyes when he’d given her the brush-off. So different from the way he’d looked at her when he’d kissed her. But exactly the same as the shuttered expression he’d worn the previous morning when he’d been hiding something, keeping her secret challenge from her.

  At first that ‘no entry’ look had given her hope, because she’d known it was a lie. Now it just made her angry.

  The plane trundled to a halt and passengers began grabbing their things from overhead lockers. Allegra stayed in her seat and let them scurry about. She wasn’t in a hurry, after all. What did she have to come back to? Her father would be furious with her—as he had every right to be—and her career was in tatters.

  Thankfully, she didn’t have anything but hand luggage, so at least the process of getting through the airport was quicker than it could have been. As she exited Immigration, she spotted a burly form she recognised.

  ‘Dave?’

  He turned and smiled at her, which left her speechless. She didn’t think she’d seen his lips and teeth do that before. But they really didn’t have that much to say to each other, so after the awkward greeting they both just stood there.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said at the same time.

  She frowned. ‘What for? It was my choice to do the show, and I enjoyed it most of the time.’

  ‘I’m talking about the Fearless One,’ he said, his face reverting to his much more familiar and strangely comforting scowl. ‘If it makes you feel any better, I’ve always said the bloke was an A-grade idiot.’

  Allegra sighed. It hadn’t been the camera that had had the all-seeing eye, had it? It had been Dave. And, apparently, he really had seen everything.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said for the second time, even though it hadn’t made her feel better at all.

  Dave nodded and wandered off towards Customs.

  Allegra stood there, too angry with Finn to move. She wanted to shake him, make him understand what he was turning his back on, but she couldn’t, could she? Because Finn wasn’t here. He was probably thousands of miles away. She shook her head instead, still not quite ready to face the fact that while she might have chosen him, Finn clearly hadn’t chosen her back.

  As she neared the Arrivals gate she could hear a lot of noise. There must be a lot of people out there. Perhaps somebody famous was about to arrive?

  Flashguns fired in rapid succession as she turned the corner into the arrivals hall. She glanced round. The elderly couple with the trolley she’d been walking behind just looked like regular holidaymakers back from a bit of winter sun. Clearly, she should have recognised them.

  Still the flashguns fired at a dizzying speed. Allegra held her hand up in front of her face, palm out, to deflect the retina-searing pops of light. The sooner she was out of this, the better. All she wanted to do was slink away home and lick her wounds, leave the elderly couple to their moment of glory. Maybe they were lottery winners or something.

  But then the general roar of journalists’ shouts crystallised into actual words.

  ‘Allegra!’

  ‘Miss Martin? Over here!’

  That was her name. These people were here for her? What on earth had she done to warrant this?

  A woman, not much older than herself, lunged over the barrier and thrust a Dictaphone her way. ‘Allegra! Why exactly did you drop out of The Little Mermaid and run away?’

  She shook her head and moved on. Really? All this fuss for her? It was hardly the golden age of ballet anymore, when ballerinas had been treated like movie queens. Why would anyone care if she missed a performance or two? They certainly didn’t seem very impressed when she had shown up, and there were plenty of other dancers rehearsed and ready to step into her shoes.

  She moved more quickly now, glad she only had the one bag hoisted over her shoulder and wasn’t slowed down by a trolley. Mind you, she could have used it as a battering ram, so maybe it would have been a good idea. She dipped her head and ignored them all, leaving the catcalls and outrageous questions unheeded.

  ‘Allegra! Can you confirm reports you’ve been in an exclusive clinic after a breakdown and the desert island story is a cover-up?’

  She was tempted to laugh, but she put her ballet face on and kept her features neutral. Where did people come up with these ideas? They must try to outdo each other in some kind of twisted contest. The best thing to do was not to react. Just keep walking and she’d soon be out of there.

  But right near the end of the barriers, a whole scrum of reporters waited, making a wall that had closed around the elderly couple and had blocked off her exit. She slowed her pace significantly and started looking around for a gap—any gap, no matter how small. How was she going to get round them? And what were they going to do? Follow her home on the Tube?

&
nbsp; She was starting to panic a little when she spotted a tall, solid mass in the crowd, grim and unsmiling. Dave. She’d never been so pleased to see that grumpy mug in all of her life. He was looking straight at her, and his eyes were speaking volumes. Stick with me, they said, and I’ll get you out of here in one piece.

  She breathed out and picked up speed. As she reached him he put a protective tree trunk of an arm around her shoulders and steered her through the crowd. One bright spark couldn’t resist a parting shot, though.

  ‘Miss Martin! Rumour has it you ran away for a steamy week in paradise with your secret lover, Finn McLeod. Care to comment?’

  The gaggle of journalists hushed, eager to catch her answer.

  ‘How do you think his fiancée’s going to feel about that?’ the reporter added.

  Allegra didn’t say anything, of course. But she’d swivelled her head to look at the man before she could tell herself not to. Her mouth was slightly open and her eyes full of guilt and panic. Not quite the truth, what he’d said, but close enough to hit a nerve. She didn’t need to say a word; her face had said far too much already.

  The picture—and headline—in tomorrow morning’s paper was going to be a doozie.

  Allegra stood in her basement kitchen opposite her father, her overnight bag at her feet. Neither of them had said anything in the last sixty seconds.

  Dave had whisked her out of the airport and into a car the producers of Fearless Finn had provided when they’d realised what kind of reception had been waiting for Allegra at the airport. Anything to keep their guest star happy—especially as her show might just get them the highest ratings they’d ever had. However, the journey had been much quicker than her planned slog on the Tube and, as a result, she’d had hardly any time to get her head ready for this moment.

  ‘It was a bit crazy at the airport,’ she said finally.

  Great opening line, Allegra. Really eloquent.

  Her father nodded to a tabloid paper that lay, unfolded, on the kitchen table. ‘I’m not surprised.’

  She took a couple of steps forward, then stopped. That was her on the front! A horrible picture of her, looking all tired and tortured. When on earth had that been taken?

  ‘Runaway ballerina thought to be on tropical island hideaway’, the headline screamed. There was even a small box down on one side with a picture of Finn and his fiancée. They’d managed to find a photo of him that made him look really…shady…at first glance. Closer inspection led her to believe he’d been about to say something to the photographer—something funny, knowing Finn—but the shutter had closed when his eyelids were half-shut and his mouth halfway between smile and joke, and he’d ended up looking both sly and arrogant.

  She flicked the first page over. More photos! More words—all about her and Finn!

  ‘The press got wind of your…disappearance…and couldn’t resist making a meal of it,’ her father said dryly. ‘I take it there’s no truth in these rumours that you’re having an affair with a married man?’

  Allegra’s mouth dropped open and she shook her head. ‘N…no! And he’s not married. He was engaged, but…’ Oh, it was so complicated, and what was the use? She hung her head. ‘I only met the man last week and, no, there’s nothing between us.’

  Nothing at all.

  Her father exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, then he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down at the table. ‘Then why?’ he asked, looking fragile and crushed—the way he’d been after her mother had died. ‘Wasn’t your life good enough for you? What more could I have done?’

  Allegra was momentarily speechless. She hadn’t expected this at all. Lectures and scoldings, yes, but not this broken man sitting at his kitchen table, looking confused and sad. She’d had no idea she had the power to reduce him to this, and the realisation brought no joy, only guilt and regret.

  She went and stood behind his chair, bent over and pressed her cheek against his. Then she folded her arms around him as tears slid down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you—I didn’t mean to hurt anyone—I just…’

  She kissed his temple softly, then just held him. More tears fell as she realised he was shaking just as much as she was.

  ‘Please, Daddy, don’t…’

  She hugged him tighter and his hand came up and gently rested on her forearm. They stayed like that, breathing, for a few moments and then she skirted round the table to sit opposite him, maintaining contact as long as she could, leaving her hand on his shoulder, and then she drew his hands into hers across the table.

  When had her father become so old?

  When had she?

  Because something had changed between them. She was still his daughter, but she knew, deep down, that she wasn’t his little girl any more.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘for being my protector and champion, for looking after me when I needed you to, but—’

  His eyes seemed to get greyer. ‘But you don’t need me any more.’

  She shook her head softly. ‘No, that’s not what I meant. I just…’

  How did she put this?

  ‘I needed you to do those things for me when I was growing up, but I’ve finished now. I finished a long time ago. And I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions—’ she glanced at the open paper on the table ‘—and my own mistakes.’ A dark flash of humour passed between them. ‘But I still need you, Dad. Just not in the same way…’

  Her father nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry, too. I should have let you have your wings before now, but it was so hard…’ He looked away. ‘Your mother…she left before I was ready to let her go.’

  And you held onto me instead.

  Her throat thickened, and she squeezed his hand. He didn’t need to say the rest.

  Her gaze wandered to the paper again. ‘The company? The Artistic Director…?’ She scrunched her face up as she looked back at her father. ‘Just how bad is it?’

  He gave her a weary smile. ‘I won’t say that tops weren’t blown at the Opera House directly after you left, but you’ve actually been quite lucky.’

  She stared back at him. ‘They’re not going to fire me?’

  He shook his head. ‘All this…furore…has sent ticket sales through the roof for The Little Mermaid. You might get a few stony silences and disapproving looks when you go back, but in these hard economic times they can’t argue with the box office. And since you’re the ballerina the press can’t stop talking about at the moment, they want you back.’

  Allegra wasn’t sure how she felt about that. When she’d thought her career was on the skids it had been scary, but it had been kind of liberating, too. She wasn’t sure she wanted to get back on that treadmill again.

  ‘You’re saying they might consider offering me another lead role in the future?’

  ‘I’m saying they want you to do Saturday’s performance.’

  Allegra’s eyes bulged. ‘What?’

  Her father ran a hand over his face and sighed. ‘You have no idea of the media storm you created when you ran away, do you?’

  Her eyebrows arched high. ‘It must have been a really slow news week.’

  That made him laugh. She liked that. She hardly ever made her father laugh.

  ‘I don’t suppose that hurt,’ he said. ‘But the “runaway ballerina” story seems to have caught the nation’s interest. The press have been in a frenzy trying to work out why you’d gone and where you were. There’s been constant speculation about when you’d come back and if you’d dance again.’

  Allegra made a scoffing noise. ‘Even though they all seem to think I’ve lost my magic?’

  ‘Even then. The role’s yours, if you want it.’

  Allegra slumped back in her cha
ir. That just didn’t make sense. She’d been a bad, bad ballerina. No truly dedicated dancer would abandon a production after the opening night and leave the company in the lurch that way. It wasn’t the way her world worked, no matter what the papers said.

  But with the funding cuts and tough economic times, maybe the rules were changing.

  It had been more than a week since she’d done a class—her body would be totally out of shape. She couldn’t do this, could she? Just step back into her old life, using her sudden notoriety to grease the way? Did she even want to?

  She made eye contact with her father. ‘You said when I go back.’

  He nodded. ‘I did.’

  She licked her lips then spoke slowly. ‘I’m saying, if I go back…’

  His jaw slackened slightly. ‘Allegra…’

  ‘I know, Daddy. I know.’ She pushed her chair away from the table. ‘But before I make that decision I really think I need a good night’s sleep.’

  For a moment she thought he was going to argue with her, but then he stood also and came round the table to kiss her on the cheek. ‘Then sleep well,’ was all he said.

  The coffee shop on the corner of her street wasn’t usually a final destination for Allegra but merely a pitstop on her way to the company’s rehearsal studios or the theatre. This morning, however, she sat with her coffee in a ceramic mug at a tiny round table in the window, watching the rest of Notting Hill bustle by.

  She had a meeting with the Artistic Director at three. Her fate would be decided then. Not by him, but by herself. She held all the power today. It was a novel feeling for Allegra and, had other more attention-grabbing emotions not been clouding her view, she might have relished it.

  She sighed and blew on her latte before sinking her lips into the warm foam and taking a sip. The one situation she really wanted to be able to bend to her will was completely out of her grasp, and she would have given anything to trade that power from her career to her personal life; but, unfortunately, the ball was in Finn’s court, and not only was he not returning it, she didn’t think he was even playing her game.