Save the Last Dance

by Fiona Harper

  However, a trill on her mobile phone halted her just after she’d left Covent Garden station. She pulled it out of her pocket.

  An unidentified number. Her heart began to race. Had Finn finally decided to lob a ball her way? He could easily have got her number from Simon.

  When she answered, she sounded a little breathless. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Allegra Martin?’

  Her chest deflated fully in one long puff. No curling Scottish accent. No deep rumble of adventure behind the words.

  ‘Yes,’ she said wearily.

  ‘Hi. My name’s Danny Gold and I work for the London Post. My paper would like to do an exclusive with you on the Runaway Ballerina story.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ she said quickly, but it seemed the man had been ready for that.

  ‘There will, of course, be a fee involved.’ He mentioned a figure that made Allegra’s eyes pop. ‘For you to keep or give to charity, whatever you wish…’

  Wishing? That didn’t get anyone anywhere, did it? She’d learned that lesson quite nicely, thank you.

  ‘This is your chance, Allegra, to take control of what’s being said about you—to put the record straight. And whether you want to mention what happened—or didn’t happen—between you and Finn McLeod, well, that’s totally up to you.’

  The unctuous edge that had crept into his voice on the last sentence told Allegra exactly which way he hoped she’d fall. It made her want to disinfect the ear that was pressed to her phone.

  ‘I—’

  ‘Don’t decide yet,’ he said in a blatantly phoney non-pressurising manner. ‘I’ll give you a call back in an hour and give you time to think.’ And then he rang off before she had a chance to tell him—in a very un-Allegra-like way—where he could stuff his exclusive.

  She snapped her phone closed and started walking again. The nerve of the man! Sell her story, indeed! As if anything she said to him would be reproduced accurately, as if it could help close a trapdoor over the pit and save her from falling in…

  She stopped suddenly and a woman with a shopping bag bumped into her from behind, then tutted as she scuttled past.

  But it could. A story like that would demand a response. It would make Finn face facts. He’d have to do something, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t be able to ignore what was simmering between them—or ignore her—if it was splashed all over the front of the newspapers.

  No.

  That was crazy thinking. Even too outlandish for a mermaid. And it showed just how desperate she was starting to get where Finn was concerned. This wasn’t good.

  Maybe Finn had been right about her. Maybe this urge to cling to him would poison any possible future relationship. Because cling she would. Like a limpet. At least, that was what she wanted to do.

  She stared at the phone. Oh, she could give Danny from the Post his ‘kiss and tell’ if she wanted to, she knew that. She could also run and spin and do a cartwheel right in the middle of Covent Garden piazza. Didn’t mean it was a good idea. Didn’t mean she might not injure her wrists or crash into someone else and hurt them.

  She slid her phone into her coat pocket and carried on along James Street, then turned the corner into the piazza and made her way past the shops under the thick-pillared portico towards the Royal Opera House’s main entrance.

  Giving this Danny Gold person what he wanted wouldn’t change anything.

  Okay, it would break the story about Nat and Finn’s split, but what good would that do? It really was none of her business, was it? And all the revelation would do was back Finn into a corner, and he’d hate that. Hate her.

  She’d spent too much of her life with her back against the wall to want to inflict that on someone else—especially Finn, who needed his freedom.

  Finn had made his choice; and she had to let go, give him room to live with it. With one long breath she did it. Released the anger. Released the idea of Finn as hers. It made her feel heavy and breathless and empty, but in a strange way it brought her peace.

  When she reached the entrance of the Royal Opera House she paused for a moment before walking through the revolving door. They all had choices to make and live with, didn’t they? And now it was time to make hers.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  FINN jumped off the bus in Malcesine and looked around. He’d always wanted to visit the Italian lakes to do some hiking. However, he hadn’t expected to come here via Sydney and, granted, he’d have probably preferred July to February, but the mountains were still busy, full of skiers and snowboarders.

  He looked up at the mountain to his right, not just dusted with snow but caked with it. The cable car station was only supposed to be five minutes away. If the tourist traffic wasn’t too heavy, he might be at the summit of Monte Baldo in under half an hour.

  Unfortunately for Finn, it was a glorious day. The sky was clear blue, the sun warm, and the cableway swarming with visitors eager to make the most of the clear conditions to see a snow-draped Lake Garda.

  He squeezed himself into one of the rotating cable cars with a host of other people and ended up not being able to see much of the journey, thanks to a couple of outrageous bobble hats. Didn’t matter. He’d be at the top soon, and he could find some space away from everyone else, somewhere beautiful where he could finally breathe.

  Once at the top, he ignored the crowded café selling hot chocolate by the bucketload and headed straight outside, pulling his gloves on as he did so. He had a map of the area, knew where the ski runs and hiking lodges were, but first he wanted to walk along the flat ridge of the mountain and get the best view of the lake.

  He trudged along, head down, ignoring other walkers, and in roughly ten minutes he was standing at the end of the ridge by a rickety-looking wood and wire fence that stopped eager tourists plummeting to their deaths.

  The friend who’d told him about this had been right. From here he could see the entire north end of the lake, all the way to Riva del Garda nestling in the shadow of Monte Rochetta, and the view was absolutely stunning.

  Finn stood there, waiting for the rush.

  It would come soon, he knew it would.

  Minutes ticked by and Finn’s nose began to get cold. Nothing came. Nothing happened. In fact, he was pretty sure his heart rate had slowed a little.

  He turned to face the other direction, where the smooth snowy top of the mountain fell away to reveal the white-topped roofs and church tower of Malcesine, nearly two thousand metres below. A pearly mist hovered above the lake, making it seem as if the town had emerged from a dream.

  Still nothing.

  Okay, something. Just not anything he wanted to feel or think about.

  Knowing that if she’d been here he’d have seen her eyes sparkle by now, she’d have turned to look at him and smiled that smile of hers.

  Finn rubbed his glove over his face and turned his attention to his boots.

  Wow, he was pathetic.

  He’d deliberately left her behind, deliberately sought out fresh places that had no connection to her, or even to the TV show—just in case that triggered a memory—and still he couldn’t sever whatever it was that joined them.

  Suddenly Finn didn’t want to hike any more. He wanted to go home. Somewhere warm and familiar. Somewhere he could just rest his wandering feet and be. Sad, really, that he didn’t have one. He had a flat, but it wasn’t anything more than a base, a storage place for all his stuff when he was away. So where was he supposed to go now?

  A cold gust of wind made his cheeks tingle. He set off back along the ridge to the cable car station and joined the queue for the ride down. It was just as busy, just as full of people who thought that because they’d taken a trip to the top and snapped a few pictures they knew all about mountains now. If he’d had the energy he would have told them they w
ere dreaming, kidding themselves. They weren’t explorers, no matter how much they’d spent on their fancy ski jackets. They were, and always would be, tourists.

  Nat’s words from a fortnight ago echoed in his head.

  That was us, Finn.

  He shook his head, even though the car was crowded and others might see him and think he was losing it.

  No. She was wrong. Had to be.

  We were tourists.

  The car lurched over a pylon and Finn’s stomach went with it.

  Allegra had asked him, hadn’t she, with those eyes of hers? She’d asked him to live and breathe and explore with her. Explore a connection, not to a place or a pretty view, but to a human being. Even though they were both inexperienced and the journey was risky. Even though survival wasn’t guaranteed.

  She’d asked him for more. Not by pushing and demanding but by simply being who she was, showing him there was more sweetness to be had from life, if only he was brave and determined enough to climb up and reach for it.

  And what had he done? He’d run, telling himself Allegra had needed her freedom. Bull. It was him who’d needed his.

  But it hadn’t worked. He hadn’t protected himself from anything.

  The hole had still appeared, deep and wide and gaping. The difference was that this time he hadn’t been at the mercy of his parents’ jobs or army orders. He’d made the decision. It had been his choice.

  This was his hole. And it didn’t feel any better than the other kind.

  ‘Signor?’

  He turned to find the cable car attendant looking at him. The car was empty, all the other passengers having disembarked, and he was getting impatient looks from the next batch of ticket holders staring at him through the closed glass door on the other side of the car. He mumbled his apologies and exited swiftly.

  Then he walked to the nearest café and ordered a hot chocolate. While he waited for it to arrive he rummaged for his mobile phone in his trouser pocket. God bless radio waves and Wi-Fi and mobile phone networks. He had some bookings to sort out and an important call to make.

  One that would prove, maybe once and for all, if Finn was really as fearless as his hype said he was.

  She stood in the wings, her hair done, costume on, false eyelashes and make-up perfect, trying to hold herself together.

  It wasn’t easy. Ever since she’d stopped being angry at Finn, a crushing sense of sadness had engulfed her, making her limbs heavy and her movements sluggish. She had no idea how she was going to do anything but drag herself round the stage that night.

  She closed her eyes and tried to breathe slowly, gain some sense of calm, because she really wanted this performance to go well. Partly because the world’s eyes were on her more than ever, but mostly because this—ballet—was finally her choice.

  Not because of who her mother had been. Not because of her father’s loss or expectations. Not even because it was the only thing she knew how to do. But because it was a part of her and she really did love it. Rehearsals over the past few days had only confirmed what she’d started to realise on a sunlit beach. How odd that it had taken running away from it to find it again.

  The music changed and the corps rushed past her onto the stage. Once again, images flashed through her brain as she waited for her entrance. But this time they weren’t second-hand from a TV screen; they were from her own bank of carefully pressed memories.

  Finn’s smile every time he made a fire. The way he’d reached for her the night of the thunderstorm, such vulnerability in his eyes. All the things those same eyes had told her before he’d backed away and started lying to her.

  The violins sang her cue. It was time to go, time to dazzle, even though she felt like letting her legs collapse under her and sobbing into her hands.

  She’d thought she’d known all about longing the last time she’d stood here. How presumptuous. How blind. She’d known nothing. Longing had just been an idea, a vague sense of restlessness, but now she knew its taste and its texture. Now longing had a name.

  Finn McLeod.

  And there was only one way to deal with it, she thought, as she rose onto the balls of her feet and ran onto the empty stage.

  She had no voice tonight. She might not even have a soul. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have anything to say. Just because she wasn’t going to sell a story to the papers, it didn’t mean she didn’t have one. So, as her arm swept over her head and her feet began to move, Allegra began to tell it.

  Finn ran up the empty main staircase and glanced at the card rectangle in his hand when he reached the top. Balcony box 97. Seat 1. The only destination he cared about at the moment. All the tickets had been sold out, but thank goodness Simon had friends in high places with corporate accounts.

  Thank goodness, too, for London cabbies who’d drive at an insane speed from Heathrow, given the right monetary incentive. Too bad, though, that he’d only just made it and wasn’t dressed like most of the other theatregoers. He was still wearing his usual practical cargo trousers and shirt and about three layers of plane dirt.

  He could hear the muffled orchestra from behind the closed theatre doors, and when he finally burst into his box the house lights were down and there was movement on stage. Finn searched frantically for her and it took only a split second to lock onto her, even though from this height he could hardly see her features and he barely recognised her under the make-up and bright lights. The movement, though, was unmistakable. He knew it was her from the soft grace of her arms, the power and strength in those legs, the emotion radiating out into the audience that squeezed his lungs.

  There was a rather impatient cough behind him. He turned round, brows raised.

  A thin man in a bow tie was giving him a disapproving look. ‘Would you mind sitting down. You’re not made of glass, you know.’

  Finn dropped into the empty seat, muttering his apologies.

  But he didn’t want to sit. He wanted to stand, to run, to jump. He wanted to climb down over this darn balcony and rush to the front of the stage. Of course, he would need to be able to see straight for that, and at the moment just the sight of that tall blond guy manhandling Allegra was fogging his vision. He’d better keep his hands in the right places or Finn would be tempted to use his machete. Or he would have done if he’d remembered to strap it to his leg.

  Hands off! he wanted to shout. Mine!

  But the knowledge that he’d blown that chance kept him silent and in his seat. However, his irritation melted away as the ballet continued. He hardly saw her partner any more because all he could watch was Allegra. He’d known she was good, but this…

  She was blowing him away.

  And from the hushed electricity of the auditorium, he guessed he wasn’t alone. No whispers, no creaking seats. Hardly even a movement. Over two thousand people seemed to be holding their breath in concert.

  It wasn’t just the grace and elegance of her movements; it was the way she lived and breathed the character. A pure spirit far too good for the blind prince who couldn’t see the beauty right under his nose. And when the dunce walked away, believing his fulfilment lay elsewhere, Finn wanted to punch the guy.

  How dare you break that brave heart? he wanted to shout. Look what you did! You crushed it with your dirty boots, and even then you still couldn’t destroy it. There it is, living and breathing and dancing in front of you, and you still haven’t the courage to see it. Not until it’s far too late.

  Please let it not be too late.

  The final curtain fell and Finn slumped in his seat, as exhausted as if he’d done a ten mile run with a rucksack full of rocks. And when the curtain rose again and it was Allegra’s turn to step forward the entire audience rose to their feet. The whistles and cheers seemed to go on for hours. Finn, still dazed, managed to stand and join them. He’d had
plenty of practice shouting out his joy, after all.

  But the applause eventually did start to die away. People began to sit down. Finn looked nervously at the edges of the red velvet curtain, fearing a twitch that would signal they were going to close, that they’d hide her from him and he might never get the chance to tell her what he needed to say.

  He’d never get to her if he tried to go backstage, would he? The whole place would be swarming. It was now or never. And Finn McLeod was definitely a now kind of guy.

  A loud gasp from someone in the audience caused Allegra to pause as she finished her curtain call. The stage lights were so bright she couldn’t see much past the edge of the stage, but Stephen was looking off to the left now, and some of the other dancers were pointing in that direction. She squinted and tried to adjust her eyes to the gloom beyond the footlights.

  A murmur now, rumbling across the stalls, and then another louder collective intake of breath. Any residual applause died away. What on earth was happening out there?

  Suddenly there was movement at the back of the auditorium—a couple of the security guards—and then the house lights came up. What was it? A fire? Then why hadn’t the safety curtain come down? Why wasn’t the alarm sounding? Allegra took a step and leaned forwards, trying to see what all the fuss was about.

  That was when she saw the idiot dangling from the outside of one of the second tier boxes, one arm gripping the railing, one foot straining for the railing of the box below.

  Insane! The man was literally insane.

  Something else, too. Something that made her heart contract with an unwanted association. He was also fearless.

  A lump rose in her throat. Tonight of all nights, some nutter had to go all Tarzan and remind her of him.

  It might have been entertaining for those watching if the man hadn’t slipped just then, only narrowly saving himself by balancing one foot, then the other on the edge of the Grand Tier balcony and hanging grimly onto the curved brass stem of one of the shaded lights nestled in the plasterwork.