‘Because the baron wishes to have the pleasure of your company.’
‘But I’m a dancer, not a socialite!’ She didn’t even want to go into the personal trauma of watching someone else perform in the role she’d coveted.
‘Tomorrow night you will be a woman who accompanies the baron to the ballet.’ He raised his eyebrows, daring her to say no.
‘Why me? Surely the baron has a huge range of women to choose from. Countesses, baronesses, actresses…why a dancer who has never had a lead role?’ A lump formed in her throat as thoughts of telling Alexei about this latest development swam in her mind. She had to wriggle out of this somehow.
‘I do not need to remind you that Baron Erik Cheverin is very influential, so if he chooses to take a ballet dancer to the theatre then his wish will be honoured.’ Diaghilev placed his beefy hands firmly on the desk. ‘After your Scheherazade performance he has taken a shine to you and wishes to know you better. As long as you keep him happy, he will pour funds into our coffers.’
‘I will not prostitute myself.’ She crossed her arms.
‘I am not asking you to sleep with the man, all you need to do is look beautiful, be charming, and make him think you only have eyes for him.’
Desperation and confusion washed over her in a heavy wave. ‘But I don’t feel that way with him and I refuse to string someone along, baron or no.’
‘I don’t care if you want to marry the doorman, you are going to this premiere with the baron and that is final!’ Diaghilev’s knuckles turned white and his face a deep shade of red.
‘I will not do it.’ She gritted her teeth.
Standing, Diaghilev towered above her, fury filling the room. ‘You have to and you will.’
‘Then I quit!’ she yelled, instantly regretting her outburst. If she didn’t dance, she’d have no money and would be out on the streets with Yana. The poor girl had faith in her so Viktoriya couldn’t let her down. Besides, how could she possibly live without dance filling her heart?
‘You cannot quit,’ Diaghilev said evenly.
‘I know,’ she muttered and stared at her clasped hands on her lap.
‘All he wants is for you to be by his side while he makes his final decision about whether he’ll give us money. Be your charming self and get us out of this goddamn financial hole we’ve found ourselves in.’
Even in Russia, Diaghilev’s reputation as an astute businessman was common knowledge, but the ups and downs he’d suffered since he first took Russian art to Paris often had him teetering between affluence and poverty. No one could doubt his genius but his financial abilities often came into question and, unfortunately, it appeared now was one of those times.
She refrained from pointing out his use of ‘we’ and ‘ours’ and ‘us’ when he spoke about the financial mess, so instead, Viktoriya asked, ‘It’s only for one night?’
He waved a hand dismissively. ‘The baron has a reputation for losing interest in women quickly so for tomorrow night you are his one and only and the next day it’s likely to be some actress or countess or whatever. Just get the result we need and you can forget all about him.’
She liked his confidence but something deep within told her it wouldn’t be so easy. Being a dancer meant she had her fair share of suitors with stars in their eyes but the only other man who had looked at her like the baron did had been Alexei. The baron’s attention made her uncomfortable but also gave her a secret thrill. She stood and adjusted the belt on her coat. ‘I’m not happy about this.’
‘You don’t have to be. Do your job and the rewards will come our way.’ Fixing his eyes on her, he said, ‘See Olga tomorrow afternoon and she’ll get you sorted. I’ve already told her you’re coming.’
Viktoriya headed towards the door, annoyed with his assumption that she’d say yes, but what else could she say?
* * *
Olga threw her hands up in the air, her eyes alive with excitement. ‘Oh, my dear girl, what an honour!’
Viktoriya forced a smile as she removed her coat and scarf and placed them with her handbag on a nearby chair.
Olga tilted her head to the side. ‘What’s wrong?’
How to explain without sounding like she was ungrateful? ‘I know the baron is influential and Diaghilev trusts me but…’ She bit her lip, trying to find the right words.
‘Child, you’ll have to forget about Alexei this evening. If he’s smart he’ll realise you’re doing this for the company and it’s not a slight against him.’ Olga picked out a dusky pink dress from the clothes rack. She held it against Viktoriya, then sighed. ‘With your dark hair this is perfect.’
Olga motioned for Viktoriya to remove her clothes and she did so without hesitation. The seamstress knew the exact measurements and curves of Viktoriya’s body and any tendency for prudishness had fallen by the wayside years ago. She held up her arms and let the delicate fabric fall around her body. The cool silk felt magnificent against her skin, and she delighted in examining the intricate beading around the incredibly risqué neckline.
‘Did you make this?’
Olga clicked her tongue and shook her head. ‘No, although I am entirely capable of making such a piece—actually, I could do better. I don’t see why Sergei needed to get in the likes of that Coco Chanel. She’s nothing more than professional girlfriend to the rich and famous and artistes.’ The way she accentuated ‘artiste’ made it sound like a despicable profession.
Rumour had it the infamous Coco Chanel had forged her way into high society because of who she knew, not what she made. Although, if Viktoriya were entirely honest, this dress was one of the most breathtaking designs she had ever laid eyes on. Maybe one day Mademoiselle Chanel would dispel those vicious rumours and become a well-respected designer in her own right.
‘I understand it’s hard to dress me in someone else’s creation. If it’s any consolation, though, I’ll be feeling similar to you when I have to watch Mariya perform the role that should have been mine. I was the understudy, not her.’
A warm hand gripped hers. ‘Oh, my dear girl, I am so sorry, I didn’t realise how hard this would be for you.’
‘It’s fine, really. I hope my presence tonight will convince the baron to hand over money, but if there were any way I could have danced on stage tonight…’ Viktoriya willed herself to appear happy. ‘Everyone in the company is a team, right? You and I both have to swallow our pride and do what’s best for all.’
Fiddling with the straps on Viktoriya’s shoulders, Olga peered over her thick glasses and gave a conspiratorial smile. ‘It doesn’t mean we have to like it.’
‘No, we don’t.’
The door burst open and in stormed Alexei, fire in his eyes, jaw set hard. ‘I need to speak with Viktoriya.’
Viktoriya sensed the seamstress would not budge an inch, even if there was a man twice her size darkening the doorway to her sewing room.
Viktoriya turned to Alexei. ‘I am busy so you either have this conversation with me here or after, when I am done.’
Alexei glared at Olga, who rested her chubby hand on her sewing bench. ‘Don’t give me that look, Alexei Pankov.’
Alexei grunted and crossed his arms. A dark cloud of jealousy hung above him. No one spoke.
Olga eventually cleared her throat and concentrated on adjusting the hem. ‘You know, Alexei, Viktoriya is doing what is best for all of us and you need to keep your jealous heart out of it.’
‘Just because he has money doesn’t mean he has a right to buy Viktoriya.’
Annoyance bubbled in Viktoriya’s belly. ‘It’s one night, Alexei. And,’ she narrowed her eyes, ‘if you think so little of me that I can be bought, then you are not the man I thought you were.’
‘He’ll expect physical relations.’
‘He’s not getting anything I won’t willingly give.’ Why oh why did Alexei have to show his possessive streak now? She had enough to deal with without him making things more difficult.
‘What if you want to gi
ve it?’
‘Are you serious?’ Viktoriya clenched her hands by her side.
‘I’m sorry, I just…’ Alexei bowed his head. ‘I don’t know what’s going on with me. These mood swings…they’re just…this isn’t me.’
‘You need sleep, Alexei. Spending all night pacing the apartment is not helping your cause.’ Her body froze. Of course Olga knew about them but they didn’t have to have this discussion right in front her.
Olga held up her hand. ‘This is not a subject we need to worry about right now. Alexei, you need to leave us alone. We have work to do.’
Alexei nodded, his mouth downturned. ‘I truly am sorry for my behaviour.’
‘It will all be fine,’ Viktoriya said gently.
Alexei walked towards the door, opened it and exited into the hallway, the door clicking behind him.
‘Something’s going on with him.’ Olga lifted the dress high off Viktoriya’s shoulders then dropped it again, letting it settle on her body, the soft fabric skimming her curves.
‘I know.’ She bit her lip. ‘Has he been like this the whole time in Paris?’
Olga’s large eyes filled with empathy. ‘I love him like a nephew but his moods have been getting more volatile.’ Sighing, she sat back on her haunches. ‘This behaviour of his reminds me a lot of Vaslav.’
Every muscle in Viktoriya’s body tensed. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘I’ll tell you while you’re getting changed.’ Olga removed the beautifully constructed dress from Viktoriya, who put on her day clothes. The seamstress hung the pink Chanel creation and, after a moment of fussing, turned and said, ‘I realise you haven’t seen Vaslav for a long time but I have and as you well know, he’s an interesting character and very easy to like. But over the years in Paris I saw changes, and it even reflected in his dancing.’ Her eyes misted over as if she’d been pulled back in time. ‘You know of L’après-midi d’un faune?’
‘He choreographed that in 1912 for this company, right?’
‘Yes, yes. A lot of controversy. Fokine was upset Nijinsky had taken on choreographing instead of him and the dancers couldn’t understand Nijinsky’s strange demands for them to twist and turn their bodies in ways that are just not human. Thank God for his sister Bronislava. She was the only one who could translate Vaslav’s steps for the dancers. He was a wonderful dancer but a terrible teacher.’ A small smile crept across Olga’s lips. ‘Such a beautiful ballet, though.’
Viktoriya buttoned up the rest of her shirt, her heart missing the man who had helped get her start in ballet. ‘I learned a lot from him.’
Olga shook her head. ‘Oh, of course! You are one of the few who understood him.’
‘I miss him every day.’
‘Of course you do.’ Olga’s lips turned into a sad smile. ‘What I meant to say before is that for all of Vaslav’s brilliance, I always felt there was an undercurrent of…how shall I put this delicately? There were elements of his personality that made me wonder if he was one and the same person. Did you ever feel that?’
‘I honestly don’t know because I was so young at the time.’ Of course she could have mentioned Nijinsky’s erratic letters but it just didn’t feel like the time or the place.
When Nijinsky had married Romola, it was thought his mental state would improve and he might finally find a steady path. But after American audiences rebelled about mixed races acting out an orgy in Scheherazade and the risqué dancing in Faun, Nijinsky’s ability to cope with difficult situations deteriorated. Add his sprained ankle and being forced to quit dancing for two weeks, Nijinsky’s rage overflowed to the point that the orchestra conductor quit. Those closest to Nijinsky suspected something else was going on and, it appeared, so did Olga. Surely Alexei’s behaviour wasn’t anywhere near as dramatic as Nijinsky’s.
She inhaled sharply.
‘Are you all right?’ Olga asked.
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’ Guilt invaded her and she shook her head. ‘No, I’m not. I have a lot on my mind.’
‘Of course you do, dear.’ She patted Viktoriya’s hand. ‘I’m not saying Vaslav is crazy. He’s just…different, but not in the peculiar artist way. Something deeper…darker…I shouldn’t go on like a gossiping villager. All I want to say is that Alexei and his mood swings remind me very much of Vaslav and I worry that he could be on a road to ruin.’
Hot tears stung Viktoriya’s eyes because Olga’s words hit exactly where she wished they wouldn’t—the heart. And Olga was right, Alexei’s conduct wasn’t just some strange behaviour from a brilliant performer.
‘Please ignore my ramblings. We do not always have a choice in this world, much like your impending evening with Baron Cheverin. We have to take the good with the bad and make the most of the situations we find ourselves in. Isn’t that right?’
‘Yes, yes. That is one hundred per cent right.’
If only she could believe it.
CHAPTER
15
Paris, 1917
Viktoriya entered the foyer of Théâtre du Châtelet, the Coco Chanel dress accentuating her figure, her hair and makeup immaculate thanks to one of the ballet company’s artists. The heels she wore were half a size too small but she tried to walk like a lady and ignore the leather stretching across her bunions and recent blisters.
Despite the war raging across Europe, Parisians sought solace by immersing themselves in the arts, especially with Picasso, Satie, Matisse and Proust remaining in Paris and contributing to the burgeoning world of art. Food had been rationed, electricity and heat were valuable and rare commodities, but a steady diet of the arts had proved the perfect remedy for uniting the French and giving them hope for the future, no matter how uncertain. They drank wine and acted as if the war that ravaged Europe didn’t exist. As a dancer, it had been easy to forget about the fighting, but now, standing amongst some of Europe’s elite and moneyed, Viktoriya felt a strong sense of compassion for those heavily affected by the absurdity of countries taking arms against each other. How could all these people pretend nothing was going on outside this city? These walls? Were they so oblivious they couldn’t see the world for what it really was or did they choose to ignore the tragedies and continue as if they were untouchable?
Biting her lip, Viktoriya chastised herself. Dancing for a ballet company that entertained the throngs meant she was just as bad as them. People all over Europe were starving, being thrown out of their homes, dying from horrific wounds and what did she do? Twirl and leap in the hopes people would fall in love with her dancing and she would one day become a household name. Was she really that shallow? Of course she wasn’t, especially as ballet was her only option to survive. What use would a ballet dancer be out in the world where spies existed and complete strangers shot each other? A veil of powerlessness threatened to suffocate her. Then she spotted the Bulgarian baron enter through the main doors.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea and he nodded and smiled at various people before making his way over to where Viktoriya stood, clutching her evening bag. She offered a small curtsey but as soon as she dipped, a smooth finger touched under her chin.
‘Do not bother with this outdated tradition and before you call me by my formal name, I will insist you call me Erik.’
She looked up and her eyes met the baron’s. Her skin tingled at his nearness and horror surged within. It appeared this evening would be one fraught with emotional challenges.
With apprehension, Viktoriya glanced around the foyer for Alexei, even though she didn’t expect him to be there and really, he had no reason to be. Olga’s observations about Alexei had hit a raw nerve and had upset Viktoriya immensely, and now the anguish wouldn’t leave her heart. This date with the Bulgarian baron did not help matters. Just one night, Viktoriya, just one night.
‘You are ready?’ The baron held out his arm for her to rest her hand on.
Nodding, she gathered the long dress as they walked slowly into the theatre proper. Her cheeks burned as patrons turned to
look at her and the Bulgarian. She’d yet to make her mark on the stage in Paris, so no doubt people were wondering who this mysterious woman with one of Europe’s most eligible bachelors was. Thank goodness Alexei was well away from all this fuss.
Viktoriya walked with the baron up the stairs to the best seats in the theatre. He motioned for her to sit and as she manoeuvred, her high heels and long dress made progress difficult. Taking her place, she sat in silence, the great expanse of the theatre closing in. The gilded balconies and deep red velvet seating were impressive, but their magnificence were lost on her. How many times had she sat alone in the theatre, imagining herself on the stage, the audience enraptured and clapping and cheering, passing her so many bouquets of roses she couldn’t carry them all. This was her dream yet here she was, relegated to being a decorative piece to a man who held the future of her dance company in his hands.
The baron sat next to her, keeping a respectful distance even though they shared an armrest. He cleared his throat and turned to her. ‘I would like you to know, the reason I asked you to accompany me tonight is not because I have dubious intentions, but because your dancing fascinates me. There is something about you, something…melancholic but playful at the same time. It’s impossible to describe the feeling but I wanted to get to know you a little better.’
‘Baron, if you wanted to get to know me, why not ask me to dinner? Why make me watch a ballet that I wanted to be in? I’m assuming Diaghilev told you I was supposed to dance in this role but was taken out to perform for you.’ Perhaps speaking out would offend but pretending to be a delicate waif would be a disservice to herself.
‘Yes, he did tell me.’ The baron drew his brows together and let out a long breath. ‘Are you always this forthright?’
‘Sometimes.’
His lips slowly curved into a smile. ‘I don’t mind a woman who isn’t afraid to say how she feels.’ Drumming his fingers on his thigh, he said, ‘I wanted you to sit here with me so you could imagine yourself on stage, collecting accolades from your adoring fans, being showered in beautiful flowers, every man, woman and child enthralled by your dancing and your beauty.’
Beneath the Parisian Skies Page 15