‘You only came here to check up on me.’ Her fingers tightened around her clutch. ‘I don’t like the shade of green you’ve turned.’
‘I saw you two cosying up in the theatre. Tell me, Viktoriya, should I be worried?’
‘So you were spying on me! I refuse to have this discussion.’
‘Oh, but I have every right. I knew he was up to no good, using his money to charm you. I demand to know where he took you after the theatre.’
‘Really, Alexei? You think this behaviour is going to make me want to tell you anything?’ The accusatory tone in his voice hurt her to the core. Like most men, he was prone to the odd bout of jealousy but this full-blown attack on her character cut deep.
‘I don’t trust him,’ he said.
‘You don’t trust me, you mean. I’m not in the mood for your unfounded accusations.’
‘I’m not so sure they’re unfounded.’ He leaned in close. The cloud of alcohol nearly bowled her over.
‘Alexei, how much did you drink?’
‘Not enough to forget about you and him,’ he sneered.
She gritted her teeth and tried to count to ten. She gave up at five. Pointing at the foyer door that led to the street, she lowered her voice. ‘Leave. Now.’
‘This will not be the last time we discuss this.’
‘I’m not discussing anything when you’re in this state.’ She pushed him out the door and quickly shut it behind her. Leaning against the rough wood, the coolness bit through the flimsy material of her dress as hurt, disappointment, frustration, sadness and anger swirled around her.
* * *
Olga took the evening dress from Viktoriya and they skirted round the rolls of fabric and mannequins draped in half-finished costumes to the back of the sewing room.
‘I am so glad you’re all right,’ Olga said as she held up the dress for inspection. Lifting the hemline, she studied the stains Viktoriya had tried to remove late the night before. ‘Although I wish the dress hadn’t suffered from last night’s idiocy.’
‘Mine?’
‘No, no. The idiocy of the people who attended the ballet.’ Donning her glasses, Olga peered intently at the hem. ‘I don’t think this can be fixed.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Viktoriya picked up a stray thread and she wrapped it tightly around her finger. ‘It will take me forever to pay for it.’
‘Diaghilev will figure it out and you won’t have to find a cent.’ Looking over the rim of her glasses, she asked, ‘So is he handsome?’
Heat raced across Viktoriya’s face. ‘I wouldn’t say he is unattractive.’
A hearty laugh escaped Olga’s lips. ‘Oh my dear girl, that would explain Alexei’s filthy mood this morning.’
‘He’s here? I didn’t think he was due in for a couple of hours.’
‘Diaghilev wanted the men in for some extra classes.’
‘For?’
‘Who knows?’ Olga gave an exaggerated shrug. Puffing out her cheeks, she said, ‘You need to watch him, Viktoriya.’
‘I know.’ She gently picked up a mother of pearl bead and turned it over and over. ‘He’d been drinking.’
‘I thought he didn’t touch alcohol.’
‘I thought the same.’ Sighing, she said, ‘It appears I was wrong about many things with Alexei.’
‘Give him a chance but please be careful.’
‘I’ll keep giving him chances until I figure out what’s sending him on these crazy ups and downs. Last night was the first time I’ve seen him drunk, so I don’t think it’s that. And this jealousy thing is so unlike him.’
‘You know what I think?’
‘I’m not entertaining it, Olga.’ Placing the bead back in the jar, she said, ‘I appreciate you looking out for Alexei. And for me. Things will work out fine, I’m sure.’
Viktoriya stepped into the hallway, unsettled. With so much promise in her world, she should be ecstatic, but Alexei’s behaviour dampened everything. She hated that some of Alexei’s accusations rang true. Erik had been charming and, if she were entirely honest, his money added to his attractiveness.
She shook her head, trying to remove that thought. How shallow could she be? But for a woman with not much to her name to meet one of the richest men in Europe, it was almost impossible for money not to muscle in on the matter. Although the baron’s grasp on reality and kind and genuine nature were what really intrigued her. Unlike Alexei and his recently atrocious behaviour…
‘Stop it!’ she whispered harshly to herself.
Turning towards the rehearsal room, she spotted Irina rushing down the hall, head down, brows furrowed.
‘Are you all right?’ Viktoriya asked.
Plastering on a fake smile, Irina said, ‘Yes, yes, of course.’
‘Are you sure?’
Irina let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I am fine but I am not so sure how others in the company are faring.’ Looking up and down the hall, she leaned in. ‘Jean Poueigh’s critique of Parade was less than favourable.’
‘Given the reactions of the audience, I’m guessing that will be the consensus.’
‘Actually, no. Most of the critics have spoken positively. They think the music is genius and Picasso’s designs magnificent. They also loved Massine’s choreography. It appears Poueigh is the naysayer in all this.’
‘But people booed. There were fistfights, for goodness’ sake.’
‘Do you not think this was expected? Remember the Rite of Spring?’
‘Oh. True.’ Of course she remembered. The ballet had caused a storm of controversy when it premiered in 1913. Stravinsky’s loud, rhythmic music and Nijinsky’s stomping choreography resulted in the audience turning on each other, much like what had happened in Parade. Rumour had it Diaghilev staged Rite of Spring specifically to create a controversy that would land him on front page of the tabloids—it had worked. ‘Do you think Diaghilev expected Parade to receive the same reaction?’
Irina’s raised eyebrows gave Viktoriya the answer.
‘Well, if that’s what he set out do then I would say he’s succeeded.’ She felt a tinge of sadness that she hadn’t been the one caught up in an event that was sure to go down in the history books.
‘How was your evening with the baron?’
‘How did you know about it?’ Was nothing sacred in this company?
‘Everyone knows about it. So?’ Irina tilted her head to the side, a small smile on her normally taut lips.
‘Do you want to know about the evening before or after the unrest?’ She placed a hand on her hip.
‘Don’t take that attitude with me, Viktoriya. Just because you have the attention of someone important doesn’t mean your position in this company has changed.’
A hollow feeling burrowed in her chest. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—’
She held up her hand. ‘There’s a lot going on and we’re all feeling anxious. Just don’t give Diaghilev a reason to doubt you.’
‘Are you saying he does?’
‘I’m not saying anything. Just be extra careful until we know what the outcome of Parade is and whether your friend Cheverin follows through with the cash.’
Irina dashed around the corner before Viktoriya could ask more questions. Once again, she stood in the deserted hall, contemplating what to do next. Now that she’d done her duty in Scheherazade, she was at a loss. She needed to track down Diaghilev. Although, given the developments from the night before, he likely wouldn’t be in the mood to entertain anyone, especially a dancer in limbo.
The door of the rehearsal room opened and a group of male dancers sauntered out. Sweat covered their exposed skin as they towelled down their faces and necks. Viktoriya stood to the side, trying to find Alexei. She waited a few more minutes then walked over to the half-open door, hand resting on the wood, ready to push it open.
‘It’s not right what’s happening.’ Alexei’s tone held a sharp edge.
‘Maybe she’s happy to whore herself out to royalty,’ came the voic
e of the older dancer she recognised as Nestor.
His words cut to the core. Why didn’t Alexei jump to her defence?
Nestor cleared his throat then said, ‘Well, if Budian is sleeping with him, then I hope she—’
Plastering a fake smile on her face, she pushed open the door. ‘Oh! I thought Olga was in here.’
The men turned, shame sending their gazes to the floor.
Alexei rushed forward and placed his hand under her elbow, steering her towards the door. ‘I haven’t seen her. Perhaps she is walking beside the river? She said she needed fresh air. You should go find her there.’ He seemed rather calm for someone who’d just been caught out not defending her.
Upset, Viktoriya left the rehearsal room then the theatre, her feet quickly carrying her to the river bank. Anger gripped her shoulders and as much as she wanted to march back in there and confront Alexei, she refrained.
Trying to calm down, she leaned against the bridge railing and concentrated on the sun’s warm rays, the cool breeze and the steady flow of the Seine. She tried to imagine the river’s journey from glacial peaks, through remote villages, farmland, towns and cities; and how the waters navigated the unexpected twists and bends as it made slow, steady progress before finally flowing into the English Channel. Despite her best efforts, her thoughts kept returning to the conversation she’d just overheard. Her stomach churned.
‘Where are you?’ came the familiar voice.
Viktoriya stood straight and gripped the bridge railing. ‘I’m here.’
‘I meant where is your mind?’
‘What do you want?’ She turned and rested against the railing.
His gaze travelled up and down the bridge. ‘I take it you heard what Nestor said.’
‘Of course I did.’ Her tone was firm and steady, and she prided herself on masking the hurt welling inside.
‘I’m sorry you heard that.’ Alexei drew his lips together.
‘But you’re not sorry he said it?’ Alexei’s silence only made the pain grow and the disappointment weighed her down. ‘So you think I’m “whoring” myself as well, do you?’
Alexei threw his head back and let out a groan. ‘What do you want me to do? You beg me to keep our relationship a secret yet you want me to be your knight in shining armour when someone calls you a whore? If I had jumped to your defence then there would be questions about why.’
‘Well maybe you would have defended me because you’re a gentleman and don’t like women being called such names, especially when it’s unfounded.’ She squeezed her eyes shut, wondering why she ever thought they could have a civil conversation after last night.
‘I’m seeing Diaghilev this afternoon. The meeting is already booked,’ he said.
‘About?’
‘You. And me.’
‘There isn’t any you and me, Alexei. We’ve cooled things off.’
‘Because of Diaghilev’s idiotic rules.’
Fear ran like ice through her veins. ‘You can’t say anything to him.’
‘I can. Diaghilev can’t make you be with someone just because it means money for the ballet.’
Viktoriya took a deep breath and pushed it out slowly. ‘Last night was a once off. Erik doesn’t—’
‘Erik, is it?’
‘Yes, that’s his name.’ She refused to let Alexei drag her off track. ‘Erik only wanted my company for one evening to show me what ballet is like from the other side of the stage. He wanted me to be inspired, to aim high, to use my talent to its full potential. There was nothing seedy or underhanded about his intentions.’
‘That’s not what I heard. Besides, didn’t you see the card and roses?’
‘What?’
‘The huge bunch of roses in your apartment. And a card that implied one night was not enough.’ Alexei’s sneer made her anger explode.
‘You were snooping in my apartment? What were you doing there without me?’
‘I’d come by to see you and Yana let me in. She told me how nice it was of me to send them to you.’
‘Obviously she had enough manners not to read the card.’ Viktoriya gripped the handrail so hard her knuckles turned white. ‘I’ve had enough, Alexei. I thought we could make this work—a relationship or friendship or even a dance partnership—but you’re making this impossible with your petty jealousy. I’m deeply insulted that you think I would run off with someone just because of what they can do for me. I loved…love you but at the moment you are making it impossible for me to like you.’ He didn’t need to know she had entertained—albeit momentarily—thoughts of what it would be like to be courted by the baron. Any sane woman would have wondered the same. It wasn’t like she had any grand plans to snag him for marriage.
‘I’m still telling Diaghilev about our relationship,’ he said, as if her words hadn’t registered. ‘He needs to know so that Bulgarian bully can lay off his advances.’
‘You talking to Diaghilev will only end up causing unnecessary problems. What if Diaghilev kicks you out? Where will that leave you?’ It took a huge effort to remain calm. ‘Don’t stir the pot.’
‘You don’t think he’d kick you out as well, huh?’
Alexei’s self-assured tone made her clench her fists.
‘At this stage, I think not. Especially if Erik has a say.’ That was a low blow but Alexei needed to get his head straight. His possessiveness had clouded his commonsense.
‘The Bulgarian needs to back off.’
‘So do you.’ She moved to leave but he grabbed her elbow, his fingers digging into her flesh. Wrenching it free, she said, ‘I don’t know what’s gotten into you but you’re not doing yourself any favours with this behaviour.’
‘You make me crazy.’ The light breeze ruffled his slicked-back hair. His dishevelled look matched his wild eyes.
‘You make me crazy!’ Hot tears burned her eyes and she desperately tried to hold them back but failed. She angrily wiped her face with the back of her hand. ‘You’ve changed, Alexei, and I don’t know how to help you.’
‘I don’t need any help! And it’s you who has changed.’ He held his chin high. ‘You would never have entertained someone like him when we were in Russia.’
Viktoriya left her hands by her side, slowly opening and closing her fists. ‘I am ignoring that last statement. I will, however, say that I am very worried about you.’
‘You don’t need to be. Go on, go with your Bulgarian lover. See if I care.’
CHAPTER
18
Lily stood outside the Cheverin Estate near Lille, gazing at the intimidating wrought iron gates that depicted angels fighting with odd creatures, vines weaving between them. It was an impressive, though slightly intimidating, feat of talent to design a metal gate like this and the beauty wasn’t lost on her. Although she wasn’t here to do a tour of bizarre French estate gates—she had a mission to accomplish.
The high-speed train from Paris had given Lily time to mull over the conversation she’d had with Yves the night before. She’d contemplated calling to apologise, or at least texting him, but she had no idea what to say. He was right, she knew that in her heart, but it didn’t mean that she was ready to blurt out all the pain she’d held onto for almost two years. If she did say anything, she’d be exposed, raw, vulnerable. How could she risk feeling like that again? She didn’t possess the strength to go through the hurt of losing someone once more. Better that she cut ties with Yves now before she got in too deep.
Lily gazed up at the black gates once more, the bright blue expanse of sky stretching above them. This trip to Lille was such a wild guess, but she couldn’t think of any other place where her sister could be. Or at least if she wasn’t there, maybe one of the Cheverin family members knew where she was. Even wild stabs in the dark could connect with targets.
Lily pushed the buzzer and waited.
Nothing.
She pushed it again.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss that taxi, damn it.
The sound of tyres speeding along gravel drew her attention to the public road. In the distance a small red car trundled along, leaving dusty clouds in its wake. Lily squinted, trying to figure out if it would be the sort of car a baron would drive but the tiny battered vehicle looked like it would be more at home with a uni student.
Lily looked over at the intercom. Still no buzzing, no flashing lights. Perhaps the wiring was broken? If so, how did they get in and out of the estate? Maybe this red car was the electrician. Maybe she should stop making up weird scenarios and just get on with the job.
About to press the buzzer once more she stopped when the car pulled up next to her. The bright sun meant she couldn’t make out the face of the driver but when he exited, her mind—and body—knew exactly who had driven this battered beast up the road.
‘What are you doing here?’ Lily’s tone sounded more surprised than annoyed.
‘I came to find you.’ Yves stayed at a distance.
‘Why?’ The view from this high horse was not all it was cracked up to be.
‘I did not like way we said goodbye last night.’
‘We didn’t say goodbye. You told me it was best I should leave.’
Yves concentrated on his shoes, now covered in country dust. ‘I was angry.’
‘You had every right to be.’ Yep, the view from ground level was much nicer.
‘I’m sorry,’ they said in unison.
An uneasy silence fell around them. In the distance dogs barked and a tractor motor spluttered, stopped, then started up again.
‘This is a long way to come to say you’re sorry. Why are you really here?’ she ventured. ‘How did you even know I was at the chateau?’
‘I spoke to Natalie’s friend Penny.’
‘Because you didn’t want to talk to me.’
Beneath the Parisian Skies Page 17