For an instant Lydia paused, then when she spoke her voice was as cool as ever. ‘Why bother resurrecting such an old story? It won't bring Timothy back and it doesn't affect the future. Anyway, you acted very stupidly at the time.' The girl gathered her composure around her as though it was a visible mantle of support. 'You made a mountain out of a molehill. You interrupted a drunken kiss and you acted as though you'd found us in bed together! If you hadn't dashed off the way you did, Timothy wouldn't have had to chase you round the world. And if he hadn't done that, he'd be alive today!’
Melanie listened, astonishment replacing contempt ‘You really consider yourself blameless, don't you?
‘ Yes.’
'And I suppose you're also blameless about the letter you found so unexpectedly?' The sudden sharpness of the question took Lydia by surprise, and she caught her breath and half turned away. Looking at the finelly chiselled profile, Melanie was only conscious of feeling contempt. No longer was it important to maintain her pride or to pretend she was unhurt by what had happened. The reminder of Timothy's death had made her realize how fragile life was, and how little it mattered if Lydia knew that she still loved Gregory.
‘What letter?' Lydia asked, her question - with its pretended i innocence - only increasing Melanie's contempt for her.
The one you conveniently found and gave to Gregory; tin ( one that proved Timothy hadn't sold his shares to your father.'
'Oh, that letter!'
‘Yes, that letter! Why did you do it? Was it just spite or win it the only way you could think of to try and get Gregory back?’
'I did it because it was the proper thing to do!' The red head tilted arrogantly. 'Gregory had a right to know what a rotten little schemer you are!'
'If anyone's a schemer it's you! You may be able to go on pretending with Gregory, but you can't do it with me. You know very well I never gave that letter to your father.'
Lydia shrugged. 'Gregory mentioned something about Anton trying to take the blame.'
You didn't need Gregory to tell you that You knew it already!'
You're not suggesting—'
'I'm not suggesting anything,' Melanie interrupted. I'm telling you. From the moment your father had that letter, you knew about it. You knew it not only gave him control of the business but also the power to blackmail Gregory into marrying you!'
You're crazy!'
‘Am I? Then why did he break off the engagement as soon as his aunt died?'
The flush on Lydia's cheeks showed that the question had found its mark and, seeing it, Melanie suddenly became sickened by the whole scene. 'Can't you be truthful for once in your life?' she said wearily. 'Or are you still scared that I might try and get Gregory back?’
'If you haven't tried to do so before, you won't try now.' The approach of the assistant made her stop and she waited until Melanie had signed the account and the woman had moved away again to pack up the beachwear, before she continued. Only then did Lydia speak, her face no longer expressionless but full of malice and guile.
'All right, so I did know my father had Timothy's letter and I also knew that he used it to force Gregory into asking me to marry him. Then when his aunt died and he dashed off to New York, I made up my mind to show him the letter.' 'And tell him I had given it to your father?’
‘Yes. It was the obvious thing to do.’
Although nothing Lydia had said had come as a surprise, hearing the words so blatantly and almost proudly uttered made Melanie more disgusted than she had believed possible.
Is there nothing you would stop at to get what you want?’ she asked.
‘Nothing!’ Lydia replied. That's why you're alone now and why I'll end up marrying Gregory.'
Melanie clutched at the counter, and seeing the movement, Lydia gave a delicate laugh. ‘No, we're not engaged yet; but we will be. I can promise you that.'
‘You're very sure of him, aren't you? Melanie said, keeping her face averted.
I'm only being logical,' Lydia replied. 'He hasn't got over you yet, but when he does, I intend to be there - waiting.' As though the sound of her own voice was giving her confidence, the girl came a step closer. You were very stupid to let him go. Why is trust so important to you?'
‘Because without it, it means you don't know the person you're in love with. You may just as well be in love with a mirage.'
'Love is a mirage,' Lydia replied. ‘No two people can ever completely understand each other.'
Melanie turned and looked at her. If you really think that, then I don't give your marriage much chance of success.'
'I'll have Gregory and I'll be his wife. That's all the success I want.' She gave a half shake of her head. 'If you wanted to, you could have convinced him that Anton had been the one to give Timothy's letter to my father.'
'Maybe,' Melanie said wearily. ‘But he would still have believed that I knew about it - that I hadn't told him about it because I had been protecting Anton.'
‘So what? You could always have pleaded that Anton had influence over you - that was one of the things Gregory didn't like.'
'I know. But it wasn't true. Anton never influenced me.'
‘Whether he did or not isn't important,' Lydia said coolly. ‘But Gregory believed it to be true, and if you'd played your cards properly, he would have forgiven you.'
'I didn't want to be forgiven for something I hadn't done!' Melanie flared.
'Then you're the loser and I'll be the one to wear his wedding ring.'
With a mocking gesture of farewell Lydia raised her hand and walked away, leaving Melanie to gather up her parcels and make her way blindly to the lift.
For the rest of the day she was able to forget her searing meeting with Lydia, for the dress rehearsal was unusually long and tedious, and by the time she returned to the flat she was so physically exhausted that she fell asleep the moment her head touched her pillow. Even the next morning she had no chance to think of her own personal problems, for another rehearsal was called and final adjustments made to costumes and scenery. But in the afternoon, on Verenskaya's instructions, everyone returned home to rest, and though Melanie knew she would not sleep, she lay in her bedroom with the curtains drawn to keep out the daylight and, as she had expected, thoughts of Gregory and Lydia flooded her mind.
Although he did not love Lydia yet, she knew that given time he would eventually marry her, as Lydia had so calmly stated yesterday. For the hundredth time she wondered whether she had been right to stop Anton from going to see Gregory. At worst, Gregory might not have believed him; at best he would have accepted Anton's guilt and - with the knowledge of how badly he had misjudged her - he would have pleaded with her to forgive him; begged her to let them start afresh.
She sighed and turned her head on to the pillow, acknowledging with bitterness that she was indulging in a daydream. ‘So long as Gregory needed proof of her innocence, so long as his faith in her was so weak that it could not conquer the doubts put there by other people, then she would have had to live with the fear that one day someone or something else would have made him doubt her again.
With a sigh she sat up and, accepting the fact that she was not going to fall asleep, swung her feet to the ground and padded over to the window. She pulled back the curtains and stared into the square. A nanny was wheeling a baby in a pram and beyond them a young mother was walking hand in hand with a toddler. As they reached the corner of the street a man crossed the road towards them. The little boy ran forward and was lifted high into the air and then set down on his feet again. The mother stood watching, a smile on her face as she turned it up to receive the man's kiss. It was an ordinary meeting of a family, yet it made Melanie realize how different her own life was; how different it would always be.
'You should be sleeping.' Verenskaya's voice jerked her round and guiltily she moved back to the bed.
'I'm not used to sleeping during the day.'
‘You should at least be resting.'
Dutifully Melanie lay down a
nd Verenskaya went out, returning after a few moments with a pot of tea and a jug of milk.
Melanie smiled, 'I never ever thought a Russian would offer me tea without lemon!'
'I agree it is sacrilege to drink tea with milk, but you need fattening up. After tonight's performance you will start your holiday. If you don't rest you will collapse.'
'For once I'm not arguing.'
There would be no point in it Everything is arranged. Now drink your tea and rest. I will call you when it is time to go to the theatre.'
As Melanie was being fastened into her costume later that night, she was seized with such a fit of trembling that she could not hide it.
'Are you all right, mademoiselle?' the dresser asked.
‘Yes, yes, it's just nerves.'
After a moment the trembling ceased and she was able to tie on her shoes, take a final glance at herself, and go to the wings where Anton was waiting for her.
At the request of the Palace they were not doing a full-length ballet, but a series of smaller works, and Melanie and Anton were to dance Diana and Actaeon which, though a short pas de deux, was so arduous that it required all their stamina.
‘We've got a receptive audience, thank heavens,' Anton murmured. 'You can feel their excitement.'
'I hope I won't let them down.' She shivered. 'I feel as though I've never danced before.'
'You say that every time we give a special performance.'
'I know I do - only this time it's even worse. I can't go on, Anton. I—' The rest of her words were drowned by a burst of applause as the curtains swept back for their entry, and Anton gave Melanie's shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she moved past him to dance on to the stage.
The spotlight fell full upon her, and as she was bathed by its warm glow, professionalism overcame all her other fears and, drawing on reserves she had not dreamed she still possessed, her fatigue vanished and she danced with strength, vivacity and consummate skill.
As Actaeon Anton was superb, each leap drawing tumultuous applause, so that when they came to the end of their dance they were forced to give an encore, and even then, after innumerable curtain calls, the audience refused to be satisfied. The conductor, standing in front of the orchestra, looked up at Anton, waiting for his nod before beginning another encore, but after a fleeting glance at Melanie, Anton shook his head. Reading the signal correcdy, the conductor put down his baton, the two men controlling the heavy curtains released their hold on the switches and the thick red velvet drapes swung across the stage, muffling the still thunderous applause.
Melanie stared at the curtains as though seeing them for the first time. The spur that had driven her all evening was now abruptly disintegrating and she felt curiously empty, her limbs so weak that she staggered and would have fallen had not Anton's arms reached out to catch her.
^What's wrong?' he asked, his voice harsh with anxiety.
'I'm tired,' she said simply, and then knew no more as she slipped into unconsciousness.
She was unaware of being carried to her dressing-room, unaware of the reporters who, clamouring outside her door for an interview, stopped in horror as they saw her inert figure and then, in one concerted rush, headed to talk to other members of the cast.
‘Was this the first time the great ballerina had collapsed?'… ‘Was she suffering from an illness?'… ‘Was it incurable?'
Never short on histrionics, litde dancers anxious to have their name in print made up answers as they went along, giving the reporters the dramatic replies which they felt would be most readily accepted. Truth never entered into any of the statements, and by the time Verenskaya - guessing what might be happening - left Melanie's side and descended on the corps de ballet like a force nine gale, the damage had already been done.
It was not until the following afternoon that Melanie, resting on the couch in the Bayswater flat, had an opportunity of reading the lurid stories which had been printed about her.
'England's greatest ballerina dying!' shrieked one headline. 'Leading dancer of Verenskaya ballet unlikely to appear again,' forecast another. 'A life of rest for Melanie - let the Queen make her a Dame,' ordered a third.
Melanie threw the papers on to the floor in disgust. ‘Who printed all this rubbish?' she asked Verenskaya.
'If I knew that, there would be a noticeable pruning of my Company!'
‘You should have let me see the reporters. Then this wouldn't have happened.'
‘You weren't in a fit state to see anyone last night. The doctor says you're to take a complete rest for at least two months.'
'Two months!'
‘Well, one month at least.'
Two weeks,' Melanie said stubbornly. 'I'm going on holiday anyway, so it will work out all right.'
'One complete month,' came the insistent reply. 'I am not joking, child. The doctor was most emphatic.'
'But what about the season?'
Tanya will dance more, and there is another dancer I can get from the Stuttgart ballet company. Believe me, no one is indispensable. And besides, all this paper talk is excellent publicity. By the time you dance again, everyone will be fighting to get tickets.'
'No doubt all waiting for me to collapse again,' Melanie said dryly. The public has a very macabre mind.'
'The public love you,' Verenskaya said simply, and indicated the mass of bouquets that filled the room. 'These are only a tenth of what have come for you. I sent the rest to the Middlesex Hospital.' The woman stood up. 'Rest again. I will be in the kitchen if you need me.'
Still under the effect of sedatives, Melanie lay in a state of semi-consciousness, drifting on dreams that occasionally gave way to reality. Gradually the sunlight faded and the dusty beams dancing into the room were replaced by blue shadows that crept over the carpet.
Verenskaya returned to the living-room, once more clad in her long evening dress and sparkling jet necklaces. 'A little supper before I leave?' she suggested. 'I have prepared some bortsch for you.'
'It's very kind of you, Madame, but I don't feel hungry.'
‘You do not need to feel hunger to drink bortsch! I will—' she stopped in annoyance as the doorbell rang. 'No peace here! Always people coming uninvited!'
'It can only be Anton,' Melanie said with a faint smile. 'He always knows when you've prepared something special!'
'This time he will be out of luck. I have no intention of letting him in. You are to rest - not to be bothered with shop talk.'
‘He doesn't bother me.'
'But he still reminds you of what you should be forgetting,' came the gentle reply, 'and for that reason alone I think it better if you do not see him.'
Melanie clenched her hands under cover of the light blanket that rested over her. 'My not seeing him won't help me to forget. Anyway, he's my partner.'
'Time enough to see him when you come back from your holiday.' The bell rang again, longer this time, and with a muttered imprecation, Verenskaya stomped out, closing the living room door firmly behind her.
Melanie lay back on the settee, but hardly had she settled herself when she heard Verenskaya give a loud exclamation. She sat up in alarm. It must be reporters, she thought agitatedly, and quickly patted at her hair with one hand while with the other she switched on a table lamp. Light flooded the room and the startling brilliance heightened the tension that swept through her as the door opened and she recognized the man framed in the threshold.
'Gregory!' she gasped. He came towards her and she shrank back with such a visible shudder that he stopped dead.
'I had to come,' he said jerkily. 'I read that you were ill… very ill.'
Anger released her numbness, and furiously she lashed out at him. 'What for?' she mocked. 'Remorse before the requiem? You're wasting your sympathy, Gregory. You shouldn't believe what you read in the newspapers. As you can see for yourself, I'm perfectly well!'
He did not answer and though she tried not to look at him, she was unable to stop herself.
It was several months since
their last meeting, and if its bitterness had left its mark on her, he too had not gone unscathed. The slight grey which she remembered at his temples had now become completely silver, and the glittering eyes were so deeply set that they made the lids appear dark and heavy, accentuating his saturnine expression. A devil in torment. From nowhere the thought came into her mind, and as it did, her anger against him died.
I'm sorry you were misled,' she said gently. 'But I'm not ill. I fainted last night after the performance and the newspapers blew the whole thing up into a crazy story.'
Still Gregory went on staring at her and Verenskaya, sensing Melanie's torment, spoke for the first time. 'I am sorry, little one. I tried to prevent him from coming in, but it was impossible.'
‘Nothing could have stopped me,' Gregory said harshly, not taking his eyes from Melanie's face. 'I had to see you for myself… had to make sure. The moment I saw the newspapers I came straight here.'
'Straight here?’ Verenskaya questioned.
He turned and looked at her blankly, then with an effort absorbed what she meant. ‘I was away - abroad,' he explained jerkily. 'I read the newspapers when I was on the plane, and the minute I landed, I came straight here.'
Verenskaya's eyes took on their all too familiar gleam, and with a sense of doom Melanie knew what was going through the woman's mind. But it mustn't happen. At all costs Verenskaya must be prevented from turning this unwanted and painful meeting into some pseudo-reunion of blighted lovers.
Sitting up straight, Melanie forced herself to look at Gregory. It was kind of you to come here, but quite unnecessary. As I've just said, I'm perfectly well.'
‘You don't look it.’ He pulled the lamp round so that the light fell directly on her face, outlining the sharpness of the bones beneath the delicate skin. ‘You're ill, Melanie. Don't lie to me.'
'I'm tired,' she admitted, and looked at Verenskaya pleadingly. But the look was ignored and Verenskaya walked to the door.
‘You must have much to say to each other,' she said, and went out.
Roberta Leigh - My Hearts a Dancer Page 21
