Granny Dan

by Danielle Steel

  “What solution?” she asked innocently, as she took off her earrings. He had just given them to her, and she loved them. They were pearls with tiny rubies hanging just beneath them, and they looked lovely on her.

  “Vermont,” he reminded her. “There are no revolutions in America. They don't have a war on their doorstep. We could be happy there, Danina, and you know it.” She was running out of excuses not to discuss it with him, and she wanted to be with him, but there never seemed to be a time when she felt ready to leave the ballet, and do something quite so drastic as all that. They were comfortable with the life they shared, and perhaps one day his wife would agree to a divorce.

  “Maybe one day,” she said wistfully. She wanted to be brave enough to go with him, and yet at the same time she still couldn't imagine abandoning their familiar world. She had an equal amount of elements pulling at her from both directions. Madame Markova and the ballet, and Nikolai and all he promised her. A shared life together in a new land, and the ballet, which was her obligation, her duty, her life.

  “You told me you would talk to me about it again at Christmas,” he said sadly. He was beginning to fear she would never leave the ballet, and they would never be able to have more than they had now, unless his wife died, or changed her mind, or he inherited a great deal of money, none of which was likely. All she could be here was his mistress, and they could only live together a few weeks a year, unless she left the ballet. But even then, he couldn't have housed her, and they both knew that. Vermont was the only hope they had of being together and starting a new life. But the sacrifices required of each of them still made her shy away from any decision.

  “I start rehearsals again after Epiphany …” she said vaguely.

  “And then you will dance constantly, and it will be summer again … and then the fall season, and you will do Swan Lake again … and then another Christmas. We will grow old together like this,” he said, looking at her with loving eyes filled with sorrow and longing. “We will never be together, if we stay here.”

  “I cannot just walk away, Nikolai,” she said gently, just as in love with him as he was with her, possibly even more so, but she understood only too well what he was asking and what it would cost her. “I owe them something.”

  “You owe yourself more, my love. And me. They won't be there for you when you're old and can't dance anymore. No one will be there for you. Madame Markova will be gone. We must be there for each other.”

  “I will be,” she promised him, and meant it. And with that, he scooped her into his arms, in her elegant silk underwear trimmed in lace, and carried her to the bed where they had first made love, and still took such insatiable pleasure in it. Theirs was a wonderful life, in the brief time they shared, nothing like any other life he had ever known, or any she had dreamed of.

  “Perhaps you will tire of me one day,” she said sleepily, curled into his arms after they made love, “if we're together all the time.”

  “Don't worry about that.” He smiled, moving so he could kiss her shoulder. Her body was even more beautiful than it ever had been. “I will never tire of you, Danina. Come with me,” he whispered again, and she nodded as she drifted off to sleep.

  “I will one day,” she whispered.

  “Don't wait too long, my love,” he warned, frightened of a world that was beginning to seem menacing to him. He wanted to leave Russia with her before something happened to all of them. It seemed hard to imagine, but it was possible. There were people in high places now who said so, even if the Czar himself would not admit it. But others that he knew were as afraid as he was, and he didn't want to terrify Danina. But he wanted to take her away from it. Before it was too late, before disaster struck. But he was afraid to say too much to her. His fears sounded so foolish, and all Danina knew was the ballet. She knew nothing of the world beyond it, a world that was becoming more frightening every day.

  They ate with the family the next day as planned, and she taught Alexei a magic trick she'd learned from a young dancer who had visited them from Paris. And he was enchanted when she showed it to him. It was a long happy afternoon, a blissful interlude in their lives. She stayed for more than two weeks this time, and didn't go back until the day before rehearsals. She had kept up her daily exercise, but before the season there were always long days of rehearsal that she had to go back for.

  “I should go back, to exercise and warm up,” she explained as she packed her bags on her last day with him. She hated to leave him, and was pushing her stay with him in the cottage to its outer limits. But she had also been dancing so well before their break that she thought she could shave off a few days of practice and rehearsal for the second part of their season. “I hate to leave you,” she admitted. They spent the rest of the afternoon in bed after that, making love, and promises, and sharing secrets. She had never been happier with him, and they had never loved each other more than they did at that moment. It was a magical time for them.

  And when she left the next day, he promised to come to her next performance.

  “We have to rehearse first,” she reminded him as she kissed him good-bye at the train.

  “I'll come to see you in a few days.”

  “I'll be waiting for you,” she promised. It was one of the happiest times they had ever spent, and she was going to ask Madame Markova if she could have another week away with him in the spring. She was sure that Madame Markova would be furious over it, but if Danina danced well enough in the next three months, she might just agree to it. She was pleased, thus far, that Danina hadn't done anything drastic or foolish, and she was virtually certain now she never would.

  The time for that seemed to have gone past them, and Madame Markova was just as sure that eventually they would tire of each other. Letting Danina see him now and then seemed to satisfy them, and in time they would grow bored of an affair that could go nowhere. Madame Markova knew that in Danina's heart, the ballet would win in the end. She was certain of it.

  Danina began exercising that afternoon as soon as she got back, and again at four o'clock the next morning, before rehearsal began at seven. She was well warmed up by then, and in good form, and she knew the role well that she was going to rehearse, so much so that she seemed not to pay much attention. In fact, she allowed herself to play a little bit with some of the other dancers, and they clowned around behind the teacher's back, and did some funny kicks and new steps. She did a leap that took their breath away, and then a very pretty pas de deux with one of her partners. And it was late afternoon before they stopped for something to eat. They had been dancing for nearly ten hours by then, which wasn't unusual for them, and Danina was tired, but not excessively. She gave a last leap on her way out, and someone gasped as she slipped and sailed across the floor with one foot at a shocking angle. There was a long silence in the room as everyone waited to see her get up, but she was very white and very still, as she simply lay there and held her ankle in silence. And then everyone ran to her, and the teacher came briskly across the floor to see what had happened. She was hoping to see a bad sprain, or a ballerina who would be very sore the next morning at rehearsal.

  But what she saw instead was Danina's foot almost at an impossible angle to her leg, and Danina clearly in shock and barely conscious.

  “Carry her to her bed at once,” the woman said sharply. Danina's teeth were clenched, her face deadly white, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind what had happened. She had broken, not sprained, her ankle. A death knell, if it were true, for a prima, or virtually any dancer. There was not a sound, not a word, only the occasional gasp from Danina, as they moved her, and a moment later she lay on her bed, in her leotard and the warm sweater and leg warmers she had been wearing. Without a word, the teacher cut her leotard off, using a small sharp knife she carried for purposes such as that, and the ankle was already swelling to the size of a balloon, the foot still at the same hideous angle, as Danina stared at it in silent horror, the reality too terrible to imagine.

 
“Get a doctor. At once,” a voice said from the doorway. It was Madame Markova. There was a man they used for such things. He was extremely good with feet and legs and bones and he had helped them before, with good results. But what Madame Markova saw as she entered the room nearly broke her heart. In a single instant, with one swift leap, it was over for Danina.

  The doctor came within the hour, and confirmed the worst to them. The ankle was badly broken, and she had to be taken to the hospital. They would have to operate in order to set it. There was no argument, nothing anyone could say. A dozen hands touched hers as they carried her away. Everyone cried, but no one harder than Danina. She had seen it happen too often before. She knew exactly what had just occurred. After fifteen years in these sacred halls, for her, at twenty-two, it was over.

  They operated on her that night, and the entire leg was set in a huge cast. For anyone else, it would have been considered a success. The leg would be straight again, and if she had a limp from it, it would only be a small one. In her case, that was not good enough. The ankle had been shattered, and even if she walked normally, she would never be able to dance as she had before. It would not carry her weight sufficiently to do what she would have to do. There was simply no way of repairing it to give her the flexibility or the strength she needed. And there were no words to console her. Her career had ended with that one small, foolish leap. Not only her ankle, but her life shattered in a single instant.

  She lay in her bed and cried that night, almost as hard as she had when she lost Nikolai's baby. The life she had lost this time was her own. It was the death of a dream, a tragic finish in counterpoint to a brilliant beginning. And this time Madame Markova sat beside her, holding back her own tears. Danina had made the sacrifices, the vow, the commitment, but the fates had not been kind to her. Her life as a ballerina, the life she had lived and breathed and been willing to die for, for fifteen years, was gone.

  She was sent back to the ballet the next day, to lie in the room she shared with the others, and they came to visit her, alone and in pairs, with flowers, with words, with kindness, with sorrow, almost as though to mourn her. She felt as though she had died, and in a way she had. The life she had known, and been an integral part of, had died for her. She already felt as though she didn't belong here. And it was only a matter of time before she had to gather up her things and leave them. She was even too young to teach, and she knew she couldn't anyway. It was not in her. For her, it was simply over. The death of a dream.

  It took her two days to write to Nikolai, and when her letter reached him, he came at once, unable to believe what had happened, although everyone explained it to him in detail once he arrived. All the other dancers knew him and liked him. And they told him again and again how she had fallen and how she looked as she lay on the floor.

  But seeing her, lying there, with her huge cast, and the look of sorrow in her eyes, said it all to him when he first saw her. But to Nikolai, as ghastly as it was for her, it seemed almost like a ray of hope. It was her only chance for a new life. Without this, she would never have left. But he knew he could say none of that to her. She was in deep mourning over her career.

  And this time, when he insisted on taking her away with him, Madame Markova offered no objections. She knew it would be kinder for her not to be at the ballet, for a while at least, listening to the familiar bells and sounds and voices going to class or rehearsals. Danina no longer belonged here. She could return eventually, in some other way, but for now, it was more compassionate not to have her there at all. As quickly as possible for her sake, the past had to be buried. Two thirds of her life, and the only part she had ever cared about until Nikolai, had just ended. Her life as a ballerina was over and gone.

  Chapter 9

  Danina was immensely relieved to return to their cottage to recuperate, and the Czarina was pleased to see her. Danina's recuperation was slow this time, and painful. And when they finally took off the cast after more than a month, the ankle looked weak and shrunken. She could barely stand on her left leg, and she cried the first time she walked across the room to Nikolai. Her limp was so severe, her entire body seemed distorted. The graceful bird she had once been seemed completely broken.

  “It will get better, Danina, I promise,” Nikolai tried to reassure her. “You must believe me. You will have to work hard on it.” He measured both her legs and found that they were still the same length, the limp was due only to weakness. She would never dance again, but she would walk normally. And no one was more solicitous than the Czarina and her children.

  It was several weeks before Danina could walk across the room without a cane, and she was still limping when she received a letter at the end of February that Madame Markova was ill. She had a mild case of pneumonia, but she had had it before, and Danina knew full well how dangerous it could be. In spite of still being unsteady on her legs, she insisted that she had to go to her. She still used the cane to cover distances, and could not walk far, but she felt that she should go back to stay at the ballet, at least until Madame Markova regained her health after the pneumonia. The older woman was frailer than she looked, and Danina feared for her life.

  “It's the least I can do,” she insisted to Nikolai, but although he sympathized, he still objected. There had been riots in St. Petersburg, and in Moscow, and he was uneasy having her go back alone. And Alexei hadn't been well, so he didn't feel able to go to St. Petersburg with her. “Don't be silly, I'll be fine,” she insisted, and after a day of arguing back and forth, he finally agreed to let her go without him. “I'll come back in a week or two,” she promised him, “as soon as I see she's better. She would do, and has done, as much for me.” He understood all too well the power of the relationship between them, and he knew that Danina would have been agonized over not going to her.

  He took her to the train the next day, warned her to be careful and not overtax herself, handed her her cane with a kiss, and put his arms around her. He hated to see her go but understood it, and made her promise to take a taxi directly to the ballet from the station. He was sorry not to go with her. And after all their time together recently, it felt odd to him not to do so. But Danina had promised him she would be fine alone.

  But much to her surprise, when she reached St. Petersburg, she saw people milling about in the streets, shouting and demonstrating against the Czar, and there were soldiers everywhere around them. She had heard nothing of it in Tsarskoe Selo, and was amazed to find the atmosphere in the city unusually tense. But she forced it from her mind as she made her way to the ballet. Her thoughts were on Madame Markova, and she hoped her mentor and old friend was not desperately ill. And she was dismayed to find that in fact she had been, and as had happened once before, she had grown very weak and very frail from her illness.

  Danina sat beside her every day, fed her soup and gruel, and begged her to eat it. And within a week, she was relieved to see some slight improvement, but the older woman seemed to have aged years in a few brief weeks, and she looked intolerably fragile as Danina looked at her lovingly and held her hand.

  Nursing her, the days seemed to fly past her, and Danina fell into bed at night feeling utterly exhausted. And moving around as much as she had, had caused her ankle to swell painfully again. She was sleeping on a cot in Madame Mar-kova's office, her old bed having long since been assigned to another dancer. She was fast asleep on the morning of March eleventh, when crowds gathered in the street not far from the ballet. The shouting and the first gunshots woke her, and she rose quickly and went downstairs to see what had happened. Dancers in the long hallway had already left the classrooms where they'd been warming up, and a few of the bravest ones were peeking from the windows, but they could see nothing but a few soldiers galloping past on horseback. No one had any idea what had happened until later that day when they learned that the Czar had finally ordered the army to quell the revolution, and more than two hundred people had been killed in the city. The law courts, the arsenal, the Ministry of the Interior, a
nd a score of police stations had been burned, and the prisons had been forced open by the people.

  The gunshots had stopped by late afternoon, and in spite of the alarming news of the day, that night seemed relatively peaceful. But in the morning, they heard that the soldiers had refused to follow orders and shoot into the crowds. They had retreated, in fact, and returned to their barracks. The Revolution had started in earnest.

  A few of the male dancers ventured out into the street later that afternoon, but they returned very quickly, and barricaded the doors of the ballet. They were safe there, but there was shocking news from beyond their little world, and it grew more horrifying day by day. On March fifteenth, they learned that the Czar had abdicated on behalf of himself and the Czarevitch, in favor of his brother, Grand Duke Michael, and was on his way back to Tsarskoe Selo, from the front, by train, to be arrested. It was impossible to understand, much less absorb, what was happening all around them. Like the others, Danina was unable to understand all that they heard. The information was conflicting and confusing.

  It was fully a week later, on March twenty-second, when Danina finally got a hastily scribbled note from Nikolai, brought to her in the hands of one of the guards who had been allowed to leave Tsarskoe Selo. “We are under house arrest,” it said simply. “I am able to come and go, but cannot leave them. All of the Grand Duchesses have the measles, and the Czarina is desperately worried about them, and Alexei. Stay where you are, stay safe, my darling, I will come to you when I can. And I pray that we will be together very soon again. Know always that I love you, more than life itself. Don't venture out in the midst of this danger. Above all, stay safe until I come. With all my love, N.”

  She read the letter again and again, and held it in trembling hands. It was beyond belief. The Czar had abdicated, and they were under house arrest. It was impossible to believe it. And she was desperately sorry she had left them. If they were to be in any danger, she would have preferred to be with him. To die with him, if need be.