by ILIL ARBEL
The ballerina floated after Natalya, and Madame Koska said to Gretchen “She is tiny! Ve don’t have to cut a whole new costume. Ve vill just adapt the costume ve made for Solange. This is really a time-saver, not to mention a money-saver for M. Danilov.”
“So kind of her to help us,” said Gretchen. “She is so famous, you would think she would not care about anyone else.”
“Interesting,” said Madame Koska. “I heard so many terrible things about her… perhaps there are two sides to her character.”
“Perhaps people are jealous,” said Gretchen. Madame Koska mused for a moment. She did not think Galina, who truly disliked Lavrova, was jealous. But feuds between prima donnas were so common. She shrugged her shoulders. After all, was it her business how nice or not her clients were? She followed the ballerina and Natalya to the dressing room. As she went in, she stopped in surprise and stared as she saw Lavrova removing yards and yards of bandages from her legs, arms, and upper body. Natalya stood by, helping her to roll them neatly.
The ballerina saw her expression and laughed. “Nobody told you? Except for the time I spend on stage, or rehearsing, I must be wrapped in bandages to protect my poor muscles. They hurt all the time; I am never free of pain.”
“And yet you dance as if it vere the most natural thing in the vorld for you,” said Madame Koska, wondering. “Vhy are you always in pain?”
“I am too delicate for the hard work of ballet. My muscles are fragile and never grow very big no matter how much I work them, and my bones are brittle. Early in my career the doctors had advised me to give up the ballet, but how could I? It had always been my life, my soul, my entire being. I can’t give it up any more than I can give up breathing,” said Lavrova. “But medically they were right. Look at my legs and arms – they are much thinner than those of the average ballerina. And look at my feet.”
Madame Koska looked at the small feet. She knew that every experienced ballerina had deformed feet, with bent or broken toes and many bruises that would never heal, but Lavrova’s feet were in terrible condition; no one could dance on them without experiencing extreme pain.
“I see,” she said quietly, “they seem to be bruised. Also, the arches of your feet are the most pronounced ones I have ever seen. Do they hurt?”
“Oh, yes, terribly,” said Lavrova. “I actually put a piece of board in my shoe to force the arch to straighten a little. I had to fight for it, some people claimed it’s cheating, that I had to take care of the position of the foot myself when I dance en pointe, and not use a crutch like that. But now many ballerinas use the board in their shoes.”
“This is a most resourceful solution,” said Madame Koska. “And that reminds me. Thank you for helping the girls vith the hat idea. It vas kind of you.”
“I know what it’s like to be young and poor,” said the ballerina, with obvious good nature. “Life is sometimes very hard on women.” Madame Koska decided that the ballerina could not be as bad as some people made her out to be. Could she ask Galina to elaborate? Or would it be an imposition?
At that moment Gretchen poked her head into the dressing room. “Madame Koska, Madame Danilova is on the telephone. Let me help Miss Saltykov while you speak to her.” She smiled at Madame Lavrova, and noticing that some of the bandages were lying on an armchair, unrolled, picked one up and started rolling it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Madame Koska smiled with appreciation. Gretchen was priceless in her total tact and discretion, and Madame Koska was going to miss her greatly when she went to the university.
“Madame Danilova, I am glad you called,” said Madame Koska. “I am vorking vith Madame Lavrova; this is the first time I have met her and I vanted to ask you something.”
“What do you think of her?” asked Galina.
“She is certainly… unusual. But she seems pleasant enough. I am not sure vhat to think about her yet. That is vhat I wanted to ask you. Vas she really as mean as you said? She vas very helpful to Natalya and Gretchen, advising them about their own business.”
Galina laughed. “You will soon enough get to know her better,” she said. “She is changeable and moody. One moment, cheerful and even charming. The next, a tyrant and a threat. She was so utterly cruel to me when we were young.”
“Vhat did she do?” asked Madame Koska.
“She came to the Mariinsky Theatre about a year after I joined, but was immediately promoted and advanced above me. I was not particularly resentful, this is the way of the ballet, and I was ready to accept her superiority. The director, Marius Petipa, was mad about her… but she never stopped taunting me about it, and I was not her only victim. She bullied and insulted the other girls. Not a day passed without her making someone cry.”
“This is very significant,” said Madame Koska. “A young girl, to act like that, she must have had a grave flaw of character.” To herself, she started wondering if Galina was not, after all, still jealous at the early career slight. This was a complex relationship. She really needed to learn more before making a decision; she was not entirely sure why it mattered, but she had a hunch that something about it was important.
“Now, as a mature woman,” Galina added, “I can see she was a driven, miserable, lonely creature. But as a young girl, all I saw was the pain she caused.”
“On another subject, Madame Danilova, do you have news about your date of leaving for Svitzerland?”
“Yes, this is why I called, Madame Koska. I am leaving in two days. I am so grateful to Inspector Blount. You see, I have no alibi, but the inspector does not wish to prevent me from going to Switzerland – with police escort, of course.”
“Police escort? Surely he does not think you vould try to escape? For goodness sake, you are going to a sanatorium!”
“He has no choice, Madame Koska. He explained it to me, very kindly. And I don’t mind. Whatever happens to me is no longer going to affect the ballet, so why should I care if an officer comes with me to Switzerland? He will be helpful on the way, and let’s face it, there is a murderer at large. I feel secure to have police protection.”
“This is true,” said Madame Koska. “I did not think of it. But vhy are your movements of no interest to the ballet?”
“Because I am never coming back to the Ballet Baikal. Even if I end up with perfect health, I am tired of this life. I have sufficient money to live quietly – not a fortune by any means, but enough to allow me a comfortable lifestyle. I have reached the crucial point in life at which every ballerina realises that the time has come to stop dancing. Sometimes it’s physical, sometimes emotional. In my case, both. In addition to the illness, I am truly disenchanted with Sasha’s behaviour. He is callous. He does not care about me, or even about Victor, who is showing clear signs of mental illness.”
“I understand,” said Madame Koska, sadly. “M. Danilov is too obsessed with the ballet to see what he does to others. But I hope you and I vill remain friends, Madame Danilova. Vould you write to me and tell me of your progress?”
“Yes and yes, Madame Koska. We are friends, and I will write. When I come out of the sanatorium, I plan to settle in London permanently; this is where I belong. So we can see each other whenever we like.”
“Thank you, my dear,” said Madame Koska. “I vill expect to hear nothing but good news about your health! Take good care of yourself and be vell.”
Madame Koska knew that Galina had no alibi; she was told that quite frankly by Inspector Blount, but she did not want to discuss it with the ballerina, afraid that she might hurt her feelings. She also avoided telling Madame Danilova that Mr. Korolenko explained that Danilov and Bassin gave each other an alibi. Apparently they had spent the entire day together and so the preparations for Solange’s murder could not have been done by either. Madame Koska smiled to herself about something else Mr. Korolenko had told her. Apparently, Inspector Blount was extremely embarrassed about the love affair between the impresario and the young dancer, and could not bring himself to mention it directly to
Madame Koska. Mr. Korolenko explained to him that Madame Koska was continental and sophisticated, did not worry about such relationships, and was aware of the relationship between Victor and Danilov. But Inspector Blount was still uncomfortable talking to her about it. Madame Koska made a mental note to tell Mr. Korolenko that the alibi was hardly valid – the impresario and the dancer may have been plotting the murder together.
She went back to the dressing room to see how Lavrova’s session was advancing. Everything seemed to be in order.
“I am delighted that you vill be dancing in Icarus,” said Madam Koska. “I vas afraid that vith Madame Danilova’s health situation, M. Danilov might consider giving it up. It is such a magnificent undertaking, it vould have been a great pity.”
“Give it up? Not Danilov. He knew I would be a thousand times better than Danilova, whom we all realise is fading,” said Lavrova. Madame Koska, clearly surprised at such a cruel statement, looked at her with amazement. The ballerina laughed.
“I am a plain-speaking person,” she said. “People say the most idiotic things about me… that I seem to be a fairy, a creature made of light and air, not of this earth. How funny I think it is. When I appeared at the Mariinsky Theatre, at the age of eighteen, the great ballet master, Marius Petipa, could not believe his own eyes. In all his long career, he said, he had never seen a ballerina perform quite like me, with such delicate charm. It’s all nonsense, you know. I am a tough, hard, ambitious and determined person, and there is nothing fairy-like about me. I have a great technique and I am a genius when I dance. But I am hardly a sweet creature of fantasy.”
“I understand you were an overnight success,” said Madame Koska, intrigued.
“Naturally. I went with the Mariinsky and Petipa to many countries in Europe, and then I left them because Sasha Danilov offered me a position of prima ballerina at the Ballet Baikal. Petipa was crushed. He could not believe that his beloved protégé could desert him. How silly of him to think I would care about him, When I left he promoted Galina, but she was never as good a dancer as I was, and Petipa knew it.”
“But you left the Ballet Baikal, too,” said Madame Koska.
“Sasha was too domineering. He demanded obedience, but I am my own master,” said Lavrova. “I have a mind of my own and I would not have anyone manage my career and dictate to me where and when I would dance. So I became a true nomad, and travelled all over the world, appearing before royalty and in modest dance halls with the same dedication to my art. Royalty saluted me. At the dance halls and second-rate theatres, in company of jugglers and animal trainers, the audience had always gasped at the way I could make time stop as I dance.”
“You are certainly honest,” said Madame Koska, smiling.
“Yes, and why not be honest? The whole world admits I am the greatest ballerina of the age. There is only one dancer who is my equal – Victor Parizhsky, and he is no competition since he is a man. But it’s not as simple as it seems. You see, Madame Koska, I am possessed. Or obsessed – I am not sure which. What I do know is that I have to do all that because I will not last. The audience thinks the dance is so easy, as if it costs me no effort at all, but I know that suddenly, one day, one night, probably on stage, I will suddenly collapse and die…”
“Heavens, Madame Lavrova, I hope not!” said Madame Koska, alarmed. She suddenly noticed that Gretchen and Natalya were standing as if frozen, frightened by the ballerina’s revelations. What luck that Lavrova was not in London when the murder of Solange took place, thought Madame Koska. She could have easily been suspected of crime – a strange character, torn between so many contradictions and mysteries.
Chapter Eight
“You are assuming too much, Vera,” said Mr. Korolenko. “You are convinced that Galina Danilova had nothing to do with the crime. What exactly are you basing this belief on, other than a very short acquaintance?”
“He is right, Vera,” said Madame Golitsyn. “You have made up your mind about it without knowing all the facts about the murder. It is unlike you.”
Madame Koska looked at them with surprise. “You believe Galina killed Solange?”
Madame Golitsyn shook her head. “No, we don’t necessarily think that. But dismissing her involvement altogether, in any capacity, might prove a mistake.”
“But my dear Annushka, why would you even begin to suspect such an old friend?”
“Because Galina had the best opportunity,” said Mr. Korolenko, “and since we cannot decide on a motive, must remain a suspect. She was the one who handed the rose to Solange.”
“But what about motive,” said Madame Koska. “Galina is too ill to dance and is planning her retirement. What was the point of killing Solange? And for our other option, the possibility that someone tried to kill Victor – I refuse to believe she would. He is like a son to her. And indeed, no competition.”
“The motive could be something unrelated to her career. It may be personal,” said Madame Golitsyn. She got up and walked to the kitchen to bring coffee and cake to the dinner table. Madame Koska looked at Mr. Korolenko thoughtfully. “Solange and Galina barely knew each other,” she said.
“How do you know that?” said Mr. Korolenko. “The acquaintance might have been different from what you think.”
“I don’t understand,” said Madame Koska.
“I am thinking about blackmail,” said Mr. Korolenko. “What if Solange knew something that might have threatened Galina?”
Madame Golitsyn returned and sat down to pour the coffee and slice the cake. “Vera, do you know that Galina never had a single romantic relationship? Not even as a young girl?”
“No, I never thought about it,” said Madame Koska. “She did explain to me her reasons for accepting M. Danilov’s marriage proposal, and I understood that she preferred to give her entire life to the ballet. She said that a husband, or any personal life, would interfere with her career.”
“It could be,” said Mr. Korolenko. “But still, if you consider that on the one hand she was willing to live with two male lovers, and on the other hand she had no relationship with any man in her entire life, she might prefer relationships with women.”
“I see…” said Madame Koska. “Yes, that is plausible. But such relationships are common in the world of the ballet, so would the revelation cause blackmail and then murder?”
“It’s just one possibility,” said Mr. Korolenko. “There may be others. But I think that dismissing her possible connexion is a mistake.”
“I can imagine another scenario,” said Madame Golitsyn. “She might have assisted someone else. Suppose Danilov had a reason to kill Solange – Galina might have helped him to do so.”
“If that was the case, then every word she said to me about her situation with Danilov, her desire to leave the ballet, her retirement plans, were all lies,” said Madame Koska. “She would then be a consummate actress as well as a great ballerina.”
“Perhaps she is,” said Madame Golitsyn. “I do find it hard to believe that my old friend would commit murder, but circumstances can sometimes drive people to horrific acts.”
“I am more inclined to suspect M. Danilov is working together with Bassin,” said Madame Koska. “I don’t think that the alibi of being together the whole day of the murder could clear them of suspicion.”
“Inspector Blount said the same thing about their alibi,” said Mr. Korolenko.
Madame Koska drummed her fingernails on the table. She sipped her coffee and suddenly said, “Galina handed the rose to Solange. But who gave the rose to Galina? Or if no one did, where did she pick it up, and was it in the open so anyone could have poisoned it?”
“This is an interesting consideration,” said Mr. Korolenko. “I don’t know.”
“I wish I could see the arrangements in the dressing room,” said Madame Koska. “But how can I get in inconspicuously?”
“There is no point in going there,” said Mr. Korolenko. “Sasha made it clear that they will not repeat Le Spectre this seas
on, so the arrangement of the rose, the costumes, etc. cannot be seen.”
“But Inspector Blount could ask them to reconstruct it,” said Madame Koska. “And you are always with him to translate.”
“Reconstruction will do no good,” said Madame Golitsyn. “If Danilov is guilty, he would make sure the clues are no longer there.”
At that moment the telephone rang. Madame Golitsyn spoke in Russian, but after several lessons with Mr. Korolenko, Madame Koska understood quite a bit and realised that her friend was talking to Natalya. “Yes, they are still here,” she heard her say. “Of course, come right over.”
Returning to the table, Madame Golitsyn said, “So as you probably heard, Natalya wants to see both of you. I told her to come; she did not want to discuss anything over the telephone.”
Natalya came in shortly after, seemingly in a hurry and somewhat agitated. “I have been visiting with my friend, Lady Victoria,” she explained. “She invited me to a soiree with excellent singing and playing; several prominent artists were to perform, so I did not want to miss it, and went. I am glad I did because I heard something strange which made me wonder about the murder of Solange Forrestier.”
“From whom?” asked Mr. Korolenko.
“Leonard Bassin. He was there and said that he remembered me from the fitting we had a few days ago. He did not know too many people there, and so he sat next to me when the singing was about to start. We were waiting for the music, when suddenly he looked around, leaned toward me, and said, ‘I have something to tell you. Come outside to the terrace after the songs.’ After the recital was over, I got up and went with M. Bassin to the terrace. He again looked around as if trying to be sure no one heard, and whispered ‘You should tell your people that Galina Danilova has an arrest warrant waiting for her in Moscow.’ And then he turned around and went into the room.”
“Arrest warrant?” said Madame Koska. “Do you know anything about it, Dmitry?”
