Finding Elizabeth

by Louise Forster

  “I’ll ask them in.” Pierre made a swift exit.

  Moments later, there was a brisk knock on the door. “All decent, Pierre,” Leandra said.

  Katherine hooked her pointe shoes out of her gym bag and reached for the powder-room door handle. She yanked it; it didn’t open. But the hallway door opened and Jack walked in, closely followed by another man.

  Jiggling the powder-room handle, Katherine noticed, made no difference to a locked door. Then a voice sang out from within, “I’m in here.”

  Great, I’m stuck. That’s what you get for thinking you’re so smart. She was desperately trying to keep her distance from Jack and failing badly. Events were conspiring against her.

  “Must be a dual door, toilet-bathroom thing to the other dressing room,” Leandra said, suppressing a grin, and waving her hand back and forth.

  “Who would have guessed,” Katherine muttered at Leandra through clenched teeth. “Have you forgotten you’re in tights and a tunic that barely covers your …”

  “Kate,” Jack said, relieved when Katherine dumped her stuff on Leandra and took his extended hand. “Thanks for allowing us back here. I’d like you to meet Dave—Dave?” he repeated, turning to look at his friend. But Dave was in la-la land to the point of being catatonic, staring at Leandra. She frowned back at him from behind a mountain of sparkling red netting that stuck out in all directions. Jack nudged Dave, who rallied out of his stupor. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Dave Wilson.” Jack hoped his old friend wouldn’t let him down this time. “Dave, I’d like you to meet Katherine and …”

  Katherine stepped forward, a tense smile on her face. Perhaps this was not the best time to visit, just before her last performance. But she reached forward and shook Dave’s hand. “Hi, Dave, I’d like you to meet my very best friend, Leandra Paige.”

  “Hi, Leandra, nice to meet you again.” Jack shook her hand, but Katherine held him spellbound. He took a deep breath and hoped his silly grin didn’t appear manic. Everyone shook hands—even Dave, who looked like a deer caught in headlights. What was with him? Did he know Leandra? And why is she looking at him like she hates his guts? And Dave thinks I’m in deep shit. Then again, maybe he was. The vibes coming from Katherine seemed strained.

  Pierre waltzed in, all cheery-bright. “Time to leave, gentlemen. Where are you sitting?”

  “Dave’s tickets have us over on the far right somewhere,” Jack managed to say.

  “Oh, that’s no good at all,” Pierre bustled. “Leave your overcoats here and I’ll show you to the guests’ lounge, you can have an aperitif while you wait.”

  Dave blinked back from brain drain and slipped his coat off. Jack couldn’t hide it any longer and with a high-pitched whisper of sliding silk, he took his coat off too.

  “Oh my God, ring the fashion police. Ring 911. The fire brigade!” Pierre cried out, slapping a hand to his face.

  “I know. It’s a disaster,” Jack said, peering down. “I went into the hire shop for a dinner suit and came out with a Bollywood.” He glanced at Katherine who had covered her mouth. She shook with laughter. Well, at least his suit was helping to melt the ice. He shrugged, and couldn’t stop the smile easing into his face. “I left my dinner suit at home.”

  “That’s like saying, ‘My dog ate my homework’,” Dave chuckled.

  Crap! Dave’s back. “Don’t need your help, Dave.” Jack slapped his friend on the back.

  “This is superb fabric,” Pierre said, feeling the lapel, his eyebrow raised for dramatic effect. “After the performance you can come to my Christmas function as a Bollywood extra.” A mischievous smile eased into his face. “You’ll fit right in with all the bling.”

  There was a gasp from Katherine’s corner. Oh-oh. Jack hazarded a peek at her. If she’d had knives, they’d have been at her uncle’s throat.

  “Fantastic. Unexpected, and much appreciated. Thanks, Pierre,” Jack said, and grinned.

  “You’re welcome. Come, I’ll take you to the guests’ lounge.”

  “Bye ladies.” Jack gave the girls a quick nod, swung around, grabbed Dave by the sleeve and, pulling him along, followed Pierre out the door.

  The hall bustled with people carrying props and calling out directions.

  Jack turned to Pierre. “Are you sure you want us at your function?”

  “Of course.” Pierre sounded put out. “Why do you ask?”

  “Yeah,” Dave butted in. “Don’t look a gift horse—”

  “I could tell Kate wasn’t at all keen.”

  “That’s putting it very nicely,” Pierre said. “Had you not been there, I would have feared for my life. Her glare alone would’ve fried a lesser man.” He laughed, and became a little more serious. “I won’t go into all the details, but my Katy’s had a difficult time this past year. I think she needs to find her ‘fun’ again.”

  “And you think inviting us to your shindig will help?” Jack asked.

  “It’s a start. But you both better be on your best behaviour,” Pierre warned. “If not, you will know about it.” With a flourish of hands, he mimed the actions of ripping paper, tossing the remains aside. “And that goes for Leandra too.” He cocked his head and eyed Dave. “Yes, Mr Wilson, I saw the way you looked at her.”

  “Yeah, well …” Dave shrugged, lost for words.

  “And fun doesn’t mean …” Pierre eyed them both this time.

  “Huh?” Jack said. “We … I would never take advantage of Kate.” He wished she’d take advantage of him, but that was different.

  Pierre opened a door to a lounge room set up behind the stage. “Help yourself to the crackers and wine; there’s a hot water urn for tea, and the coffee jug is full. I’ll come and get you when it’s time.”

  “Thank you, Pierre,” Jack said, and Dave nodded.

  Dave moved to the drinks tray and poured himself a glass of red. Jack stared at him while he took a couple of decent swigs. “What?” Dave asked.

  “You are in deep—deep shit.”

  Dave swallowed. “I’ve followed Leandra’s career for years. I didn’t connect the dots until I saw her right there in front of us.”

  Jack tried to connect Dave’s dots, but it wasn’t happening. “What do you mean, in front of us?”

  “Leandra Paige or Leandra Paiget—mother, Cynthia Elizabeth Paiget.”

  “That’s drawing a very long bow. Where’s the Ellie? And it means someone can’t type, and it’s never been corrected.” Jack shrugged. “That’s it—that’s what’s bugging you?”

  “It’s happened before. Look at Orpah.”

  “Who?” Jack’s brow crinkled. His mind scrambled with all sorts of painful possibilities. Was it too much to hope that this could be the end of Andrew’s search? Would the old man finally have the joy of seeing his lost love, and discover she has a daughter—his daughter. Was Dave right in his assumptions? If they pursued this line of enquiry, would it blow up in their faces?

  “Now who’s the Neanderthal?” Dave shot through Jack’s thoughts. “Oprah bloody Winfrey was born Orpah.”

  “Hey,” Jack’s shoulders came up. “I had no idea someone fucked with Oprah’s name.”

  “Don’t get pissed off.” Dave poked him in the chest. “I’m here to help.”

  “Yeah, that’s good.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “So you think Leandra dropped the T on the end of Paiget. What I want to know is, where’s the connection to Ellie Johnson?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet. The old hospital records have Cynthia’s partner down as deceased.”

  “That’s just a coincidence. It doesn’t mean anything.” Jack needed a drink and strode to the table. “We need a lot more proof. You’re as bad as I am; you want a connection, but in reality there isn’t one.”

  Dave gulped a mouthful of wine. “I know there’s one. There has to be one.”

  “You want Leandra to fall into our laps.” Jack shook his head. “Your lap.” He grimaced. His maybe stepsister, who happened to be
best friends with the woman who invaded his every thought, night and day, might be dating his best friend. A friend whose romantic past was just a fuck-fest. “Jesus!” Jack rubbed his scalp.

  “Don’t do that!” Dave thumped him. “I was off daydreaming.”

  “Your daydreaming is going to land you in trouble with Leandra.” Jack rubbed his arm. “I don’t think she likes you much as it is.”

  “We’ve known of each other for years, but we’ve never formally met.” Dave went on, “She’s always been around, hovering in the background. Never gave me a second look or an interview. Everyone else got one, but not me. She hates me.”

  “Yeah, and that’s killing you.” Jack’s fingers dug into his neck, massaging the tension. “How long, Dave?”

  A lost dreamy look overcame Dave. “I’ve loved Lea for about eighteen months. I realised how much when she nearly killed herself during a ski race. She hit an icy patch, went airborne and slammed into the safety barriers. Man, I nearly died myself.”

  “So why all the women?” Jack frowned.

  Dave shrugged. “Leandra didn’t just ignore me—okay? I was invisible. So may as well kill myself and have fun at the same time.”

  “Wait a minute.” This was screwing with Jack’s head. “Were you also having fun killing yourself before you noticed Leandra?”

  “Well yeah, but had she tried to get to know the real me, I would have stopped … having fun. Anyway, I can’t see how that would bother her all that much. Her rep isn’t great either; she’s had countless boyfriends.”

  “Am I seeing a picture here?”

  Dave wasn’t listening anymore. “I saw her under all that red frou-frou stuff, and she got me right here,” Dave said, thumping his chest. “And it had nothing to do with the fact that she is who we think she is.”

  “Who you think she is. Anyway, you probably say that about all the women you date.” Jack studied Dave’s blank expression as he stared at the carpet—or was it his shoes. Jack almost laughed. “You’ve been struck, mate!”

  Dave raised his head; he looked sick. “Struck? I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.”

  Jack nodded and thought about Katherine smashing a snowman, dancing with her, and just now in her dressing room—her space, her frou-frou, her make-up scattered on the dressing table, her perfume.

  Solemn faced, Dave asked, “What’re we going to do about Leandra and your dad?”

  “Keep it quiet for the moment. You can’t go blundering in without proof. And as it stands, Leandra’s not in the least bit interested in you. So getting to know her and asking questions is not going to happen.”

  “Yeah,” Dave agreed sadly. “She thinks I’m a pile of shit.”

  The door to Katherine’s dressing room closed and, though her mind said she was being irrationally angry, she couldn’t help it. “This has gone too far! Pierre needs to—to mind his own business.”

  “I totally agree. That Dave bloke is no theatre or arts journo, he’s a sports writer. He’s none other than the Dave Wilson. Everyone on the slopes knows him. He’s famous in his field, which includes the bedroom, and that’s fine—his life, his dick and nothing to do with me. What isn’t fine is his looking at me as if I’m an alien with two heads and he’s scared shitless. I mean, what is that?”

  Katherine frowned, and eyed her friend with disbelief. A fraction later, she saw through what was really going on and giggled.

  “Stop it, it’s not funny!” Leandra said, playfully smacking her friend on the arm.

  “Not funny—hilarious,” Katherine said with a wry smile. “The shoe’s on the other foot now. Have the two of you ever met?”

  “Not in person,” Leandra shook her head. “He’s asked my agent for a private interview several times. I ignore him at press conferences. He’s written about me though,” Leandra said, sticking her chin out.

  “And …?”

  “He said my legs were like pistons on a Formula One Ferrari.”

  “Hmm, not sure how to take that, he’s comparing you to a car, but an expensive one.” Katherine nodded.

  “That’s what I thought. And pistons are fat.”

  “Only at one end, I think. You like him,” Katherine smiled.

  “No, I don’t! He’s a philistine.”

  “I think the word you’re looking for is philanderer.”

  “Yeah, that too,” Leandra sighed. “I bet you anything your Pierre will make sure we all sit together, chummy-chummy, at dinner later. At least Jack seems okay.”

  “I really don’t know.” Katherine shrugged. “He’s wearing a purple suit.”

  From the wings, Pierre pointed to a spot out of sight of the audience, from where Dave and Jack could easily see the performance, but no one could see Jack’s purple suit.

  Jack noticed movement in the opposite wing and saw Leandra sidle into the shadows. Pierre came up beside her. Some animated chat began to take place. Jack nudged Dave.

  “What’s going on?” Dave asked.

  “I’m pretty sure Leandra is trying to ignore you and Pierre won’t have a bar of it.”

  Seconds later, Pierre grabbed Leandra’s hand and whisked her off behind the curtains.

  “I bet you anything Leandra will turn up here,” Jack whispered.

  “That’s scary.” Dave sidled closer to Jack. “She hates me,” he whispered.

  “You’re paranoid.” Jack nudged Dave. A brief hand tussle between Leandra and Pierre, to the right of the stage, caught their attention. Jack decided to screw with Dave’s head, and called to Leandra. “Leandra, are you joining us?”

  “Yes. No—never mind.” She moved up and stood next to Jack.

  Dave yanked at his sleeve. Jack moved aside and Dave took his place. Interesting, Jack thought.

  “G’day, Leandra.” Dave nodded once.

  Okay, he was going for the relaxed Aussie approach. Don’t blow it. From the corner of his eye, Jack noticed Leandra turn her head. Eyes narrowed, she looked at Dave across her shoulder and gave him an extra hard cheesy grin, adding chilli and lemon to the mix. Dave ‘The Man’, undeterred, stood firm under the blast of Leandra’s comprehensive artillery.

  “I saw you at Lake Louise,” Dave began. “Your downhill skills are legendary, and it showed. The conditions were atrocious; it’s a wonder you didn’t take a spill.”

  Leandra’s short sharp reply went no further than, “Thanks.” She folded her arms, leaned forward and peered at Jack.

  He knew her body language was saying, ‘Hurt my dear friend, and I’ll find you and stick my ski stocks where they’ll do the most damage.’

  Jack suppressed a grin. “Let’s cut to the chase,” he said. “I gather that look in your eye is saying don’t underestimate the power of true friendship.”

  Leandra tried to suppress a grin and playfully quirked an eyebrow. “You catch on fast.”

  As the orchestra tuned their instruments an expectant buzz rippled through the audience.

  The lights dimmed and the heavy crimson velvet curtains slid noiselessly aside as Tchaikovsky’s music soared through the theatre.

  The first item on the program was the Lilac Fairy’s Dance from The Sleeping Beauty ballet. Jack didn’t know all that much about ballet; nevertheless, he thought the soloist was great. Wild applause erupted throughout the audience. ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy’ came next. Katherine’s uncle had made sure the program appealed to everyone, especially the children.

  The curtain closed and Pierre came out onto the stage with a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great sadness I have to inform you that our principal dancer, my darling niece Katherine Bell, is retiring.”

  Shuffling and murmuring rippled through the audience. Jack knew it was a show of regret.

  “We are all very privileged to experience her last performance, which Katherine insisted should be in her home town.” Pierre kept pace with the curtain as it slid aside. He held out his hand and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, Katherine Bell.”

&n
bsp; Ludwig Minkus’ music started, and Jack’s heart leapt with pride as he noticed a flash of red in the wings. Katherine, he breathed silently. He focused on her expressive face and saw she was oblivious to everything except her performance. She held a fan, and Jack wondered what ballet she was going to dance.

  He turned to Leandra, “Is Kate dancing the firebird?”

  “Not tonight. She wanted to perform something up-beat, festive. She’s dancing ‘Grand Pas Kitri Variation’ from Don Quixote.”

  On toes, Katherine entered centre stage, and applause erupted. A red spotlight illuminated her black and fiery-red costume. The light played over her slender arms and long strong legs, and bathed her skin with luminescence. She was stunning, dancing with vigour, her steps athletic and impassioned. Jack watched, intoxicated. Her red and black jewel-encrusted mini-frou-frou thing, he’d since learnt was a tutu, bounced as she danced on her toes. Everything about her blew him away. Christ, his heart beat harder.

  Fear settled through him. How can I possibly live without her?

  Katherine’s performance ended with her dancing off into the wings as the curtain slid silently across. Applause and whistles roared through the theatre. Seats clapped up as people stood for a standing ovation. The curtains slid open, and the whole troupe waited in a line to take their bows and curtseys. The principal dancers received bouquets, and posies were given to the rest of the performers.

  After several raucous encores, the curtains closed for the final time on Katherine, standing alone in the spotlight.

  A hand touched Jack’s arm; it was Dave. He pointed at Leandra. Hand over her mouth, she’d moved away from them and, gazing at her friend, she sobbed silently.

  “Idiot!” Jack whispered. “Give her the handkerchief in your tux pocket.”

  Dave nodded, pulled it out, and Jack pushed him in Leandra’s direction. Leandra took the handkerchief, dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. Dave turned Leandra around and pulled her in close. She buried her face in his chest and mumbled something. Dave nodded and stroked her hair.

  The poignant moment made Jack smile.

  Leandra came up for air, dabbing her eyes again.