by Margaret Way
'Ah,' said Lucie, and gave a funny little laugh. 'I can't do it, Jessie. I'm not the same person any more. Lucienne Gerard has vanished for ever. All that is left is what you see here.'
'A fighter, surely?' Jessie said gently. 'You've told me enough for me to realise just how difficult it's been—the long years of training, the living with pain.'
'I can't live without my legs,' Lucie pointed out in a tense little whisper. 'I really am trying for you, Jessie, but you just can't imagine the loss . . . the things I used to do so easily, the unthinking absolute security, my life's work, my mother's dream, wrecked. I'm wrecked, Jessie. I just have to face it, and because you're my friend you have to too.'
If only I could get my hands on that Joel! Jessie thought. The expression on Lucie's small, exquisite face was breaking her heart. 'All right, sweetie,' she stood up, 'I'll tell Julian you're not feeling well.'
Immediately Lucie relaxed, anxiety replaced by a thank-God expression. 'I won't get up for breakfast until he's gone.'
'I'll bring you something,' Jessie promised.
Fifteen minutes later that was what she did, and a scant half hour after that Julian walked purposefully into Lucie's room, so vibrant, so virile, so clearly on course, Lucie saw him as a pagan conqueror.
'Poor little mite! Sick today?' he taunted her.
'Yes.' Had she still been holding her cup of coffee it would have splashed all over the place.
'Let me hold your hand.'
'Just keep away!' she said shakily.
'Stop being so miserable! You'll drive us both mad.'
'Please, Julian,' her violet eyes started to mist over with tears, 'I can't go with you. I wish I could, but I can't. You broke your ankle—don't you remember what it's like?'
'You're just so bloody sorry for yourself,' he told her contemptuously. 'Is this to be the pattern of your life? Lying in bed?'
'You're hateful!' She could feel her revulsion showing in her face.
'I agree. You want someone sentimental. You want someone to say, poor little darling, it's so awful what's happened to you you might as well die.'
'I don't mind,' she said bitterly. 'I've got nothing else to do.'
'Haven't you?' His black eyes blazed and he threw back the bedcovers. 'Get the hell out of that bed. Get up? One hand reached for her own, clamped on it, and activated by real terror, Lucie launched her body up, surprised at the way it flew, linking her hands on his wrist, almost as though she was on stage.
'You do it easily.' He drew her right up hard against his singularly beautiful body.
'Julian!' She had to bend backwards to look into his face, the terror replaced by a now inevitable excitement.
'Is it all settled? You come with me?'
At that moment Lucie felt as though her trembling body could dance, he was so strong, so dominant. 'I can try,' she said faintly, not recognising the expression on his face.
'You have no other choice.' His arms were still around her—not with the violence that had galvanised her into that virtuoso flying leap, but with a sensuality that took her into an alien realm. While she stared up at him, half hypnotised, he lifted her boldly, powerfully into his arms, then brought his mouth down on hers with a sweet, savage force.
Shock waves rampaged through her body, burning along her veins. Even the instant of shocked resistance could not last. The scent of him was in her nostrils. She thought of wood smoke and fine leather, tangy blue air. Yet his skin was contradictory; rasping satin, burning hers where it touched.
She was not even aware she had lifted her arms to lock them tightly behind his head, so it might have seemed to anyone surprising them that she was the helpless victim of a desperate, sexual hunger.
Effortlessly he held her, barely disturbed by her weight, fitting her small breasts against the hard contours of his chest so that she had the compulsive urge to twist her body even closer, shamelessly inviting his electrifying possession. For the first time in her virgin life Lucie was in bondage to the frightening pleasure of the flesh. Unholy sensations that assaulted her, radiating pinpoints all over her body.
Beneath the inadequacy of her thin nightgown, her heart was as frenzied as a wild creature in a cage, leaping in agitation, battering itself painfully against the tight cage of her ribs. It could no more escape than she could. Stars were everywhere, shattering black velvet, celestial visions that flooded in on her mind while the flames continued to envelop her body. It was an experience on two levels, a journey into sensation, yet it was happening in daylight to complete silence and not the music of the spheres.
When Julian finally lifted his head, she fell, back to earth, the shock of re-entry not to be endured. She only realised she was moaning when she heard those soft little sounds.
'Stay with me.' He was looking down at her, his eyes brilliant, the skin stretched taut over his high cheekbones.
How many women had he said that to? she wondered dazedly. So many in a brilliant career. Camilla. Still so dislocated, she closed her heavy black lashes protectively against her white cheeks.
'Lucie?'
'No!' She had to respond in a whisper, yet it was truly meant. Too much driving force would rob her of her own identity.
'You will, if I have to chain you to my side.'
Her dark amethyst eyes flew open and she saw the ruthless absorption behind the striking, essentially arrogant face. He was a sorcerer, a manipulator, complex and devious, using any means in his power to make her his slave.
She did not know why, but she did know he wanted this very much. 'Why do you concern yourself with me?' she asked faintly
'That doesn't matter.' He lowered her gently to her feet but still held her.
'It does!' She was frightened he would get such a hold on her it would be too late for anything. 'You're trying to deepen the connection. Why, Julian? What do you want of me?'
She half expected him to fling her off, instead he said calmly: 'You inspire me. Surely it's occurred to you.'
'I can't dance.' All at once she crumpled and sank back upon the bed.
'You can move.' His eyes had lost their turbulence. He looked cool and calculating. 'You have a quality of beauty I've never seen in anyone else—such innocence, yet a powerful allure. Black Iris is out of the way. I have another ballet, here in my mind.' He tapped his right temple, his black eyes narrowing over her gracefully bent body.
'You can't put me together again. I can't dance.'
'Well then, I'll patch you up so no one but the two of us will know.' His white smile flashed, touching the hard arrogance with great charm. 'Come, little one, get dressed. Today I'll go to great care and trouble not to upset you.'
Triumphantly he walked to the door, and Lucie closed her eyes the better to comtemplate that statement. How dreadfully wrong! She would remember the first time he had kissed her when her raven hair had turned white.
As soon as she stepped into the mirrored studio, the assembled dancers broke into a spontaneous applause.
'Thank God, Lucie!' Three of the girls caught her up, taking it in turns to kiss her, on both cheeks, French fashion.
This set the rest off. They swelled around her, clutching and kissing, their pleasure genuine, because every accident robbed them of precious nerve and because Lucie had always been sweet and gentle and friendly and, to nearly all of them at some stage, that rare thing—helpful, throwing hints away where others would have guarded their knowledge jealously.
Julian allowed them all several minutes, then he clapped his palms together. 'Silence!'
They were all turned to stone.
'Lucie,' with his hand on her shoulder, he turned her back towards the dressing room, 'go and change into your practice clothes, and tie that hair back, please.'
There was something comforting about being back in the studio and mercifully Camilla had not yet put in an appearance. Lucie hurried away. No fear now. God had spared her. She was as other girls. No one but another dancer would ever know her footwork was too slow.
>
When she was near exhaustion, Camilla arrived, her eyes freezing over when she saw Lucie still limbering at the barre.
"Struth!' one of the boys whispered from behind Lucie. Still executing a brace of steps, he studied the ballerina's face, and he was not the only one. Everyone in the company was aware of Camilla's hatred and jealousy of Lucie Gerard, but surely now there was no need? They had all seen what Lucie was suffering on the mildest workout. Unless a miracle happened, she was finished as a dancer. So why the murderous expression on Camilla's narrow face?
'When you're ready, Camilla.' Eyes narrowed, head high and face haughty, Julian ended all speculation.
'Of course, darling,' Camilla snarled, and though many places were made for her she gestured sharply with her right hand to indicate that Bruno, the boy behind Lucie, should move back.
It was unthinkable to anyone that Camilla should try to torture the pitiably reduced Lucie, but that was exactly what she did, executing the most complex and difficult movements, holding on to the barre and letting go of it, her inner rage alone keeping her centre. Where Lucie wobbled, Camilla held perfect balance, where Lucie sweated, Camilla looked as if she had not yet warmed up.
The tension in the winter-grey mirrored room mounted by the seconds. Everyone recognised what Camilla was doing, the cruel bitch, but Julian Strasberg was ignoring both of them totally. He was rehearsing Sabrina and Robert, a young husband and wife team who had come to him from South Africa.
With Julian's eyes off her, Camilla decided to try jostling the insecure Lucie.
'Excuse wie,' she said witheringly when her rond de jambe en I'air struck into the single leg Lucie was balanced on.
Lucie grabbed instantly for the barre, her mind flashing warning signals all along. She knew she could walk away. She was exhausted in any case, but the force of her own spirit held her there.
'Do you want more room, Camilla?' she asked evenly.
'I barely touched you.'
What a fib! Bruno was having the greatest difficulty keeping quiet, but he, like many of the others, feared Camilla as a woman and a dancer.
Lucie turned away from Camilla's terrible smile, going amazingly into a plie that made Camilla open her eyes.
'Where the hell did that come from?' she snapped out. 'I mean, it's as obvious as it could be that you're finished as a dancer.'
'Ah, shut up!' Short, compact Bruno was driven to interfere.
'I beg your pardon!' Camilla spun on him at speed so poor Bruno fell back.
'I said leave her alone!'
'Oh, I'm so sorry, forgive me.'
'Forget the talk.' Julian's voice whipped across the room, his black brows drawn together in annoyance.
Instantly Camilla turned around and began on the leg-stretching tendus.
'It's like murder when your legs won't work for you, isn't it?' she hissed softly at Lucie's back.
Soon after this, Lucie left.
CHAPTER FOUR
By the end of the week, Camilla's cruelty had become familiar to everyone, but what was more remarkable was Lucie's courage. Though Camilla always placed herself near or behind Lucie at every class, Lucie continued to work out as well as she was able. Only when she was with Jessie did she allow herself to go limp and stare off into space.
Not surprisingly Jessie was upset and indignant, offering to go into the studio, to act as Lucie's bodyguard.
'Don't worry, Jessie,' Lucie always said. 'She's not worth it.'
Jessie herself was the soul of kindness and patience, but even in her own dedicated profession she had come across the occasional oddball with a sadistic streak. These days she was not sad on Lucie's account, for in her highly qualified opinion Lucie was making a swift and remarkable recovery. Of course Lucie could not see this herself, used as she had been to incredible feats of acrobatics, but Jessie had hopes. Quiet hopes, but hopes all the same.
'Just imagine, just imagine!' Mr Paddon-Jones said, when Lucie demonstrated what she could do. 'Of course I know nothing at all about dancers.'
'Didn't I tell you?' was Julian's only comment. Where Jessie continued to lead Lucie gently, Julian's workouts were becoming longer and harder, but not once did he mention Camilla's treatment of his protégée, and neither did Lucie. The curious part was Lucie felt herself able to rise above Camilla's hostility no less now when she was down than when she had the makings of a star. There could be no pain like the loss of her mother. The physical pain she had endured in the hospital had been bad enough. After that, Camilla's vendetta lacked impact.
As Lucie was coming down the darkened flight of stairs after class, she could see parked out in the sunlight a spectacular gold Mercedes she had noticed once or twice before. Something about it frightened her, and she did not know why. She was even beginning to imagine it was following her, and at that she would smile. She knew no one with that kind of car. Most dancers except the top-liners were broke.
Ten minutes later she was certain the Mercedes was tailing her.
'It can't be!' she muttered to herself, studying the big car in the rear view mirror. There was someone bulky behind the wheel, and he slowed when Lucie did and picked up speed as Lucie gunned the little Mazda that had been her mother's.
'I've got it!' Jessie cried when Lucie got home. 'He's a Russian spy and he thinks you're Ludmilla Whatsaname. Clearly a case of mistaken identity. Do you want me to ring the police?'
'Of course not!'
'Be careful,' Jessie warned. 'Say, listen—get its number.' This was rather disturbing, just as it did not seem to make sense. Who would be following Lucie, and why?
The next day Lucie found out.
The Mercedes was there again in the alleyway and this time she was ready to take the number, but a voice called to her.
'Miss Gerard?'
For a few seconds Lucie was paralysed, then she realised how stupid she had been. It had to be Joel's mother who was looking so anxiously out of the nearside rear window; a pretty woman with soft, fair hair and quite obviously a woman of wealth. The diamonds on the hand that was resting on the lowered window were perfectly dazzling, as was the double string of pearls around her throat and the diamond brooch on the lapel of her softly tailored suit jacket.
'Please, my dear, please speak to me.' Deep concern was mirrored on the fair, slightly faded face.
With her heart beating violently, Lucie walked towards the car. The bulky shape was obviously the chauffeur.
'It's all right, my dear,' the woman said, in turn noting Lucie's quick loss of colour. 'I'm Joel's mother, of course.'
She could not be anyone else. Lucie saw the resemblance instantly. She was not about to be kidnapped. Mrs Tennant had worse plans. She was about to plead with Lucie to speak to her son.
The chauffeur was out of the car holding open the rear door for Lucie to slip in. Mrs Tennant had already slid across the seat, making it clear she wanted Lucie to join her.
'I only have a few moments,' Lucie said, inside resisting this distressing meeting. Any fresh communication with Joel would bring back that terrible night. They had no right to ask more of her than forgiveness.
'How are you, my dear?' Large blue eyes were studying Lucie with a terrible hope.
'I feel quite well.' Lucie did not have it in her heart to be less than gentle. 'My legs have healed and I'm taking class again, as you're aware.'
'Your legs are really all right?' Mrs Tennant did not look down as she said it.
'All right for everyday purposes,' Lucie said quietly.
'I'm so sorry. Sorry.' To Lucie's distress, the woman began to cry.
'Oh, please don't, Mrs Tennant.'
'I'm such a fool,' the woman shivered. 'I've just had so much anxiety lately.' She reached inside her handbag for a deeply lace-edged handkerchief. 'I've been so frightened, so stupidly frightened. Grant tells me Joel will do nothing to hurt himself, but Joel is my son. I mean, he's our son, but he takes after my side of the family—deeply sensitive. I've got to talk to you, Miss Gerard
. Not just for five minutes. The last thing I want to do is upset you, but I believe you're the only one who can get through to Joel. He's in a terrible state. Now that we've finally got him home he just sits in his room, brooding about the accident. He blames himself dreadfully, the way he smashed your. . . .'
'Legs,' Lucie finished quietly. 'Please tell him I'm all right. I had the best surgeon in this country, the greatest care. They tell me I've made a splendid recovery.'
'I've got to talk to -you about all those bills.'
'They've been taken care of.' Lucie looked out the window because she could not bear to look at the woman's anguished face. The chauffeur was standing out in the wintry sunlight, looking away down the road.
'You must allow us to help you,' Avril Tennant persisted. 'My husband is a rich man.'
'I had no idea.' Lucie said it as a simple statement of fact. Joel had rarely mentioned his family and when he did Lucie had gained the impression he was far from happy at home. His father detested his choice of a career; she did remember Joel's telling her that.
'Joel always wants to disown us,' Joel's mother murmured sadly. 'He and his father don't get on— mostly Grant's fault, but then Joel doesn't really try with his father either. That's why Joel is so alone now.'
'I'm sorry.' Lucie looked at the tearful, flushed face. 'Really sorry, Mrs Tennant, but I fail to see what I can do but distress myself further. I'm trying to put my accident behind me.'
'But surely you care about Joel?' Maternal passion blazed in Avril Tennant's eyes.
