by Margaret Way
'So even if this happened, what could it mean?' She was bewildered and showing it.
'You don't think my mother was always faithful to my father, do you? She had many secret romances and others she didn't bother to hide. She was a very beautiful and clever woman, but she wasn't in the least, how shall I put it, kind.'
'Your father was aware of her affairs?'
'Do you think he didn't mind? I would have killed her!' His hands moved expressively.
'So what has this to do with you and me?' asked Lucie.
'You'd need to know what would happen if you ever tried to get away from me. Never, never.'
'And you're the one who speaks about trust.' She shook her head, dazed and confused by the tangle of emotions.
'You're just a child.' Julian leaned forward, stretching out his arm so their hands touched.
'No, I'm a woman, don't you see that? You should, Julian.'
He sighed deeply and put her palm against his cheek. 'Go away, little one. I'm afraid of what might happen if you don't.'
'I love you,' she said, her voice shaky with the suppression of tears.
'You won't go back on it ever? How can you tell?'
She could see the cynicism in his eyes, bitter memories from the past. 'You might have said love can last. It can, Julian. My mother's tragedy was the love she bore for only one man—my father. She lost him when I was only three. If you think I have looks I got them from my mother. There must have been other men who admired her, but none she found to compare with my father. Fidelity even to a memory is not extinct.'
'And loving a woman no greater tyranny.'
There was nothing she could possibly say that would be persuasive. Julian had to come to it himself.
So Lucie worked, determined she would not be defeated by the fear of failure, but many times she caught Patricia's expression and read correctly the unspoken thought: Will her legs hold out?
They did—absolutely. So Patricia cried out with rare praise: 'What-I wouldn't give for a twenty-two-year-old body! The speed—where do you get it from?'
Feeling wonderfully lighthearted, Lucie whipped into a double turn, then another. If she had to she could do the thirty-two fouettes as in Swan Lake. Her courage, the wonderful, saving courage that all dancers needed, had come back. It was courage and confidence that made the difference. Fear could cripple, it could even set the stage for an injury.
It wasn't until she had stopped that Lucie realised' Patricia and her flock of dancers were standing still. They had been standing there watching her, admiring, learning.
'I'm never going to be a dancer,' one little girl with her hair all done up in plaits told a friend. 'Did you just see her balances? They're splendid. I thought she was supposed to have a weak leg? They're extremely^ strong.'
Undemonstrative, Patricia hugged her. 'Good girl, Lucie! I'm pleased with you.'
'Merci.'
'Wait!' Patricia called out to the flying figure. 'Lucie, I have to speak to you.'
'Yes?' Lucie turned. 'Two minutes, Pat, and I have to run—a booking.'
'Julian has worked out a new pas de deux. He wants you to go over.'
'When?' Excitement swelled in her and the perennial sense of hopelessness.
'As soon as you can.' Patricia surveyed her calmly. 'He's up to date on your progress.'
'You'd tell him anything, wouldn't you?'
'Just about.' Patricia's lovely smile made her thin face look quite youthful. 'If I were twenty years younger I'd fall madly in love with him, the heathen!'
The photographic session took well over an hour and afterwards, rather fearfully, Lucie went to the phone. Julian would be in the middle of a class, but there would be somebody there to answer the phone.
'Darling!' It was Damien, and he recognised her voice instantly.
'Julian wants me to come over,' she went on. 'Does that mean now?'
'Hold it, sweetie, and I'll ask him.'
Lucie waited, tapping her foot. A new pas de deux— that meant something that was technically frightfully demanding. Ah well!
Damien again, swearing and apologising. 'Sorry, love, just tripped over Anne's stupid bag. You'd make a great mistake not coming at once. Take a cab, and a tranquilliser for Julian might help. He's in a filthy state of mind.'
He was, at the best of times, Lucie thought, but when he wasn't, one forgot all the other times.
'Go home,' he told all the others when Lucie arrived. 'Except you, Damien, of course.'
But now the others wanted to stay, interested in what was happening.
'Tomorrow,' Julian said. 'Ten-thirty.' And his tone left them no reason to stay.
'Come here, Lucie.'
She went to him and he took her hand. 'I want this pas de deux performed in under a month and I want you and Damien to dance it for me. Warm up at the barre and when you're ready I'll take you both through the steps. The lifts I'll demonstrate first. They're spectacular, but you're a feather and Damien knows how to show his ballerina off.'
Damien, handsome, muscular, brown-eyed and eager, looked pleased. Lucienne was his all-time favourite partner and anything of Julian's had to be very effective.
After fifteen minutes of conventional barre Julian called sharply for them to begin. There was a deep cleft of concentration between his winged black brows the handsome mouth pulled down as though he was about to ask a lot of them.
'Now this is what I require of you. It will be difficult, but you will try.'
It went on for an hour, but Lucie and Damien were very fast learners. Besides, they were experiencing an irresistible elation. What Julian had created was something not traditional nor modern, but timeless; a love duet using the most beautiful and exciting techniques. His was an immense dance vocabulary and he had fully exploited the potential of his two dancers.
Damien in his mid-twenties was at the peak of his powers, immensely strong, muscular, when was necessary for the impressive lifts, but wonderfully expressive and supple. Lucienne, the total dancer, with a virtuoso technique that was only there to serve an increasingly poetic lyricism, a lyricism that was given to a very few.
It was all happening so spontaneously Julian had even become gentle. 'We don't want to overdo it, Lucie.'
'No, it's all right,' she would turn to smile at him.
'Now forget you've got bones. I want you to float back until you nearly touch the floor.'
The most spectacular lift when she was held like a bird in flight on Damien's straight up arm presented the only insurmountable difficulty. In mid-air with one leg bent, Lucie had to fully extend her other leg behind her, holding the pose effortlessly, while Damien's arm like iron was not permitted to even quiver.
'Here, let me show you.' Julian started to throw Lucie around like a feather.
'But you're taller than I am, much stronger.'
'It's Lucie who has to help you. She has to so hold her body she takes the weight off your arm.'
They tried it, and Damien's arm wobbled alarmingly.
'Don't drop her.'
'Hell!' Damien was jangled by the note of near fear in Julian's voice.
'Forget it for the moment,' said Julian. 'We'll go on.'
The rest was easier, though it hurt, and afterwards Julian dismissed Damien and asked Lucie to remain behind.
'So far, so good,' he told her.
She swallowed, wondering if he was going to go back to that lift.
'How have you been?' he asked, for the first time touching on the personal.
'Busy.'
'Patricia believes you're better than you ever were. I agree.'
'Do you?' She scarcely dared look at him.
'Yes. You're perfect.'
'I'm not doing too well on that lift,' she sighed.
'It's not all that easy to soar like a bird. Damien is strong. He'll get the hang of it, but you have to help him. You have to gather yourself right into your centre. You have to leap like an acrobat. You have to be absolutely fearless.'
'Anything else?' she smiled wryly.
'Come, let me show you.'
'And what is it called?' She gave him her beautiful, jewelled glance. 'Our pas de deux?'
'Elysium.'
'Paradise.'
Something in his expression made her draw in her breath.
'Now, Lucie,' he ordered, not taking his eyes off her.
With Damien it was a matter of two beautiful trained bodies in complete accord. In part, Lucie was amazingly gifted. She could simulate love, but as soon as Julian touched her, she melted. Her body was fluid, floating, weightless.
There was no question of forcing. She ran, she leapt with tremendous elevation, shot up into his arms and from there was carried like a rising bird, her left leg bent, her right leg extended way up behind her, both arms winged back, the head lifted.
The whole line was unbelieveably beautiful, streamlined, aerodynamic. They held it and held it, and it was a kind of a glory. Then Julian brought her down slowly, with perfect control, his hands high up beneath her breasts, not supportive now but explicitly sensual.
'I congratulate you, Lucie,' he said.
'Everything is easy with you,' she said blissfully.
'You're very sure.' Unexpectedly the vivid, handsome face was grave.
'Sure of what, Julian?' she asked wonderingly. 'That I love you?'
'Please, I want to know.'
'Why?'
'I need to know.' Desperation and curtness were equally mixed.
'I'll always love you, Julian,' she said tenderly. 'I'll never love anyone else.'
'When I'm so cruel to you? When I don't deserve you?'
'Even then.' She closed her eyes and turned her face along his heart. 'Tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it. Tell me what you want me to be and I'll be it.'
'Lucie.' That dark, arrogant voice sounded unbearably moved, and his free hand caressed the satiny nape of her neck. 'Let me take care of you for always.'
'You'd like me for a mistress?' Her gentle voice held a trace of laughter.
'Mistress, wife, whatever. You'll never leave me, in any case.'
'It appears then that you love me.' She lifted her head and her beautiful violet eyes were filled with love and laughter.
'Of course I do.' His voice was cool, but it wasn't matched by the look in his eyes and the strength of his arms. 'I loved you long before I would ever admit it. Now I can see I'll have to admit it all the time.'
'Not really,' Lucie said dreamily, 'just try it once more.'
'I love you,' he said, very low and caressing. 'I love you . . . love you.' He said it over and over until his mouth closed on hers.
About Margaret Way
Margaret Way was born and educated in the river city of Brisbane, Australia. Before her marriage she was a well-known pianist, teacher, vocal coach and accompanist, but her hectic musical career came to a halt when her son was born and the demands of motherhood dictated a change of pace.
On a fortuitous impulse she decided to try her hand at romance writing and was thrilled when Mills & Boon accepted her first effort, Time of the Jacaranda, which they published less than a year later in 1970; a feat that brought tears to her father's eyes. Some seventy odd books have followed resulting in a loyal readership whose letters provide a source of support and encouragement. A driving force in all her writing has been the promotion of her much loved country, Australia. She delights in bringing it alive for her readers; its people, way of life, environment, flora and fauna. Her efforts so far have not excited official recognition, but she expects one day she will be awarded the "Order of Australia."
Her interests remain with the arts. She still plays the piano seriously, but her "top Cs" have gone. She is still addicted to collecting antiques and paintings and browsing through galleries. She now lives within sight and sound of beautiful Moreton Bay and its islands, inspiration for some of her books. Her house is full of books, spectacular plants, Chinese screens and pots. She is devoted to her garden and spends much time "directing the design and digging and providing cold drinks and chocolates."
