Massine’s smile reached his eyes. ‘Don’t worry. He’s bound to forget about the scarf as his mind will be full of a thousand other worries by lunchtime.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, still not convinced Diaghilev would forget. ‘I don’t want to be any trouble.’
He checked his watch. ‘The others will be here shortly. I hope you are ready for a long, hard day.’
‘I most certainly am.’
‘Good, because dancing with the Ballets Russes is not for the faint of heart. We are all defectors, in one way or another. You are from Petrograd, am I right?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you must succeed here because it’s impossible for you to return home.’
‘Yes.’ When she’d snuck across the border to Poland, a gate had closed on her past and she’d entered an uncertain future. Continual disappointment in her world had led Viktoriya to trust no one, but there was something in Massine’s eyes, the tone of his voice, that made her want to trust—even just a little.
‘A dancer with everything to lose is the best kind.’ Massine glanced at the door then focussed on Viktoriya. ‘Did you know Pablo Picasso will be designing sets and costumes for this ballet?’
‘Pablo Picasso?’ she half-whispered.
Massine nodded, apparently very pleased with the delivery of this news.
‘I’m…that’s…wonderful.’
The door swung open, pulling Massine’s attention away. A long line of dancers trailed through, the women lean and small-boned. All offered a welcoming smile and she instantly relaxed. They busied themselves sorting their gear as Massine led her over to a rail-thin woman with grey hair pulled back in a severe bun.
‘Irina Plaksin, meet Viktoriya Budian,’ said Massine.
Irina, the ballet mistress, held out her hand, her long fingers squeezing Viktoriya’s. ‘It is lovely to meet you. I understand you have had quite the journey.’
‘Yes.’
‘I also hear you are very talented. I look forward to seeing evidence.’ She glanced at Viktoriya’s scarf but didn’t say anything. Clapping her hands, she turned to the dancers. ‘Let us begin.’
Irina took them through stretches and exercises while Massine looked on with crossed arms. Viktoriya extended her limbs, bent and spun, her muscles rejoicing at being challenged once again after weeks of travel. Of course, she’d practised wherever she could, in dingy dormitories and in bathrooms of train stations. Dance distracted her from the horrors she’d escaped—only just.
Irina took the women through a series of steps while the pianist pounded the keys. Viktoriya twisted and turned, joy flowing through her veins as she followed Irina’s instructions, determined to show her skill and willingness to learn. One dancer in particular caught Viktoriya’s attention, her moves effortless, her grace apparent. A tinge of jealousy tweaked at Viktoriya then panic took over as her confidence plummeted. She stumbled, regained balance then glanced at Massine, whose eyes were firmly fixed on her.
Perspiration wet her skin and she wiped the beads away. Her clothes stuck in uncomfortable places but she pushed on. Before long, Irina called for a break and the group gathered around a small table at the side of the room and filled glasses with water from the jugs.
‘You dance well for someone fresh from the road.’ The graceful dancer sipped water as her gaze travelled from Viktoriya’s face all the way down her body and to her toes. The girl’s eyes rested on the scarf. ‘Pretty colour.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’m Alla Ivaneka.’ An affable air surrounded this beautiful dancer.
‘Viktoriya Budian. Nice to meet you, Alla.’ Viktoriya smiled. If Alla’s friendliness was legitimate, and it appeared to be, then Viktoriya’s adjustment to this new company may not be so bad. Lord knew she’d had her share at the last company, where dancers’ claws were always ready to strike out. Could she be so lucky that the dancers at the Ballets Russes could actually become friends?
The door opened and a tall muscular figure entered. A gasp caught at the back of her throat and she chastised herself for the reaction. It was he who should be surprised, not her. After all, Alexei Pankov had no idea she was about to pirouette into his life.
‘Gospodin Massine, I have a message from…’ His voice trailed off as his eyes met Viktoriya’s, his Adam’s apple slowly moving up and down. Alexei’s lips started a journey upward but the smile quickly disappeared.
‘Yes? Yes?’ Massine held out his hand for the note and Alexei passed it to him, his eyes fixed on Viktoriya.
‘Excuse me.’ Alexei took a few long steps that delivered him to her.
She never doubted that feelings of heartache and vulnerability would surface when she saw Alexei again but the intensity overwhelmed her.
Alla looked from Viktoriya to Alexei then quickly excused herself. She joined a group of dancers on the other side of the room and they chatted while casting furtive glances. Viktoriya closed her eyes for a moment, disappointed that she wasn’t as well prepared as she should have been.
‘You’re the new dancer?’ His voice held incredulity.
Viktoriya opened her mouth but not a single sound escaped. Alexei’s scowl made her heart hurt.
‘You said you’d never leave Russia. You said the Ballets Russes were nothing but renegades and not for the serious ballet dancer. You said—’
‘I said a lot of things, Alexei. Please, let’s not do this here.’ She looked around the room. Most of the dancers were unashamedly watching the conversation unfolding between the new girl and Alexei. ‘Can we meet this evening?’ She instantly regretted the hasty suggestion. Was she really ready for the long and painful conversation that was bound to transpire?
‘I’m not sure we should.’ His cold tone reminded her of when they’d last seen each other in Petrograd.
Leaning in close, she whispered, ‘If we’re to dance for the same company we need to work things out.’
‘You shouldn’t have followed me here.’ He ran his hand through his thick, wavy hair.
‘I didn’t follow you. Besides, you were the one who begged me to come.’
‘That was a year ago. Things have changed, Viktoriya. I’ve changed.’
‘I’ve changed also. Can’t we be adults and not let history ruin our careers? We’re in Paris, for goodness’ sake, not Russia. Everything is different now.’ She wished Irina would declare the break over.
‘You’ll be expected to deliver your soul here.’
‘I’m very capable of looking after myself.’ She should stop sounding so haughty, but she couldn’t quite settle her emotions around him.
Irina called the dancers back and Alexei slipped out the door. Viktoriya tried to concentrate on the ballet mistresses’s instructions, the jerky movements of the choreography a contrast to the classical ballet she’d learned. She squared her elbows when they were usually curved, and stamped her feet when she’d normally have them pointed. Sneaking a peek at Massine, she wondered how he could come up with something so incredibly outlandish and call it ballet. Just as well he was dancing the lead role of the Chinese Conjurer as Viktoriya doubted anyone else could handle the strange choreography so well.
By the time they’d finished rehearsal, she was mentally and physically exhausted. The dancers gathered their gear and filed out the door, chatting as they went. Taking off her shoes and stuffing them in her bag, she donned her winter jacket and boots.
‘You have done well today,’ Irina said.
‘Thank you.’
‘What did you think?’
Not used to being asked her opinion about rehearsals, Viktoriya was taken aback. ‘Uh…’ She prided herself on diplomacy, which is probably why she never made it past understudy back in Russia. Being cutthroat wasn’t in her nature. ‘It’s not what I’m used to.’
‘Do not worry. Massine’s a mastermind. He knows what he’s doing. Of course, we’re taking a risk with Parade but no one ever said we were a conventional dance company.’ Patting Viktoriya on the
back, Irina said, ‘Keep up the good work and you’ll go far.’ She gathered her gear, headed for the door then turned. ‘You’ll have to forget the fuchsia scarf, though.’
Viktoriya’s heart thumped against her chest. ‘But—’
‘I understand dancers have superstitions. I have my own. But Diaghilev sent me a message to make sure you don’t wear it again. I decided not to say anything in front of the others on your first day, though tomorrow you will need to go back to standard attire. All right?’
Hot tears pricked Viktoriya’s eyes and she nodded, not sure how she could argue. Causing a scene wouldn’t serve her, especially as Irina had been so nice about it. Somehow she had to overcome this need to keep Dina’s scarf with her every time she danced. Maybe she could stuff it down her top but the bulge would be obvious. If she tied it in her hair then…no, that wouldn’t work either, as that would go against Diaghilev’s strict rules. Viktoriya needed to find a way around it—somehow.
‘Rest up and please lock up when you leave. Have a nice evening.’ Irina marched out the door and it closed gently behind her.
Once again Viktoriya stood in the empty rehearsal room but now she had a full day of practice behind her. The long hours had been fraught with visions of Alexei. She should have written and told him about her pending arrival but her departure from Russia had been so sudden, she hadn’t had time to give him warning. In her bid to escape the murderous hands of that lieutenant, she’d concocted ridiculous notions that her reunion with Alexei would be amicable. She’d entertained visions of walking along the Seine with him, having a calm discussion about his rapid departure and her struggle to come to terms with feeling abandoned.
She pushed out a long sigh.
So much had happened in the past year—to him. To her.
Viktoriya hadn’t expected this transition from the Imperial to Diaghilev’s company to be an easy one, even without the added complication of Alexei. All this fuss over a fuchsia scarf surprised her and she wished the sentimental value didn’t have such an impact on her dancing, but it did. Dina’s legacy and love lived on in that tiny piece of material and there was no way she could ever contemplate dancing a step without that beautiful girl by her side, even if it was only in spirit.
CHAPTER
4
Paris, 1917
Viktoriya sat on the bed in her one-room apartment and ran the soft fabric of her scarf along her skin. She inhaled gently, trying to detect a trace of Dina’s scent. Time had eroded any remnant and it scared Viktoriya that as the clock moved forward, aspects of Dina faded. She still remembered Dina’s inquisitive dark eyes, her unruly brown curls, her petite frame, but the details of her smile and laugh had melted away, overwhelmed by memories of the young girl’s gut-wrenching sobs borne from a tragic and bitter childhood. How could Viktoriya not have taken her in? What kind of human would turn their back on a child in need?
Clutching the fabric against her heart, she tried to figure out the exact moment she became reliant on it. Had it been when she’d first met Dina, who had worn the scarf with pride, despite the tattered clothes hanging from an emaciated frame? Was it just after Dina’s world had finally changed for the better when she was accepted into the Imperial School of Ballet? Or was it in the last moments of Dina’s short life before it had been brutally ripped away by the hands of a drunk whose military ranking meant he would never go on trial?
Revisiting these feelings brought nothing but grief and angst. She had to find a way to let go, or at the very least, learn to cope with these horrific memories when they surfaced. Viktoriya had thought that six months on the pain would have eased but it still felt raw. The guilt ate away at her, even though there was absolutely nothing she could have done to change the tragic events that led to Dina’s death.
Viktoriya shook her head in an effort to dispel the horrifying image. Tucking the scarf into her skirt pocket, she stood and started stretching. A knock at the door drew her attention and she walked over, undid the latch and pulled it open.
‘Alexei,’ she breathed, surprised anything came out of her mouth. Although she’d said they should talk this evening, she hadn’t expected he’d turn up.
He stood in the doorway, hands behind his back, looking as uncomfortable as she felt. ‘Viktoriya.’
Alexei motioned for her to hold out her hand. She did so without resistance and he placed a black sash on her palm.
‘What’s this?’
‘The rumour mill has been busy. If you want to keep on Diaghilev’s good side, you need this.’
‘But I dance better with the pink scarf.’ Her spare hand instinctively reached for the soft fabric in her skirt pocket.
‘Maybe, but he won’t tolerate your defiance. Don’t do yourself a disservice because of superstition.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Viktoriya…’ He raised an eyebrow and she squeezed the black scarf tightly.
‘You have no idea what that scarf means to me. No one does. This is not some silly game I’m playing.’
‘We are talking about your career. Please, don’t ruin your opportunity before it has really started.’
Although he spoke the truth, she didn’t want to give in just yet. Of course she could dance brilliantly without the fuchsia scarf—she had done so for a long time—but this paranoia had snuck up on her and she didn’t know how to shake it. Or if she could.
‘I have something else.’ He moved his other arm from behind his back and offered her a bunch of yellow roses. She accepted them with an awkward smile, inhaling the honey scent of her favourite flower.
‘You remembered.’
‘Of course. I remember many things.’ He took off his hat and looked around the tiny room. ‘May I?’
‘Yes.’ She nervously motioned for him to take a seat on the chair next to the small writing desk. When he sat he had to bunch up his long legs.
‘How are you fitting in?’
‘I’m…Alexei, we can’t do this. Jumping into friendship is too strange.’
He adjusted the hat on his knees. ‘I don’t know how else to behave. I’ve not been complete without you by my side. You inspire me, Viktoriya. No other dance partner pushes me like you do.’
‘No other dance partner? That’s all I was to you?’ Had time twisted the significance of their relationship? Her chest tightened and the room felt stuffy. Although this conversation was inevitable and she’d practised logical arguments, emotions now ruled her and the best laid plans flew out the window.
‘Viktoriya…’ His hand reached for hers but she moved away, unsure what she wanted. ‘You mean everything to me. We were just living in two different worlds.’
‘And now that we’re in the same one? What do you want, Alexei? We can’t start where we left off.’
He moved his head as if she’d slapped him across the face. ‘I have more respect for you than that.’
‘Good.’ Uncomfortable standing and needing to put some space between them, Viktoriya leaned against the wardrobe on the other side of the room.
‘So…’ He used his palms to smooth down his pants. ‘What now?’
‘We carry on as if we never happened.’ Her tone sounded convincing, even though pieces of her heart broke off all over again.
Silence snuck through the cracks between the windows and doors.
Clearing his throat, Alexei asked, ‘How are things in Petrograd?’
‘What things?’
Alexei raised his eyebrows. ‘The new government and the abdication of the tsar.’
‘It’s horrible there.’ She sighed and searched for words that could describe recent developments. ‘The workers are suffering, along with their families. Food is scarce, multiple families are crammed into apartments. If anything, things have gotten worse since the tsar was thrown out.’
‘And the dual government?’
‘The workers’ councils and the provisional government say they’re cooperating with each other but it’s not working.’ Tears welled up in her
eyes. ‘There’s no hope, Alexei, and I couldn’t stay and watch my people suffer while I danced across the stage in fancy costumes.’
‘It does make our profession frivolous.’
‘I’ve struggled with it every day but what am I supposed to do? Diaghilev offered me this position and now I have a chance to make money and get my family out of Russia.’ She pointed her left foot, stretching the spasming muscle. ‘Who’s to say the Imperial won’t close down? The government is determined to stamp out anything that represents the tsar and we know how much the royals loved the arts.’
‘And so goes another piece of our country’s history.’
‘You were happy enough to leave it behind when you left me.’ Oh no. She’d meant to say ‘when you left Russia’ but her slip-up now hung between them.
Alexei coughed into his hand. ‘Why doesn’t Vaslav help your family? Surely he has enough money to assist them.’
Viktoriya closed her eyes for a moment, having forgotten that Alexei knew about her connection to Vaslav Nijinsky, Diaghilev’s ex-lover.
‘He’s…he’s not well.’
‘I have heard. Is it true what people are saying?’
‘Yes.’ She hesitated, wondering if she should say any more. Alexei had once been privy to Vaslav’s life and he’d never breathed a word of the secrets he knew, so surely she could trust him now. Studying her nails, she finally said, ‘The contents of his letters have grown more erratic and I can barely recognise the man who penned them. It concerns me a lot.’
Vaslav had changed dramatically since she’d met him all those years ago. His dancing onstage had mesmerised her and when he’d taken the time to talk with her after a performance and she’d told him she wanted to dance ballet, he’d shown her some steps and she’d emulated them perfectly. When he’d offered to introduce her to his teachers at his old school, the Imperial School of Ballet, she couldn’t believe his generosity. Back then he’d been stable, albeit temperamental, but there were no signs of erratic behaviour. He’d constantly followed her progress to the point of being a mentor, until he moved to Paris in 1909. She wished he was still here, rather than flitting from one country to the next, desperately seeking happiness but never finding it.
Beneath the Parisian Skies Page 3
