‘Man, that’s tough.’
‘Yes, it is but I have already made my decision.’ He closed his eyes briefly, as if praying it was the right one. ‘After the premiere of Turning Pointe I will return to science to please my father. I cannot deny a dying man his last wish.’
‘But you can’t live your life for someone else!’ What did she know about making the most of life, though?
‘He sees the arts as a waste of time and money. He thinks science is the only noble profession as it changes the lives of people.’
Lily raised her eyebrows.
A small laugh escaped Yves’s lips. ‘I see you do not agree with him, either. Of course, science is important but without the arts that speak to our souls, then what are we as humans? What is the point of existing?’
‘I don’t know.’ And she truly didn’t.
‘Human relationships are what count—caring, laughing, enjoying beauty, forgiveness and loving—what more could we want?’
‘Well a cure for cancer would be nice.’
‘Of course, of course,’ he said. ‘We need that but we also need a reason to live. We need our dance. Our photography. Our paintings. Our music.’
‘You’re right.’ Lily straightened her spine, inspired by his insight. ‘The deal’s back on.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I will help you achieve your goal of perfecting your ballet score if you’ll smooth the way for me to talk to Natalie. Life is too short to let dumb obstacles stand in our way. You and me,’ she held her glass high then clinked hers against his, ‘we’ll right the world one dance step at a time.’
CHAPTER
7
Paris, 1917
Ever since Massine negotiated with Diaghilev for her to continue wearing the fuchsia scarf, Viktoriya’s dancing improved dramatically. The sequences she’d once struggled with now flowed through her body and Massine and Irina had taken to singing her praises at every class. It didn’t take long before they suggested she audition for the role of the schoolgirl for Parade.
Once again she was alone in the rehearsal room, practising her steps and enjoying the quiet. She’d expected the adjustment to life in Paris to be difficult, but surprisingly, it had been relatively easy to slip into this new culture and day-to-day existence. Despite a war raging in Europe and Russia’s revolution, Paris attracted some of the world’s leading artists, writers and designers, who graced the same restaurants and bars Viktoriya attended with her colleagues. And tonight was no different.
Viktoriya finished rehearsing then packed her bag and headed down the passageway to bathe and change. She didn’t mind being late because she needed an hour of quiet to prepare. Making small talk didn’t come easily but the only way to put down roots in this new city and new life was to get in front of people who intimidated her. Plus, she’d been in ballet long enough to know some of the best roles were decided far away from the rehearsal room.
She entered the bathroom to strip, dip a cloth in cold water and dress in her newly purchased outfit. The simple light blue dress skimmed her body, the hem falling just above her ankles. Viktoriya still didn’t know how she felt about this fashion piece when so many were starving in the world, but this was an investment in her future. Mingling with the top influencers was the only way to entrench herself in the Ballets Russes and, if she could work her way up, earn enough money to send for her family…
Exiting the theatre, Viktoriya waved to the doorman and continued down the cobblestone alley to the main street. The sun cast a red glow across the sky as she pulled the collar of her coat around her ears. French soldiers walked the streets in groups of three or four, no doubt on a short pass from their battalions. What disturbed Viktoriya the most was that soldiers and heavy artillery vehicles in the streets, both in Paris and Petrograd, had become a normal way life. Would the world ever return to peace? Was it even possible?
Putting her head down, Viktoriya hastened along the three blocks to arrive at Bar du Sully. A warm light shone through the windows and as she entered the bar, a wall of heat smacked into her. Peeling off her coat, she spotted the group of dancers in the corner, surrounded by a trio of musicians. One played a ukulele, another played guitar, and the third the spoons, their upbeat music instantly kicking her mood up a notch. Alexei waved and her heart gave a small start. Ever since they’d danced for Massine, Viktoriya had broken into hot sweats and stumbled over her words whenever Alexei was near, just like when they’d first met. Gathering herself, she went over to sit on the small stool next to him, the joyous music sweeping over her.
A fellow dancer handed her a cup of wine.
‘Thanks,’ Viktoriya said.
Taking a sip, she studied the man now whispering in Alexei’s ear. Her ex-lover’s eyes grew wide and a large smile graced his beautiful lips. Leaning towards her, Alexei said, ‘Picasso wants to meet you.’
‘What?’ The cup nearly slipped from her fingers.
‘Come.’ Alexei held out his hand and she accepted it. Heat raced up her neck and across her face as she followed him, their hands firmly entwined. At the other corner of the room, in semi-darkness, sat a man with thick hair that hung in his eyes. He pushed it back as he stood and motioned for her to take a seat in the booth. She did so and Alexei followed suit, sitting much closer than needed.
‘Pablo, please meet Viktoriya Budian.’
‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Budian.’ He took her hand in his and placed a gentle kiss on her skin. She’d heard about this ladies’ man and after only two seconds in his presence, she could understand why women flocked to be by his side.
‘Thank you, Señor Picasso.’
‘Please, call me Pablo.’
‘Thank you.’ Silence wrapped around them and she wondered why he bothered asking to meet her. Desperate to break the discomfort, she said, ‘That is a very nice shirt.’
‘This?’ He placed his fingers where the collar should have been and glanced at the black-and-white stripes. ‘My friend Coco Chanel modelled it off the sailor shirts from Brittany. Did you know the twenty-one stripes represent each of Napoleon’s victories?’
‘No, I did not. Fascinating,’ she said with genuine interest.
‘But this is not why I want to speak with you. My point for asking for your company is to learn more about who you are.’
‘Really? Why?’
He filled her cup to the brim and she found it almost impossible to steady her shaking hand as she took a sip, trying to appear much calmer than she felt. Pablo poured more into another cup and handed it to Alexei.
‘No, thank you, I never drink alcohol,’ he said.
A raucous laugh fell from the artist’s lips. ‘Why on earth not? It is the elixir of creativity.’
‘For painters, perhaps, but for dancers it can wreak havoc on our bodies.’ Alexei glanced at Viktoriya who had the cup of wine at her lips. She took a quick sip then put it down.
‘Each to their own,’ mumbled Picasso. Turning to Viktoriya, he said, ‘I am involved with the costumes and set with Parade, did you know this?’
‘Yes, I’d heard, and we’re very fortunate. I love the costumes you’ve designed for Parade. It’s an interesting concept.’ She dished out as many compliments as she could, even though dancers had moaned about how difficult it would be dancing in the towering cardboard costumes.
‘You do not need to flatter me, my ego is already very big.’
‘I’m not trying to—’
‘But I am joking!’ He smiled at Alexei who did the same in return. ‘Life is too short to be serious all the time.’
‘I guess so.’
‘Back to the point of this meeting. I have seen you dance.’
‘Where?’ she asked.
‘It doesn’t matter where. All I will say is from an artist’s perspective, you are perfection.’ His eyes briefly looked at her body but she didn’t flinch, used to people judging how she held herself. ‘You do not have the usual body of a dancer. Your curves are of much
interest to me. I do not think a sculptor could do better.’ The earnest look in his eyes told her she was nothing but a model—a way for him to express his artistic self—and she had nothing to fear about any unwanted advances. ‘Massine needs to choreograph a ballet for you and your Pankov. I will design it.’
She doubted her eyes could get any rounder as his words danced around her ears. She’d thought Massine’s comment that day had been a throwaway line because he hadn’t mentioned anything since. Had Massine and Picasso already been talking?
Picasso took a long drink then put the cup down with a thud. ‘I wish to design the sets and costumes, Massine choreographs and you two dance. Perhaps we will get Stravinsky to compose. It will be marvellous; I can see it now.’ He closed his eyes, as if the imagery was unfolding in his mind. Waving his arms around, he said, ‘We would go with blues and greens, like the sea. An underwater paradise. Not a mermaid but a different creature of beauty, one that has never been seen or heard of before. You will dance like waves rolling onto shore…your elegance enchanting every being on sea and land…lots of fabric…’ He opened his eyes, a broad grin reaching his dark eyes. ‘Together we will create an oceanic wonderland and Pankov will be Poseidon, God of the Sea. Audiences will be stunned from the beauty and magic of it all.’
The words echoed in her head but she could barely comprehend the weight behind them. Every dancer dreamed of a ballet being written for them but no one really expected it to actually happen.
‘That sounds wonderful but it’s Diaghilev who makes the final decision.’ She could hardly cope with Alexei sitting next to her, how on earth would she ever deal with the constant touching and hours of practice every single day for months on end? No one possessed that kind of willpower. Alexei had broken her heart once, she wouldn’t let him do it again. But the chance to have her own ballet…
‘Do not worry. When I want something, I make it happen.’ Picasso downed the rest of his wine and stood. ‘It has been a delight to meet you, Mademoiselle Budian, and I look forward to the pleasure of your company again.’
‘The pleasure is all mine.’ She smiled, still unable to fathom she’d just met one of the most incredible painters of her time.
Picasso merged in with the crowd and disappeared through the front door.
She turned to Alexei, her eyes wide. ‘Can you believe that just happened?’
‘Yes.’ He grinned.
She let the last few minutes settle in her brain. ‘I can’t understand how Picasso thinks Diaghilev would ever agree to this.’
‘Why wouldn’t he? Surely you know how people react when we dance together.’
‘I do, but neither of us have ever held a lead role, yet a world-class artist and choreographer are talking about creating a ballet for us. It doesn’t make any sense.’
Alexei’s warm hand enveloped hers and her breath caught at the back of her throat.
‘Don’t question why, Viktoriya, just enjoy. At this moment it’s all talk, but Picasso does appear to be on a mission. If anyone can convince Diaghilev to let two unknowns be the centrepiece of a ballet, Picasso will. And Massine.’ Squeezing her hand, he said, ‘Perhaps our dream of dancing together as principals on stage may come true.’
She withdrew her hand and edged farther from him. ‘That dream died when you left Russia.’
‘There is no reason it can’t be resurrected.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Picasso and Massine are dreaming, like we once did.’
‘When are you going to stop blaming me for leaving?’
She pursed her lips and stared straight ahead at the black velvet seat.
A long sigh escaped Alexei’s lips. ‘I did what I thought was best and now…seeing how much I hurt you, if I could travel back in time I would change everything.’
‘No, you wouldn’t.’ She turned to face him. ‘Ballet is in our blood and even though I’m doing this to help my family, I’m also doing it for me. And maybe…’ Her eyes met his and once again memories flooded back of long evenings spent with their limbs wrapped around each other.
‘Maybe?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘It’s obviously something.’
‘It’s just…’ Perhaps she needed to be honest. Not addressing her feelings hadn’t helped so far. ‘I miss you, Alexei.’
‘I miss you, too.’ He placed a finger under her chin and guided her lips towards his. He whispered, ‘We don’t have to stay apart.’
Whether it was the wine, the romance of a foreign city, or the temptation of revisiting a relationship that had once brought her so much joy, Viktoriya couldn’t resist Alexei. She caught his musky scent and her body responded like it always had—shaking hands, a rush of adrenaline and coils of desire spreading through her body.
‘Be with me, Viktoriya.’
‘I can’t,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I—’
The moment his lips met hers, time didn’t move forward, it didn’t move backward—it halted, and for just a moment, Viktoriya forgot the world careening out of control around them.
* * *
Warm fingers stroked her back as Viktoriya lay on her stomach and stared at the white wall of her tiny room. Alexei’s touch, gentle as it was, sent cold shivers up her spine. For the past week they’d been in each other’s company day and night and even though she loved having him near, her emotions remained fragile.
‘Perhaps we should let people know, now.’ Alexei’s hot breath tickled her ear.
‘No. Not yet.’
His fingers left her skin and she turned to see him inching away.
‘Why not?’ he asked.
‘Because it’s early days.’ She sat up and pulled the sheet over her torso.
‘You’re not sure about us? What more do you want from me?’ He threw his arms wide. ‘How many times have I told you I love you? How many times have I said I’m sorry?’
‘More than you need to. I’m just wary about—’
‘Getting your heart broken again. Yes, I’ve heard it dozens of times. What will it take for you to believe I won’t do it again?’
‘I don’t know.’ Her fingers twisted around the edge of the sheet.
‘Viktoriya…’ Alexei leaned in close, his beautiful face only inches from hers. ‘I would move the tallest mountain, ford the widest river, cross the driest desert and swim the largest ocean to prove my love for you. Name what you need me to do and I will do it. I lost you once and I will spend the rest of my life ensuring that never happens again. It’s impossible for me to realise my full potential if I’m not with you—on or off the stage.’
His sincere words sang to Viktoriya, her heart skipped and her soul surrendered as soon as her eyes met his. For the first time since they’d reunited, Viktoriya sensed the love he truly felt. No words, no physical acts, no pleas, could ever substitute what she felt in this moment. Her skin tingled and her heart knew.
‘I believe you.’
They sank underneath the covers, choreographing a dance only for them.
* * *
Audition day for Parade arrived and Viktoriya sat on the floor of the rehearsal room, doing her stretches. She’d left Alexei’s apartment early that morning, needing to wander through the park at dawn, inhale the fresh air and take time to collect her thoughts. Their relationship had gone from non-existent to a full-blown affair in such a short time that she’d hardly had a moment to catch breath. Today, though, she had to put that on hold and concentrate on what would be the most challenging day in her career so far. If she danced as well as she had these past few weeks, then she could hopefully farewell her life as an understudy and take to the stage in a lead role. Although Alla’s spectacular dancing meant Viktoriya had her work cut out for her, she hadn’t yet failed to rise to a challenge and today wouldn’t be any different.
Since she’d met Picasso, nothing more had been said about creating a ballet for her and Alexei. Winning the role of the schoolgirl in Parade could strengthen Picasso’s and Massin
e’s proposal. As long as she played the game with tact and timing, things might go her way.
Reaching into her dance bag, Viktoriya, pulled out the photo of her family. The edges were tattered and creases had started to appear from her daily handling but this, along with Dina’s scarf, was priceless. Taken just before she left Russia, her mother and father stood on either side of Viktoriya, and her younger sister, Tatiana, looked up at them, her dark eyes holding unspoken fear and sadness of possibly never seeing her sister again. Hot tears welled up in Viktoriya’s eyes as the ache in her heart grew stronger. Today, she danced not only for herself but for her family.
Gently placing the photo in her bag, she stood and stretched her feet, then ankles, legs, back, arms and neck. She moved through first position to fifth, concentrating on controlling every muscle, every sinew. All the years of training, of starving herself, of sacrificing friendships and living the life of a normal young woman…everything came down to today.
The door swung open and in strode Diaghilev. He stopped mid-stride, his eyes wide. ‘You again? Do you have nowhere else to go?’
Forcing a smile and quashing the rising nerves she always felt in his presence, she said, ‘I have a home, yes, but I wanted to come in early to prepare.’
‘Hmm,’ he grumbled.
She fiddled with her fuchsia scarf then quickly let go.
‘I see it. Massine’s convinced me you need it, God knows why, but if you perform well and make me money, then who am I to argue with the idiosyncrasies of you lot? And if you keep dancing as well as Massine says you are, then you can wear a pink lion suit for all I care.’ He punctuated this with a small smile—the first one she’d seen him crack.
She liked this side of Diaghilev and wondered if the rest of the dancers were too harsh when they spoke about him behind closed doors. He removed his hat, scratched his head then grunted.
Quietly, she said, ‘Thank you for letting me join your company.’
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