Beneath the Parisian Skies

by Alli Sinclair

A sob from the corner of the room behind the door brought Viktoriya’s attention to the young girl curled into a ball, tears streaming down her face.

  Crouching beside her, Viktoriya stroked Yana’s long hair. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I miss my family.’ She sniffed and fresh tears slid down her pale skin.

  ‘Oh, you poor darling. I know how that feels,’ Viktoriya said gently. She sat on the floor and Yana snuggled in, her tiny frame shaking. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  Yana shook her head.

  ‘You know I’m here whenever you need me.’ Reality hit when she realised how insignificant losing the chance to dance in Parade was, compared to darling Yana struggling with losing everything she ever knew—like so many thousands of children across Europe.

  Another sob escaped Yana’s lips and she leaned her head against Viktoriya, soaking her blouse with salty tears. They sat in silence until the blue sky turned rose pink then blood orange then inky blue. Street lamps were lit and even though Viktoriya knew she’d be late to meet Alexei, she couldn’t leave Yana in her current state.

  Eventually, Yana peeled herself away, rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘They shot my family at the French border.’

  What kind of hell had this girl gone through? ‘Who shot them?’

  ‘They could have been French, they could have been Italian, Swiss, I have no idea. All I know is they not only robbed my family of possessions, they robbed me of my mother and father and little sister.’ Yana’s voice shook but the tears simmered below the surface.

  Once more, Yana collapsed against Viktoriya, who wrapped her arms around this lost soul. Memories of Dina flooded back and even though Viktoriya didn’t believe in fate, her affection for Yana told her they were meant to cross paths. All that talk of second chances with Olga came to mind. Perhaps meeting Yana was Viktoriya’s chance to get things right.

  * * *

  Alexei slammed his fist against his apartment wall so hard that Viktoriya flinched.

  ‘Diaghilev is being ridiculous. All we do is eat, sleep, breathe ballet—how can he expect us to have relationships elsewhere? Does he think we should remain celibate? We’re in the prime of our lives, for God’s sakes!’

  ‘Alexei—’

  ‘If he fired every dancer who had sexual relations with one of the other dancers then he’d end up with five people in the whole goddamn company.’

  ‘You make it sound like we’re working in a brothel. It’s not that widespread and yes, he is overreacting so our best plan is to lay low for now. He’ll change his mind.’ She got up from the couch and wrapped her arms around him. His tense body relaxed slightly but she sensed the anger still coursing through his veins. ‘We need to cool things, just for a little while. Please, for the sake of our careers.’

  ‘Your body is going to be against mine in rehearsal for twelve hours a day and you expect me not to want you? To long for you? To do this?’ Alexei grabbed her and pulled him against his chest, his warm lips pressing against hers, his hands caressing her buttocks.

  She yanked herself away. ‘Alexei, we need to stop.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’ He leaned in and nuzzled her neck. Any willpower she had fell away.

  Letting out a small moan, she said, ‘This has to be the last time.’

  ‘Sure.’ He pulled her hair away from her neck and laid down a trail of kisses towards her collarbone.

  ‘Alexei…’

  Lust mixed with love washed over her and she gave in to the moment, aware she would have to hang on to this memory for as long as it took for Diaghilev to change his mind. She had to keep faith that he would but Diaghilev’s erratic nature made it hard to predict the eventual outcome.

  Arms entwined and lips locked, Alexei led her to the bed and lowered her gently onto the mattress. Worry about their careers threatened to spoil the moment but she swatted it away. The future held so many questions but right in this moment, her past and present were in the arms of the one man who had captured her heart.

  * * *

  ‘Lift her higher!’ yelled Irina, her voice echoing in the rehearsal room. ‘She’s not an elephant and you’re not a hundred-pound weakling. Find your muscles, Alexei!’

  ‘She’s not a goddamn feather!’ Alexei yelled back, unceremoniously dumping Viktoriya on the earth again. ‘She’s not jumping into the lift.’

  Viktoriya didn’t meet Alexei’s eyes because she knew his expression would be one of annoyance. It wasn’t from her not jumping into the lift—because she was. It was because he disagreed with her decision to put their relationship on hold instead of sneaking around. She knew he hadn’t listened to her prior to lovemaking and in the cold light of day the result was an argument, then him storming out of the apartment. And here they were…

  ‘Viktoriya, help him out,’ Irina said.

  ‘I’m doing my best.’ She resisted placing her hands on her hips.

  ‘You have to do better than your best. The pair of you do.’ Irina rubbed her temples. Turning her back to them and sipping on a glass of water, she muttered, ‘One damn week to perfect this. Bloody idiotic.’

  Viktoriya twisted her lips and looked at Alexi. He refused to meet her gaze. She understood his anger but it was misdirected. No matter which way she looked at it, this situation was fraught with heartache. All she could do was concentrate on the beauty of Scheherazade and the wonderful opportunity to dance the role she’d coveted for years. It was the only thing keeping her sane.

  ‘Try again and this time get it right.’ Irina clenched a fist over heart. ‘I cannot cope with any more pathetic attempts.’

  Viktoriya nodded and took her place near Alexei. She sensed his reluctance and tried to ignore it.

  Irina took off her glasses and used them as a pointing tool. ‘Neither of you were Diaghilev’s first choice. It was Massine and I who argued your case. Do not make me, or Massine, regret sticking out our necks for you. Now get to work.’

  Alexei caught Viktoriya’s eye and he gave a curt nod.

  Irina counted down and Viktoriya and Alexei threw themselves into the choreography. When the moment came for the lift, her leg muscles tightened and pushed her off the floor, giving enough height to allow Alexei to catch her with ease. His fingers grabbed under her ribcage and she straightened her back. With one easy movement she was above his head, her body straight, toes pointed, arms stretched wide.

  ‘Beautiful! Beautiful! Magnificent!’ shouted Irina.

  Alexei’s arms shook under her weight and he slowly lowered her to the floor as she balanced on one pointe, her other leg stretching in a perfect arabesque. Grabbing her hand, Alexei lifted it and she executed three pirouettes, her aching toes protesting from the long hours they’d already rehearsed. Alexei placed his arm on her lower back, dipped her backward as her pointes slid across the boards. They held the pose as Irina became hysterical with happiness and Alexei and Viktoriya stared into each other’s eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

  ‘I’m sorry, too.’ She smiled and all the angst she’d carried these past few days melted into the ether.

  * * *

  The large car turned off the narrow country road just outside of Lille, north of Paris, and halted in front of immense wrought iron gates that depicted angels fighting strange creatures amongst vines. The scene had an odd, slightly intimidating effect. The gates opened with the aid of two men in navy blue uniforms and the car travelled along the dusty gravel driveway snaking through an avenue of bright green poplars.

  As they drew closer to their destination, Viktoriya’s legs grew numb and her hands shook. She hated being physically close to Alexei yet feeling emotionally distanced. Since his apology they’d been pleasant with each other to get through rehearsals but the moment they were over they would go their separate ways. She’d been so sure they could work through this just by putting their relationship on hold but with the way things were panning out, she worried their relationship had already ended.

  Di
aghilev sat in the back seat, squished between her and Alexei. Her boss hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left Paris that morning. His strong dark features were marred by a scowl as he stared straight ahead, his fingers tapping against the top hat resting on his knee.

  They rounded a corner and came into a clearing, the expanse of the magnificent mansion dwarfing everything else. Even though she knew Baron Cheverin’s family came from Bulgaria, she was surprised to see so much wealth poured into what was known as his ‘country estate’ when the rest of Europe were struggling to find food to put on the table.

  ‘Oh my,’ she whispered.

  Clearing his throat, Diaghilev turned to face her and Alexei. ‘Don’t let the size of the estate throw you. Yes, he is Bulgarian royalty but he is also one of the most decent men I know.’

  ‘So why didn’t he come to us in Paris?’ asked Alexei, his brows drawn together. ‘Why drag us all the way out here?’

  ‘Because he is considering giving our ballet company a much-needed injection of cash so if he says jump, we do it and we do it as high and with as much flair possible.’ Diaghilev stared at them from under dark eyebrows. ‘A lot is riding on this.’

  ‘So why us? Why not the leads in Parade? Surely Massine would have danced for him,’ Alexei said, seemingly unable to stop his mouth from working overtime. Viktoriya cringed inwardly, wishing he would stop his incessant questions.

  Diaghilev pushed out a sigh. ‘Why can’t you be like the others and just shut up and do as I ask?’

  Alexei shrugged and Viktoriya suppressed her smile. These tiny snippets of the real Alexei assuaged the distance between them.

  ‘If you must know,’ continued Diaghilev, ‘the baron is looking at backing the company for the long term, so he wants to see what the up-and-coming talent is like. He’s seen Massine and our other leads so now it’s up to you to prove to him that this company has more talent than every other ballet company in the world put together. Got it?’

  Alexei nodded and Viktoriya’s heart beat so fast she feared it would crack a rib.

  ‘You are both professionals and will do me proud.’ The statement came out like a demand, not an encouraging compliment.

  Gravel crunched under the car as they rolled to a stop in front of two imposing doors with carved woodwork depicting a forest scene with birds, lilies and weeping willows. One of the twelve-foot-high doors opened and a man in a black-and-white suit strode down the stairs to greet them.

  ‘Welcome. Dancers, come with me. Monsieur Diaghilev, please make your way to the first room on your left. Baron Cheverin will be with you shortly.’ The butler cocked his head sideways, indicating that she and Alexei should follow. The chauffer handed over their costumes and makeup kits and the pair ascended the stone steps and entered through the hulking doorway. Stepping into the foyer, Viktoriya faltered, her eyes finding it impossible to take in the extravagance of the place. Two curved marble staircases hugged the walls, the filigree of the balustrades painted in gold and white. On the landing high above, an arched stained-glass window was the centrepiece of the expansive room, casting delicate red, green, yellow and blue light on the white marble. A hint of jasmine and wax floated through the air, tickling her nostrils.

  Alexei looked at her with raised eyebrows. Viktoriya bit her lip, trying to contain her nerves. They followed the butler under the landing and headed towards the back of the house.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like this,’ she whispered to Alexei. ‘Is it true he’s the only one who lives here with all his servants?’

  Before Alexei could answer, the butler halted in front of two adjacent doors. ‘Mademoiselle Budian, this is your changing room. Monsieur Pankov, this is yours. Should you need anything, please use the bell on the table inside. Baron Cheverin expects to see you in the ballroom in thirty minutes.’

  The butler clicked his heels then turned and made his way down the hall and around the corner. Alexei reached out for Viktoriya’s hand and, as she let his fingers wrap around hers, her eyes welled up.

  ‘Alexei—’

  He gently placed a finger on her lips. ‘I miss you.’

  She squeezed his hand tightly. ‘After today, let’s talk.’

  ‘About what? You made your wishes very clear.’ His words held an edge.

  ‘They’re not my wishes.’ Why had she even mentioned this now? ‘We can’t go on like we have, it’s breaking my heart.’ She used her free hand to angrily wipe away a rogue tear.

  His expression softened then he nodded towards the door behind him. ‘I need to get ready and so do you. We can’t keep the very important baron waiting.’ He slid her a wink and her heart skipped with happiness at a sign of the old Alexei.

  She gripped the door handle then turned to face her love. ‘We’ll work it out somehow, right?’

  A slow smile crept across his beautiful lips. ‘We will.’

  * * *

  Viktoriya stood outside the ballroom, a large wad of fear in her belly. She adjusted her beaded headdress again then the waistband of the harem outfit. The costume hadn’t been worn since the original production of Scheherazade in 1910 and over the years Léon Bakst’s gorgeous pieces had stiffened in some places and become dangerously delicate in others. The heavy beading of her costume made it a challenge to move freely but given the importance of this moment, not only for her career but for the future of the Ballets Russes, she had to get over her qualms and push through regardless.

  Her fingers stroked the fuchsia scarf tacked onto the waist of the harem pants. It flowed from the band, making it look like part of the costume. She’d spent hours debating whether she should wear it and thankfully, the concubine’s costume easily lent itself to a fuchsia scarf. She needed Dina’s strength today.

  Her gaze travelled the length of the deserted hallway while she willed Alexei to show. The last thing she wanted was for them to keep Baron Cheverin waiting.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ she muttered.

  The door to the ballroom clicked open and Diaghilev stepped out, his large frame blocking any chance of her peering inside.

  ‘Ready?’ His voice sounded almost fatherly, something she’d not heard before.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where’s Pankov?’ His tone had returned to the usual brusqueness.

  ‘He’ll be here in a minute. Perhaps I should go and find him. The house is so big…maybe he got lost.’ Lord, Alexei, what’s taking you so long?

  ‘No, I don’t want to lose you as well.’ He scratched his head. ‘Damn bloody dancers, useless with time.’ Breathing heavily through his nostrils, he said, ‘If he’s not here in one minute you go on solo.’

  ‘But—’

  Light footsteps echoed down the hall a moment before Alexei appeared, adjusting his headdress. A small gasp caught in the back of her throat. When they’d warmed up earlier, it had been in rehearsal gear and she’d been concentrating so much on the dance, she hadn’t given any thought to what Alexei would look like dressed for the part. But now…she couldn’t take her eyes off him. A brown and gold scarf was wrapped around his head and a large diamond sat in the middle. His torso was almost bare, except for the necklace that was attached with strings of pearls to a width of material covering his nipples. Divine golden pants ballooned out from his hips, his beautifully taut stomach muscles on show.

  Oh, how she wanted to run her fingers along his skin, to slowly remove each piece of clothing, to—

  ‘You’re late,’ growled Diaghilev.

  ‘I’m here now.’ Alexei didn’t show the slightest hint of being perturbed by his boss’s gruffness.

  ‘I’ll do the introduction then when I say, come in.’ Diaghilev turned on his heel and shut the door behind him. A couple of voices chatted behind the thick wood and she faced Alexei.

  ‘You’re…’ She swallowed hard, unable to find the words.

  ‘Handsome?’ He grinned but stopped as he looked into her eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I…’ She forced the tears back,
not willing to travel down this sad road just now.

  He held out his arms and she relaxed into his embrace, wishing she could stay like this forever. This stupid new rule of Diaghilev’s made no sense. Perhaps after this performance, if they could woo the baron, she could convince Diaghilev to change his mind. After all, if the baron became a patron, they could just about ask for anything they wanted.

  Alexei rested his hands on her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Are you all right?’

  She forced a smile. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  The door creaked open and Diaghilev gave them a nod. Alexei entered first, striding to the middle of the room like a stalking panther. He waved an arm with flourish, signalling Viktoriya’s entrance. Despite the nerves trying to cripple her, she held her head high and took slow, deliberate steps to finally take her place next to Alexei.

  At the end of the expansive ballroom sat a man, not much older than Viktoriya. He had immaculately styled sandy hair, a faint tan and his eyes were as blue as the sky outside. He got up from the red velvet chair and sauntered over, his hands clasped behind his back. He was taller than she’d expected, and when he reached her and Alexei, he broke into a friendly smile.

  ‘I am Baron Erik Cheverin, and I would like to thank you for making the trip to my home.’

  Viktoriya looked towards the floor and curtseyed. For some reason she’d expected the baron to be more like Diaghilev—burly, gruff, intimidating. She felt a finger under her chin, gently guiding her from her curtsey into a standing position.

  ‘Please,’ the baron said, ‘there is no need for such formalities. You and your dance partner ready yourselves and we will start the music in a moment.’ The baron returned to his chair and sat, then nodded at his servant, who stood next to the phonograph.

  Viktoriya’s shoulders relaxed as she glanced around the ballroom. Under her feet was a magnificent parquetry floor with elaborate swirls and triangles, and adorning the walls were highly polished mirrors. The ceiling was painted in a spectacular sky blue with wispy clouds and a series of baby-faced angels to finish off the masterpiece. Gold framed the doorways.