Viktoriya opened the desk drawer and rummaged around the loose papers until she found her notebook. Pulling it out, she reached for a pencil and settled on the chair.
The last entry in the diary had been over six months ago, when she’d arrived in Paris. She’d intended to write about her experiences in Russia and her new life in France but rehearsals and, to some extent, Alexei, had filled her time. Now, with an overwhelming urge to only entertain her thoughts and feelings, Viktoriya set pencil to paper.
The words came easily. After a while her hand ached, her eyes blurred, but she pushed on, the emotional gate wide open, allowing her deepest emotions to escape onto the page. Eventually, her cramping hand forced her to stop. A sense of peace settled around her and, for the first time in years, the expectations she and others had placed on her finally dissipated. No longer did she feel the need to make everyone else happy at her expense. Diaghilev, Alexei and the Bulgarian baron didn’t have a hold over her. It meant some heavy negotiating in her near future but Viktoriya knew she was more than capable of succeeding at this task.
Coughing outside the door brought Viktoriya’s attention back to the present. She shoved the diary back in the drawer then looked over at Yana, who was still engrossed in the book. A few steps brought her to the door and she flung it open to find the delivery boy still standing in the hallway.
‘Have you been here all this time?’ she asked, feeling terrible for his plight.
‘Yes, mademoiselle.’
‘I guess you really were serious that you would stay until I took the gift.’
‘Yes. I am under strict instructions. If I return with this I—’
Holding out her hand, she said, ‘I will take it but please let Baron Cheverin know that I will be returning this in person. Now, can I offer you some water and the chance to sit down before you go?’
‘Thank you, but I am fine.’ He moved from foot to foot, no doubt trying to get feeling back into his legs after standing so long.
‘Again, I am sorry you had to stay out there for that length of time.’
He smiled and hurried across the landing and down the narrow wooden staircase. Closing the door behind her, Viktoriya lay the cloth bag on her bed next to Yana, who finally put down the book.
‘What is it?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Viktoriya, gently unbuttoning the linen bag and peeling it back.
She sucked in a deep breath. Yana let out a small shriek.
Viktoriya stroked the emerald green silk dress, the material cool and deliciously smooth against her skin. Black and emerald crystals trailed along the delicate neckline.
Attached to the coathanger with gold thread was a card with the Cheverin family crest.
My dearest Viktoriya,
Emerald green is your colour.
With best wishes,
Erik
The stiff cardboard crumpled easily as she balled her hand. She went to throw the note into the corner then realised she needed the address. Hastily buttoning the dress back into the cloth bag, Viktoriya stashed it under her arm and grabbed her purse before storming down the stairs and onto the street.
* * *
Viktoriya stood on the steps of the baron’s apartment not far from where she lived. Although only a few blocks away, the difference between the buildings was dramatic. Where the steps of her apartment block were chipped and worn, the baron’s entrance was pristine and shiny. Even the people’s attire was different—her neighbourhood was understated practicality, whereas the people on the streets near the baron were Parisian chic. She rapped hard on the door, her body tense. When the heavy wood swung open, the same young man who had delivered the dress greeted Viktoriya.
She held it up. ‘I really can’t accept it.’
He looked behind him and closed the door a fraction before stepping onto the stoop. ‘Please, you must. If I fail at my task—’
‘You haven’t failed at anything. You delivered the dress and now I’m returning it.’
‘But—’
‘Who is it?’ A familiar voice echoed in the vast expanse behind the door. The door yanked open and the baron broke into a wide smile. ‘Ah, Mademoiselle Budian, what a lovely surprise. I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting your company but I’m sure Pierre can manage supper for us.’ He looked at his servant, who nodded and darted down the hallway to the back of the house.
‘I’ve just come here to return your kind—’
‘The night air is cool.’ The baron shivered. ‘Please, come inside. We’ll have tea and supper and you can explain why you are here.’
Viktoriya’s original plan of dropping the dress and running had no chance of succeeding, so she entered the house, grateful to be out of the cold. Still clinging to the garment, her gaze travelled around the foyer. Marble lined the floor and sweeping staircase, and the intricately carved wood panelling was finished in gold and dark red. The scent of freshly baked cake wafted from the kitchen.
‘What a magnificent place,’ she whispered, not wanting to disturb the austere silence.
‘It is not mine, I am afraid. It belongs to a friend who is currently away. I usually stay here when I am in Paris.’ The baron motioned for her to enter a room off the foyer. She did so and was overwhelmed by the bookshelves that lined all four walls. Breathing in the leather aroma, she closed her eyes, taken back to the moment she’d received her first ever leather-bound notebook. Her uncle had scrimped and saved for it, wanting to spoil his niece on her twelfth birthday. Unfortunately, the diary had become a casualty when she’d fled her homeland. Chances were it had been destroyed, buried in rubble or shoved at the back of a cupboard, collecting dust or being eaten by bugs or insects.
Holding out the dress, she said, ‘Thank you, but I can’t accept such an extravagant gift.’
‘Oh, but it is not a gift as such. It’s a replacement for the ruined one from the other night.’
‘But it wasn’t your fault.’ Her arms grew tired under the weight of the dress so she rested it on a gold brocade sofa.
‘True, but I didn’t want you to get in trouble for ruining Coco’s creation.’
‘How did you know I’d borrowed it? And who the designer was?’
‘You are a dancer in a ballet company that is struggling financially. Coco Chanel mingles in the circles of art and money. I have seen her work before—it is magnificent—and I figured—rightly, I assume—that Diaghilev asked her assistance to provide you with a dress for the evening. Neither Coco nor you can afford the cost of losing such a beautiful piece, but I can, so I bought one of her designs and paid her double. It seemed only right that I help you both.’
‘This is very kind of you but…’
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘It does not look like nothing with that frown you are wearing. Please, tell me what’s on your mind.’
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘I’m sure it can’t be that bad. It takes a lot to offend me.’
Viktoriya bit her lip, debating if opening her mouth would kill any chance at her dream. Although by the way the smile went all the way to the baron’s eyes, she suspected his statement about not taking offence may well be true. Only one way to find out…‘Did it occur to you that women don’t always need help? That we can fix our own problems?’
He let out a belly laugh and slapped a hand on his thigh. ‘This is what I like about you, Viktoriya Budian. You’re not afraid to speak your mind. Do you know what that means to me?’
She shook her head, not convinced being upfront was the best thing to do.
‘It is refreshing, that’s what it is,’ he said.
Pierre knocked and entered the room. On a small table he placed a tray with hot slices of carrot cake and a large pot of tea and two cups and saucers decorated with delicate gold swirls. Pierre poured the tea, served the cake on matching plates and placed them in front of Viktoriya and Erik.
‘Thank you,’ they said in unison. Viktoriya g
ave a small laugh and the baron smiled. Pierre made a hasty exit, closing the door behind him.
‘So the dress wasn’t some elaborate plan to try to win me over with your wealth?’ She sipped the tea, enjoying the orange and mint fragrance.
‘Ah.’ He held up his finger and leaned forward. ‘I understand why you would think this and it is something I have battled for years. I don’t expect you to see my upbringing as a curse but it can be.’
Placing the cup on its saucer, she took her time before speaking. ‘Have you ever experienced what it’s like to be hungry?’
He shook his head.
‘Have you ever been so afraid to move because you thought your bones would break from the freezing cold?’
Again, he shook his head.
‘What about having family members arrested because they disagreed with the government and staged protests?’
Erik stared at the floor, his shoulders rounded. ‘Of course I have not experienced any of this. Just like it is impossible for someone who has never been in my position to understand the difficulties I face.’
Viktoriya let out a high-pitched laugh. ‘They aren’t difficulties! Starving, freezing, being thrown in jail through no fault of your own are real-life difficulties. If having too much money is traumatic then give the damn money away!’
‘I do give the damn money away.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Who do you think is helping finance your ballet company?’
Her shoulders slumped. ‘Sorry.’
‘There’s nothing to be sorry for. Our experiences in life are different and it’s impossible to understand the journey of someone else. I apologise if I come across as arrogant.’
‘You do a good job of it.’ She fiddled with the handle of the teacup.
‘It has taken years of practice.’ He leaned back and placed his hands behind his head. ‘So, tell me, despite my arrogance, do you still want to be involved in this ballet with Massine and Picasso?’
‘Of course I do!’ She couldn’t conceal her enthusiasm.
‘Then I better throw some more damn money at your boss.’ He winked.
‘Thank you.’ Locking eyes with him, she said, ‘I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.’
‘I sense a “but”.’
She nodded. ‘But I want you to know I will not be indebted to you.’
The baron ran the palms of his hands down his thighs. ‘I like your company, Viktoriya. I find your honesty uplifting.’
‘Thank you.’ The slight inflection at the end didn’t make her sound confident.
He drummed a strange, non-rhythmic beat on his thighs as he stared in the direction of the crackling fire behind her back. ‘See them?’
Viktoriya turned to get a better look. ‘The people in the painting?’
‘Yes.’
Shifting on her chair to properly view the artwork, Viktoriya took her time studying the couple who appeared to be in their early forties. Their strong cheekbones and dark hair hinted at Eastern European heritage but it was the woman that took all of Viktoriya’s attention. The artist had captured a cheeky spark in those eyes, hinting at someone who had a passion for life. The man, presumably her husband, held a stern expression but the slight curve in his lips gave the impression he had kindness in his soul.
‘Who are they?’
‘My Uncle Albena and Auntie Eva.’
‘I thought this was your friend’s house.’
‘My cousin is my friend.’
‘Ah,’ she said, not quite understanding why he’d chosen not to state this before.
‘What kind of people do you think they are?’
‘Why?’
‘I get the sense you’re good at reading people. Tell me what you think.’
She took a moment to study the pair. ‘I think their partnership is strong. That they balance each other out.’
He smiled. ‘You are one hundred per cent right.’
‘Lucky them.’ Despite the protestations in her head, Viktoriya broke off a piece of cake and put it in her mouth. Butter and cinnamon with a hint of carrot melted on her tongue and she had to stop herself from verbalising her pleasure.
The baron cleared his throat. ‘I want a relationship like theirs even though it’s not conventional by any means. My auntie reminds me a lot of Diaghilev’s dancers. The women embrace their strength and femininity and don’t flounce around like fragile waifs. Diaghilev sees this in his dancers and he makes sure the world sees it as well. I’m still in awe at how you can go en pointe and subject your bodies to the twists and turns you do. Delicate flowers you are not and it’s about time the world embraced women for who they are.’
‘You sound like a suffragette.’
‘There is nothing wrong with women finding their voice.’
Viktoriya let his words sink in, unaccustomed to hearing a man speak about women that way. She liked his open thinking, even though it went against what most men thought, especially politicians.
‘Do most men think like this in Bulgaria?’
He shook his head. ‘I am afraid not. This is why my auntie has had to be careful in public. Behind closed doors, however, she is involved in business decisions, a staunch supporter in the education of her daughters, as well as ensuring my uncle keeps a steady head and treats his staff with respect.’
‘She sounds wonderful.’
‘She is. You remind me a lot of her.’
‘But I’m no baroness.’ She shoved another piece of cake in her mouth, this one a decent-sized chunk.
‘You could be.’
The cake lodged in her throat and she swallowed hard. ‘I’m married to ballet.’
He reached for her hand and wrapped his fingers around Viktoriya’s. Her head spun. Should she take her hand away or leave it in his warmth and enjoy the tingles shooting up her arm?
‘You wouldn’t have to give up ballet. Just think of all the roles that would be created only for you.’
‘But I want to earn them. I’ve worked all my life to have the opportunities I do now. I don’t want them handed to me on a silver platter.’ If other dancers in the company were talking about her now imagine what they’d do if she was the baron’s girlfriend? Or…wife? Was he hinting at that or had she misread his intentions? And if so, how could he? They’d only been out for one evening and that had ended in a riot.
He let go of his hand and leaned against the chair. ‘You were happy for me to finance the Massine ballet for you.’
‘But it’s a one off.’
‘It doesn’t have to be.’
This conversation grew more difficult with each passing moment. How could she get her thoughts across without sounding ungrateful? Despite the recent hardships with Alexei, her heart still belonged to him. She couldn’t possibly entertain any declarations from this smooth, handsome Bulgarian. Could she? Should she? Viktoriya bowed her head. ‘You don’t know me.’
‘I know you well enough to know I’m falling in love with you.’
Her head jerked up. Erik concentrated on her, a slight air of trepidation around him.
‘I’m not from the right stock.’ Her tone sounded defensive. Trying to stop her fingers from shaking, she gripped the arms of the chair and willed her tone to remain even. ‘Imagine your parents’ reaction if you told them you were with a ballet dancer. You’d be disowned.’
‘I am their eldest child and my family has trained me from the day I was born to continue with the family legacy once my father passes. My younger siblings could not do the job like me.’
‘You sound like a spoilt brat.’
Erik’s laughter filled the room. ‘I do, don’t I? I promise you, I don’t take my family for granted. And I would never take you for granted, either.’
Viktoriya closed her eyes, rueing the moment she set foot outside her apartment this evening. How could she have ever thought visiting the baron would end well? She should have just kept the dress and shut up.
‘Viktoriya?’
She looked into Erik’s w
ide, blue eyes.
‘Will you do me the honour of marrying me?’
CHAPTER
22
Lily watched Cristian Cheverin stride towards the theatre. As much as she wished he’d made up the story about Natalie being arrested, her gut told her every word was true. And if that was the case, then she had to hightail it to the police station and bail out her sister. Lily’s nose twitched. Natalie would detest Lily seeing her in this situation but too bad, she needed help.
Damn. Where had Yves got to?
‘Ah! There you are!’
She whipped around to find Yves a few feet away. He drew up beside her and rested his hand on her shoulder. The simple act reminded her she was not alone and for that, she was grateful.
He paused when he noticed her pursed lips. ‘What happened?’
‘Natalie’s been arrested.’
‘What?’
‘We need to get her out. Where did you park the car?’
‘A few blocks from here.’
‘Let’s go.’ She started in the direction from where Yves had come and he kept up with her harried pace. They wove between the tourists and groups of children in school uniform, the loveliness of the city fading into the background. Maybe one day she’d return and take in the history and atmosphere but right now her concern about Natalie’s mental state had grown into full-blown worry.
Lily filled Yves in as they drove. Babbling away, she tried to keep her mind off the fact that she was about to come face to face with the French police again. Or maybe she didn’t need to…
‘What if you go in and see her first?’ Lily asked while Yves looked for a space to park. ‘That way you can smooth the path like you suggested.’
‘No.’
‘Why not? Are you reneging on your promise?’
‘No, I am not.’ He pulled into a parking spot and turned off the engine. ‘Your sister needs to know you looked for her because you care. It will show that you wish to have a future with her.’
Beneath the Parisian Skies Page 20
