‘Exactly. You’re a romantic and see things that aren’t there.’ Why oh why was she denying her attraction to Yves? Probably because whatever they had appeared to be over. Lily shook her head then stared at ceiling. Their disagreement hadn’t been that bad, had it? Surely not enough for him to give her the cold shoulder.
Lily picked up her coat and bag for another attempt at leaving her sister’s apartment. At least this time it was without anger or yelling. ‘I’m going to change my flight.’
‘You’re staying longer?’ Natalie’s wide smile made Lily’s heart sink.
‘Sorry, no. I just need to get out of here and do some thinking. I’m feeling boxed in.’
‘It’s not going to matter where you go, you’re going to feel that way until you make amends with yourself then with Yves.’
‘I’m perfectly fine, thank you.’ Lily sniffed and tilted her nose in the air.
‘Oh yes, you’re so fine you can’t return to the place where…you know.’
‘Aside from that, I’m fine.’
Natalie followed her to the door then rested her fingers on the handle, blocking Lily’s path. ‘I don’t want you to leave so soon. Not now we’ve patched things up.’
‘This patchwork quilt is going to take a very long time to put together, Nat.’
‘I know but we’ve made a start, right?’ She smiled.
‘We have.’ Lily’s smile matched her sister’s. ‘We don’t need to be in the same city to continue working on us.’
‘It would be easier.’
‘I know.’ Lily leaned against the doorjamb. ‘What would I do here, though? I need to earn money and I don’t have a visa and—’
‘They’re excuses. We could find a way.’
Lily shook her head. ‘My home is in Australia and technology will make it feel like we’re in the same room. I’ll see you before I leave, okay?’
Natalie nodded. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’
‘And I’ve missed you.’
When they hugged, the hurt and disappointment Lily had clung to crumbled to dust.
* * *
Lily strolled away from her sister’s apartment and zig-zagged through the narrow streets, preferring to travel by foot. The cool night wrapped around her and even though she shivered, her soul felt more alive than it had in a long time.
Natalie’s speech about serendipity and having a chance to see Paris in a positive light swirled in Lily’s mind. As much as she wanted to discount her sister’s romantic view, a small part of her wondered if there was a snippet of truth. After all, she’d met Yves in a chance encounter, then they’d met again. Through all the twists and turns during this stay in Paris, Yves was always there, helping her when she needed it; a silent guardian. And although she didn’t need a knight in shining armour, she appreciated his chivalry and caring.
She turned a sharp left, crossed the bridge and picked up her pace. Before long she was once again on the steps of Yves’s apartment. She’d turned up as promised, even though he’d ignored her texts and calls throughout the day.
Pressing the buzzer, she waited for him to answer but got nothing. Lily tried a few more times but finally had to admit defeat. She moved from foot to foot, crossed her arms and rubbed them with the palms of her hands. Eyeing off the step in front of the main entrance, she wondered how long she could sit before her butt permanently froze on the stone.
‘Damn it, Yves. Where are you?’ Fog followed her quietly spoken words.
‘I am here.’
Whipping around, she found him standing on the bottom step, his shoulders slumped. Even in the faint light, she could see the dark rings under his eyes.
‘What are you doing here?’ His words came out slowly, as if it was too much effort to speak.
‘We had an arrangement.’
‘I did not think that was happening anymore.’ Good grief, he looked like he’d just stepped off the set of a zombie movie.
She said, ‘I also wanted to thank you.’
‘For?’
‘For everything. For—’
He teetered and she rushed over and grabbed him just before he collapsed on the steps. His weight crushed her and the step dug into her back.
‘Yves!’
He shook his head, as if forcing himself out of a daze. Moving back, he stood with one arm resting on the rail.
‘What’s wrong? Are you injured?’ She searched his body for cuts or bruises, fearing the worst—a car accident.
‘No.’
Relief surfaced for a moment then quickly disappeared. Whatever had happened, he’d come off second best. She grabbed his arm and tried to get him to move. ‘Let’s get you upstairs.’
‘I am fine. I do not need the help.’ He yanked his arm out of her grasp. ‘Please, I am very tired, I just need to sleep.’
‘At least let me make you a hot drink.’ Jeez, she sounded like her mother.
‘No.’ He fumbled around in his jacket pocket, the sound of keys clinking against each other filling the silence. Yves pulled out the keyring but it fell out of his hands and made a heavy thud on the stone step.
Lily reached for them, way faster than Yves, who appeared to be in slow motion. Sticking the key in the lock, she twisted it then pushed open the door. ‘I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe in your apartment. In you go.’
This time he didn’t argue as he gripped the balustrade tightly and made his way up the staircase, his long legs barely holding him upright. She walked behind, halting every so often when he stopped, patiently encouraging him to keep going. Eventually they made it to the landing and she scooted around him, opened the door, flicked on the light and marched into the kitchen to fill the kettle with water and light the stove. She opened and closed cupboards until she found the tea and teapot and cups and saucers. When Lily turned around, Yves was on the couch, his head in his hands. Turning off the gas flame on the stove, she quietly sat beside him and rested her hand on his back.
Yves jerked at her touch. Looking up, he stared at her with swollen, red eyes.
‘He is dead.’ Yves’s voice had turned raspy.
‘Who?’
‘My father.’
‘Oh God.’ No wonder he was a mess. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It is not your fault.’ Slumping against the back of the couch, he stared into the dark corner.
‘When did it happen?’ She wanted to wrap her arms around him but was unsure if it would be welcomed.
‘After you and I last saw each other this morning. I got the call when I was walking home.’
Lily immediately felt bad for all the cussing in her head that she’d lumped on Yves when she’d thought he was deliberately ignoring her. No wonder he hadn’t replied.
‘He was in much pain but is not anymore.’
Lily bit her lip and nodded, not wanting to say she was sorry again. Words lost meaning when the ache and longing to hold a loved one overtook everything else, including the need to eat and sleep.
Quietly standing, she went back to the kitchen and turned on the flame again. While she waited for the water to boil, she laid out the crockery, milk and sugar, then poured the boiling water into the teapot. Yves lay with his head against the backrest, eyes closed. She placed the tray on the coffee table and, when the tea had steeped long enough, poured him a cup with one sugar and a dash of milk.
Tapping him lightly on the knee, she offered him the cup. He cradled it between his hands and offered a small smile of thanks. Yves closed his eyes as he sipped and she sensed a minute change in his demeanour. He drank in silence as she prepared her own tea, the same way she’d made Yves’s.
After a while, he placed the cup on the saucer and turned to face her. ‘Merci.’
‘It’s nothing.’
‘It means a lot.’
Silence enveloped them again and unease sat on her shoulders.
‘What is wrong?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘This is a favourite word of yours, oui?�
� He pointed just above her eyes. ‘The frown on your face does not say nothing. You are leaving.’
‘What?’ Although she knew full well what he’d said.
‘You are leaving Paris. Your face does not lie.’ Neither his tone nor his expression showed his feelings about her statement.
‘I’ve done what I’ve needed to do and so…’ Her words fell away because she just couldn’t say what she wanted. Maybe, if they met again, she could tell him how she felt but the moment wasn’t now, not so soon after losing his father.
‘So you and Natalie are friends once more?’
The fact he’d changed the subject made her realise that what appeared to be a nonchalant reaction from Yves may have cut deeper than she’d expected.
Going along with the conversation, she said, ‘We’ve started talking and it will take a long time, but we’ll get there. And I owe it all to you. Thank you.’ She reached for his hand and squeezed it. His icy fingers didn’t move.
‘And you have made amends with your past?’
Lily bit her lip, removed her hand from his and avoided looking him in the eyes.
‘So you will go home no better than when you first arrived.’
‘That’s not true.’
He crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow. ‘You have a chance to ease your grief but you choose not to. Why is this?’
She hoped her stony silence would keep him quiet but she got the sense his speech was only about to begin. She’d stick it out for as long as she could, only because he was in the midst of grieving, but if it got too much, she’d walk. Just like you always do, Johansson.
‘I cannot force you to answer me but I will tell you this: I may not have lost a romantic love, but I have lost my father.’ He leaned forward. ‘Recently you accused me of not knowing what you went through.’ He breathed in through his nostrils, as if summoning the precise words he needed to get his point across. ‘I may not have guilt over being responsible for someone’s death like you, but I carry another guilt that is just as painful.’ Yves stood and walked to the other side of the living room and picked up a photo of a young boy looking up into an older man’s eyes. ‘I never got to say I’m sorry.’
‘For?’
‘For not doing as he asked. All he wanted was to have me by his side, to carry out the work he couldn’t when his illness made him worse.’ Placing the photo back on the bookcase, he said, ‘I selfishly followed my dream and now he has died before he could hear my apology.’
‘We can’t live our lives solely to please other people,’ she said. The air surrounding Yves felt electric, like it could explode at any minute. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘With what?’
She paused, not sure how to phrase it. ‘Arrangements, for, you know…’
‘You can do nothing.’
Perhaps her offer was too much, too soon. ‘If you would like, I’ll change my flight and I’ll attend the funeral.’
‘You didn’t know him.’
‘I didn’t, no, but I would like to support you.’ She studied his pained expression. ‘If that’s okay.’
‘I don’t need any support.’
Man, was she like this when she lost Aiden? ‘I want to do something for you. Please.’
‘How can you help me when you are stuck in your past? You can help by finding a way to move on.’
Lily jerked back. ‘Wow, that’s harsh.’
Yves mumbled something and stared at his clenched fists.
‘What did you say?’ she asked. Just because Yves was in the midst of suffering, it didn’t mean he could be outright rude. Especially when she was trying to help.
‘I said, “move on without me”.’
Lily’s chest hollowed and she held back tears that threatened to spill. ‘Yves—’
‘I’m serious, Lily. You are stuck and the only person who can help you is you. Find your peace but leave me out of it. I’ve got enough going on. While you’re there, find some self-respect.’
‘What?’ Any empathy she had for Yves flew out the door.
‘You heard me. Why do you not have respect for yourself?’
Indignation surged through her but she quickly pushed it back down. Now was not the time to be climbing any horses of great height.
‘I think you should go,’ he said.
‘Really, I can stay and help—’
‘No.’ Yves got up and walked over to the window, his eyes trained on the street below. ‘There is nothing you, or anyone, can do. Now please, leave me alone.’
CHAPTER
28
Paris, 1917
Viktoriya collapsed on her bed, thankful Yana had gone out for one of her walks, giving Viktoriya a chance to try to make some sense of the last couple of hours. She barely registered the trip back from the baron’s place, her mind a jumbled mess of disbelief, and…what else? Guilt? She appreciated Erik not pressing her for an answer to his proposal and his understanding endeared him to her more than she wanted.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tension grabbing at her neck to go away. It didn’t subside. Erik’s surprise proposal had come as a shock and the stabbing in her heart came from the knowledge that she had actually contemplated such an absurd proposition.
What kind of person did that make her?
No matter how insufferable Alexei’s behaviour had been, he deserved more respect from her, regardless of whether they were friends or lovers.
They needed to talk—sooner rather than later.
* * *
Viktoriya yanked the stage door open and strode down the hall, hoping to catch Alexei after rehearsal. Instead, she rounded the corner and was accosted by Diaghilev, who clutched rolled up documents in his beefy hand.
‘You better not get pregnant on your honeymoon.’
‘Pardon?’
‘The wedding.’
‘What?’ She slapped her hand over her mouth. ‘What did the baron say?’
‘He said he’s asked you to marry him.’ Diaghilev rustled the papers with his beefy hand.
How dare he mention it to Diaghilev. ‘I haven’t said yes.’
‘Why wouldn’t you? Money, status, and—he foolishly says—love.’ Diaghilev’s dark eyes locked on hers. ‘Saying no will ruin everything.’
Viktoriya reached for the doorframe and leaned against it. ‘He can’t possibly love me after such a short time. Who’s to say he doesn’t ask every woman he courts then breaks it off with them as soon as a shiny new female appears?’
‘He says you’re different.’
‘I’m not saying yes if I don’t love him.’
‘Only fools marry for love. And,’ he pointed the rolled-up papers at her, ‘if you say no, you can kiss this ballet company goodbye.’
‘You’ll kick me out?’
‘There won’t be a company to kick you out of.’
Viktoriya let her boss’s words sink in. The baron didn’t appear to be someone so spiteful that he would pull funding for the company but if he did…then it would mean farewell to the Massine and Picasso creation.
‘I need to talk to Erik—’
‘To tell him yes.’
‘I’ll tell him what is right for me. I won’t be bullied into a marriage I don’t want.’ Although, since the proposal, the idea had begun to sit comfortably—until she thought of Alexei.
‘So instead you’ll put the whole company in jeopardy so you can be happy?’
She threw her arms wide. ‘How could I be happy if I wasn’t dancing in your company? Please,’ she said, ‘just let me handle this my way.’
Diaghilev shook his head. ‘You have no idea how politics work.’
‘It’s not politics.’
‘When there’s money and power involved, there is politics. You are a smart girl. I trust you to make the right decision.’ The meaning behind his words was not lost on her. He crooked a finger. ‘Come with me.’
Knowing Diaghilev was already on edge, she tentatively followed him down the hall to h
is office. He motioned for her to take a seat opposite as he put one set of papers on his desk then started rifling through another pile. She clasped her hands in her lap as her temperature rose, her palms turning clammy and a pool of sweat forming at her lower back. Viktoriya shifted on the chair as Diaghilev mumbled.
‘Aha!’ He pulled out a small, hard folder tied together with ribbon. Gently undoing it, he removed a couple of sheets of thick board. He studied them for a moment then passed them over to her.
Viktoriya examined the dark brushstrokes that depicted a dancer in mid-flight, her arms and legs outstretched. Between the dark lines, hues of aquamarine, sea green and ocean blue swept across the page—an artist’s impression of how the costume would fall and flow from the dancer’s body.
‘It’s beautiful.’ She looked at the other sketch, which showed an underwater scene, complete with orange starfish and pink coral surrounded by brilliant hues of blue and green.
‘The one in your left hand is Picasso’s vision for you in the role of Galene, the mythical Greek mermaid.’
Hot tears blurred her vision. ‘I…I don’t know what to say.’
‘You say yes to the baron, then I get my money and you get your ballet.’
‘But—’
‘What the hell more do you want?’ He slammed a fist on the table and she jumped in her seat.
Viktoriya sank back onto the chair, still clutching the drawings. ‘There’s something you need to know.’
‘Pankov.’
‘You know?’
‘I’m no fool.’ His tone dared her to disagree.
‘I’m sorry we kept it from you but after Alla got pregnant and—’
‘Well, that’s all behind us now. Certainly now we have your baron on the scene.’
‘But I don’t—’
‘Love him. Yes, yes. Well, some of the world’s greatest romances started out with only a small fondness for the other person. Hell, sometimes they hated each other to begin with.’
She stared at the drawings in her lap, heaviness in her heart and a confused and cluttered mind. Placing the artwork on the desk, she said, ‘I won’t be made to do something I don’t want.’
The chair creaked as Diaghilev leaned towards her and stared from under bushy brows. ‘You say this like you have a choice.’
Beneath the Parisian Skies Page 26
