Viktoriya rubbed her temples, an intense ache forming on both sides of her head. ‘I appreciate you trying to help…Ale—’ She couldn’t say his name for if she did, she’d break down in gut-wrenching sobs. ‘Just…thank you.’
The doctor turned and slowly walked down the corridor, his hands tucked in his coat pockets.
‘Why wasn’t I there for him?’ Viktoriya turned to Olga.
‘You were.’
Viktoriya shook her head vehemently. Yana put her warm hand on Viktoriya’s arm.
Olga said, ‘Sweetheart, you were the only one who supported him even though he continually pushed everyone away, including you.’
‘But I wasn’t! I was seriously considering marrying that Bulgarian.’ She spat out the word like she had a mouthful of acid.
‘You made a decision based on the information you had at the time. I’m sure you would have viewed things differently if you’d known about Alexei’s condition.’
‘But—’
Olga grabbed Viktoriya’s hands tightly. ‘You are not to blame yourself for what happened. No one knew what was going on with Alexei’s health. The last thing he would want is for you to torture yourself about a situation you had no control over.’
‘But—’
‘I mean it, Viktoriya. And if I have to slap you a few times so you understand, then so be it.’
Olga did make sense, although Viktoriya’s heart wanted to make her suffer for not forcing Alexei to go to a doctor. If she’d been more in tune with what had been going on inside him then she would have made allowances. They could have made the most of the time they’d had together…
‘Stop tormenting yourself,’ Olga whispered then grabbed Viktoriya’s hand and pulled her up. ‘Fresh air and daylight is what you need and I’m not taking no for an answer.’
* * *
The loud knocking on the door yanked Viktoriya out of a fitful sleep. Bright daylight streamed through the thin curtains as she rubbed her eyes and stared at the clock. Eight am. Her head had only hit the pillow two hours ago. She looked over at the pile of blankets on the floor. Yana must already be at the markets.
‘Viktoriya!’
Hearing his voice, she jumped off the bed. She quickly wrapped a dressing gown around her tired body then yanked open the door. ‘What do you want?’
The baron pushed through the door then slammed it behind him. ‘It was an accident.’
‘It wasn’t.’ It had been impossible to get rid of the images of Alexei falling backward off the stage. Her gut churned every time she thought about it.
‘Of course it was. I’m not some cold-blooded murderer.’
‘You cannot be serious!’ She glanced at the flowers he’d sent her. They sat in the vase withered and dead. It would be so easy to smash the vase over his head, to let out her anger, but that would make her as bad as him. There was no way she’d let him drag her down to his level.
‘I promise you, it was a total accident,’ he said without emotion.
Using every ounce of willpower, she forced herself to remain calm, to lower her voice. ‘It was not an accident. You pushed him. Besides, you bolted—that makes you guilty.’
His laugh made her head pound with excruciating pain. ‘Who are they going to believe? Me or the refugee ballet dancer? Besides, Borisov saw it all—you pushed Pankov to his death because you were seized by an uncontrollable rage.’ His face turned serious and his eyes narrowed. ‘If you even contemplate telling them I did it then you will regret the moment we met.’
His sinister tone sent panic rippling through her but she had to stand her ground for Alexei. There was absolutely no way his death would go without justice being served. ‘It’s too late, I’ve already spoken to the police. They’re currently looking for you and once I tell them about your visit here—’
The baron grabbed her wrist so hard she yelped. ‘My lawyers will see to it that you rot in hell. Besides, the key witness—Borisov—will make sure the police hear his story.’
A cold dread surged through her but she pushed it down, not allowing the baron to see the fear crushing her like a python. She willed the hot tears to disappear because crying in front of this pig of a man would mean he was winning.
He let go of her wrist and strode to the door, resting his fingers on the handle. ‘By the way,’ he said, turning back, ‘you can forget about me financing your precious ballet company.’
‘I don’t want your dirty money. I’ll be fine without it.’ She held her chin high even though she wanted to collapse in a flood of tears on the floor. Too many raw emotions surged through her. She’d endured too much heartache. Too many lies.
The baron raised an eyebrow, the face she once thought was handsome sporting a smirk. When the door clicked closed, it sealed her future.
CHAPTER
31
Paris, 1918
Olga reached across the metal table and clutched Viktoriya’s icy hands. The large visitors’ room of the prison had to be colder than the snowy hills outside. What Viktoriya wouldn’t do to feel snowflakes melting on her skin, to breathe in fresh air and walk through deserted fields.
‘You don’t have to come every week,’ she said, then instantly regretted her statement. She would go insane if Olga didn’t visit her.
‘Don’t talk nonsense, dear girl.’
Viktoriya studied her broken and chipped nails. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘It is nothing.’
Looking up, she said, ‘It is everything, Olga. You and Yana are the only ones who’ve stuck by me.’ Although Diaghilev had too, in his own strange way. When the police had arrested her for murder, he’d been the first one to protest the accusation. He’d called in favours amongst the legal fraternity but they had been no match against the legal team assembled by Baron Erik Cheverin. Now, the baron could walk through snowy fields without a care in the world while Viktoriya rotted in a jail outside Paris, doomed to spend the rest of her life regretting decisions she’d made. ‘How’s Yana?’
‘Oh, she’s doing beautifully.’ Olga’s eyes shone. ‘She’ll be back in Paris soon. Massine’s looking after her in London, I promise you.’
‘She’s happy?’ she asked, her heart full of hope.
‘She’s one of the happiest people on earth. She still carries your scarf wherever she goes.’
Shivers of happiness danced across Viktoriya’s skin.
‘What you did for that girl is incredible. You changed her life,’ said Olga. ‘After Viktoriya’s arrest, the dancers at the company had taken in Yana like she was their daughter. With Olga assuming the role of chief guardian, the young girl had thrived. Viktoriya closed her eyes, willing the tears to stay at bay. ‘I’m glad she’s doing well.’
‘How is your family?’ Olga asked, her voice hopeful.
‘I finally had word they’d made it to Italy but things are just as dire there.’ She breathed in, the stale air hurting her lungs. ‘I’m of no use to them now, am I? All those plans I had to help them get here have fallen into a huge well. So not only is my life ruined, but theirs as well. I shouldn’t—’
‘You have a lot of people out there who love you. Just do your best until we get the chance to fight this ridiculous sentence.’
‘So Diaghilev is going to pursue this?’
‘Of course.’
‘He’s a good man.’
‘That he is,’ said Olga.
‘Are you sure he’s not doing it out of guilt for getting me involved with the baron?’ She didn’t like to ask but she needed to know the answer and if anyone would tell the truth, it would be Olga.
‘He cares about his dancers.’
‘Even when they bring disgrace on the ballet?’
‘He knows it wasn’t your fault, darling girl.’ Olga shifted on the metal chair. ‘I’ve collected all your things and they’re at my place. When you get out, I’ll give them back—and they won’t have collected much dust.’
‘Did Diaghilev take back Picasso’s paintings
for my…the ocean ballet?’
‘Yes, they’re safe.’
Viktoriya shifted on the hard wood seat. ‘What about the baron?’
‘No word. It’s strange how someone so prominent could disappear without a trace but with the craziness in this world right now and countries determined to bomb each other into oblivion, nothing is impossible. People like him have connections in all the wrong places. Or right places, depending on how you look at it.’
‘I can’t believe that driver testified against me. You would think that the baron disappearing would make him look guilty.’
‘Money talks and the Cheverins have enough to keep the conversation going—or muted—for many, many years.’
CHAPTER
32
Paris, 1929
For years Olga and Yana had religiously visited every week, the only exception was when they were on tour. When loneliness threatened to drown Viktoriya and her mind started focusing on all the moments that had led to her own personal hell, Viktoriya took solace in the one thing that kept her sane—ballet.
Standing in the deserted cell, Viktoriya raised her arm in the air, bent sideways, and stretched her torso until she felt a twinge. She did the same on the other side then tried to point her toes in the heavy boots that were regulation. Despite being incarcerated, she’d kept up her fitness regime even though visions of the life she could have led sometimes brought her to tears.
The war that had ravaged Europe had settled and from what she’d read and heard, most of the world had fallen into a different crisis, with financial collapses and people starving on the streets. France still appeared to be holding its own but she had no idea how long the government could continue their reign when refugees from other countries knocked on France’s door, using it as a place to escape the hunger and destitution. Whenever she heard news from outside, she found it hard to comprehend. After all, her life existed within these prison walls. With her case lost in the labyrinth of bureaucracy, she’d given up hope that her tired body would one day dance in a fresh field of flowers.
She hadn’t heard from her family in years, even though Olga and Yana had tried to track them down. All those dreams of helping her family had fallen in a sad, lonely heap on the wasteland of her life. Viktoriya had no idea if they were still in Italy or if they had managed to move on and find some semblance of a peaceful life. The not knowing often sent her spiralling into an abyss of depression and it took all her energy to yank herself out from its dark and scary depths. Recently, though, it was harder to claw out of the hole and back onto the safe land of sanity, a place her dear, dear friend Vaslav Nijinsky had been unable to find for many years. Since his diagnosis as a schizophrenic in 1919, rumours about his mental health had blown in and around ballet circles, eventually landing on Viktoriya’s ears. It broke her heart to think the man who had once given her so many opportunities had suffered such a cruel fate. He now spent his days moving in and out of institutions, unable to remember the day of the week, let alone recall how his star had once shone so brightly in the dancing world.
And, as usual, her thoughts returned to Alexei.
Shaking her head, she tried desperately to dispel thoughts of the man she loved because it served no purpose other than to rain guilt upon her.
‘Budian, you have a visitor.’ The guard stood at the door, his large hat shading his eyes.
Breaking from her reverie, she followed the guard, her weary legs hurrying to keep up. Olga had only been here a few days before, what could be so important for her to schedule an extra visit?
Turning the corner, Viktoriya halted the moment she saw Yana. The little street urchin had grown in to a self-assured woman full of poise, her long hair tied back in a neat bun that accentuated her beautifully made-up eyes. The fuchsia scarf tied stylishly around her neck set off her light grey outfit and people in the visiting room stopped and stared, captivated by this woman who had become one of the Ballets Russes’ biggest stars.
Viktoriya hugged Yana, whose body trembled under her touch.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Diaghilev.’ Yana’s large, tear-filled eyes held sadness and shock.
Viktoriya’s legs gave way and she collapsed heavily onto the metal bench. ‘What’s happened?’
Yana gulped. ‘The Casino Theatre performance had been so wonderful. The audience couldn’t get enough.’
‘I’d heard,’ said Viktoriya. It had been rumoured that this could be one of the last performances by the Ballets Russes because of Diaghilev’s financial woes. Although Viktoriya had refused to believe it because Diaghilev had always been able to pull himself out of a hole, even after the baron had run and reneged on his promise.
Yana dabbed her eyes but her face was already covered in black streaks. ‘Diaghilev had been so sick…’
‘His diabetes?’ Oh no.
‘He was so tired so he went to Venice after the performances…’
‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’
Yana nodded then burst into tears.
‘In Venice?’ Viktoriya asked, as if the location made any difference. Although, in a way, it did. ‘He was always afraid of dying in water. I want to go to his funeral.’ Viktoriya had no idea how she could make it happen. All she knew was her heart ached and she needed to pay her respects in person.
‘He’s already been buried on San Michele, just outside of Venice.’
‘It’s an island! Why Italy?’ She shook her heard. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘It’s a lot to take in, I know,’ said Yana.
‘What’s going to happen to the ballet?’
‘It’s too soon to tell but it’s not looking good.’ Yana paused, as if deciding whether to continue. ‘Do you remember me telling you about Colonel Wassily de Basil?’
‘Yes.’ Even though Yana may not have realised at the time, when she’d spoken about this Russian colonel, Viktoriya had gained a strange feeling about him. They’d never met, but going by what she’d heard, he was waiting in the wings for an opportunity. And maybe he now had one. ‘Does he want to take over?’
Yana shrugged. ‘No one knows what his plans are. Besides, there’s too many unanswered questions about debts and finances and ownership of rights…it’s a horrible mess.’
‘But if I—’
‘All you can do is sit tight and wait for the next appeal.’
‘What?’ Viktoriya’s spine straightened. ‘But Diaghilev was the one with the pull.’
‘He set the ball rolling by calling in favours. The lawyers liked him and they’ll honour his wishes, I’ve already checked on that. You just need to hang on a little longer.’
Viktoriya didn’t let excitement build because she had been down this road so many times and knew it only lead to disappointment.
Yana said, ‘You understand that they will only question the law, not the facts of your case.’
Viktoriya nodded, unable to comprehend the scale of news she’d received in this meeting with her dearest friend.
‘Chances are small, but there’s a chance.’ Yana looked to the heavens. ‘I don’t know how you can survive in this place.’
‘What choice do I have? All I do is live in hope that he’ll get his comeuppance.’
Yana’s gaze shot to the far corner of the room.
‘What?’
‘There’s a rumour he’s in America but it’s not confirmed.’
An instant pain shot through her temples. Rubbing them gently, she said, ‘He’ll never return, will he?’
‘I have no idea, and even if we knew for sure, what can we do about it? He still has power.’
Viktoriya rested her elbows on her knees and placed her head in her hands. ‘I’m never getting out of here alive.’
Yana wrapped her fingers around Viktoriya’s wrist and yanked her so hard she sat up with a start. ‘Do not talk like that, Viktoriya Budian. You will get out of here.’
‘When?’ Tears welled in her eyes and the emotions she’d tried to quash clamou
red to escape her lips. ‘I’ve sat in here day in and day out, living on a hope that someone would find that pig who set me up. I’ve mourned—am still mourning—the death of the man I let down, and now my mentor is dead. In the mornings I lie in bed with my eyes closed, hoping when I open them that all this was a bad dream. But it’s not. I lived for ballet but it was ballet that ripped my freedom away in the end.’
‘That’s not—’
‘Entirely true, I know. But if I hadn’t been involved with ballet then I would never have met the baron.’ She stared at the yellowed bricks covered by years of filth. ‘I can’t bear another disappointment. If this appeal doesn’t go through then…’ She didn’t finish for fear of what she’d say.
Yana grabbed Viktoriya’s hand and squeezed it hard. ‘Then find hope in something else.’
Viktoriya refused to lock eyes with her friend as she was scared to admit Yana made sense. But what? What hope could she ever find between these dingy walls with rooms that sweltered during summer and froze in winter?
‘You know exactly what to do.’ Yana cocked an eyebrow but Viktoriya still had no idea what she was angling at. ‘You saved me, now save yourself. Save others.’ Yana stood and enveloped Viktoriya in an embrace. ‘Think about what I said.’
Viktoriya watched her friend leave the room. One of the best things she ever did in her life was taking in the scrawny waif of a girl who now had the strength of ten women.
The guard slammed the door shut and strode towards her. ‘Move!’
She turned on her heel, trying to digest the conversation. Diaghilev was dead? As demanding and gruff as he was, she had loved that man. His remorse for introducing her to the baron had shown in the years that followed her imprisonment. He’d only ever treated her with respect and kindness. In a world full of so much cruelty, she welcomed his shining light. Now it was extinguished.
First Alexei. Now Diaghilev. As she traipsed back to her cell and the guard walked back to the visiting area, she thought more about what Yana had said. Yana was right. She had to rely on herself to find hope that couldn’t be found in a questionable court system that favoured the wealthy and didn’t value the truth.
Beneath the Parisian Skies Page 29
