Beneath the Parisian Skies

by Alli Sinclair

  ‘I miss you, Alexei,’ she whispered, her heart still longing to hear his voice, feel his arms around her, to once again experience his warm lips on hers. The heartbreak never lessened but when she danced alone in the cell, he always felt near.

  Her shoulders ached and tension rushed up her neck. Tilting her head to one side then the other, her body revelled in the freedom of movement. It gave her mind a chance to forget the suffering between these walls, to dispel the angst of living with an uncertain future. Dancing in her cell had helped alleviate the mental and physical pains and elevated her mood to a point where she could continue with living—even if it was for only one more day. Although there were no other dancers in her midst it didn’t mean she couldn’t show other prisoners ways to cope with the anguish they endured on a daily basis. Even if she found one willing participant, Viktoriya could help change their outlook.

  It had worked with Dina.

  It had worked with Yana.

  There was no reason it couldn’t work for someone else. Ballet, after all, was about expressing feelings, telling stories and even between these cold walls, dance could lift the spirit and make it soar.

  ‘It’s worth a try,’ she whispered.

  ‘Trying what?’ Adelphe Roche stepped into the cell and pushed back the oily hair from her elfin face. The young woman had recently been convicted of killing her fiancé but, like Viktoriya, she’d declared her innocence. The constant fear and hurt in Adelphe’s eyes haunted Viktoriya and her heart went out to her. She knew exactly what it was like to be accused of something she hadn’t done. Lately, Adelphe’s spark had burned down to a flickering ember as time marched on and left her rotting in this hellhole.

  Adelphe moved closer. ‘What did you want to try?’

  She willed her brain to invent a lie but nothing arose. The only option was truth. ‘I was wondering if you might be interested in learning ballet.’

  Adelphe threw her head back and a long, hollow laugh escaped her cracked lips. When she focussed on Viktoriya again, she stopped. ‘Why on earth would I want to learn that?’

  ‘Because it might help you feel better.’

  Adelphe jutted out her chin. ‘I feel fine.’

  ‘Really?’ Viktoriya ventured. ‘It’s impossible for anyone to be fine in here.’ She gracefully stretched out her arms and pirouetted on the flagstone floor.

  ‘You can really do that?’

  ‘I can teach you, too, but it means hours of dedication.’ She cocked an eyebrow. ‘Are you up for the challenge?’

  Adelphe shook her head. ‘If we get caught prancing around we’ll be thrown into the asylum or solitary.’

  ‘I’ve been practising in private for years and no one’s bothered me. Go on, try a stretch, see how you feel.’ She motioned for Adelphe to follow as Viktoriya raised her arms to the side then slowly in front of her. She pointed a booted foot and Adelphe did the same. ‘How do you feel?’

  Adelphe turned her head from side to side and held her hands over her head as she stretched. ‘I actually feel all right. I feel…lighter.’

  Viktoriya couldn’t contain her grin. ‘So do you want to learn more?’

  ‘I’m not sure…’ Adelphe’s eyes didn’t meet Viktoriya’s.

  ‘Please. Just try for a week and see what you think.’

  Adelphe raked her hands through her dank hair. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Because if I have the chance to help someone, then I will.’

  Viktoriya extended her leg, her arms curved in front of her. She stood on tiptoe, despite the difficulty of wearing boots, and used the other leg to start the momentum. As she pirouetted, images of Diaghilev, Alexei, Nijinsky, Olga and Yana spun with her, their presences filling the room. She dipped her body, jumped and twirled, reminding her why she loved ballet and how it would always be a part of her. She felt the walls of the prison melt away and from that moment on, Viktoriya knew she would never be trapped. Ballet would take her to a world where artists dared to dream, composers created masterpieces and dancers let their light shine bright. No one, not even these walls, would ever take that away.

  CHAPTER

  33

  Once again, Yves Rousseau wasn’t answering his phone or door. In the early morning light, Lily stood at the base of the stairs and looked up at the windows of his apartment. For two days she’d been holed up at Natalie’s place, debating whether she should contact Yves now that she’d had her epiphany. Meanwhile, Natalie was going through her own challenges with Bohème.

  Lily took a deep breath and puffed out her cheeks. Contacting Yves was a gamble because it could go two ways—she’d either end up helping him through this terribly sad time or her presence would push him over the edge. Was tracking him down really the right thing?

  Lily reached into her handbag and pulled out the card she’d written. It had taken her hours to find just the right words and a whole lot of soul searching in the process. Turning the cream envelope over in her hands, she tried not to think about how much was riding on this one piece of stationery. Once more, she pulled it out and reread her words:

  Dear Yves,

  I’m so terribly sorry that we parted ways in the manner in which we did. There are so many things I wanted to say but didn’t and I hope that now, even though it’s only been a short time since the passing of your father, that you can read my words and know they are coming from a place of love and caring.

  I understand your grief, the need to turn back time, the desire to have one last moment with the person you love and ensure the last words uttered are ones of affection. Life is unfair. It puts obstacles in our way that we find impossible to get through yet somehow, we need to find the strength to keep going. Chances are you are not even ready to contemplate forgiving yourself but please, try to find a way as soon as you can. You are a wonderful, loving person who deserves to be happy, no matter what you choose to do.

  Please, find love in your heart for yourself and don’t go down the path of self-blame. It is a crippling, lonely road to travel and in the end, it can ruin you. I never met your father but I am sure he would not want his son to spend the rest of his days beating himself up about something that cannot be changed.

  You have so much love in you, with your passion for music and ballet, the wondrous way you see the world, the way you believe that love can conquer all. Don’t waste it, Yves. Don’t become a shell of who you are. The world needs more people like you, who inspire others to dig deeper and look inside themselves to find out who they truly are. You’ve done that for me in so many ways. I will no longer run. No longer hide away and pretend the world outside doesn’t exist. No longer think that my future is bleak or that loving again will never be possible. You helped me realise all of this, Yves, and I want to be able to do the same for you one day.

  I don’t expect to hear from you any time soon, but just know that as someone who has been down this path, I will always be here for you.

  Sending you my heartfelt love,

  Lily

  Shoving the card back in the envelope, Lily hastily stuck the flap down and posted it into his mail box. As the letter fell through the hole, Lily gasped. What had she done? Was this too much too soon?

  She shook her head. Of course it wasn’t. She had always wished someone had taken her aside straight after Jake’s or Aiden’s passing and helped steer her away from that black hole of self-blame. No one deserved to suffer like she had and she sure as hell was going to at least try to help Yves find some peace.

  She took off down the street, not entirely sure where she was headed. The fresh air, sun on her skin and the opportunity to stretch her legs was exactly what she needed, so she picked up her pace, feeling more free than she had in years. As she crossed the roads and walked through the tantalising aroma of fresh bread and coffee in the cafés she passed, Lily’s confidence grew. She rounded the corner to arrive at Jardin Marco Polo, and made a beeline through the park, hope bubbling within. Fate hadn’t guided her to the park today, it was
her sneaky subconscious trying to track down one very lovely Frenchman. Reaching the fountain, she glanced up at the horse statues frozen mid-gallop and the men holding up the world.

  Lily held her breath, praying she’d find Yves sitting on his bench, chewing his pencil and staring at his composition. Her heart sank when she found it empty. How ridiculous she’d been to have even the slightest hope that he’d be there.

  Sitting on her old bench, Lily took out her camera and started flicking through the images she’d taken the first day in this park. Photography had given her control over her life and it only dawned on her now that she’d spent way too much time hiding behind the lens because she didn’t think her life was worthy of being the main attraction.

  Lily shook her head and let out a wry laugh.

  How wrong she’d been.

  Leaning against the bench, she took in the stunning Parisian architecture that had witnessed centuries of history, the trees that had heard countless secrets and witnessed break ups and make ups between lovers and friends, the roads that had carried people to and from happiness and despair. Paris was a city of enchantment. Wonder. Hope. How could she walk away from one of the most photogenic and historic cities in the world? But it wasn’t her city. Was it?

  Checking the time on her phone then tucking the camera back in her bag, Lily took off across the park once more, giving Yves’s bench one last look. Whether he decided to contact her or not, she hoped he would find it in himself to finish the musical score for Viktoriya’s ballet. Everyone needed to know about this woman who had taken in Lily’s great-grandmother and given her a fresh start. Viktoriya had shown love and an amazing capacity to care for those around her even when her world was falling apart. It would have been wonderful to see Natalie in the role of Viktoriya but with the way things had panned out, nothing short of a miracle would make it happen. Regardless, Natalie had talked the Bohème into letting her audition.

  As Lily wandered the streets aimlessly, she spied a beautiful white building. In the large window were a selection of framed photographs of contemporary dancers leaping in mid-air, their bodies contorted in myriad positions, each one spectacular, a moment frozen in time to be cherished forever. Lily cast her mind back to the photographs of the Ballets Russes she’d seen over the years, including those in her great-grandmother’s collection. There was something magical in the way dancers moved, how they controlled their bodies, the slightest angle making a huge difference as to whether the leap or turn would be successful both aesthetically and physically. There was a definite art to photographing dancers, as the person wielding the camera had to be able to anticipate the dancer’s every move and understand their mindset, their strengths and weaknesses. Most people wouldn’t appreciate the way a dancer thinks, or the way they…

  Lily shook her head then stopped.

  Could she do this?

  Craning her neck, she read the letters painted in scarlet red above the window: École de photographie artistique—School of Artistic Photography.

  Without hesitation, she yanked open the door and crossed the threshold.

  * * *

  Once again, Lily was left waiting for Natalie. Her sister had texted while Lily was filling out the application forms for the photography school and said she wanted Lily to meet her at the Théâtre du Châtelet in an hour. That had been ninety-six minutes ago.

  Tired of standing out the front of the theatre, she scooted down the alleyway and found Bernard in his usual position.

  ‘Ah, Mademoiselle Lily, once again I am graced with your presence. I thought you said you would not return.’ His cheeky smile went all the way to his eyes.

  ‘I say lots of things, don’t I?’ She laughed. ‘This time you can believe me when I say that you will definitely be seeing more of me now—for the next little while, at least.’

  ‘This is news I like to hear.’ He opened the door and let her in. ‘Mademoiselle Natalie is still in a meeting.’

  ‘She’s been in it for a while.’ It had to be a good sign, right?

  ‘Yes, she has.’ Bernard nodded as Lily entered the theatre. The quiet halls meant rehearsals were done for the day so she was free to wander the theatre in peace until her sister was ready.

  Walking from the Green Room and up to the side of the stage, Lily stood between the curtains, gazing at the boards where greats like Vaslav Nijinsky, Léonide Massine, Viktoriya Budian and even her great-grandmother Yana Nardin had performed. What had it been like to live in a world torn apart by war, both in their home country of Russia as well as across Europe? Had they managed to get on with their lives and not be weighed down with the uncertainty of what their future held? Was that why the Ballets Russes were so instrumental in creating some of the most innovative ballets, music, costumes and sets the world had ever seen? Even now, ballets like Parade were still considered ‘out there’. What she wouldn’t give to have experienced even one day in the life of a Ballets Russes dancer.

  Lily stroked the velvet curtain then slowly made her way to the centre of the stage. The low light gave an eerie atmosphere as she stared out at the empty red velvet chairs. So this is what it felt like to be up on this stage. Hot tears pricked her eyes and she squeezed them shut, imagining herself dancing across the boards as the audience in the packed theatre looked on. Extending her arms, Lily pointed her toe and stepped forward, her body moving as the muscles and bones remembered the steps she’d perfected over the years. From her lips came a tune she’d grown to love—Yves’s ‘Home of My Heart’.

  With a wry smile, she moved across the stage, her body rejoicing in the freedom ballet had always given her. Her lower back experienced the usual pain but she refused to stop dancing, not now she had momentum.

  She’d been a fool to think she could give up ballet so easily. Her injury and the two years away meant her body was in no shape to dance professionally, but if she started taking classes once more, maybe…Lily halted, aware her humming had been overtaken by recorded music playing over the speakers.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she asked, her voice faltering. The music became louder and her lips kicked up at the corners. She knew that musical piece. ‘Yves Rousseau, show yourself.’

  A side door in the theatre opened and Yves’s long legs carried him down the aisle and up the steps to the stage. He strode to her and grasped her hands in his. The second they touched, she realised how close she’d come to making one of the biggest mistakes of her life by getting on the plane back to Australia.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t need to be.’

  ‘I do need to be and I am. And thank you for the letter.’ Yves placed his finger under her chin and brought his lips to hers.

  Lily closed her eyes, lost in the moment. The haunting notes of violins, oboes and the cello enveloped her in a musical embrace while Yves held her in his arms.

  He turned his gaze to the empty theatre. ‘There is so much I want to say and I should because I cannot let one more person I love—’

  ‘You love me?’ She could barely get the words out. Her head spun with confusion. She’d never expected to hear those words uttered to her ever again.

  ‘Of course I love you! I cannot let one more person I love not know how I feel. And you, my beautiful Lily, make the skies of Paris more blue, the grass more green, the air more sweet. I will not spend another moment worrying about what I should or shouldn’t say. From now on, I will always say what is in my heart.’

  Looking up into his blue eyes, her mouth went dry.

  She couldn’t say it.

  Not yet.

  It was too soon.

  But maybe in the near future she could…

  ‘The ballet is finished,’ beamed Yves.

  ‘What? But I thought—’

  ‘The death of my father has broken my heart. I now know I cannot change the past, no matter how much I wish it to be different. If I didn’t finish this ballet then it would all be for nothing. I refuse to carry guilt, just like you said I shou
ldn’t.’ With the back of his hand, he gently stroked her face. ‘Bohème are very happy with the result. They wish for me to write more. Perhaps you could be my full-time inspirationist. Would you like this?’

  Yves wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against his body. Their lips met and every molecule of her being buzzed. So this was it. This was what it felt like to love again.

  The door at the back of the theatre slammed.

  ‘Really?’ came Natalie’s shrill voice as she bounced down the aisle and up the stairs to the stage. She stood with her hand on her hip, her head tilted to the side. ‘So this is what you get up to when I’m not around.’

  Heat rushed across Lily’s neck and face.

  ‘Yves,’ said Natalie, ‘if there’s any way you can talk her into staying then—’

  ‘I am,’ said Lily.

  ‘What?’ Yves and Natalie said in unison.

  She told them about the photography school and how the classes were starting in a few weeks. That was enough time to get her paperwork sorted so she could stay in France.

  ‘Photography, eh?’ said Natalie. ‘I am so pleased! You’ve got a marvellous talent, big sis.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Mum used to send me copies of your photos every so often. I don’t know why she did, especially when we weren’t talking. Maybe she was trying to find a way for us to reconnect.’ Natalie tilted her head to the side. ‘Lil, you’re really good at photography and it would be terrible for your talent to go to waste.’

  ‘I hear the silent “again” at the end of your sentence and you’re right. Yes, my ballet career has ended and even though I’ve spent so much time trying to stay away from dance, it’s still here.’ She rested her hand over her heart. ‘And it always will be.’

  ‘I’m glad you’ve realised,’ said Natalie. ‘Oh, hey, maybe you could photograph ballet dancers!’