Beneath the Parisian Skies Page 14

  ‘Injustice?’ Yves stopped sautéing the vegetables in the pan.

  ‘Weird, huh?’ She checked the date on the page. ‘This was written a week ago. Who are the Cheverins?’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Oh?’ She was met with silence. ‘Yves?’

  He turned off the gas then faced her. ‘The Cheverins are Bulgarian royalty and they made France their home just before World War One started.’

  Lily rubbed her forehead, wondering why her great-grandmother had never mentioned these Bulgarians when she’d spoken about Viktoriya. ‘So why does she think there’s a connection to Viktoriya and the Cheverins?’

  Yves shrugged. ‘No one really knows what happens in the mind of Natalie.’

  ‘Excellent point.’ She sipped some wine. ‘Where’s their home?’

  ‘Of the Cheverins? Outside Lille, the capital of the north. It is very beautiful.’

  ‘Do you know them?’ she asked, feeling like she’d just commenced a game of Twenty Questions.

  ‘I know of them but that is all. I have many friends in the arts who apply for finance from the Cheverins. Sometimes they are generous, sometimes they are not.’

  ‘Hmm.’ She returned to scanning the following pages, which contained more outpouring of frustration about Natalie’s fellow dancers and also the costume designer.

  ‘What’s with the costumes?’ she asked, finally looking up and locking eyes with Yves. She willed herself not to blush. Too damn late.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s written something about costumes not being true to their original design?’

  ‘Oh, that.’ Yves put the knife down and wiped his hands on a tea towel.

  ‘That?’

  ‘Rumour has it that some of Picasso’s designs for costumes went missing around the time Viktoriya’s star was rising in the sky. No one knows what happened to the sketches. They don’t even know which ballet they were meant for.’ Yves tilted his head to the side. ‘I wonder if it could have anything to do with the ballet Viktoriya was supposed to dance in?’

  ‘Oh…’ Sighing, she closed the diary. ‘My sister holds onto a lot of anger.’

  ‘I think this is what we call an understatement.’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘She has not always been like this?’

  ‘She’s had elements but not as full blown as appears in her diary.’ Lily picked up a piece of bread and nibbled on it, debating how much detail she wanted to give about her childhood. Give him a chance, damn it! What did she have to lose? As soon as she found Natalie then she’d be out of here and back to her hidey-hole in rural Australia.

  She stopped mid chomp with the realisation that visiting the site of Aiden’s passing had fallen off her agenda.

  Yves threw some spinach in to the pan of vegetables and stirred until the leaves wilted. ‘It was a difficult relationship when you were growing up?’

  ‘Not always.’ She finished off the glass of wine and poured another one. ‘There’s only fifteen months between us so it meant we were usually going for the same roles.’

  ‘So a longstanding rivalry?’

  ‘It was friendly but at times I think she would have shoved me into the orchestra pit if it meant she’d get the lead.’ Lily laughed to prove it was a joke but even back then she’d wondered what Natalie would do to get a role she coveted. ‘I wasn’t a natural dancer so I had to work extremely hard to get where I did, whereas Natalie found everything so damned easy. Despite that, we actually got along quite well growing up. Because our worlds were all about ballet and we lived in a small rural town that didn’t understand why we did what we did, we didn’t have friends, so we relied on each other for company. This attitude of hers in these diaries is new to me. She’s always had that potential but…’ Lily blew upwards, causing her fringe to reach for the sky.

  Yves gazed into the corner, as if lost in a memory. ‘When she dances, it is like moving artwork.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s pretty amazing.’ Lily used the remainder of her bread to push the olive around her plate. Jealousy tugged at her sleeve but she refused to get sucked into that again. After all, Lily was the one who’d chosen to give up ballet. Tilting her head back, she studied the pressed ceiling. ‘Families are complicated.’

  ‘That they are.’

  ‘How are things with your dad?’

  ‘Let us just say that even though I plan to follow his wishes, it has not made our relationship any easier.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She should have known better than to bring up the subject.

  He moved from behind the kitchen bench and gently placed his finger under her chin, tilting her face towards his. ‘You don’t need to be sorry.’

  ‘I am, though. I also—’ The second Yves’s lips met hers, any capability of finishing the sentence melted away. Warmth flooded her body and the familiar tingles and rushing blood through her veins returned three-fold, conjuring up images of the sensual hours they’d spent together the night before, bodies entwined. His hand rested gently on her lower back and her body instantly melded to his. It felt so natural. So—

  ‘I hope you do not run away so fast tomorrow morning.’ Yves nuzzled her neck and her body froze. Yves pulled back as if he’d been slapped in the face. ‘What is wrong?’

  ‘I…’ She tried to swallow but it felt like someone had cut her throat to shreds. ‘Yves…’

  ‘I suspect I will not like what you have to say.’

  Lily bit her lip and shook her head.

  ‘Then maybe you should not say it.’ He went behind the counter and started cleaning up the vegetable offcuts.

  ‘Yves, I’m sorry. It’s just so…complicated.’

  ‘Then make it uncomplicated.’

  ‘I can’t.’ She finally managed to swallow. ‘I want to tell you everything, I really do, I just…The last thing I want is for things to be weird between us.’

  ‘For that, you are too late.’ Hurt shadowed his words and Lily felt terrible for being the cause. ‘I am not a man who has sex with a woman then forgets her the next day. You are being unkind and playing with my emotions.’

  ‘I’m not messing with you, I promise.’ Lily should be ecstatic that he was laying it all on the table but instead, she wanted to bolt as fast as she could. If they talked about feelings it would lead to sharing history…

  He threw the tea towel onto the chopping board, knocking off the discarded ends of the beans. ‘You are selfish.’

  ‘What?’ Her hands were on her hips before she had a chance to stop them.

  ‘You are selfish.’

  ‘And how, pray tell, did you come to that conclusion?’ A little bolt of anger shot through her.

  ‘This is all about you. You want me to help you but you do not explain all the reasons why. You do not want to talk yet you expect me to accept this as all right. Well, Lily Johansson, I do not accept this and it is not all right.’ He leaned on the bench, his usual calm demeanour now replaced by irritation laced with hurt.

  Lily’s arms dropped by her sides, her fists clenched. Her mind whirred as she tried to find something—anything—to say to appease him. The only solution she came up with was the one place she wasn’t willing to go.

  Yves cocked his head in the direction of the door. ‘I think it is best if you leave.’

  She totally agreed. Lily grabbed her phone and charger, picked up her bag from the couch, and walked to the door. She gripped the handle, barely holding back her tears. Staring at her feet, she managed to get out, ‘I’m sorry, Yves. I’m really, truly sorry.’

  ‘Lily…’

  She spun to face him, her heart full of hope.

  He walked towards her and held out his hand. ‘You forgot your coat.’

  * * *

  Lily sat up in bed with Natalie’s diaries balanced on her lap, her back against the plush pillows. Try as she might, she couldn’t concentrate. It hurt like hell that Yves had called her selfish and, as much as she wanted to deny it, he had a point. All she’d been worried about was prot
ecting her feelings; not once did she consider her actions as selfish. She really needed to get her act together…

  The dull buzz of her phone made her jump. Yves? Had he forgiven her already? She’d thought he was the forgiving type, but even this was fast…She picked up the phone and answered it.

  ‘Hey, Lily,’ Penny said.

  Hope smashed into pieces on the wooden floor.

  ‘Hi,’ Lily rasped. ‘Is she back?’

  ‘No. I thought you might want to know that she did contact me, though. She sent a text.’

  Lily shuffled forward. ‘And?’

  ‘And she said, “I’m with my mystery man in Lille but not leaving just yet. I’ll fill you in when I get back to Paris—not sure when that will be. Cover for me? XO Nat”.’

  What had Natalie got herself into? ‘How does she expect you to cover for her?’

  ‘Maybe she wants me to make up some story about an illness or something? Look, she’s supposed to be auditioning for the role of Viktoriya very soon. If she stays away too long, she’ll be booted out of the company.’

  ‘You’ve told her this?’

  ‘Of course! But she’s hell-bent on doing whatever it is she’s doing and won’t listen to reason.’ A long sigh travelled down the phone. ‘I just don’t know what to do.’

  Sitting up straight, Lily said, ‘Leave it with me. I think I know where to find her.’

  CHAPTER

  14

  Paris, 1917

  Back in her modest apartment once again, Viktoriya sat on the wooden chair and put her weary feet up on the bed. A small sigh escaped her lips. The trip back to Paris had been uncomfortable and the air thick with tension. Centuries-old villages and lush forests had blurred outside the window as Alexei brooded about the misstep and the baron’s focus on Viktoriya; Diaghilev clenched and unclenched his fists, anxious about the baron’s impending decision; and Viktoriya had stressed about all of this as well as her growing concern about the recent changes in Alexei.

  Upon arriving in Paris, Viktoriya had contemplated spending time in one of the theatre’s rehearsal rooms to work on some steps and stretch her body, but the cast were busy with last-minute preparations on Parade. The last thing she wanted was to be confronted with reminders about the role that had been pulled away from her.

  She desperately wanted to talk with Alexei, but she knew him well enough to know he needed space. Even though she was artistic herself, her scholarly father had always warned her about getting involved with other artists, saying the emotional highs were matched with the lows. Paris had altered Alexei in small ways but they added up and it made her wonder who she was now involved with. As much as she lamented the changes in him, Alexei had to figure out what he wanted for himself—it wasn’t her job to guide him through the emotional mountains and valleys.

  With the small apartment closing in on her, Viktoriya leaned over and held her head in her hands. ‘Oh, Alexei.’

  The door clicked open and in walked Yana. Since meeting the young girl, Viktoriya had noticed a change in her demeanour. She walked a little taller, her cheeks had a rosy glow, and her skin and bones had a small amount of padding. Yana still kept to herself but the uncomfortable silences had been replaced by something almost companionable. There was, however, the question always hovering like a grey cloud above them—what did Yana’s future hold? Viktoriya suspected this conversation would need to be held soon but she was too afraid of the outcome.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Yana knelt in front of Viktoriya.

  ‘It’s been a long day,’ she said.

  Yana’s large eyes held immense concern and not for the first time, Viktoriya felt like she was the child and Yana the guardian.

  ‘I’ll be fine, I promise.’ Viktoriya stood, trying to appear more brave and confident than she felt. ‘I was going to do some stretches, do you want to join in?’

  Yana shook her head. ‘No, thank you. Ballet is yours, not mine.’

  ‘Don’t think of it as ballet. Think of it as controlling your body, moving it, stretching it, feeling alive.’ Viktoriya placed her feet in first position and nodded to Yana. ‘Just give it a try.’

  Yana reluctantly got up. The pleasure that ran through Viktoriya surprised her. It was lovely to share something with Yana, to introduce her to the world of ballet, to…Oh no. A painful realisation stabbed her chest. Yana was not Dina.

  ‘Actually,’ said Viktoriya, her voice faltering, ‘don’t worry. I’m not going to force you to do something you don’t want.’

  Yana placed her small fists on her narrow hips. ‘You convince me to join you and now you’re changing your mind? No,’ she jutted out her jaw, ‘teach me something about why you have no life other than ballet.’

  Viktoriya didn’t take offence at Yana’s statement because she was absolutely right. She lived and breathed ballet—had done so for most of her life—and she should take heart that Yana wanted to understand this dance that consumed Viktoriya’s every waking minute.

  ‘Maybe it’s not a good idea. Maybe—’

  ‘I want to learn something new. Please. Just something small?’

  ‘Maybe a little,’ Viktoriya said, trying not to let the fear of Dina’s downfall muscle in on her. Yana and Dina were very different people and after all, it would only be a handful of steps she’d teach Yana. No more after today.

  ‘Put your feet like this.’ Viktoriya placed her heels together, her feet turned outward. Yana did the same and Viktoriya tried to hide her surprise at the girl’s perfect alignment. ‘Now, follow me, and we’ll move through the positions of the feet then arms.’

  Viktoriya demonstrated while Yana followed, her slender body mirroring beautifully.

  ‘How does it feel?’ asked Viktoriya.

  ‘It feels…happy.’ Yana grinned.

  Who was Viktoriya to deny the young girl some joy, especially after the traumatic events she’d endured over these past few months? If doing a few simple ballet moves meant Yana found some peace, then so be it.

  Yana followed the steps perfectly and Viktoriya studied the young girl’s lines, her long graceful neck, the perfect curve of her arms and the natural elegance with which she moved. Most dancers spent years trying to master these poses yet they came naturally to Yana—and it scared the heck out of Viktoriya.

  ‘I’m beginning to understand why you like this,’ said Yana. Her voice sounded more confident than ever. ‘Show me something else.’

  Viktoriya demonstrated a few steps she remembered from her early days and Yana followed with perfect precision. Never in her life had Viktoriya seen someone made for ballet like Yana. Confusion mixed with guilt in Viktoriya’s mind.

  A knock at the door sent her scurrying to open it, her heart beating rapidly in case it was Alexei, although she’d heard nothing since their return. Pulling on the handle, she wrenched open the door and found Vadim, one of Diaghilev’s assistants, wringing a hat in his hands.

  ‘Sergei wishes to speak with you. Now.’ His large eyes pleaded with her to go with him. She knew better than to argue with Diaghilev and his demands.

  Grabbing her coat, hat and bag, Viktoriya told Yana she’d be back soon then followed Vadim down the stairs. They exited the building and walked the three blocks to the theatre, weaving between the crowds hurrying along the pavement—men in suits, women with young babies in their arms, shopkeepers closing for the day—all with a look of determination to get home and settle in for the evening.

  Turning down the alleyway, Viktoriya’s nerves were on edge. She felt like she was headed to the gallows. They entered the large door that led to the complicated network of passages, past rehearsal and dressing rooms and towards Diaghilev’s office.

  Viktoriya strained to keep up with his pace. ‘Why does he want to see me? Is Mariya sick?’ Her pulse quickened with the thought that Mariya, the current lead for Parade, might have taken ill and Viktoriya may get her chance.

  ‘No, she is fine.’ He glanced over at her and raised his eyebrows.
>
  ‘I’m not wishing for her to be ill just so I can dance!’ She couldn’t quash the defensive tone.

  ‘I know.’ Vadim’s voice softened. ‘You don’t have that cutthroat edge the others possess. I have no idea how you’ve come as far as you have without leaving a trail of knives in other people’s backs.’

  ‘That’s not how I play,’ she said indignantly.

  ‘Which is why you need to see Diaghilev now.’

  They halted in front of his office and Vadim gave three raps before he opened the door and entered. Viktoriya stood in the hallway, not sure if she should follow or wait to be asked to enter.

  ‘Come in!’ boomed Diaghilev.

  Viktoriya hesitated a moment before entering, realising this was the first time she’d ever set foot in his space since starting with the Ballets Russes. Russia felt like a lifetime ago. Oh, how she longed to hear from her family. She’d sent letters but with the war in Europe and the revolution in Russia, she suspected her missives had fallen by the wayside, her heartfelt words never to be read by the ones she loved with all her heart.

  ‘Come.’ Diaghilev nodded towards a chair. ‘That will be all, Vadim.’

  His assistant hastily exited the room while Viktoriya sat on the small wicker chair. He’d summoned her with urgency yet he seemed happy to shuffle paperwork and pause to cough every so often.

  Eventually he scratched his head and said, ‘I’m about to change your life.’

  Clasping her hands on her lap, she looked him directly in the eyes. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Tomorrow night you will be sitting in the VIP box of the theatre and watching Parade.’

  Her heart sank and a slight ringing in her ears made her wonder if she’d heard correctly. Swallowing hard, she asked, ‘Why?’