Beneath the Parisian Skies Page 6

  He nodded and she studied the delicate stitching. Even though the costume was only a copy, it cast her mind back to the history books she’d read about this incredible ballet. Tamara Karsavina had worn a costume like this when she danced in the production with Vaslav Nijinsky and his sister Bronislava. Visions of these famous dancers performing on the stage flashed before her and, like so many times before, Lily wished for a time machine to take her back to an era that was not only romantic but full of wonder and, according to legend, mystery.

  ‘Léon Bakst designed the set and costumes of this one.’ Yves pulled her out of her reverie.

  ‘Ah, right, and the ballet was a replacement for Daphnis et Chloé, because Ravel was late in delivering the score.’ Lily cringed inwardly. It appeared composers running behind schedule was not uncommon.

  ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘For someone who does not like ballet, you know your history.’

  Crap. Back pedal, back pedal! ‘Oh, I’ve just heard things over the years. You know, with my sister being in ballet and all.’

  ‘Would you like to see the one original I have?’

  ‘Well…I’m not really sure what purpose this is serving when I’m supposed to be your muse…inspirationist. Shouldn’t you be writing?’

  He gave a lopsided smile. ‘I should remember my passion for this era may not be appreciated by all. I also realise a man with so many ballet costumes in his apartment is rather…strange.’

  ‘Oh!’ she said, wondering if she’d given that impression with her body language. Once, she’d been so in tune with every movement of her body but unfortunately she’d lost that ability and had no idea if she’d ever get it back. ‘Yves, I don’t think you’re strange at all. I can see why you love it so much. It really was an amazing period for artists back then. Although it’s not really getting your music written, is it?’

  Yves frowned for a moment then broke into the now familiar smile she found so endearing. ‘I was of the hope that if you could see the beauty in this era then you might understand why it is so important for me to get this music just right.’

  ‘Ah, that makes total sense. If I’m on board then maybe I can give you more inspiration?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Yves went to another room and a moment later returned with a beautiful emerald green silky number.

  ‘It’s magnificent.’ She studied the gorgeous, plunging neckline and the fine black beading. ‘This isn’t a ballet costume, though.’

  ‘No, it is not. It belonged to Viktoriya Budian. Do you know of her?’

  Lily froze for a split second then forced her shoulders to relax. ‘Yes, I know a bit.’ Boy, she knew a lot about Viktoriya Budian, thanks to her great-grandmother. ‘What does she have to do with all this?’

  ‘My ballet, Turning Pointe, is about Viktoriya and her legacy. This year marks one hundred years since Parade was first on stage and that ballet was very significant in her life.’

  ‘There are so many dancers out there who deserve a ballet written about them,’ she said, not sure if she wanted to divulge her loose connection to Viktoriya. If she did, then he’d take it as a sign she had to be his muse…inspirationist…and he might never let her out of his sight. Although that may not be a bad thing…

  ‘Viktoriya Budian is one of a kind. What she did for ballet on, and especially off, the stage is incredible. Her legacy has inspired others to use ballet to teach people about how to cope with real-life problems. Do you know of the foundation here that helps underprivileged children learn ballet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘This foundation was formed to honour her work.’

  ‘Wow, I never knew that.’ Where had she been, living under a rock? Why hadn’t her great-grandmother ever mentioned it?

  ‘So now the Bohème is paying homage to a woman who was so much more than a dancer.’

  The crazy serendipity made her head spin.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, fine. I’m fine,’ she said hastily.

  Turning to the dress, he gently touched the fabric. ‘The designer of this dress was Coco Chanel.’

  ‘Coco Chanel?’ It didn’t surprise her that the famous dress designer had made something for Viktoriya Budian. After all, Coco’s star had started to rise around the same time as Viktoriya’s. Trying to act normal, Lily said, ‘She must have been quite thin but tall. Look at the length.’

  Yves nodded. ‘Yes, she was taller than most, which is why it was sometimes hard for her to find a dance partner. She did, however, find her perfect match eventually.’

  ‘Alexei Pankov.’

  Yves grinned like his student had just aced the exam. ‘This dress is on loan to me from the theatre.’

  ‘So why on earth do you have these in your apartment?’

  His cheeks turned a light pink. ‘Inspiration.’

  ‘So you don’t need me.’ A tinge of disappointment seeped in.

  ‘The pieces are nice but they are only fabric. You, mademoiselle, are very real. You are the one who inspires me most.’

  He gently hung the dress on the bedroom door then walked past her into his small kitchen before returning with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  Sinking onto the sofa, she gladly accepted the glass and sipped the light, fruity wine.

  Yves stood nearby, drinking from his glass and gazing at the Grecian-style masterpiece. ‘I doubt there will ever be another time when a ballet company will push boundaries as far as the Russes.’

  Despite having removed herself from the ballet world, Yves’s comment irked her. Had he not seen what Bohème Ballet Company had done over the years? The San Francisco Ballet? The Australian Ballet? She doubted he’d set out to offend, especially as he didn’t know her deep involvement with the dance. And she certainly couldn’t deny his passion was contagious—slightly—but no way would she get caught up in ballet nonsense again.

  He sat at the other end of the sofa, a large gap between them. The scent of musky cologne wafted into her nostrils. Damn, he smells fine.

  Yves leaned forward. ‘Imagine living in a time when artistic experiments were encouraged with dancers like Vaslav Nijinsky, Léonide Massine, Anna Pavlova and artists like Picasso, Coco Chanel, Henri Matisse designing sets and costumes. When music was composed by greats such as Debussy, Stravinsky and Strauss…’ He waved his arms around, his enthusiasm filling the small room with electricity, then he leaned back and let out a small laugh. ‘I am sorry if I am boring you. Although maybe I will change your mind about ballet and you will find the love for it like your sister.’

  ‘I doubt it.’ She gulped the wine and enjoyed the kick of alcohol burning her throat. Her eyes searched the room for a piece that wasn’t ballet related but she gave up. Framed posters of ballets hung from every wall—Les Sylphides, Cléopâtre, Giselle, Swan Lake—and they mingled with stunning black-and-white photos of dancers in various poses from the Ballets Russes. ‘Who’s your favourite from that era?’

  If you can’t beat ’em, why not join ’em?

  ‘Viktoriya Budian,’ he said without hesitation.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why not? I wish I’d seen her dance. From all accounts she was magnificent. It is a shame Diaghilev did not allow any filming of his dancer’s performances. He said that a movie camera could never capture the pure artistry of his dancers.’

  ‘I once saw some rare footage of Anna Pavlova in Swan Lake from 1907.’ Lily scanned the room once more. ‘There’s no photos of Viktoriya Budian here.’

  ‘The only photos of her I have seen do not help my imagination. I thought the dress would serve a purpose but it hasn’t really worked, either.’

  ‘I still don’t get why you need me.’

  He leaned over to place the glass of wine on the coffee table, then sat back, a slight frown creasing his forehead. ‘Your energy.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘You say you are not a dancer but the way you hold your head, the curve of your spine, the way you walk, your grace…everything tells me yo
u are a ballet dancer. You are intriguing and I suspect this is what inspires me.’ He shrugged, then laughed. ‘The universe has sent me a lovely muse, so who am I to argue?’

  ‘Inspirationist, you mean.’ She contained the smile trying to break out on her lips every time she heard the word.

  ‘Inspirationist, yes.’ Slapping his hands on his thighs, he stood and said, ‘Dinner! I must go prepare. What do you like to eat?’

  He cooks? ‘Uh…just about everything.’

  ‘Then everything it shall be.’ He grabbed the remote control and aimed it at the stereo. ‘You sit, relax, listen to music. We shall feast soon.’

  Classical music floated through the speakers. Well acquainted with an array of composers, she’d never heard this one before. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Do you like it?’ he asked, hope in his voice.

  ‘I do, actually. It’s quite beautiful.’

  He gave a small cough. ‘It is mine. It is called “Home of My Heart”.’

  ‘It is absolutely lovely.’ Nestling back against the sofa, Lily kicked off her shoes and closed her eyes. The hypnotic strings, woodwind and brass instruments combined beautifully and she pictured herself on stage, spinning, jumping, stretching every well-trained muscle. The haunting composition captured her heart like no other she’d ever heard.

  ‘Ah ha! I knew it!’

  Her eyes flew open to find Yves standing near her, apron over his crisp white shirt, tea towel hanging casually from one arm. She glanced at her pointed toes then quickly tucked her feet under her bottom.

  ‘Knew what?’ She reached for the wine and took a gulp. Stupid body doing its own thing again.

  ‘You have danced ballet.’

  ‘I have a sore back and stretching my legs and toes helps with the pain.’ No lies there.

  ‘Maybe you do have a pain in your back but your feet tell me you have studied ballet—a lot. Why would you deny this?’

  Worms slithered out of the can as she willed her mind to come up with an answer that the intuitive composer would buy. She couldn’t think of a single thing. Damn.

  ‘Fine.’ She placed the wine on the coffee table and took a deep breath. ‘I used to be a professional dancer but for various reasons I gave it up.’

  ‘Why?’

  She bit her lip and crossed her arms.

  Yves cleared his throat, glanced at his hands then back at her. ‘I am sorry, that was very rude to ask.’

  ‘You weren’t rude. It’s just something I prefer not to talk about.’

  ‘Do you miss it?’ he asked.

  Had he not heard what she’d just said? Figuring she wouldn’t get away with completely shutting down this topic, she quietly said, ‘No.’

  ‘I find this very hard to understand. Music is all I live and breathe, even when I’ve had to do other things to make the ends meet. It is a part of me, just, as I imagine, ballet is a part of you.’

  ‘It’s not me anymore. That’s an old chapter that’s done and dusted.’

  ‘What do you do now?’

  Embarrassment stirred within. What do I do now? What a question. No amount of sugar-coating would hide the fact that she’d done stuff-all these past two years. Volunteering at the local school to teach kids reading was nice, but it wasn’t a life. Neither was taking photographs and not making an effort to turn them into a money-making exercise because she was too afraid of criticism. Whether she liked it or not, Yves’s question gave her a bolt of reality.

  ‘One minute.’ Yves dashed back into the kitchen and crockery and cutlery clanked. He returned with two steaming bowls of vegetable soup and placed them on the table. A moment later he placed a large crusty loaf, cheese, meat and a selection of fruit and vegetables. ‘I believe this conversation requires sustenance. Let us eat.’

  She sat at the table, eyeing the meal before her. The aroma wafted into her nostrils and she detected garlic, spring onion, paprika and a heady combination of herbs. Together they ate in silence, Lily enjoying every mouthful. Yves was very attractive, charming and, by the looks of his apartment, well-to-do. Plus, he could cook. Apart from the slight nuttiness about this muse business, Yves Rousseau was quite the catch. But he’s not Aiden. She placed her spoon on the butter plate and steadied herself as hot tears welled up.

  ‘Is it too spicy?’

  ‘No,’ she croaked. ‘It’s delicious.’

  ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Yves.’ She pushed back her chair and stood. ‘This isn’t going to work.’

  He rose also, a slight frown on his face. ‘Please, Lily. I am here to listen and to help.’

  ‘Why? You barely know me.’

  ‘I know you well enough to see you are upset.’

  ‘I am but it’s nothing to do with you, I promise. You’ve been kind and good company and I’m sorry to spoil it, especially after you’ve gone to so much trouble. I’m just going through a tough time right now and I’m better off sorting things out by myself.’

  ‘I’ll still help with Natalie.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘If you do not want to be my inspirationist, I will still help with getting Natalie to listen to you.’

  ‘It’s not fair if you hold up your side of the deal and I don’t. Let’s just call it quits and go our separate ways.’

  ‘You still need to eat. Please, enjoy the meal and if you feel the same at the end of the evening, I will respect your wishes.’

  She eyed the spread and her stomach grumbled. This certainly beat sitting alone in a restaurant, pretending to read a book in French so she didn’t look like a tourist.

  ‘Okay.’ Lily sat again. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For understanding.’

  He waved his hand in the air. ‘Pfft. I know what it is like to be pressured into doing something you do not want. And I apologise for the other day. I was a little crazy with the desperation.’

  ‘There’s no doubting that.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He grabbed a large knife and sliced the bread into large chunks.

  He offered her a piece, and she reached forward then realised the tension that had caused her back to ache had disappeared.

  Yves said, ‘I have a lot riding on making this ballet successful.’

  ‘Did you back it financially?’

  Yves laughed and shook his head. ‘I wish I had the money. No, it is more personal. I have someone pushing me to go back to my original career. This ballet is my last chance to prove composing is the right career for me.’

  ‘Who’s putting the pressure on?’ She studied him over the rim of her wine glass.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘so you won’t share information about you yet I’m expected to divulge my life story?’

  ‘Sorry, that’s unfair of me.’

  ‘It is okay! I don’t mind. How can one make a friend if we do not share our thoughts, dreams and experiences?’

  ‘But I thought we were more like acquaintances with a business deal.’ She flinched at her own words. Since when had she become so cold?

  ‘Every friendship starts off as an acquaintance.’

  She mentally breathed a sigh of relief, happy he hadn’t taken offence. This lack of socialising had really messed with her ability to hold a decent conversation. She knew the road to her new version of normal wouldn’t be easy but with Yves’s gallant manner, it made the journey a lot more pleasant than expected.

  ‘Would you really like to know more about me or are you being polite?’ The hope in his voice made her wonder if he suffered the same affliction as her. Composing could be a lonely job and maybe Yves found it difficult making friends, although she found that hard to believe.

  ‘Actually, I would love to know more about you.’ Lily’s enthusiasm surprised her.

  ‘Good.’ He topped up her wine glass. ‘My father and I have, how shall I say…a complicated relationship.’

  ‘Oh?’ She wished she could open up this easily.

  ‘Unfortunately, my father wishes
for me to return to science.’

  ‘So you’re a scientist?’

  Yves gave a small chuckle. ‘Hard to believe, oui?’

  ‘How on earth did you end up as a composer?’

  ‘Ah, my father wished for me to follow in his footsteps. I tried very hard but there is no passion, not like when I write music. By chance I met the musical director of the Bohème Ballet Company and when I proposed a ballet about Viktoriya Budian, he embraced the idea.’

  ‘That was a massive gamble on his behalf.’

  ‘Yes, it most definitely was, but as you can see, the Ballets Russes is something I live and breathe. I spent many years writing music for ballet when I should have been studying for my science qualification so when I met the musical director, I had many compositions for him. He said he could not think of any other person who could compose the music for this ballet. I will say, I do agree.’ His cheeks flushed red and he stared at the table. ‘That sounds very proud.’

  ‘If you are good at something because you’ve worked hard then you should be proud. I’m sure you didn’t become a composer overnight. It’s taken years of practice, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then if you have a talent you should let the world know.’

  He raked his hand through his thick hair. ‘I gave up my scientific work one year ago but then my father became ill.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Do not be. It is life and we all know we will leave this world at some stage. Do not get me wrong, I love my father and I do want to respect his wishes but I cannot disappoint an entire ballet company, including your sister, who are counting on me to produce the perfect music score. And if I do not produce, my composing career, as short as it was, will end.’

  ‘That’s a crappy place to be in.’ Lily stirred her now cold soup. ‘So why doesn’t your father want you to pursue something you love? Surely someone who is ill would see the value in following your heart.’

  ‘This is true but…’ He coughed and blushed again. ‘I am also very good at science. I won a scholarship to Harvard University and I also have been nominated for awards in the field of ecology.’

  ‘Impressive.’

  ‘Maybe.’ He shrugged. ‘So I am torn. Do I return to science to make him happy but I die on the inside because I am not living my dream? Or do I follow my passion in the career I have coveted all my life but disappoint the man who has loved me from the moment I was born?’