A Dance in Blood Velvet (26 page)

Karl leaned on the mantelpiece, thinking,
I can’t believe she still isn’t home.
He kept the thought to himself and said, “If the manifestations in the Ring are anything to do with Kristian, we must discover whether he’s alive or dead.”

“How?”

“By going to the site where we killed him. I should warn you, it was a deadly subterranean place.”

“Deadly to vampires?” she said, incredulous.

“Particularly to us. We’ll have to take great care.”

“Well, now I can travel again, we can go at once!”

Karl sighed. “Charlotte and I agreed that if ever we had cause to go back, we would do so together. I don’t want to go without her.”

Katerina sat down on the arm of a chair. “But Karl, we can’t wait. We really should go immediately.” He understood her excitement at her renewed powers. And he shared her urgency, but he wanted to give Charlotte a few more hours.

“Not until tonight. I want the cover of darkness.”

“If you insist,” she said impatiently. “But if Charlotte’s not back by then, we must go without her. Promise me, Karl. Anyway, if it isn’t safe, surely you wouldn’t wish to put her at risk?”

He looked broodingly at Katti. She added, “She’s had days to come back! Has it occurred to you that she is not interested?”

Karl dismissed the idea. Charlotte had a passionately enquiring mind. He couldn’t bear to think that their last conversation meant she would never come back... indeed, he was sure she would - but when? And how would she feel, finding out he’d broken his word and revisited the manor house without her?

Disregarding Katerina’s remarks, he said sharply, “We shall go tonight, whatever happens.”

A smile touched her full rose-red mouth. “I shan’t mind a little danger. Not if it is with you.”

* * *

Holly ran along the main street, thinking only of Ben and the accusations he’d made. She saw a man walking towards her, but didn’t see who he was until he stepped into her path. She ran straight into him.

Lancelyn. She looked up into his bearded, familiar face, saw his expression crease into lines of concern.

“Holly,” he said. “My dear girl, are you all right?”

“Perfectly,” she gasped, round-eyed.

She’d always been a little frightened of him, but had trusted him with her life. Now all her rocks had dissolved in waves of confusion. She loved him, but again she glimpsed three tall figures behind him, rippling on the air like watered ink.

She tried to fight free but he held her arms. “I want you to understand,” he said, “whatever happens between Ben and me, I will never hurt you. I love you. You can always come to me.”

“Yes,” she said, distressed. “I must go.”

“Don’t let Ben use you against me,” he said softly. “The oath you made to me still binds you. Remember.”

He released her and she hurried past, away from him. Yet she could not resist looking back.

There was no one. Where Lancelyn had stood surrounded by his shadowy companions, the street was empty.

I
n the car that was taking them to Salzburg, Violette sat pressed in the corner, slender legs outstretched, her face an exhausted white oval amid her mourning black. Charlotte, sitting beside her, gave her only an occasional glance. The driver was closed away by glass. Rain sheeted onto the car roof; outside the streaked windows, the Austrian countryside rolled by in lush green beauty.

Violette had made her assistants travel separately, telling them that Charlotte was an old friend. Charlotte wasn’t sure why she did this. Violette was determined to treat her as an unwanted spectre whose presence she must suffer. Charlotte wished it were not so... but Violette was exhausted. There would be time later to gain her trust.

Charlotte had hoped for friendship, a dark sisterhood. There was communication, at least, albeit reluctant and threaded with unease. Neither understood the eerie equation that was at work.

They sat in silence, Charlotte respecting her need for peace. After a while Violette said, “I don’t know what will happen to Ballet Janacek now.”

“What do you want to happen?” asked Charlotte.

“God knows. It was his company. It will have to be disbanded.”

“Why? You could take over yourself, or start your own company with the same people.”

Violette closed her eyes. “I’m too tired to think of this. I only want to dance, I don’t want to be bothered with all this trouble.”

“But you would be in charge.” Charlotte sat forward, trying to inspire her. “You could choose the dancers and musicians, and perform whatever ballets you wished. You would have complete control.”

Violette’s eyes half-opened, slips of jet. “I don’t know.”

“You are as creative as Janacek was! He was holding you back. Without him you could... fly.”

“What do you know about it, really?”

“It’s true. Anyone could see it.”

“It’s so much to organise. I can’t bear the business side, legal people, accountants... the thought depresses me.”

“Then let me do that,” Charlotte said softly.

“Why?” Violette raised her head, startled. “What can you do?”

“You’d be surprised. I’m good at organising, and I understand figures. Most of all, I am very good making people agree to things and sign the right documents...” She smiled, recalling the vampire glamour that she and Karl used on officials at times. Such subterfuge was necessary for creatures who never grew older, who used different names to protect their identities and travelled without passports. A compliant solicitor was essential; shaping such people was second nature to Karl, and he had tutored Charlotte well.

“Janacek’s business manager can do all that.” Violette gazed listlessly out of the window.

“Not as well or as fast I can. How do you know he’s on your side?”

A flash of anger. “How do I know
you
are? Are you trying to save the ballet for me, or steal it? I can’t decide whether you’re my fairy godmother or a confidence trickster.”

“Neither, I swear. I want to help you. Please trust me, Violette. We’ll keep the company together and all you’ll have to think about is dancing. Isn’t that what you want?”

“All I want,” said Violette, “is to sleep.” She closed her eyes and was silent for the rest of the journey; but Charlotte knew she was not asleep.

They came down into Salzburg between the mountains and arrived at an elegant almond-green house, four storeys high with tall windows. The home of Ballet Janacek. The river Salzach flowed in front, swift and silver-green. On the far bank stood the old town, where the many church domes were dominated by the great forested ridge of Mönchsberg and the Hohensalzburg fortress.
Loveliest of towns,
Charlotte thought.

“Come in,” said Violette as the chauffeur helped them from the car. “Let me show you round. I’d let you stay in Janacek’s rooms, but I can’t, until his family have taken his effects away.”

“There’s no need. I can find a hotel.”

“Nonsense,” Violette said thinly. Her words were polite but her tone was brittle. “You must stay here. We’ll find a room for you upstairs, I’m sure.”

The house was quiet; many dancers who’d been to the funeral had not yet returned. An elderly woman, a young man and two girls came out to welcome Violette. She greeted them with kisses. They obviously adored her. A tall, thin Austrian maid took their coats; Violette said, “Thank you, Geli. Go and make us some tea; we’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Her warm, confident manner was in sharp contrast to her wariness with Charlotte.

As they climbed the stairs, Violette paused to explain the function of each floor. There were rehearsal rooms for the musicians, offices, storerooms for costumes, and on the third floor a huge mirrored studio for the dancers.

Violette went in and leaned against the barre, looking up. “There are two apartments on the next floor; one is mine, one was Roman’s. Then there are some attic rooms where the
corps de ballet
live. I think there’s one vacant, though they are a little basic.” Her voice was frosty. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“I told you, you don’t have to do anything for me.”

Violette turned to her, her eyes elongated; black and deepest blue, narrow with unease yet hauntingly beautiful against her milky skin. “Forget what I said in the graveyard - about punishment. I was upset, I wasn’t myself.”

“It’s forgotten.”

“Perhaps I’m wrong about you, Charlotte,” she said. “If you can do what you said - do it. I want this ballet to go on - in Janacek’s name, but under my direction.”

Charlotte felt a rush of excitement. Violette was softening by degrees. “Whatever you want.”

They went to Violette’s apartment, and took tea - or rather, the dancer did, while Charlotte pretended. She didn’t let herself dwell on what she really wanted. That would be an easy appetite to feed, after dark -
and,
she thought,
I don’t want Violette’s blood. I don’t.

* * *

I can’t stay,
Charlotte thought.
I must go back to Karl.

She was alone in a spartan bedroom, leaning on the windowsill and gazing at the great forested shoulder of rock across the river, the fortress walls rising into the sky; and below, the sunny Renaissance elegance of roofs and spires.

How weird this is. I never dreamed I’d come here. I never even meant to speak to her.

I said that meeting Violette would destroy her magic, but it hasn’t. She is so strange. I can’t leave her alone...

I should go back to Karl now. But what is there to go home for? His disappointment in me, and Katerina’s contempt. If I leave him to her, will he miss me at all?
A flash of memory, a deep twisting pain.
How can we ever restore the perfection we’ve lost? We can’t... is that why I’m clinging to Violette?

Surface matters had proceeded smoothly. Charlotte had met patrons, administrators and solicitors; legal and financial difficulties were raised, only to dissolve under the spell of her shining, persuasive presence. She’d taken a couple of the men aside, flattered and entranced and fed on them... so easy. And now the Ballet Janacek belonged to Violette.

The ballerina expressed not a word of gratitude.

Charlotte hadn’t expected or even wanted thanks; as the days passed, it became clear that nothing was going to change. Violette did not want Charlotte there; she merely tolerated her, a strange, unwelcome benefactor.

As the dancers returned, Violette threw herself into work as if nothing else existed.

Karl was constantly in Charlotte’s mind, a deep-red ache. They’d never before been apart for so long, and she grew restless to see him. Yet she hesitated. She couldn’t forget the pain of their parting conversation.
If only he’d forsake Katerina,
she thought
, and if only I hadn’t killed Janacek...
To go back was to risk rejection. But the longer she stayed away, the harder it was to return.

Besides, Violette had let her into the enchanted circle of her company, and held her there with an unseen force like gravity.

Charlotte watched her preparing for
Swan Lake,
mesmerised by her energy, the miracle of beauty unfolding. In rehearsal she was strict, an obsessive perfectionist, often short-tempered. Never unfair. Her dancers, male and female alike, feared, respected and worshipped her.

But she has no friends among them,
Charlotte thought.
Even the ballet patrons who socialise with her are no more than acquaintances. She will let no one close - least of all me. Why?

Violette had told the company that Charlotte was her “business assistant”, which was loosely true. No one questioned this. They were simply glad that the ballet had survived.

In the evenings, when Violette finally rested, she would collapse on a chaise longue and eat a huge meal while Geli iced her knees and massaged her shoulders. She seemed to be in constant pain.

“This is what ballet is,” she said dismissively, when Charlotte expressed concern. “It’s not glamorous, it’s hard work. If I don’t complain, nor must anyone else. I always tell my dancers, if you can’t endure the pain, find another career.”

Once or twice Charlotte persuaded Violette to walk along the river with her. They talked, but Violette was not the kind to confide, and Charlotte, too, had secrets. So their conversations were only about ballet business, and they trod warily around each other, not really knowing why they were together at all. Still Charlotte’s obsession was increasing.

She would watch the dancer’s slender neck and the movement of her throat as they talked, the lovely soft inkiness of her hair and the darkness of her brows against the pearly cloud of her face... and as soon as darkness fell, Charlotte would rush through the Crystal Ring and feed on a victim as if possessed. But never did she lay a finger on Violette.

She’d been there almost two weeks - it seemed longer, so much had happened - when restlessness compelled her, one night, to enter the rehearsal studio. She took in the empty, mirrored sweep of the room, moonlight fanning through the uncurtained windows, and imagined Violette there, pirouetting fluidly across the studio as she practised Odile’s steps.

How does she move like that?
Charlotte wondered.

She took off her shoes and began to move experimentally. Raising her arms she spun in a
foutté,
then lifted one leg in a high
écarté.
Her soft full skirt swirled round her legs. It felt pleasant, exhilarating. She ran on the tips of her toes and leapt in a
grande jeté
- and then something made her stop dead. Violette was in the doorway, dressed in a grey satin robe, glaring at her.

“You didn’t tell me you could dance.” Her tone was one of grave accusation.

“I can’t,” said Charlotte. “It was the first time I’ve tried.”

This was the wrong thing to say. Violette came towards her, eyes burning. Charlotte had never seen her so angry. “You liar! You were dancing
en pointe
in stockinged feet; that’s almost impossible, not to mention stupid. You’ll injure yourself. But no one can dance like that ‘the first time’. You’re mocking me. Why?”