A French Pirouette (2 page)

She glanced at her watch. Malik was typically late. She’d so wanted to talk to him before they left for the theatre but that clearly wasn’t going to be an option.

Half an hour later than she’d expected him, Malik let himself into the apartment. “
Desolé
,” he said. “I got held up in traffic. That’s looking good,” he said moving closer. “Stunning in fact.”

“Thank you. I’m really pleased with it,” Suzette answered. “I decided I needed a cover-up to go with that dress I wore for the Cannes Film Festival last year. The one with no back, remember?”

“The scarlet one that caused such a sensation?” Malik said smiling. “The one a certain film star was very jealous over?”

“That’s the one,” Suzette said, carefully placing the material on the special cloth she wrapped her work in.

Malik bent over to take a closer look. “It’s beautiful,” he said studying the intricate butterfly, vine and flower layout Suzette was painstakingly creating.

“It’s meant to be a tribute to Lesage—I adore his designs. I hope to finish it in time for Monaco. Talking of Monaco how did it go?”

Malik shrugged. “I would prefer to be using the Princess Grace Theatre but the Grimaldi Forum has everything we need.” He glanced at her feet. “How’s the ankle?”

“As good as it ever gets these days,” Suzette said glancing at him. “Can we talk? I need your advice.”

“Over supper,” Malik promised. “But now we need to get to the Champs Élysées or we will miss the First Act.”

“And whose fault would that be?” Suzette gently grumbled at him.

After the performance, it was nearly eleven o’clock before they were shown to a secluded table in the bistro and she was able to begin to voice her worries and fears to Malik about what the future might hold for her.

“I can’t believe I said that line about just wanting to be me, on live TV,” she said. “I mean, it’s almost as bad as saying ‘I want to be alone’. Which I don’t,” she said laughing at the absurdity of it.

Malik, when she looked at him wasn’t laughing.

“It must be all this thinking about retiring getting to me.” She sighed. “The truth please, Malik. Do you think my inevitable retirement from dancing is getting ever closer?” she said as he poured their champagne.

Carefully he put the bottle in the ice bucket, handed her a glass, picked up his own and took a sip before answering her.

“You still dance beautifully and are rated as one of the top ballerinas in the world, but I think the injuries are mounting up, which will become more and more a problem for you.”

Suzette sighed and waited. Malik was confirming what she already knew deep down.

“After Monaco the only date you have is the short season here in town with me for
Swan Lake
at the Paris Opera, no?”

Suzette nodded. “Not even been asked to do
The Nutcracker
this Christmas.”

Malik reached across the table and took her hand in his. “I think after Paris,
ma chérie
, you would be advised to think about taking a new direction. Perhaps teach? Choreography?
Non!
I forbid choreography.” He wagged a finger at her. “I do not need the competition.”

“As if I would ever be as good as you,” Suzette said.

“Maybe I take you on as my assistant, that way you have a new career and I need not worry.”

Suzette shook her head at him before taking a sip of her champagne. “So it seems
Swan Lake
will be my personal swansong. My life over.”

“
Non
—you will have a new beginning,” Malik said. “Look at me. I thought it was the end of my world when I had to retire but I’m fine. I love my new career. You will too. I will help you find a new career.”

“Doing what, Malik? I honestly don’t think I want to go down the choreography route—not even as your assistant. And I’m not at all sure I’ve the patience for teaching—I still remember how horrible my friends and I were to our teachers.” She drained her champagne glass before continuing. “As for dealing with all the pushy yummy mummies who are convinced their little darling is going to be the star of the decade.” She shook her head. “Couldn’t do it.”

She watched as the waiter placed a salad niçoise in front of her and steak and
frites
in front of Malik. “That’s another thing—one day I want to be able to eat what I fancy without worrying.”

“If it will make you feel better have a
frite
,” Malik said piercing one onto his fork and holding it out.

“Thank you.” Suzette chewed the
frite
slowly, making it last. “Life would be a lot simpler if only I had a family and a patient husband waiting in the wings to whisk me away to live a normal life.”

“Pshaw!” Malik said. “Who wants a normal life anyway? It would be boring. Something will turn up; you’ll see. Paris is months away yet. You’ve got plenty of time to think and make decisions.”

Bleakly Suzette smiled at him. The trouble was, she realised with a pang, she was starting to yearn desperately for a husband and a normal family life—always had really, but dancing had taken precedence over everything.

“Have you truly never wanted to marry? Have a family?” she asked.

Malik shook his head. “Never been high on my agenda, no. I’ve told you before—my home life wasn’t that great. I didn’t see the need to re-create a stressful situation that I was happier without. But then, unlike you, I don’t have a biological clock ticking away.”

“No, you don’t,” Suzette said. “And you have at least been true to yourself. Whereas I…” she paused “…I have danced my life away, never really listening to the ticking of that clock. Perhaps retiring at the end of the year will be a good thing. I’ll certainly have time to listen to, and maybe, if it’s not too late, do something about the ticking.” She’d certainly have all the time in the world to just be herself, whether she liked it or not.

She sighed. It was just that the word ‘retirement’ made her feel so old. So past it.

“OK, guys. Let’s take a short break. Back in fifteen,” Malik said. Suzette, along with the rest of the dancers, breathed a sigh of gratitude.

The company had arrived in Monaco three days ago—days that had been filled with rehearsals and little else. Today was the final one before the dress rehearsal tomorrow. Opening night would be Friday with Prince Albert and Princess Charlene in the audience.

Back in her dressing room in the Grimaldi Forum, Suzette poured herself some water and did a few stretching exercises to keep herself limbered up. Although initially she’d found Malik’s choreography challenging she was enjoying dancing this modern ballet now she’d finally broken through and mastered its intricacies.

Her partner, Zac, a young and up-and-coming Russian, was good and Suzette had rapidly felt confident in their onstage chemistry.

A gentle knock on the door before Malik entered. He’d always been considerate—never assuming he could just barge in on her.

“You ready for the last scene in Act Three?”

Suzette nodded. It was a long complicated piece with her doing several grand jetés in mid-air, before an emotional dance with Zac, which involved her jumping into his arms.

“Think so. Bit worried about doing the splits in mid-air actually,” she said. “My dancing repertoire hasn’t featured them much recently.”

“Relax. You mastered them fine yesterday,” Malik assured her.

Back down in the theatre, Suzette went through her pre-dancing stretching exercises while Malik put the corps de ballet through their routine.

Standing in the wings waiting for her introductory music to play, Suzette felt the shiver of nervous stage fright she always experienced before she danced on stage. This is what she lived for. How would she survive without a regular dose of ballet-filled adrenalin anticipation?

Zac, in the opposite wing, smiled across at her, before striding onto the stage ready for the first of their pas de deux. Five seconds later Suzette joined him and their bodies synchronised together in the flowing ballet movements and everything else faded away as they lost themselves in the evocative music.

Suzette executed a final perfect allegro when disaster struck. Landing badly she end up in a crumpled heap on the wooden stage.

“Stop the music!” Malik shouted as he rushed to her side. “Get the doctor.”

“No,” Suzette said. “I don’t need the doctor. I’ll be fine. Just give me ten minutes and a cold compress. Help me up, please?” She held out a hand to Malik.

Even as Malik gently pulled her onto her feet before placing an arm around her shoulders to steady her before helping her off stage, Suzette knew she was in trouble. Real trouble. Experience told her that this injury was not going to heal overnight.

After the cold compress had been applied, Malik insisted she take a cab back to the hotel. “You know it is impossible for you to dance again today, Suzette. Maybe with twenty-four hours rest and ice.” He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Suzette could tell he was already mentally assessing the options he had.

Once alone back in her hotel room, Suzette gave way to the tears that had been threatening from the second she’d fallen. She knew that final jump had been perfect. How could she have been so stupid as to mess up the landing? And ruin everything? Thank heavens it hadn’t happened on opening night in front of Prince Albert and Princess Charlene. Her shame would have been absolute.

Malik arrived back early evening and insisted she ordered some food from room service before opening the bottle of champagne he’d brought with him.

“I’m hardly celebrating,” Suzette snapped at him.

“This is medicinal—to make you feel better,” Malik answered, handing her a glass. “Suzette,
ma chérie
, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to give the role to Donna,” he said quietly.

“Every understudy’s dream,” Suzette said. “The show must go on.” She took a long swig of champagne from her glass. “Maybe I should have retired like you after
Manon
at Covent Garden. That was a truly magical production, wasn’t it? Des Grieux was a perfect last role for you.”

Malik smiled and nodded as she continued.

“Whereas my acclaimed performance of one of the greatest female ballet roles ever is being overshadowed and all but forgotten by all the injuries since then.” Suzette wiped an escaping tear off her cheek with her free hand. “All I’m going to be remembered for is being forced to retire due to injuries.” She smiled wanly at him as she held out her empty glass for a refill.

“Not true,” Malik said carefully pouring the champagne. “People still talk about it, us, and your wonderful interpretation of the role. You’ll always be remembered as one of the best.”

He turned at the sound of a discrete knock and opened the door to room service.

Watching in silence as the waiter placed the food on the small table, Suzette sensed the stress coming from Malik. Even as he urged her to sit and eat she knew what he was preparing himself to say.

“I can’t stay long, Suzette,” Malik said, looking at his watch. “Donna’s rehearsing right now with Zac. I have to get back down there.”

“I could be back before the show ends. A couple of days and my ankle could be strong enough to dance.” Even as she said it, she knew she was lying to herself as well as Malik.

This injury would take weeks rather than days to heal, which meant yet more RICE time before battling her body back into dancing fitness. There was no point either in telling Malik about her bruised and sore arm, which in its own way was as bad as her ankle and would make any port de bras movements difficult for weeks to come.

Malik shook his head. “I can’t take the risk.”

“No I suppose not.” Suzette sighed, facing up to the inevitable. “Wish Donna luck from me. You’d better get back down to the Forum.”

“You’ve got everything you need?” Malik said, clearly relieved she’d taken the news so well.

Suzette nodded. Of course she had everything she needed—except a functioning ankle and an unbruised arm. No doubt the side of her body would be a mass of interesting colours by the morning.

As Malik closed the door behind him, Suzette pushed her salmon salade away untouched before downing her glass of champagne and immediately pouring herself another one. It was one way to drown both the physical and the mental pain. Besides, Malik had said it was medicinal.

Collapsing onto the bed, she switched on the TV and began to flick through the channels. Football, quiz games, reality shows, talk… Hang on that was the show she’d recorded weeks ago. She recognised the woman crime writer.

The camera moved around the various guests and Suzette saw herself on screen, watched herself uttering those words, “Sometimes I wish I could just be me.”

Thoughtfully Suzette muted the TV sound. Had this latest accident just granted her unacknowledged wish? She looked down at her injured leg. Her knee was showing signs of a big colourful bruise while her ankle was already two or three times its normal size. Suzette sighed. She’d been here so many times in the last few years.

But with the understudy now dancing in her place she didn’t have to try and rush getting fit. This Monaco show had been her only engagement of the year until Malik’s Paris show in the autumn. Malik.

Would he still want her to dance in view of this recent catastrophe? Would he take the risk with her again? He’d already agreed with her that
Swan Lake
in Paris would probably be her own swansong from the world of ballet. She couldn’t bear it if he cancelled her contract saying she wasn’t fit enough to dance, thus denying her a final performance and all the accolades usually given to a retiring dancer.

Suzette straightened her shoulders. There was a whole summer before then—more than enough time to recuperate from these injuries and get completely fit again. Banish the ‘face it your dancing days are finished’ demons. One more chance to show them what she could do and then—obscurity.

Carefully she stood up and reached for the walking stick that someone in the theatre had handed her as she left. Leaning heavily on it she made her way across the room and, after picking up the phone, asked for room service.

“I will need some help tomorrow morning, please,” she said. “About ten o’clock? Thank you.”