Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (35 page)

'You are not listening,' he chided softly.

'I am,' she said, turning to him. 'It's just . . . well, I'm not used to things like this happening.' She shrugged her silk
puffed shoulders eloquently, all the more beautiful for her
lack of jewels. 'Ever since I came to St. Petersburg,' she mur
mured, 'life has been a fairy tale. I wonder when it will all
end.'

'Why should it? In any case, fairy tales have happy endings.'

She shook her head. 'Even they are not as perfect as this.'

He laughed. 'Ah, I suspect you are not a romantic, but a realist, after all. So much the better. But consider this. You
are no stranger to compliments, I take it.' It was a statement,
not a question which needed a reply.

She felt his fingers discreetly grazing the inside of one thigh.
Ripples of longing, mixed with revulsion, crawled up and
down her leg.

'You are going to be our greatest star, Senda,' he whispered,
using her first name for the first time.

Despite the overheated room, she found herself shivering.
She sidled away from him, clearing her throat. 'Monsieur Guerlain,' she said shakily, 'my grandmother used to have a
saying. "If you don't want to get eaten by the bear, then stay
out of the forest." '

'I am the bear in question?'

'All I'm trying to say . . .' She faltered, blushed suddenly, and lowered her lashes. Her voice was cold, but so whispery
that he had to lean close to hear her words. 'My body is not
part of the bargain.'

He threw back his dark head with its silver streak then, and
burst out laughing, as though at something exceedingly funny.
Finally he had to dab his eyes dry with a corner of his napkin.
'My dear, I am not a dirty old man, despite what you may
fear. You must excuse an old man's familiarity. We are that
way in the theatre, I'm afraid—quite fraternal, you know.
Believe me, I have no ulterior motives as far as your virtue
is concerned.' He swallowed champagne, still sputtering on laughter. 'How could I?' he finally asked her solemnly.

'I
...
I don't think I understand.'

His obsidian eyes searched hers gravely. 'You really don't,
do you?' he asked softly.

She shook her head.

'Then you are indeed someone out of a fairy tale. A princess
lost deep in the forest.' He smiled warmly and patted her
hand, this time in an obviously paternal gesture. 'Whatever
you do, keep your virtue as intact as your innocence. It is quite
refreshing, believe me. Especially in this cultured jungle they call St. Petersburg. And even more so in the cut-throat jungle
of the theatre.'

'And your touching my leg?' Her voice was trembling.

He looked at her steadily. 'That was a test, Madame Bora.
Something for me to go on. You are quite the mystery to me,
you know.'

She sat silently for a moment. 'And why did you have to
test me?'

His expression did not change. 'To understand where I
stood with you.' He paused. 'Or perhaps, where you stand
with someone else.'

She shook her head in disbelief. 'Then
...
it is true that
you really do not desire me. You're not doing all this . . .' Her
voice was crackly, and she swallowed a gulp of champagne to
soothe her parched throat. The chilled sparkly wine was so
refreshing she drained the glass. Somehow it helped loosen
her tongue as well. '
...
for my body?' She smiled shyly.

'Good heavens, no!' He made as though to shiver. 'Do you have any idea as to the legions of young women who try to
throw themselves at me each week in order to get a role?
Any
role! Of course I want your body. In my own way. Up onstage,
in whichever role you are to lose yourself in. But if I were after you physically . . .' His eyes took on a faraway look. 'Well, then, I expect even I would be finished in this town.'

She looked shocked. 'Finished?
You?'
Her voice quivered.
'But . . . why?'

But he never got to reply, for the tall blonde baroness on
his left said something clever, everyone was obliged to laugh,
and the conversation lightened and swept off in another direc
tion. The moment of his sharing any chilling, secretive know
ledge was past, her opportunity to learn it robbed by a clever
comment.

There would be no more chances to get champagne-
loosened answers, times to share dinner or private chats
together. For the very next morning, they got seriously down
to work.

Chapter 14

Senda was a natural student who could soak up a plethora of
subjects all at once and, most remarkably, seemingly at will.
She surprised even herself, although at first being a student
was a real struggle. In the Pale, little had been expected of
her, so she had never had the opportunity to prove herself in the classroom; no woman had. She had been born and bred
for housework and raising children, and the learning had been left to those rare male scholars such as her husband, Solomon.
Had it not been for Schmarya's teaching and her own studying,
learning would not have come as easily.

Her parlour had become the scene of an accelerated univer
sity course, with so many teachers and tutors coming and going
that one would inevitably be arriving just as another would
yet be preparing to leave. Within a week, there were so many
demands made upon her, and so much traffic through her new home, that she often came to wish she had never been
'discovered' and would just be left alone in peace and quiet
and privacy.

Countess Florinsky had been right, Senda came to realize
after the first few days of living in the apartment without help.
She couldn't clean, cook, take care of Tamara,
and
study, all
at the same time. There simply was no time to juggle. But she couldn't hand over her daughter to just any nanny or nurse, either. She had to find someone who loved children, who was
eminently capable and, most important, someone whom
Tamara liked. After interviewing six women, none of whom
suited both Senda and Tamara, it was Countess Florinsky who
came up with a solution.

'What about the nurse at the Danilov palace?' she asked.
'The one who took care of Tamara during your fitting.'

Senda looked pensive. Of course, she thought. The young
nurse with the German accent and cornflower-blue eyes. What
was her name? Ingrid? No, Inge.
Inge.
She was a possibility
she hadn't thought of, although she was rather young.

Sensing Senda's hesitancy, the Countess suggested, 'Why don't you hire her for a trial period, my dear? If she works
out, fine. If not, you can always look for another nurse.'

Senda had to hand it to her friend. The suggestion made
sense. 'But can we lure her from the palace?' Senda wondered.

'Of course we can, my dear,' the Countess told her defi
nitely. 'I will see to it immediately.'

It was arranged and Inge Meier, with her crown of flaxen
braids and cornflower-blue eyes, moved into the small spare
bedroom next to the nursery.

To Senda's surprise, she felt herself relaxing immediately.
From the start, Inge was a jewel who made her life easier.
And best of all, Inge adored Tamara, and Tamara adored her
in return. It was a mutual admiration such as Senda had never
hoped for. There was nothing Inge wouldn't do, and she wore many hats around the house: she was nanny, cook, and lady's
maid all rolled into one. She never needed to be told what to
do, and always took the initiative without asking questions. Mornings, she would get up before anyone else was awake
and make breakfast; when Senda's tutors began arriving, Inge and Tamara would disappear, shopping or laundering. While
Senda was at the theatre, the house was cleaned as though
by magical elves. Senda couldn't believe her luck in having obtained Inge's services, and thus began a friendship that
would never disappoint, never fail.

All in all, Senda often considered, with the exception of
Schmarya's ever-lengthening absence, St. Petersburg had been
wonderful to her. She was beginning a career, she lived in a lovely apartment, she had a countess for her best friend, and
a nurse for Tamara who was becoming less a servant and more
and more a devoted member of the family.

Except for Schmarya, what else could she possibly ask for?

But there was no time to think about him now, for the
lessons to groom her for stardom continued in earnest.

Each day turned into a gruelling blur of lessons, a contest of
wills between Senda and her tutors: Mademoiselle Clayette
for French, Madame Rubenova for elocution, Monsieur Vesier for singing, and from six until nine o'clock at night,
another French tutor, Mademoiselle de Rémy-Marceau, took
over combined duties as cook, maid, and language instructor.

There's so much to learn, Senda realized soberly. I'll never
get it all right.

Even over dinner with Mademoiselle Rémy-Marceau,
Senda was obliged to speak French. At times, never being allowed to speak Russian in her own house was infuriating.

With frustration, she wondered how it could be that
Tamara, whom Inge was amusing in the nursery during the
highly vocal language lessons, was learning French through
the walls faster than she was next to her instructors.

'What colour upstages all other costumes onstage?'

'White.'

'Where is stage right as I am sitting now?'

Pointing:
'There.'

'Which note is this?'

'C flat.'

'Qu'est-ce que c'est?'

'Une fourchette.'

The little free time she had, she spent with Tamara, stealing
a half-hour here, getting up an hour earlier there, so they
could share some part of the day.