Echoes of the Dance (9 page)

We'll put a wire fence round the ponds to make it more difficult.'

Roly feels happier and, as the weeks pass, he is comforted by the fact that the heron is easily frightened away. Even Claude's presence in the wilderness garden keeps it at bay and Roly relaxes, though he still feels a need to protect the fish. It is best to see the heron here, on the banks of the stream, where he can watch it with pleasure that is untinged with anxiety.

Later, when supper was finished and Daisy had gone away to the stable flat, Mim curled up at the end of the sofa nearest to the fire.

‘So do you approve of Daisy?' she asked, smiling a little as if she already knew the answer.

‘I do.' Roly sat down opposite and lifted Uncle Bernard up beside him. ‘She's certainly very direct. You were right to warn me.'

‘Daisy has a keen desire to know how people tick.' Mim closed her eyes, the better to see Daisy and be able to explain her motivation. ‘It's not a superficial interest, just so that she can gossip or feel superior; she genuinely wants to understand. When we had a pupil with a problem or a secret fear of some kind it was often Daisy in whom they would confide. She has an extraordinary gift for drawing out the most reticent of people.'

‘So I've noticed,' he answered drily.

Her eyes opened swiftly, eyebrows raised.

‘No.' He shook his head in answer to her unspoken question. ‘I held my tongue but there was a moment when I saw how easy it might be to unburden my soul to her. You're right. There's a kind of empathy about her that's dangerous.'

She watched him for a moment, trying to gauge the depth of his seriousness.

‘After all,' she said at last, ‘it was all so long ago. Would it matter? Who would be interested now in the truth?'

‘Monica?' he suggested rather bitterly. ‘Nat?'

‘Perhaps you're right.' Hearing the tension in his voice she sought to turn the subject. ‘How is Kate? Has she managed to come to any decisions?'

She saw his hands relax and, as he began to talk about Kate and the dogs, she was able to sit back comfortably in the corner of the sofa knowing that the difficult moment had passed.

CHAPTER TEN

Mim stood at her bedroom window looking down into the wilderness. She was trying to decide why she hadn't told Roly or Daisy about the real problem she was facing. It was true that there had been several mishaps but these were fairly common in the day-to-day running of a stage school. Something more worrying than a twisted ankle and an understudy with tonsillitis was occupying her thoughts: her American artistic director, Andy Parr, was being tempted back to New York. He was young and lively, inspirational to work with, and the children adored him.

Mim's partner, Jane West, had refused to take the question of his departure seriously and a heated interchange had followed.

‘You can't leave us, Andy,' Jane had said flatly at last. ‘You've been so happy here. I mean, why?'

He'd raised his hands as if to ward off her angry disbelief, smiling a little.

‘It's been great working with these kids, I've loved every second of it, you know that, but this is a chance to really stretch myself. And Martha's kinda homesick.' He'd shrugged. ‘She's pregnant and you know how it is? She'd like to be nearer her folks.'

‘It's a wonderful opportunity for you.' Mim had spoken for the first time. ‘Working with children necessarily has limitations and I can see that a move to a prestigious ballet company opens up all kinds of exciting possibilities.'

He'd turned to her gratefully. ‘That's it. That's exactly how it is.'

She'd smiled at him, exerting her charm. ‘But you won't leave us in the lurch, I hope? You know the autumn term is going to be such a vital one. Apart from the Charity Matinée there's the discussions about the new television contract. It's an important one for us, Andy. If they hear that you're leaving us we might not get it. Could you wait until the New Year?'

He'd shifted uncomfortably. ‘They're pressing me,' he'd admitted. ‘Perhaps we can work something out . . . Hey, is that the time? I'm late already. See you guys later.'

He'd hurried away, leaving Mim and Jane in the tiny, overcrowded office where most staff meetings took place.

‘Are you trying to let him off the hook?' Jane had demanded.

‘I'm trying to buy us time,' Mim had answered. ‘Face it, Jane; he's going. Let's try to make certain it's on our terms.'

Now, as she stared down into the garden, she wondered whether she was being wise to attempt to hold him. If Andy's heart was elsewhere then all his inspiration and passion would have gone with it. Mentally she reviewed the few possible substitutes. Andy was going to be very difficult to replace, not only because the children trusted and respected him but also because his reputation had earned the school a certain amount of kudos in the world of television.

The school had produced famous actors, opera singers, dancers and entertainers. It was highly acclaimed and its classes were full. Andy, however, had added a certain glamour; a glitzy lustre, that had opened up new opportunities. A documentary had been made about one of the school's most famous protégées: an actress who amusingly narrated her rise to fame, beginning with her first lessons at the school and finishing with her present, long-running West End success. She and Andy were good friends and Mim knew that the publicity that the school had enjoyed throughout this series was not due simply to the actress's affection for her alma mater.

There had been other high-profile initiatives, the newest being the prospect of a two-year contract for a series of advertisements to be run by an international engineering group well known for its avant-garde equipment. The agency had explained that the television producer would want close collaboration with the school on the series of advertisements that planned to use animation and robotics to promote artificial intelligence products within the domestic scene.

They'd seen Andy's work, knew that the children would be professional and keen, and had judged it to be a winning combination.

Would they still be so keen, wondered Mim, once the word got round that Andy was leaving?

A balance was needed here: Andy's continuing goodwill and influence combining with a new artistic director who was willing to be flexible. The children would need to feel confident, as well as excited, and it might be necessary to hold the old and the new together for a short time. It was necessary to find a delicate way forward, balancing very carefully, until her objectives had been achieved.

Mim closed her eyes and took a very deep breath. Gradually the tension flowed away from her and was replaced with a calm readiness to wait for the next move to be made clear. It was a formula she'd learned as a child from her mother.

‘Come and sit with me,' she'd say when Mim was fearful or cross. ‘Now cup your hands like this; one inside the other, palms upward, and close your eyes. Unclench those fists. That's good. Now take a deep breath. Really deep and slow. Can you feel the air going in? Think about it going all the way down. Now breathe out. Do it all over again. Good. Now get it into a rhythm. What can you hear?'

Something being dropped upstairs; the creaking of the old timbers; Claude snoring – slowly these quiet sounds centred Mim's thoughts and quieted her anxious mind. Other images drifted in her consciousness and an awareness of some kind of waiting presence; a power for good that lifted her and guided her if she could only consent to give herself to it completely.

‘Feeling better?' Her mother's face focused again before her dreamy eyes and Mim nodded contentedly. Neither could explain but nor would they deny this gift that enabled them.

Years later, Jane had learned to trust Mim's instinct, though she had soon given up any attempt to analyse it.

‘Do you pray?' she'd once asked curiously, seeing Mim sitting quietly in a corner, eyes closed and palms cupped upwards as if ready to receive a blessing.

Mim thought about it. ‘Sometimes,' she'd answered. ‘If you call it praying.'

‘What do you say?'

‘I find that the word “Help!” is as good as anything else.'

‘You're crazy. Doolally.' Her partner had shaken her head dismissively. ‘But keep at it. It's working.'

Now, Mim wondered if Jane would be quite so ready this time to trust the school to an instinct to go forward cautiously but calmly. It would require tact and courage to create a balance between Jane's toughness and Andy's happiness: both were necessary to achieve the school's immediate objectives.

Below the window the dogs appeared in the garden and then Roly emerged, carrying a tray and followed by Daisy. The little procession wound along the path to the paved area beside the larger of the ponds. As Mim watched them setting out the tea things, pausing now and then to talk more intently together, it was as if she could see inside each of them a hard, tight core of unspoken anxieties and fears that weighted their hearts.

‘Monica.' She murmured the name aloud, wondering if Roly would ever be able to free himself from the guilt and anger that complicated the relationship with his ex-wife. Was it possible that Daisy might be some kind of agent for good here? Could she use that gift of empathy to enable him to admit the truth and free himself at last?

And Daisy herself? Mim's gaze softened as she watched this dear child that she'd nurtured and encouraged. Daisy was hiding her own terrors very well indeed. Mim knew all about the hazards of strain and accident to dancers and she could guess how Daisy's mind would be fretting and worrying to know the long-term outcome of her own injury. Her love and compassion reached out to both of them as they stood together, unconscious of her scrutiny.

‘The hire car has to be back on Saturday,' Daisy was saying to Roly. ‘I've got an appointment with the massage therapist on Monday. And there's the Nureyev exhibition beginning next week. I want to see that.'

She fiddled with her long conker-coloured hair, combing it through with her fingers before catching it into a bundle with a scrunchie, thinking: And there's Paul. How is he? What is he doing?

Roly caught that down-turned secret look and wondered who he was: this man that was drawing her back to Bath.

‘Come back soon, though, darling.' Mim came out into the garden, folding a long scarf around her neck, stooping to caress the dogs. ‘I must go back first thing tomorrow but I shall be down for the half-term week at the beginning of June. Could you manage a few days then? We've got some chums for the bank holiday weekend itself but perhaps from the Tuesday?'

‘I'm sure I could. I'd really like that.' Daisy glanced at Roly. ‘As long as I shan't be in the way.'

He smiled. ‘Wasn't I just trying to persuade you to stay on for a while? Of course you won't be in the way.'

He poured the tea whilst Mim and Daisy talked shop and the dogs sat in a row, yawning but alert, trying not to look towards the cake. Quite suddenly and easily a little silence fell between them all: each, for a moment, was locked in an inward contemplation. The wilderness seemed to be held in a fine web of thick golden light. It glanced between tender green leaves and cloudy pale blossom, striking in shifting patterns through the waters of the pond and polishing the brilliant flowers of the kingcups to a richer yellow. Gleaming shapes darted and fled through rippling, wavering forests of weed, a snail propelled itself gently in the pellucid depths whilst a shadowy newt wriggled swiftly out of sight beneath a stone. The heron's upward soaring flight, which carried him high over the alder trees, brought him into full view of the small group beside the ponds. Gracefully he veered away with strong, measured wing-beats and vanished downstream.

Uncle Bernard began to scratch energetically, breaking the spell, and they turned to each other as if waking from a dream.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Monica drove carefully along the narrow cobbled lane, passing a row of cottages whose doors opened directly on to this once ancient byway, which now ended in a steep muddy track overgrown with a tangle of brambles. On the opposite side of the lane was the high perimeter wall belonging to a riverside dwelling. None of the neighbours in Nat's row showed any inclination to open up the track or prune back the thicket of holly and thorn.

‘It was probably an old droving road but it suits us fine as it is,' Nat said. ‘If it were to be tidied up too much we'd have a continuous stream of people trekking past trying to get down to the river.'

His cottage was the last of the row and had a large lean-to garage where he parked his pick-up and kept all his tools. Monica negotiated the car past the garage and tucked it in tight under the small stretch of wall that enclosed the tiny garden. She climbed out and stared critically at the cottage. The wooden window frames were freshly painted and some new terracotta pots stood in a row to the left of the stable-door beside the wooden tub full of herbs.

Janna, she thought at once. Nat would never plant lavender or pansies, or sit on a cushion on the doorstep in the sun as Janna did. Monica's lips compressed a fraction as she remembered last summer and how Janna had sat, all wanton in the sunshine, her skirt rucked above her bare pointed knees, laughing and running her fingers through the herbs.