Prima Donna (11 page)

Sighing, she turned back to face the room. Will was asleep again in the chair, his head propped up in his hands. His skin was sallow, the hollows of his eyes grey, and even in his sleep he
looked exhausted. Exhausted, but still handsome.

Sophie couldn’t help but smile as she looked at him. His long legs were splayed in front of him, his shirtsleeves rolled up. He was still in his black tie.

Her heart lurched as she suddenly realized that so was she.

She looked down at the creased Prada dress and her shoulders slumped. It couldn’t possibly be returned to the store now. She’d worn it for eighteen hours straight and no amount of
dry-cleaning would restore this dress to its former glory – sweat stains had swirled under the arms, and there were grease marks across the lap from where she’d absent-mindedly wiped
her fingers after eating a packet of crisps. She chewed her lip, instantly stressed. She couldn’t exactly ask Pia to pick up the bill now – it didn’t matter that she hadn’t
wanted to wear it in the first place – but there was no way she could afford it on her salary.

Well, that’s if she even had a salary any more. Was she going to be out of a job now? She looked over at Pia – wan and immobile in the bed – her right leg strapped up in
plaster all the way to the knee.

She stood up, agitated, knocking over a chair. She needed to get out of here. Get some air. Move about a bit. But the noise had disturbed Will and he sat up, panicked and disoriented.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked, his voice deep with sleep. ‘Has she woken up?’

Sophie shook her head. ‘No. Not yet. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just thought I’d get some fresh air. I’m going a bit stir-crazy with all this waiting
about.’

Will stretched out his arms, yawning. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’ He looked over at Pia, his eyes coming to a rest on her mutilated foot, her bunion and the calloused skin beneath
her toes left uncovered by the cast.

Sophie watched his scrutiny, and felt protective of her.

‘She hates her feet,’ she said quickly. ‘She’s always wishing she could pretty them up with pedicures. She never wears sandals. But she wouldn’t be able to dance
with soft skin, you know.’

‘I know,’ Will said, amused. ‘I wasn’t judging her by the state of her toenails.’

Sophie smiled, embarrassed to have been such a Rottweiler. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It’s sweet,’ he grinned. ‘No, I was looking at her foot because I was wondering if what we’ve done is enough.’

‘What you’ve done, you mean,’ Sophie corrected. ‘If it wasn’t for you, her foot could have just been reset any old way, without any consideration for her
career.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s just all happened so fast. One minute, she’s standing there, looking like a goddess and frightening the life out of me. The next, she’s all
crumpled and defenceless.’ He took Pia’s tiny hand in his and stroked it. ‘I can hardly take it in. I’ve known her less than – what? A week, is it?’

‘Five days,’ Sophie murmured. Five days since he’d met her too, but, as ever, that wasn’t the point.

‘Five days,’ he repeated, his head cocked to the side as Pia lay in front of him, every inch the Sleeping Beauty. Only Sophie knew this Prince Charming’s kiss wasn’t
going to be enough for a Happy Ever After. Not by a long shot.

‘Look, Will,’ Sophie said slowly. ‘I don’t want to . . . uh, put a dampener on things. But you should probably . . . um . . . brace yourself for a rocky response when she
wakes up.’

Will squinted at her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, she’s been unconscious since they gave her the morphine in St Moritz. She doesn’t even know she’s in England yet, much less in hospital. It’s all going to be
a big shock for her when she comes round. And then the doctor will hit her with the prognosis and God only knows what that’s going to be. Even if she can ever dance again, the surgery means
she’s going to be out of action for a couple of months at least, and she’s going to be an absolute
nightmare
when she hears that. You have no idea,’ Sophie muttered,
shaking her head.

‘I understand all that. But why would she take it out on me?’

‘Because she’s going to have a lot to thank
you
for,’ Sophie shrugged. ‘And Pia doesn’t like being beholden to anyone. Not even for career-saving
surgery.’

There was a rap at the door, and a nurse came in.

‘I’ve just come to do Miss Soto’s obs,’ she smiled, walking over to the screen and writing down the blood pressure and pulse figures on her chart.

Mr Rosen came in after her, and smiled at them both.

‘Has the patient woken up yet?’ he asked, going straight over to Pia, who was still very obviously unconscious.

Sophie shook her head and sat back down on the window ledge again.

Mr Rosen picked up Pia’s hand and squeezed it. ‘Pia, can you hear me?’

Nothing.

‘Can you hear me, Pia? Try to wake up.’

There was nothing for a long moment; then, softly, Pia groaned.

‘Good girl, Pia, that’s it,’ Mr Rosen urged. ‘Wake up now. You’re okay.’

Pia’s eyelids fluttered, her head moved to the side, away from Will, away from the flat light that now seemed to stream through the window. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

There was a long silence as her eyes tried to focus, as her mind tried to remember. ‘Where am I?’ she asked finally.

‘You’re in hospital, Pia. You had an accident in Switzerland. Do you remember?’

Pia squinted, confused.

‘You’re in England now. My name’s Mr Rosen. Your director, Mr Baudrand, asked me to look after you.’

‘Baudrand . . .’ Pia repeated, more awake now, her eyes focusing. She looked at the doctor and Sophie saw the terror in her eyes.

‘It’s okay, it’s okay now,’ he soothed. ‘There’s nothing to be frightened of, Pia. You came in with a severe crush injury to your right foot. There were
fractures to the first, second and fifth metatarsal bones, with what we call a Lisfranc dislocation of the first metatarsal.’

‘A what?’ Pia looked around, distressed, for Sophie. She saw Will first.

‘It’s okay, Pia, I’m here,’ Sophie said, springing forward.

‘What . . . why is he here?’ Pia asked her. Sophie knew she meant Will.

‘He helped you, Pia. He made sure you were treated by the best. He looked after you.’

Tears welled up in Pia’s eyes but she didn’t look at him.

‘I know this is a big shock, Pia,’ Mr Rosen said, bringing her attention back to him again. ‘And I don’t want to overload you with information. Let me just say that we
have stabilized the bones in your foot with K wires, which we should be able to remove in a few weeks. Usually, I would have put in a formal fixation plate, but Mr Baudrand left me in no doubt as
to the scale of your talent, and that would have left you unable to dance professionally again.’

Pia squeezed her eyes shut in horror at his words, trying to blank them out. But they kept on coming.

‘So, I have put the K wires in, on the condition that you remain completely off your feet for four weeks.’ He patted Pia’s hand. ‘If you want to dance at the elite level
again, it’s vital you don’t put any load on your foot before then. After that, all being well, that cast can come off, and we’ll fit you with a rigid arch support and a
weight-bearing plaster. The K wires can come out six weeks after that but I’m afraid we’re looking at four months before you’ll be able to start dancing again, and we won’t
know until then whether or not you can make a full return to the international stage.’

Pia kept her eyes squeezed shut. It was her worst nightmare come true. The very worst thing that could have happened to her. Well, the second worst. The very worst had already happened.

‘Now, how’s the pain, Pia?’ Mr Rosen asked, seeing her wince. She was blanched with pain. ‘Is it bad?’

Pia nodded.

‘Can you rate it on a scale of one to ten?’

‘Eight,’ she managed. Mr Rosen nodded. It must be bad. In his experience, ballerinas had a higher pain threshold than any other group of athletes he worked with, often dancing with
injury for weeks before seeking help.

‘Nurse, plenty of fluids and Perocet every four hours, please.’

The nurse nodded and attached a new saline bag to Pia’s drip.

‘I’ll be back to see you later, okay?’ Mr Rosen smiled, squeezing her hand again. ‘Everything’s going to be okay. Your friends did a fantastic job getting you over
here.’

Pia watched him leave. Then she looked back at Sophie.

‘What is it?’ Sophie whispered. ‘What can I get you?’

Pia murmured something, but she couldn’t hear. All the drugs were making Pia’s speech slurred.

‘What? I didn’t catch that,’ Sophie said, leaning in.

Pia drew herself up as much as she possibly could.

‘I said get out of here,’ she hissed. ‘You’re fired.’

‘Pia! Pia! It’s okay. You’re okay,’ a voice said, so close it tickled her ear. She felt weight on her arms, holding her down. She tried to move them but
the pressure increased and she couldn’t. It was too much, too strong.

‘Pia, don’t! Stop it! You’re hurt. It’ll make things worse.’

But she resisted, thrashing, trying to get free. She wouldn’t let this happen. She had to . . .

‘You’re safe now.’

Safe? The word stopped her like a bullet. Safe. Her body went limp. It was defeated. Exhausted. Lame.

‘It’s me, Pia. Look at me. Open your eyes and look at me, Pia.’ The voice was calm. Kind.

Pia opened her eyes slowly. Pale grey eyes, like a cat’s, stared back at her. She flinched at their inquisitiveness. So sharp. But the voice had been so soft.

‘Do you remember where you are, Pia?’ Will asked.

She slid her eyes around the room – the peach walls, the grey louvered blinds, the smell of sanitized oblivion. She nodded.

‘Do you remember why you’re here?’

She nodded again, her eyes filling like pools. She felt her hand squeezed.

‘And do you remember me?’

She looked back at him. He was in a fresh shirt but there were red rims around his eyes and shadow on his jaw. The images came swiftly and steadily. Yes, she remembered him – his cocksure
grin, those knowing eyes, the polo groupies, the open wallet. She looked away again.

‘Where’s Sophie?’ she mumbled.

There was a brief pause. ‘She’s gone. Like you asked,’ he added diplomatically. He didn’t mention the poor girl’s tears in the corridor after Pia had slipped into
unconsciousness again. ‘Would you like me to get her back for you?’ he asked.

She shook her head slowly. She remembered all of that too. It felt like an age ago.

‘How long . . .’ she whispered croakily. She felt so damned weak.

‘They’ve been keeping you heavily sedated to minimize movement of your foot. It’s vital everything knits well in the first week. You’ve been sleeping almost constantly
for the past two days.’

She jerked her head towards him. Two days?

‘Just try to relax. You’re in good hands.’

He pulled the sheet up smoothly and tucked it under her arms. She looked up at him.

‘Mr Rosen is very pleased with your progress. He’s said you can be discharged in a few days. I’ve made arrangements for you to be taken to my house in the country for your
convalescence.’

‘No,’ she muttered. ‘Home.’

Will shook his head. ‘They’ve said you’re not to fly for at least a month. And
ideally
not at all until they can take the wires out.’ He squeezed her tiny hand
again. ‘Anyway, you’re going to need a lot of support. You can’t be on your own at a time like this. Monsieur Baudrand and Mr Rosen and I have already discussed your
rehabilitation programme. They’ve given me the name of an excellent physiotherapist, Evie Grainger. Do you know her?’

Pia nodded. Evie had been a principal dancer at the New York City Ballet but had retrained as a ballet-specialized physiotherapist after an injury cut short her dancing career. She was a big
character who charged even bigger fees but everybody paid them because her own experience as a former principal meant she knew exactly the strains each individual ballet placed on the
dancers’ bodies:
Giselle
was a nightmare for producing twisted knees;
Swan Lake
for lower back pain;
Manon
for sheer full-body strain . . .

‘She’s in Japan touring with the Maryinsky at the moment, but don’t worry – her contract won’t stand up to much once my lawyers have been set to work on it.
We’ll get her to bring you back to fitness before you know it.’

Pia looked away. She didn’t share his confidence. Technically, yes, she knew Evie and the doctors may well be able to get her back on
pointe
, extending, twirling and leaping. But
to be part of the elite, a principal needed
ballon
, and that’s something that can’t possibly be conveyed with a robotic foot held together by wire. She felt a black chasm of
despair open up inside her and she clamped her eyes shut, desperate not to show him her terror.

Will coughed awkwardly, unsure of where to stand or what to do with his hands. The silence between them grew and he paced back to the window.

‘Of course, I recognize that all this is my fault,’ he said finally.

Pia swivelled her eyes towards him.

‘I mean, after you paid such a lot of money not to have dinner with me, I guess I should have known you’d go to extraordinary lengths not to sleep in my bed either. Personally I
think this is a bit much but . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Well, I should have known seducing you would require passing international tests of valour.’

A ghost of a smile hovered on her lips.

‘Look,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘You have been very kind to me and I am grateful for what you have done, but I can’t let you take over my recovery.’

‘Why not?’

She sighed. ‘Because I don’t know you.’

‘Yes, you do,’ he countered. ‘You wouldn’t have had so much fun insulting a complete stranger as you have had insulting me.’ He took her hand in his. ‘And
I’ve had more fun with you snubbing me than I had that time with two supermodels in a Jacuzzi.’

Her eyes widened; his glittered.