Prima Donna (25 page)

The two men laughed even harder, losing valuable speed, but Pia and Violet just glared at each other.

‘Ready to lose again?’ Violet asked Pia, before whacking Rob hard on the bottom. He let out a yowl of pain and accelerated away instinctively.

‘Hey!’ Tanner cried, following him out of the far door, just as Will and Minky entered the room by the first. The couple on the bed dived under the covers as the main body of the
race followed, busting their illicit assignation once and for all.

Rob clattered down the corridor with Violet issuing her battle cries like Boadicea. There was just the staff staircase now, and then the finishing line back in the ballroom. Tanner put on a
final burst of speed. He caught up with Rob at the top of the stairs, overtook him at the bottom, racing into the ballroom first.

The duke was standing there, drinking the better-quality brandy he hid from his guests in his hipflask. ‘By jove, that was quick!’ he exclaimed at the sight of Rob and Violet, and
Tanner and Pia cantering towards him. Both men were pink in the cheeks now, their hair flopping over their faces.

‘Come on, Rob! Come on!’ Violet screamed. ‘We can do it. Come on! Let’s beat the bitch! Beat her!’

The duke’s jaw dropped and Rob pulled up to a sudden halt, stunned by what she’d just said. ‘It’s for charity,’ he said, straightening up so that Violet slid off
his back, a look of disgust on his face. ‘It’s supposed to be good-natured, Vi,’ he said.

Will and Minky raced past them, but it was too late. Tanner and Pia had already passed the finish line.

A stiff silence fell upon the podium winners as the rest of the racers barged down the stairs and burst into the ballroom, laughing and screaming and shrieking with hilarity.

Pia slid slowly down Tanner’s back, landing gracefully on her left foot. She held on to the back of a chair, keeping her right leg bent at the knee.

‘You okay?’ Tanner asked, and it wasn’t clear if he was referring to her foot or his girlfriend’s barbed comments.

Pia nodded. She felt deflated. She’d actually been having such fun until then. The duke blew on the bugle again and the room fell silent.

‘I declare the winners of the race – by a furlong – to be Pia Soto and her steed, Tanner Ludgrove.’

A cheer and various wolf whistles went around the room. The duke fished a piece of paper from his pocket and scanned it, then announced that the total amount raised from the night was
£18,763. Another cheer erupted. A hunt record. Will’s promise to bring Pia tonight meant they’d had to reissue tickets twice to keep up with demand. ‘Which charity are you
going to give it to?’ the duke asked.

Tanner shrugged magnanimously and looked at Pia. ‘You choose.’

‘Um, well . . .’ she hesitated, amazed by his manners. In spite of what Will had said about him, he didn’t seem rough. ‘Are you sure?’

Tanner nodded.

She shrugged happily and turned to face everyone in the room. ‘Well, then I’d really like it to go to Criancas de Rua Abandonadas do Brasil.’ She beamed.

The duke looked confused and put his hand to his ear to adjust his hearing aid. ‘What did she say?’ he shouted.

‘It’s a charity that gives homes and shelter to street children in Brazil,’ Pia explained, looking out over the expectant, somewhat baffled, crowd. ‘They were set up in
1992 and they run a number of homes – some for children under six, another one is for pregnant teenage girls and their babies, and they’ve even got an outreach programme for children
still living or working on the streets . . .’ She nodded enthusiastically at the sea of blank faces.

There was a heavy silence.

Tanner gave a small, awkward cough. ‘Um, well, generally speaking, we try to give the money to a local cause. Like the school, say – it needs a new roof, for example.’

Violet chuckled at Pia’s worldly beneficence, sending a titter of amusement scattering through the guests like a Mexican wave. ‘Get
her
,’ she said sarcastically.

Pia glared at her, then back at Tanner, feeling humiliated and belittled. ‘Well, you never specified that,’ she hissed, feeling herself colour. ‘You said choose a charity, so I
chose a charity. It’s not my fault if you’re . . . you’re small-minded and provincial.’

The tittering stopped suddenly, replaced with a collective gasp, and this time Tanner coloured. Pia bit her lip as she felt the mood in the room change against her.

‘Oh give it to whoever you want, then,’ she said dismissively, anxious to get out of there. ‘It’s small fry anyway. I spend more than that on my dry-cleaning,’ she
said defiantly, her chin in the air. ‘Will, take me home now. My foot’s aching.’

Will smiled apologetically, embarrassed to leave under a cloud like this, but he took her arm and led her slowly away, the crowd parting for them with tangible disdain, the knocking of her cast
on the parquet rebounding against their turgid silence.

Adam walked over to his kitbag and grabbed his water bottle, draining it angrily. He wasn’t thirsty. He just needed some time out. Sophie watched him anxiously. He looked
ready to explode.

‘Let’s try it again, shall we?’ Ava said, sounding more like the artistic director than the artist. ‘You need to step in to me a beat sooner.’

Adam flung the bottle into the bag and walked back to her. He stood behind her and put his hands lightly on her waist. She was wearing a white leotard, seamed white tights and a practice tutu.
The stiff white tulle flexed up against his torso.

‘Too close,’ she snapped. ‘Take a step back.’

Adam took a half step back.

‘More,’ she ordered. ‘I want you to stand back far enough that you don’t disrupt the line of the skirt. It looks better.’

‘It looks better that you do fourteen
pirouettes
instead of just ten. Get the tutu trimmed if it’s so important,’ he said. ‘My arms aren’t long enough to
stand that far back and still be able to support you.’

‘I don’t need your support. You just need to
look
like you’re doing something.’

Adam stared at her mutinously. It was a goddam supported
pirouette
; there absolutely was a point in him being there. She couldn’t possibly get up to fourteen
pirouettes
without his help, but the experience of the past few weeks had taught him that there was little point in appealing to Baudrand. He took the step back, barely getting his finger-tips onto her
waist.

The piano started up and Ava rose onto
pointe
.

Come on, Sophie willed him silently. Get her round. Don’t give her any ammunition.

Ava began to spin, but with his touch so feather-light she lost speed quickly. Her balance faltered from the strain of trying to turn without momentum and she fell out of the position on the
ninth
pirouette
.

‘For God’s sake,’ she hissed, her eyes flashing dangerously. ‘Can you do nothing right? I’m the one doing the hard work. All you have to do is stand there and help
me turn. Is it so much to ask?’

She walked away, hands on hips, shaking her head. She stopped and looked at Baudrand.

‘This isn’t working,’ she said categorically. ‘He’s not up to it. He argues with all my suggestions. It’s clear he doesn’t want to dance with me. He
only knows how to dance with Pia. Do you know what I think,
monsieur
?’

Baudrand shook his head.

‘I think he resents me for replacing her and he’s trying to undermine my performance with mediocrity.’

‘That is not true – any of it!’ Adam said, shaking his head. ‘I’ve gone out of my way to adapt to your style, but what you’re asking just isn’t
practical.’

‘Practical?’ Ava said, raising her eyebrows and looking at Baudrand again. ‘You see what I’m saying?
We’re
trying to create art and he’s trying to be
practical. Like this is some kind of science experiment.’ She looked back at Adam. ‘What we’re trying to achieve out there is perfection,’ she said patronizingly.
‘It’s not supposed to be easy and it’s got to look faultless. You bunching up my tutu doesn’t give any purity of line and being
practical
about things is hardly
going to make the audience gasp in wonder, now is it?’

Adam glared at her. It was useless trying to argue. She twisted everything against him and since the press conference when Baudrand had announced that the ChiCi was going head-to-head with the
Royal and Pia, her tension levels had ratcheted up. Adam couldn’t bear it much longer. He was spending every morning in class, every afternoon in rehearsal and every evening either in
performance or in the gym. He scarcely had enough time to eat and he only rested overnight before beginning again the next morning. He was exhausted. He didn’t see what more he could do. She
was determined to get rid of him.

Sophie registered the defeat that came and sat upon Adam’s shoulders. He looked pale. She’d not seen him anywhere other than the studio since they’d come back from New York and
she had got the message loud and clear that what had happened between them had been a one-time thing.

Baudrand sat quietly for a moment, contemplating Adam’s future. ‘It’s clear that the chemistry between you both isn’t working,’ he said finally. ‘And
that’s damaging to the choreography. There’s only just over a month to go till curtain-up and the way things are going I don’t think the audience are going to believe in your need
and hunger for each other.’ He looked at his fingers. ‘On the other hand, I’m not convinced José’s going to be a better option for you, Ava.’

Adam’s eyes widened, as Ava’s narrowed. They both knew she’d expected an immediate capitulation. She’d been paving the way for this for weeks.

‘We need a good jumper for the male part, Ava, and José’s forte is in his turns.’ He held out his hands appeasingly. ‘I shall consider the matter carefully over
the next few days and look at the performance schedules. I’ll come back to you both with an answer by the end of the week.’

Sophie looked at Adam but he had already turned and was packing his kitbag. Without a word or look to any of them, he picked it up and left the studio.

‘Hey, Sophie! Wait up!’

Sophie rolled her eyes before she turned. The words – so American high school – sounded odd with a Russian accent. Ava had become quite the all-American girl in the past few weeks,
acquiring a transatlantic twang and falling into a habit of bringing a tray of Krispy Kreme doughnuts into the studios each morning. But the gift wasn’t received in the spirit in which Ava
claimed it had been given, and the other girls kept complaining she was trying to make them all put on weight. It had been noticed Ava never touched them herself, and Sophie ended up munching most
of them.

Ava was running lightly down the corridor towards her, her hair tied back in its signature bun. She had changed into narrow 7/8th jeans and a black polo neck jumper, and a delicate tennis
bracelet glittered around her wrist. She had been unveiled as a new ambassador for Cartier just the week before and was now never seen without at least ten carats hanging off her.

‘What’s up?’ Sophie asked, trying to smile. She was feeling dejected about Adam’s prospects. It wasn’t his fault, or even Ava’s necessarily. As Baudrand had
said, the chemistry just wasn’t there.

‘How about lunch? My treat,’ Ava smiled, all sweetness now the tutus were off.

Sophie shook her head. ‘Sorry, I can’t,’ she said, indicating the thick sheaf of paper under her arm. ‘I’ve got to get back to the studio and get the details from
these drawings onto the oils. I’m falling behind and the exhibition’s only a few weeks away.’

Ava’s face fell. ‘Oh.’

‘Why? What’s wrong?’

‘It’s my birthday today,’ she shrugged.

‘Your birthday? Oh Ava!’ she exclaimed, leaning down to give her a hug. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I haven’t got you anything.’ Sophie whizzed through her
schedule in her head. She guessed she could spare the time for lunch. ‘Of course we must go out – but it’ll be my treat. No buts.’ She wagged a warning finger.

Ava smiled and they walked out together, looking comically mismatched in height. Sophie rolled herself down to hear Ava as they talked, as she’d become used to doing. They walked past the
famous Picasso sculpture outside the Daley Center (Sophie still couldn’t decide if it was an angel, woman or horse) and across to Michigan Avenue. It was a bright day but the wind was still
bitterly cold as it whistled between the skyscrapers. They dodged the besuited office workers with agile ease as they headed automatically for Porto Bello, off Randolph, near the park. They’d
been there several times together now since that first bonding meal, and it had become their favourite place for lunch. They didn’t need to book – the maître d’ always gave
Ava the chef’s table. The friendship had moved fast and they quite regularly hung out after rehearsal, going for dinner or catching a film together. It had stopped Sophie from brooding over
Adam’s below-radar disappearance, even if she noticed that a lot of the other dancers she’d once been friendly with seemed to have taken a step back from her. Still, she’d had a
big promotion since Pia‘s accident and Ava treated her as an equal now. They were bound to feel more intimidated.

‘Ooh! Look at those,’ Sophie trilled, catching sight of a pair of shoes in a window. They were red silk with an extravagant rose across the front. ‘They’re
beautiful.’

Ava looked at her and smiled. ‘Let’s go in and try them on, then.’

‘Oh no!’ Sophie demurred. They were on the ‘magnificent mile’, the most exclusive shopping street in Chicago. ‘I don’t think so. Not with the price tags round
here.’

Ava disregarded her protests and pushed the door open. Sophie sighed and followed her into the perfectly climate-controlled boutique. The walls were mushroom-coloured and the deep-pile carpet
muffed all sound, like snow.

‘My friend and I would like to try on the red rose shoes in the window,’ Ava said, sending an assistant scurrying away to a back room.

She came back a few moments later with the shoes nestled in their boxes in pink tissue paper.

‘They’re exquisite,’ Sophie exclaimed, cooing over them like they were the baby Jesus in a manger.