Prima Donna (57 page)

She squeezed her eyes shut.

‘You don’t look wholly sold on the arrangement,’ he said, watching her in the mirror. ‘And on your past track record, how do I know you won’t just cut and run
again?’

She shook her head. ‘I won’t,’ she said, her voice cracking.

‘Then you’ve got my vote, Miss Soto,’ he said, lowering his head to kiss her neck, one hand brushing across her belly.

She shivered and caught his arm.

‘We can’t tonight,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m not ready.’

‘Not
ready
?’

‘Timing’s wrong,’ she said mildly. He caught her meaning.

‘Well, I’m not waiting till after the competition –
timing
or not. I’m not taking any chances on you disappearing again. Once bitten and all that,’ he
chuckled softly, kissing her shoulder and inhaling her warmth.

He drew himself up and blew out his cheeks. It was dangerous standing too close to her.

‘I’ll come here – and show you exactly what I want – an hour before curtain-up on Wednesday,’ he said. ‘That way I get peace of mind that your end of the
bargain is upheld before I cast my vote.’

Pia nodded. She felt she had turned to ice, from her heart all the way out to the ends of her lashes.

He walked across the room and opened the door. He looked back at her. ‘I’m so glad you asked for my help, Pia. You know I’d do anything for you.’

The door closed and a voice inside her began to scream. She listened to the sound of his footsteps disappearing down the corridor. Then she ran to the toilet and threw up in it.

Tanner walked around the paddock in his now-customary black mood, alternately double-checking the girth straps and looking at his watch. Where the hell was Paolo? They were due
on in half an hour and he was the team’s star player. God knows, they couldn’t rely on Velasquez Senior to bring anything more to the game than his money.

He sighed and hollered to Jessy to try him on his mobile again. She came running out of the horsebox looking flustered. Tanner put his hands on his hips impatiently and waited. Sure enough, Rob
followed nonchalantly a minute later.

‘Ah . . . busted!’ he said with a rueful grin, seeing Tanner was wise to their tricks.

Tanner shook his head, exasperated and suffering a sense of humour failure. ‘For fuck’s sake . . .’ he muttered. Their relentless happiness was driving him to the edge of
despair. ‘I’m going to check on the competition,’ he said grimly. It appeared he was the only one taking this tournament seriously. Didn’t anyone else realize that their
livelihoods depended upon Velasquez doing well and keeping his business with them?

He stalked out of the paddock in a fury, heading up to Smith’s Lawn. Picnickers were lounging around everywhere, with small children playing chase around the blankets and making the dogs
bark excitedly. It was a blisteringly hot day and he felt the sweat trickle down the dip between the muscles on either side of his spine. He pulled his baseball cap out of his back pocket and put
it on, wishing he could take off the red and black Velasquez team jersey instead.

He walked towards the stands and flashed up his team badge. The security man waved him in and he leant against the barrier, watching Zegna thrash it out with Black Harbour in the
semi-finals.

‘You all right?’

He turned and saw Rob next to him. Tanner shrugged.

‘Thought you looked a bit upset,’ Rob said with quiet understatement. He was worried about him. Tanner had been alternately morose and agitated for weeks now – ever since
he’d brought the new ponies back from Velasquez’s estate, in fact. He wondered whether Tanner had jumped from the frying pan into the fire when he’d insisted on swapping
Silk’s business for the Brazilian’s. Certainly the son couldn’t be relied upon. ‘Wanna talk about it?’

‘Nope.’ Talking about it wasn’t going to change anything. Pia was dating the boss’s son; he needed the boss’s money. End of. He gulped down some air and looked
away. ‘I’m just pissed off everyone seems to think this is a day trip,’ he deflected.

They watched the action on the pitch, Tanner’s eyes trained like guns on the Black Harbour number three player. It was the first time he’d seen Silk for months – since that day
in the library.

‘Zegna are looking strong,’ Rob said. ‘Their number two’s attacking like a panther.’

‘Looks like they’re using Quarter breeds, instead of Argentines,’ Tanner mused.

‘Mmm. They seem quite skippy, though. I don’t like the pressure they’re putting on the front legs. They’ll have knees like Nadal if they carry on playing that
hard.’

Tanner surveyed the glossy crowd. He could hear a helicopter nearby. ‘I suppose it would be too much to hope that that’s Paolo arriving?’

Rob turned back towards the stick-and-ball field, and caught sight of a black helicopter landing in a neighbouring field.

‘You’re in luck,’ he said, squinting into his binoculars. ‘That’s him now.’

Tanner turned and watched as the Velasquez chopper cut its engines. He raised his eyebrows. ‘So good of him to join us,’ he muttered, pushing himself off the barriers. ‘Come
on, then. Let’s go to scrape and bow. I couldn’t bear to spend another minute looking at Silk’s gut in that shirt anyway. Christ, he’s packed on some weight, hasn’t
he?’

Rob looked at him. ‘But that’s not Silk playing,’ he said, standing stock still and staring at his friend. ‘Surely you’ve heard?’

They marched back to the paddock, Tanner conflicted by his response. A month ago, he’d have expected to feel delight at the news. Instead he felt flat. He didn’t
care what went on in Silk’s world any more – he was utterly absorbed by the misery in his own.

He watched as Paolo jumped down, already dressed in his kit, thankfully, followed by . . . a stunning tawny blonde. Tanner blinked hard, his mouth drying up as he watched them run across the
field. She couldn’t be here. She was supposed to be in Bulgaria. The ballet competition she’d told him about didn’t finish till tomorrow. He’d checked online. She
couldn’t have been knocked out. She was going to win it – she
had
to win it. It was her ticket to freedom.

He felt his chest tighten at the thought of seeing her again and hurriedly turned his back to them, pretending to check on the bridles.

‘Paolo! You made it,’ Rob said jovially, with a sarcastic undercurrent only Tanner would pick up. ‘It’s
great
to see you.’

‘Roberto! Are the ponies ready?’ Paolo grinned, clapping his hands and rolling his Rs extravagantly.

‘As ever.’

‘And where is Tan . . . Ah! There you are,’ he said to Tanner’s back. ‘Tell me, did you sort out this one’s diet? She felt heavy last week.’ Tanner heard him
smack the horse’s flank. ‘Heavy and sluggish.’

Tanner took a deep breath and turned round. ‘Yes. She’s off the sugarbee—’ His voice trailed away.

Paolo clocked Tanner’s response and burst out laughing. ‘I know!’ he said conspiratorially. ‘She is a beauty, no? She makes me speechless too . . . Luckily, we
don’t spend much of our time talking,’ he said, smacking her on the bottom.

Tanner offered a hand. His day was just getting better and better. ‘Tanner Ludgrove.’

‘Irina,’ the supermodel replied.

An infectious grin spread from one side of Tanner’s face to the other. ‘You can have absolutely no idea how thrilled I am to meet you.’

Sophie walked towards the lifts, her bag packed, the red-carpeted corridor stretching before her, seemingly endless and elastic, like in some warped dream. Her feet shuffled
along slowly but she knew it was pointless. Pigeon steps wouldn’t halt the relentless march of time. They’d just make her late. The finale was starting in just over an hour.

She stopped at the cubbyhole where the drinks and ice machines were hidden. Her mouth felt dry, metallic. She rummaged in her jeans for some change and pressed a button. A polystyrene cup popped
out – more bloody polystyrene! – filled with tepid water.

She eyed it suspiciously before taking a tentative sip, and almost spat it straight back out again. She swore it was just desalinated water. Her stomach heaved and she leant over the bin, just
in case.

Further down the corridor, a door opened. Great! she thought. What’s the betting that they need ice and I’m standing here retching like a drunk?

‘. . . a job well done,’ she heard a man say. ‘The money will be wired through immediately afterwards.’

‘Okay,’ another man replied, and the accent made Sophie’s stomach perform a double-pike dive. ‘I’ll wait here for your instructions.’

She edged closer to the machines, like a very bad spy, just as the door shut with a soft ‘toc’ sound. She waited a moment, before slowly peering round the corridor, down towards the
lifts. The man was standing there, staring at his reflection in the bronzed doors and fiddling with his cuffs. He stood there a minute before the doors pinged open and he stepped out of sight.

Sophie leant against the wall for support, her anger with the polystyrene cups all forgotten. She had to get hold of Pia.

Pia sat in her dressing room, and watched her legs shake. There was no way she would be able to dance like this. She could barely stand. She hadn’t slept for the last
four nights and the weight was falling off her again, becoming a topic of heated debate: the pressure had got to her, she couldn’t match Ava’s professionalism and stamina, it was still
too soon after her injury, she was trying to get down to Ava’s weight . . . What the hell did they know?

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes haunted, and she felt faint whenever she stood up. She dropped her head in her hands. Her dream was slipping away. Why was
she going through with this? Everything was against her. Everything and everybody. Earlier that day someone had even put glycerine in her rosin tray, and she’d slipped her way through
rehearsals, giving everyone a good laugh, knocking her confidence still further.

Short of Ava dancing like a clown or falling off the stage, there was no way Pia could catch her up in points now anyway. Even Will wasn’t going to be able to save her this time. It was
too late. She had lost again.

She listened to her knees knock and it was a moment before she realized it was coming from the door.

‘Yes?’ she said in a quiet voice.

Pavel, the security guard, poked his head round. She’d paid him to stand outside and guard her room for the day because, as much as it would delight Ava to see her paranoia, she was taking
no chances. ‘There is a man here to see you.’

Will. Oh God. Her stomach lurched and she clapped her hand over her mouth until the threat died down.

‘Are you okay, Miss Soto? You want me to get a doctor?’

Pia put her hands on her knees and tried to smile. She took a deep breath and shook her head. There was still this chance, slim though it was. She had to take it. It was the only way left to
win, to make Assoluta, to avenge her family.

‘Send him in, please.’ She closed her eyes and prayed for strength.

When she opened them, a tall, dark man was standing in front of her, looking more scared than even she felt.

She smiled and he smiled back with an innate gentleness that calmed her. She didn’t usually let fans into her dressing room; they had to wait for autographs by the backstage door.

‘Oh, hello,’ she managed, a massive wave of relief washing over her. A stay of execution – for five minutes, at least. ‘Would you like me to sign something for
you?’ she asked, holding out her hands for a programme.

The man paused. He seemed taken aback by the question. Maybe he’d thought he wouldn’t get this far. ‘Uh, yes, okay,’ he said.

His voice surprised her.

‘You’re Irish?’ she asked, dropping her hands to her hips.

He nodded. ‘Like you.’

‘I’m Brazilian,’ she corrected.

He hesitated. ‘Yes . . . but your father was Irish, wasn’t he?’

His face was open, benign, non-challenging.

‘That’s right,’ she said eventually. ‘You must be a big fan. Not a lot of people know that about me.’

The man shrugged. ‘I probably know a whole lot more about you than most people . . . Priscilla.’

Pia burst out laughing. It had been years since anyone had called her by her full name. ‘Oh my goodness, you really do,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I didn’t think
anybody knew that about me . . . These journalists, they dig up everything . . .’ A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she looked up at him harshly. ‘
You’re
not a
journalist, are you?’

He shook his head, surprised by the sudden aggression.

She nodded, relieved. No, he didn’t look like a press hound. He didn’t have that furtive savvy they all wore. ‘Well, this Priscilla business . . . keep it under your hat, will
you?’ she said conspiratorially.

The man looked tentatively around the room. He seemed at a loss to know what to say.

‘This is where the magic happens,’ she shrugged. ‘I know it’s not much to look at, is it?’

He smiled. It looked like a cell. He’d expected more flowers. ‘Well . . . I don’t know what I was expecting, really. Something grander, probably. More ostentatious.’

There was a knock on the door and Pavel put his head round. Pia caught her breath again.

‘There’s another gentleman out here for you, Miss Soto. Says he has an appointment?’

Pia felt herself pale.

‘Right, yes,’ she said quietly, looking down.

The fan coughed again and Pia looked back at him. She wished he could stay instead. He seemed sweet. ‘I’m sorry I . . . I have to see him,’ she said. ‘What was it you
wanted me to sign for you?’

He looked at her for a long moment, then a light flickered in his eyes. ‘This – if you would,’ he said, rolling up his sleeve and proffering his arm.

Pia looked down and felt something in her break – a golden thread, a metaphysical tension that had held her together for all these years. The bonds of the pain that had trussed her up
burst open, and she felt a giddying lightness eddy through her heart.

Slowly, she looked up into the eyes that matched hers, and saw her childhood reflected back at her.