A French Pirouette

Malik smiled and nodded as she continued.

“Whereas my acclaimed performance of one of the greatest female ballet roles ever is being overshadowed and all but forgotten by all the injuries since then.” Suzette wiped an escaping tear off her cheek with her free hand. “All I’m going to be remembered for is being forced to retire due to injuries.” She smiled wanly at him as she held out her empty glass for a refill.

“Not true,” Malik said carefully pouring the champagne. “People still talk about it, us, and your wonderful interpretation of the role. You’ll always be remembered as one of the best.”

He turned at the sound of a discrete knock and opened the door to room service.

Watching in silence as the waiter placed the food on the small table, Suzette sensed the stress coming from Malik. Even as he urged her to sit and eat she knew what he was preparing himself to say.

“I can’t stay long, Suzette,” Malik said, looking at his watch. “Donna’s rehearsing right now with Zac. I have to get back down there.”

“I could be back before the show ends. A couple of days and my ankle could be strong enough to dance.” Even as she said it, she knew she was lying to herself as well as Malik.

This injury would take weeks rather than days to heal, which meant yet more RICE time before battling her body back into dancing fitness. There was no point either in telling Malik about her bruised and sore arm, which in its own way was as bad as her ankle and would make any port de bras movements difficult for weeks to come.

Malik shook his head. “I can’t take the risk.”

“No I suppose not.” Suzette sighed, facing up to the inevitable. “Wish Donna luck from me. You’d better get back down to the Forum.”

“You’ve got everything you need?” Malik said, clearly relieved she’d taken the news so well.

Suzette nodded. Of course she had everything she needed—except a functioning ankle and an unbruised arm. No doubt the side of her body would be a mass of interesting colours by the morning.

As Malik closed the door behind him, Suzette pushed her salmon salade away untouched before downing her glass of champagne and immediately pouring herself another one. It was one way to drown both the physical and the mental pain. Besides, Malik had said it was medicinal.

Collapsing onto the bed, she switched on the TV and began to flick through the channels. Football, quiz games, reality shows, talk… Hang on that was the show she’d recorded weeks ago. She recognised the woman crime writer.

The camera moved around the various guests and Suzette saw herself on screen, watched herself uttering those words, “Sometimes I wish I could just be me.”

Thoughtfully Suzette muted the TV sound. Had this latest accident just granted her unacknowledged wish? She looked down at her injured leg. Her knee was showing signs of a big colourful bruise while her ankle was already two or three times its normal size. Suzette sighed. She’d been here so many times in the last few years.

But with the understudy now dancing in her place she didn’t have to try and rush getting fit. This Monaco show had been her only engagement of the year until Malik’s Paris show in the autumn. Malik.

Would he still want her to dance in view of this recent catastrophe? Would he take the risk with her again? He’d already agreed with her that Swan Lake in Paris would probably be her own swansong from the world of ballet. She couldn’t bear it if he cancelled her contract saying she wasn’t fit enough to dance, thus denying her a final performance and all the accolades usually given to a retiring dancer.

Suzette straightened her shoulders. There was a whole summer before then—more than enough time to recuperate from these injuries and get completely fit again. Banish the ‘face it your dancing days are finished’ demons. One more chance to show them what she could do and then—obscurity.

Carefully she stood up and reached for the walking stick that someone in the theatre had handed her as she left. Leaning heavily on it she made her way across the room and, after picking up the phone, asked for room service.

“I will need some help tomorrow morning, please,” she said. “About ten o’clock? Thank you.”

Thoughtfully replacing the receiver, Suzette began to make plans for the following day. Malik would be busy giving Donna extra coaching and then there was the dress rehearsal in the afternoon so she doubted she’d see him before dinner tomorrow evening. A fact which suited her well in view of the decision she’d just come to.

She sat down at the small desk, found a pen and took a piece of the hotel stationery.

“Darling Malik, I felt it best if I left. Hope the show is a huge success. See you in Paris. Love Suzette.”

She’d ask reception to give it to him tomorrow evening when he returned. She knew if she stayed and told him personally he would try to persuade her otherwise. It was best if she just left Monaco without telling him.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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