Chapter 27
Chapter 27
During the pilot’s command for the flight attendants to prepare for descent into London airspace, Ellie tucked the script into one of the compartments of her enclosure. For the past two weeks it sat on the dining table at the lake cottage, untouched and unread. After her fleeting trip to Long Island, she’d avoided it altogether.
When Ellie phoned her London theatrical agent to discuss terminating her agreement with the Sovereign Theatre Group, she didn’t reveal that animus towards Gil Cooke was a motivating factor. She expressed concern about her ability to rehearse and perform her role in Fractures in the Heart while simultaneously fulfilling her responsibilities at BBT. Cait Murray was adamantly opposed. Withdrawing at such a late date, she declared, would upend the production and its promotional campaign and cause severe reputational damage. Ellie, valuing her professional integrity and aware of the importance of preserving it, agreed to continue with the play.
“The Sovereign Theatre Group can’t extend the run—another production is scheduled at the Ormond shortly after yours closes. Your weeks of double duty will pass in a flash,” Cait consoled her. “Exhaustion will ensure that you sleep through the night.”
The time difference between New Hampshire and London had regulated her final weeks at the lake, as she and her New York manager and Rafe and his staff worked out details of her BBT contract. She’d carried the final document to the Birchmont Dance Academy so her mother and her aunt could witness her signature.
She hadn’t admitted to anyone her increasing unease, based on experience, about her work schedule’s effect on her relationship with Dan. She kept him apprised of developments as they occurred, and he responded politely but unenthusiastically. He sounded distant, unsure, just when she needed to prepare him for the impact of her dual career. They would both have to adjust to the multiple demands on her time, energy, and attention. After the fateful weekend in the West Country, she’d spent most or all of every evening with him. That wouldn’t be possible for as long as she remained a soloist at BBT.
She’d been on the cusp of a fulltime dance career while dating Harry, and after marrying him she received multiple promotions. At City International Ballet, she was contracted for thirty-six weeks per year, leaving several months to lead a relatively normal life—for a dancer—and between seasons she’d gone elsewhere for class. British Ballet Theatre had employed her for a full fifty-two weeks, with salary and benefits and summer vacation leave.
She wouldn’t let the past color her expectations. Despite the common culture within ballet companies, there were many differences. At City International, performers at every level of the hierarchy existed in an atmosphere of intense pressure and competition, too often resulting in injured bodies, bruised egos, and bad behavior. The coaches were no happier—Sven Eilert hadn’t remained beyond one season, and Mireille Charpentier stayed only two. She ran Ballet Bruxelles like a finishing school, maintaining strict formality in the studios and insisting that her people treat one another with politeness and respect. The contradictory effect of conformity and restraint was an explosion of personality and passion in rehearsals and, more importantly, on the stage.
Rafe had infused BBT with his “ballet is serious fun” outlook. His dancers gave every impression of being happy and healthy, compatible and comradely. They smiled a lot, and they laughed. They socialized after hours. They pranked each other—with affection, not malice. They moaned about Marcus Baldwin’s and Anya Semerova’s complex combinations but feared neither, or any other coach or staff member.
The plane bumped its way through cloud cover and followed the broad and winding ribbon of the River Thames. When it touched down on the assigned runway at Heathrow, the sun was setting.
The driver Ellie had hired through a door-to-door car service was waiting for her in the arrivals hall, bearing a white placard with her Colman surname plainly written in black marker. She asked him to wait while she made a quick run along aisles of the mini-market, purchasing a sandwich and a bottle of coconut water. In the short-stay car park, he opened the rear car door for her before stowing her suitcase in the boot. As soon as he was behind the wheel, he made a phone call.
“Traffic’s buggered up,” he told her, “in all directions. Tube workers striking. Again. Till tomorrow.”
“It’s okay. I’m not in a hurry.”
She was already home.
The feeling intensified when she entered the Latimer House flat. She messaged her thanks to Dan for stocking the fridge with milk and eggs and butter. He’d also left a loaf of bread and a selection of fresh fruit on the kitchen counter. When she’d eaten her airport sandwich and popped a melatonin pill, she climbed into the Biedermeier sleigh bed, made up by the cleaning lady.
In the morning, making no concessions to jet lag, she traveled through the flowing underground system to her new place of employment.
Her barre buddy Gemma, freshly promoted from the corps to soloist, commiserated with a girl complaining about traction alopecia.
“If I lose any more hair, I’ll be almost as bald as my grandpa.”
“Save the tight bun and hairspray for performances,” Ellie advised the young woman, who didn’t yet know they were colleagues. “Wear a loose, messy bun in class and rehearsal. Switch to baby shampoo, or something just as mild. Don’t use a permanent hair color—chemicals are drying and increase breakage. Regular scalp massage helps, too.”
At the barre, Ellie was glad to work her legs after spending the previous day confined to the plane’s first-class cabin. She concentrated on the placement of head, shoulders, arms, wrists, hands, fingers. When changing from her slippers to pointe shoes, she considered a session in the physio suite to strengthen her muscles. She wouldn’t participate in rehearsals until Rafe figured out where he’d fit her into the repertoire, but she wanted to be ready.
The dancers were battling gravity in the final grand allegro combination when he entered the studio. The final group finished, decreasing their velocity to avoid crashing into the mirrored wall. Marcus clapped his hands and invited everyone to gather near the front of the room.
“Attention, everyone. Rafe has an announcement.”
Ellie grabbed her towel from her bag and dried her damp forehead and neck.
“Fear not, I won’t keep you from your coffee and carbs for long,” Rafe began. “I came to tell you about a new addition to our company roster. Although we preserve the classical tradition at BBT, we also strive to be flexible and innovative. We’ve therefore created a unique category of performer. Please join me in welcoming Ellie Lowery as our supporting solo artist.”
During the eruption of applause, Gemma Banks hugged her. Leah Sternberg headed the line of others eager to do the same. Receiving their congratulations, Ellie could read the thoughts whirling inside their bunheads. Which of my parts will she take? What men are they pairing her with? The questions were normal, even in this remarkably cohesive company. She was wondering, too.
Raising his voice above the commotion, Rafe went on, “As you may be aware, I had the great privilege of partnering her at City International and Ballet Bruxelles and on various European stages.”
As the dancers dispersed, he took her aside.
“Our personnel director prepared the documents for updating your skilled worker visa. You need to review and sign the paperwork so it can be submitted. She’s also got your identification badge, which has the bar code you need for canteen access and food purchases. By tomorrow you’ll find your name on a shared dressing room and a compartment in the shoe room. Your preferred brand lasts longer than most, so you won’t be as great a drain on our budget as some of your colleagues. Might as well stop by the wardrobe department, so they can take your measurements.”
A necessary ordeal, one she’d always hated, and she steeled herself for the usual embarrassment. But the cheerful, chatty woman responsible for recording her height and bust and waist didn’t make her feel like a freak.
“Eighty-seven point five centimeters on top. You wear a thirty-four bra?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“We accommodate all sizes, dear. Not in ways that restrict the lungs or hamper upper body movement, either. Some of our ladies come back to us after having a baby and rely on us to make them look perfect. Don’t tense up, now.”
Ellie tried to relax while the tape was stretched between her shoulder blades, along her torso, and around her waist and hips. An assistant wrote down the numbers as they were announced.
Returning to her flat to change clothes and grab a bite before an afternoon meeting at the Sovereign Theatre, she found an exuberant arrangement delivered from the Latimer Row florist. In response to her grateful text to the givers, she received a prompt reply from Martin: Let’s discuss a long-term tenancy, ballerina!
Stepping onto the narrow, sun-bathed balcony, she considered ways to personalize it. Some evergreen topiaries, like the ones that abounded outside shops, pubs, and townhouses. There was plenty of light. Meyer lemons would surely flower and fruit here.
I could get a dog, she thought.
Her parents used to have one. Liam still did. She’d always wanted one of her own.
She required a compact breed suited to a cosmopolitan lifestyle. A specific dog that lived with her at Latimer House and spent the day in Dan’s upstairs flat—or in his office. Before she left for morning class, they could both take it to Green Park. During his lunch hour, he’d be able to provide it with midday and after work exercise. When she had afternoons or evenings off, they could all return to the park. On Sundays, they would go on excursions in the countryside. She intended to consult Gemma Banks. The magnificently massive canine that shared her tiny flat was a very visible presence in her social media accounts.
A celebration was in order, she decided, before Dan traveled to Gloucestershire for his brother’s birthday. A restaurant reputed to be one of Mayfair’s oldest and most beautiful was within walking distance of their respective abodes. Top-tier establishments held a place or two open for famous diners, and if relying on the Stella Nue name was necessary to secure one, she would.
Dan didn’t answer by the second or third ring, as he usually did. She was mentally composing a message for his voicemail when he picked up.
“Good news,” she chirped. “Rafe came to the studio and made the official announcement to the entire company.”
“You danced this morning? After that long flight—and the time zone shift?”
“The best way to bounce back from jet lag. I’m calling to invite you to that old world place on Jermyn Street. I’m hungry enough do justice to a gourmet meal.”
Silence.
“Doesn’t have to be tonight. Anytime this week is fine.”
“We should talk,” he told her, his tone heavy. “Soon. I’ve got something important to tell you.”
“I’m listening.”
“In person.”
That sounded bad. Terrible, in fact. She had a premonition—no, a conviction. Dan was about to dump her. Pushing past the fog of dread that enveloped her, she said, “Go ahead. Do it now, if that’s easier.”
“It’s not.”
Her dancer’s superstition kicked in, warning her not to let negative vibes invade her domestic space. Might as well end the relationship where it began. “Meet me at the Ritz. Rivoli Bar. Six o’clock,” she added, hoping he hadn’t detected the quiver in her voice. With a shaking hand she put her phone on the table beside the sofa.
He owed her an explanation. And he was man enough to face her while giving it. She’d heard of guys who sent their partner a final farewell text. Would that be way better or more harrowing than what was about to transpire?
She had no history of breakups. She’d married her only other boyfriend.
A month ago, she’d anticipated a proposal and had planned what to wear at their wedding. What a colossal jinx that turned out to be.
To lose Dan on this of all days, her first as a BBT employee, seemed monumentally unfair. While reentering a profession beset by insecurities, she would be deprived of emotional support. Her family members were thousands of miles away. Harry, who’d been at her side at Juilliard and during her tenure at City International Ballet, was dead. Rafe, her longtime confidant and now her boss, had myriad responsibilities.
I definitely need a dog, she concluded.
He felt his resolve ebbing with every footstep. But doubt and regret were overpowered by his desire—no, his need—to curtail the agony he’d endured since he’d last seen Ellie. He loved a woman whose heart was severely and permanently shattered. He couldn’t heal it and had no hope of ever possessing the whole of it.
He walked past the round table of their initial encounter many months ago. She occupied a sofa, her vibrant beauty exceeding that of the naked goddess in the decorative mythological panel over her head. On the table before her was a blueish cocktail in a martini glass, not the one she’d ordered the night they met.
After he sat down across from her, the waiter brought him a bar menu. He handed it back and requested his favorite single malt, a short pour for an outrageously high price.
Ellie’s eyelashes fluttered. “Brian will be happy to see you again so soon after his Games Day. Did he enjoy it?”
“He was awarded a prize for effort. It meant a lot to Dad and Sandra and me.”
She responded with a fleeting half-smile before saying coolly, “We might as well dispense with the small talk. I’ve watched this scene in plenty of television shows and more movies than I can name. That night at the cottage, when we were in bed, I sensed a change in you. It was even more obvious the next morning.”
“While I was with you that day, I wondered if we were—” He looked up at the glassy figure on the wall. “Since coming back to London, it became clearer to me that I’m not ready for a—that I couldn’t let our—” God, this was worse than he thought it would be.
“That sounds like the preamble to, ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’”
“My feelings for you are unprecedented. Please understand that.”
“Are? Or were?”
“It’s because I care about you that I have to be completely candid. We both have demanding careers. You’ve got two of them. Martin has a habit of turning special projects over to me, either to manage or to delegate, but either way, my role is supervisory. I spend so much of my free time—weekends, I mean—in Gloucestershire. A committed relationship is . . . ” He ran out of words again.
“Is what?”
“The timing’s not ideal. For either of us.” Unable to expand on this feeble explanation, he added, “If you ever need anything, you can ring me. I mean that.”
“Good to know.” Her voice was so devoid of inflection, he couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic. She picked up her glass to empty it, then placed it on the scalloped paper mat. Taking the keys to his flat from her jacket pocket, she dropped them in the middle of the table. She rose and picked up her handbag from an empty chair. “Tell your father I said hello. And goodbye.”
Dan had spent days summoning the fortitude for this conversation. Ellie, intuiting what he would say, dispassionately hearing him out, suppressing her emotions, was the strong one.
He heard her murmur something to the man behind the bar before she exited.
As he swallowed the last of his whisky, the waiter appeared with a second glass on his tray.
“The lady said you wanted another.”
She was right.
After pressing the ignition switch to shut down the Jaguar’s engine, Dan reached for the birthday gift on the passenger seat. The wrapping on the framed jackdaw photo was printed with colored balloons. He never could guess how Brian would react to unfamiliar items, but removing the paper would employ motor skills his physical therapists had spent years restoring.
When he signed in at reception, the woman on duty said, “If we gave a prize for popularity, your brother would be today’s winner.”
Dad had stopped in on the way to his Bristol office. At lunchtime, Sandra brought over the birthday cake she’d baked.
“Can you find out whether Dr. Daventry is able to see me? My dad was in a hurry this morning and couldn’t ask if there’s a decision about arranging Brian’s visit to Tayer Court.”
“Wouldn’t that be grand? No need to page him, you’ll find him in his office.”
At the far end of a broad corridor, the chief administrator conversed with a tall and slender female. Whatever he said made her turn.
His chest ached as though he’d received a blow.
“Lady Lucinda was with Brian for a quarter of an hour,” Dr. Daventry said. “In the day room.”
Her iron gray hair was bluntly chopped in a pageboy style. It used to be glossy brown-black and coiled in a bun behind her head. He couldn’t help asking, “Does Dad know you planned to come today?”
“I’m on the list of permitted visitors,” she declared. “I always have been.” Her voice was different, too, pitched lower than he remembered.
Every parting line he could think of sounded like an insult. How considerate of you, traveling all the way from Scotland to spend fifteen minutes with your brain-damaged son. Thanks for remembering Brian’s birthday, it almost makes up for ignoring mine. Choosing not to be blatantly rude to the person who had taught him manners, he said nothing at all.
I’ve got problems enough, he thought, hurrying towards the day room. I don’t need this one.
Brian was wearing a baggy sweatshirt embroidered with a bright red Scottish lion. He grinned up at Dan before dipping a spoon into his bowl of chocolate ice cream and the remnants of Sandra’s sponge cake.
“Happy birthday, Brian. Hello, Norman.”
“I’ve been telling him he’d have a fourth visitor,” the attendant said. “That’s a record for one day. You. Sir Terry. Sandra. And your mum.”
“Has she visited before?”
Norman shrugged. “Can’t say. If so, it was before my time.”
“Or when you were off-duty.”
“Nah. I’d have been informed. What we got here?” Norman asked, pointing at the parcel.
“A picture to hang in his room.” Dan sat with his brother at the table. “How’s that ice cream?”
Brian nodded vigorously.
“Here’s a birthday present. You can open it.” He watched the unsteady hands pull away the paper, revealing the image. “This is Jack. Our bird friend in the garden at Tayer Court.” It wouldn’t be fair—or productive—to ask if Brian remembered. Would he retain the memory of this one-sided conversation? Regarding Norman, he said, “Tell me about his interaction with his prior visitor. What did she say to him?”
“She described where she lives and what she does there. She told him about watching seals and sea eagles from a jetty. Walking in the hills when the heather blooms. Sounded just like you, talking about that bird in your dad’s garden.”
Dan disliked being compared to his mother as much as he did the description of her idyllic Highland existence.
Brian’s forefinger tapped the picture.
“Norman will hang it in your room.” Dan asked if he looked forward to the next movie night, nodding at the replies Norman gave. He wanted to outstay their estranged parent but suspected Brian needed quiet time after the unprecedented parade of people.
Before going, he ruffled the thatch of dark hair so similar to his. The same shade their mother’s used to be.
His hope that she’d left the premises was dashed when he saw her seated on a bench that was directly and unavoidably in his path. Sunglasses shielded her eyes, and she’d tied a scarf over her hair.
As soon as he was within earshot she said, “I’ve identified your motorcar. You used to dream of owning a Jaguar.”
He was in no mood to entertain her reminiscences.
“Coming to Harding Hall was difficult for me,” she went on, “in this anxious time. My father is declining rapidly, and he’s putting his affairs in order while he’s able. Your uncle and I are co-executors. You bear the Wheeler surname, but you’re equally a Neast of Tredington. Under the terms of the will, you’ll receive a legacy.”
“I neither want nor need it. Tell my grandfather to assign it to Brian.”
“His share will be placed in a trust, to be jointly administered by you and your father.” Her fingers plucked the ends of her scarf. “I met the members of his care team, who gave me all the details of his therapy regimen. They told me how often you and Terry visit him. Dr. Daventry sends reports, but I’m glad to see for myself that he’s healthy and comfortable.”
“I was unaware it mattered to you.”
“My love for my sons is constant, unaffected by time and distance.” She placed her fidgety hands in her lap and clasped them. “Depression is as unpredictable as it is cruel. Although mine began as situational, it was later diagnosed as clinical. When I lost all desire to continue my existence, I dreaded inflicting another tragedy on those I never stopped loving.”
“You think you didn’t?”
“My condition forced me into a terrible choice. I don’t expect understanding or compassion from you. What I did was absolutely necessary for my self-preservation. And it was kinder and better to go. By staying, I would’ve caused all of us a great deal more anguish.”
He’d told himself the same thing, to salve his conscience, before and after informing Ellie of his decision to part from her.
“My husband is coming to collect me. I daresay you prefer to get away before he arrives.” She removed her sunglasses and peered up at him. “You’re resilient, like your father, I’ve always known that. And you’ve done well professionally. Your personal life is a mystery to me. I do hope it brings you happiness.”
“It did. Until a fortnight ago.”
“What happened?”
“She was put off by Dad’s refusal to condone our relationship. A repeat of past trauma—her late husband’s parents never accepted her. That, combined with demanding and conflicting work schedules, made our situation even more untenable.”
He wouldn’t admit that his qualms about Ellie’s attachment to a dead husband had led to the break-up. Or that since being abandoned in the Rivoli Bar, his love for her had intensified. Along with his regret.
“It’s been ages since I’ve dished out motherly advice, and I may never have another chance. Follow your heart, Dan. Wherever, to whomever, it leads.”
Depression wasn’t supposed to be contagious, but during his brief exposure to a sufferer, he’d contracted something that closely resembled it. Driving back to Tayer Court, he wondered if his mother’s next destination was the churchyard. He imagined her walking past graves of dead Wheelers and Dimerys and Tayers on the way to Oll’s burial place, shaded by the spreading branches of an ancient yew tree.
The only time she visited the unconscious Brian’s hospital room, he’d been attached to monitors and the machine that regulated his breathing. Her reaction was so frenzied that a medic put her under sedation, and she remained bedridden at home until the day of her eldest son’s funeral and interment. Dan’s grandparents, the Earl and Countess of Tredington, wanted to send her to a sanitarium for treatment. Dad, rejecting this drastic measure, arranged her sessions with Dr. Blair and chauffeured her to Bristol every week.
The therapist introduced the Wheelers to his brother, who was spending his annual holiday in the city. Soon afterwards, Dan’s mother decided to drive her herself to the appointments. The following week she was late returning to Tayer Court—Mr. Blair from Scotland had invited her to tea. One rainy evening she rang the house to say she’d met her new friend for drinks at the Grand Hotel on Broad Street and would stay the night, since she was too tipsy to be behind the wheel. She spent the following weekend in Weston-Super-Mare, ostensibly by herself. On her return, she tearfully confessed that the Scotsman had been with her, but swore she hadn’t violated her marriage vows. She also stated her intention of seeking an immediate divorce, on the grounds of incompatibility, and would move to her parents’ Georgian mansion just outside Gloucester. At some point she left them to join her Mr. Blair in the Highlands. Six months after she received the final decree, she married him.
Dan tried not to dwell on that fraught period, preferring to recall years when his family had been intact. He and his brothers had played cricket on their pitch behind Kington Cottage, where they grew up. On rainy days, they sat at the dining room table with their miniature cars, rolling them across the flat surface. They raced along the public footpath through the woods and at the edge of the fields. They rode their bicycles to nearby Tayer Court, always receiving a warm welcome from the Wheeler grandparents.
They spent Christmas and Boxing Day at Tredington Hall, chafing at the formality and ritual, and picking quarrels with their Neast cousins. Muddy shoes and antique Aubusson rugs didn’t mix well. The elders scolded whenever drawing room conversations were punctuated by repeated pings and buzzing from handheld video games.
Just beyond Sandra’s house, Dan approached a tractor with an extended hedge-cutting arm and had to reduce speed. The lane was narrow with many bends, and he couldn’t risk overtaking. Impatient to reach the one place where Lady Lucinda Blair would never turn up, he watched the blade’s teeth slice through tangled branches, leaving behind a green trail of chopped stems and shredded leaves. Broken and wasted, like his hopes of a future with Ellie.
In the kitchen his father greeted him gleefully, saying, “When I popped in to that fishmonger’s on the city’s east side for scallops, he tempted me with this beauty.” He peeled away butcher paper to reveal a large salmon fillet.
Dan set his key fob on the worktop. “Mother was at Harding Hall.” He had never called her that in his life, but to him she could no longer be Mum.
Apparently unperturbed, Dad prodded the pink flesh of his purchase. “I know. Daventry rang after their conference. No adverse effect on Brian, he said.”
“It was otherwise for me. A strange and exceedingly awkward reunion.”
“Poor Lucy. One of our firm’s Gloucester clients told me Old Tredington is fading and isn’t likely to cling on more than a week at the most. I’ll let you know about his funeral or memorial service, whatever the Neasts arrange. Both of us have to attend, you understand.”
Dan moved to the window. The canvas cover of the barbecue was draped over a patio chair, billowing in the wind like a sail on a boat. “Oll was his favorite. He never seemed terribly interested in me or Brian.”
“Titled chaps of his generation invest the firstborn male with primacy. Oliver would’ve inherited my baronetcy, if he’d outlived me, as you will when I pop my clogs. Your uncle will soon become master of Tredington Hall. Eventually the title and estate will pass to his eldest son—the one you used to kick under the table at Christmas dinner. Lucy was fortunate in being the only daughter. It conferred special status and infinite privileges.”
A sudden and staggering bolt of insight struck Dan. The two of them had each loved and lost a woman who was unable to fully reciprocate their love. This realization emboldened him to pose a question he’d suppressed for many years.
“Do you still feel a connection to her? Despite everything?”
“After more than two decades as husband and wife and raising three boys together, a legal judgment didn’t entirely dissolve our bond. Your brothers’ accident changed her from the person who loved us and lived with us. The passage of time does foster acceptance of what used to be painful and incomprehensible. I sincerely hope Lucy found the serenity she desperately desired.”
Dan wondered if Ellie was feeling serene. He wasn’t.
Shortly before coming to Gloucestershire, he’d stopped at the Ormond Stage. Her name and photo appeared with Lucas Daltrey’s on the eye-catching promotional banner draped over the entrance. It had lured him into the box office to purchase a ticket for the opening performance.
He delayed his departure until Sandra returned from a shopping expedition to Thornbury. She presented him with a thick wedge of Double Gloucester and a paper sack of chocolate chip cookies.
“These can’t be as good as yours,” he told her, tucking them in his overnight bag.
“I don’t bake them nowadays. Wouldn’t be fair to Terry to tempt him when he’s so disciplined about his diet. I tell him when a man reaches a certain age, he should eat anything he wants. I reckon he keeps himself slim for Pamela.”
Dan discovered that despite his low spirits, he was capable of laughter.
Dad came through the garden door. “What’s so amusing?” He removed his hat and kicked off his garden shoes.
“You are.”
He drew half a dozen shiny red tomatoes from his garden trug before handing it and the secateurs to Dan. “Cut some roses to take with you. You’ll be spoilt for choice. We had rain enough a few weeks back to produce a lavish late summer flush.”