Chapter 32
Chapter 32
Many months ago, Ellie arrived in London to strut her stuff at the Archway for a few weeks and embark on her professional acting career. She hadn’t imagined that she’d be cast in a ballet she loved and had never expected to dance again, or that she’d perform it in one of the world’s most famous theatres. Standing backstage, adrenalin flowing, she was conscious of her usual contradictory impulses. She wanted to run to her dressing room and hide. She was impatient for the overture to begin and the lights to come up.
Members of the corps de ballet were busy with their warm ups, stretching their limbs, practicing steps. Their variously colored woolen shawls, knitted leg warmers, and bulky padded gilets contrasted with white shiny bodices and foamy skirts. Rafe was making the rounds, offering words of encouragement to neophytes before addressing similar words to each of his soloists.
Her affection and gratitude surged as she watched him move from sylph to sylph, his regal movements calling to mind his portrayals of Siegfried, Albrecht, Desiré, and Oberon. Later, he would demonstrate how well he could rock a tuxedo.
After a brief dialogue with Drew, Rafe approached her.
Reaching out to adjust her floral coronet, he said fondly, “This gladdens my heart. Seeing you here, where you belong, for all the best reasons. Not to escape the meanness you experienced at City International. Or for the comfort you hoped for when joining me at Ballet Bruxelles. You’ll never again be Rafe’s Waif. You’re perfectly balanced. And I don’t mean on your feet.”
“I’m a dancer who found out how to live her best life when not in the studio or onstage. With Dan. And our dog. And my friends.”
“I look forward to creating a ballet on you. You’re so loved up, it should be something romantic, don’t you think? With a very happy ending.”
“Cut the sentimentality, or I’ll cry and mess up my face.” She fluttered her false eyelashes. “When I quit burlesque, I swore I’d never wear these again. Now I am. For you.”
He kissed each of her cheeks. “Merde, my darling sylph.”
“Back at you, my forever partner.”
The people she loved best were scattered throughout the horseshoe-shaped auditorium. Many of her relatives. Dan and Terry and Pamela. Lou and Kelly.
She fluffed up her tulle skirts and filled her lungs, conscious of the satin encasing her torso. Disjointed notes emerged from the orchestra as the musicians tuned up. Dancers removed their fleeces and leg warmers and made final adjustments to their shoe elastics and ribbons When the instruments quieted, the crowd fell silent. They applauded the conductor as he took his place.
Ellie drifted into her spot on Drew’s left side. Leaning across him, she pursed her lips at Gemma, miming a kiss. The third female soloist stretched out on the floor at their feet.
Drew prodded her with the toes of his slipper. “Don’t fall asleep down there.”
Their central grouping was surrounded by twenty sylphides, ten on either side of the stage, some standing and some kneeling. Their hair was identically styled and topped with a circlet of pale flowers.
Hearing an increase in the overture’s tempo and volume, Ellie angled her head towards Drew’s shoulder blade, careful not to let her rouged cheek brush his white sleeve. She raised her hands to her chest, fingers cupped. After sliding her right leg back in tendu, she adjusted her balance to ensure that her left leg wasn’t supporting her entire body. She would maintain this pose until her cue to soar and to shine.
British Ballet Theatre board members, donors, and special guests descended to the colorful and, in Dan’s opinion, excessively decorated bar in the theatre basement for a private reception. The walls were peacock blue, with ornamental tiles, and he was walking on a Moroccan-style carpet. Ellie’s mother and aunts held court on a tufted sofa upholstered in gold velvet. Patrick Lowery and his son Liam were chatting with a bartender.
The one Lowery Dan hadn’t met during his brief time in New Hampshire, more subdued than her charismatic relatives, stood beside him, observing the crowd. Turning to her, he commented, “Assembling a Thanksgiving feast for eight people in a foreign city didn’t faze them at all.”
“They loved doing it. Too bad Ellie spent our national holiday in the studio. At least she worked up a good appetite.”
“Why didn’t you have ballet training?”
“I was a girl jock. Track. Softball. I still play, with colleagues at my research institution. My partner’s specialty is sports medicine—if I bust something, she can patch me up. Tomorrow she’ll wake up to my pics of the creepiest exhibits at the Hunterian Museum. Bones and skulls. Surgical instruments. She’ll probably insist on coming to London for our honeymoon, so she can see them herself.”
“When is the wedding?”
“Within the year,” Marie replied. “Most likely on our island—Martha’s Vineyard. My sister wanted us to exchange vows at the lake cottage. On the dock, with the mountains as a backdrop.”
Was that Ellie’s dream location? Before asking her, he needed to get through the preliminaries.
The conversational buzz subsided when the artistic director called for attention. After thanking the assembled donors for their support and praising his staff, he acknowledged the performers’ diligence when preparing two ballets within a relatively short time, while rehearsing other works in the repertory. His voice cracked with emotion as he expressed his extreme pride in the entire company.
Ellie, no longer the fairylike creature who had danced across the stage, had resumed her human form. At Dan’s suggestion, she wore the full-skirted, blue-green dress he remembered from the after-party the night of her final appearance as Stella Nue. Her auburn hair, freed from the ballet bun, was held away from her face by a diamanté band.
“Who’s the guy talking to your main squeeze?” Marie asked him.
“My dad, who recently joined the BBT Board of Directors.” The two of them looked very much at ease, sitting side by side on a sofa.
He passed through the crowd to join them, positioning himself on an adjacent armchair boldly patterned in kaleidoscope colors.
Dad said, “We’re discussing my TC37 cultivar. I was telling Ellie I’d like to call it Chopiniana.”
“That would suit a white rose,” she said. “I have a better suggestion for your pink one. Stella Nue.” When he didn’t say anything, she asked, “Too risqué?”
“Just enough to attract buyers’ attention. But that name is a registered trademark, isn’t it?”
“I’ll grant you a license for commercial use, royalty-free, for one pound.” She added, “With conditions. I’ve provided start-up funding for Harding Hall’s new dance therapy program. I want you to contribute a portion of your profits to it. In Brian’s name.”
“That’s extraordinarily generous. Isn’t it, Dan?”
“Indeed,” he replied.
Ellie flagged down a server and asked to borrow his biro. “What price does your grower charge per plant?”
“Twenty-five pounds.”
“You receive a percentage of the sales. Net or gross?”
“Net. The shipping fee is an add-on. My share out is in the region of fifty per cent.”
“At Tayer Court, you said you expect to sell five hundred plants from your catalog.”
“You’ve got an exceptional memory.”
“Occupational necessity.” Ellie jotted numbers on a napkin. Looking up, she announced, “Just over six thousand pounds. From the United Kingdom. For years, Aunt Camille has dealt with international suppliers and knows all about customs regulations. She can research our Department of Agriculture certification process and requirements for importation of plants. Canada, a Commonwealth nation, has a parallel entity. I can’t predict when we’ll find overseas growers to handle grafting and distribution, but we can start looking. For North American regions, you’ll need to test for hardiness. New Hampshire would be ideal, with a span of USDA Zones 3 to 6.” She studied their faces. “Am I going too fast?”
“When Dan described you as an astute businesswoman, he didn’t exaggerate.”
“There’s a close alignment between creativity and commercialism, Terry. You know that.”
His father got up. “Pamela’s giving me a meaningful look. We’ve got an early morning flight to Milan. When we’re back, we’ll bore you both senseless with our descriptions of culture cramming at La Scala.”
Dan moved to the place beside Ellie. “I’ve tried to get you alone for days. This isn’t the most private of settings, but I’m not waiting any longer to say what’s on my mind.”
She scrawled another number on the napkin and drew a line under it. “I’m listening.”
To make sure, he took away the pen. “It’s important.”
That got her attention. “I’m having Rivoli Bar flashbacks.”
“This is the opposite of a brush off. Harry’s favorite tipple was different to mine,” he began. “In choosing a wife, our preferences are exactly the same. When you feel ready to marry again, if you ever do, I’d very much like to be your next husband.”
“Oh, you will.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve already decided what I’ll wear for our wedding. Terry has seen it.”
“How? Where?”
“At the BBT Friends reception, when you were out of town. It’s a designer gown. Ivory silk with sequins scattered on the overskirt. It’ll be my something old.”
“Here’s something blue.” He reached into his jacket’s inner pocket. Taking her hand, he turned it over and placed the necklace in her palm. “A souvenir from Brighton. It’s called a journey pendant. Ours is just beginning.”
“These are aquamarines. Our birthstone. That’s why you wanted me to wear this dress—it matches.” She turned and held her hair away from her neck. “Put it on.”
Securing the tiny clasp, he whispered in her ear, “I love you, Ellie Lowery. Mrs. Colman. Stella Nue.”
She swiveled around. “I’m absolutely certain I fell in love before you did.”
“I suspect we’ll be debating that point for the rest of our lives,” he said, before kissing her on the lips.
On moving day at Latimer House, Ellie’s assigned task was watching over Hannah, whose due date was fast approaching. Much easier than keeping her curly-coated moyen poodle pup distracted and entertained, and away from all commotion.
“Let me know if I can bring you something,” she said to her human charge when she had successfully depleted Jasper’s not entirely endless capacity for activity. “Cup of tea? Glass of water? A biscuit?”
“There’s no room in me for anything besides my not so little girl. If you don’t need the mahogany chest in the main bedroom, you could let Martin know it can go to Stanwell.”
Ellie found the noble marquess in his former study, dismantling desktop computer components and cursing under his breath.
“Having second thoughts?” she teased.
“Not yet,” he panted. “You?”
“Too late for that. Dan’s treadmill just came up the service lift and is being reassembled in the room where I keep my portable barre.”
Ellie and Dan had accepted Martin’s offer to become permanent tenants. A multitude of responsibilities in the Milver Vale had reduced his visits to London. Hannah planned to keep busy with their expanded family and after maternity leave would resume work on the Thomas Hardy biographical film. They were removing personal possessions—photos, mementos, any pieces of furniture with sentimental or practical value. In future, Latimer Estates would receive a substantially higher rent for Dan’s flat than he had paid.
Eyeing the framed travel pictures of Italian cities and Bangkok and a river in Thailand, she asked what Martin meant to do with them.
“They’re destined for a charity shop. At Stanwell, we’ve got an entire series of Venetian views by the master painter Canaletto. Dan needs the space for his cinema posters. Arrange things as you please. Make this your home. Because it is.”
Dan carried a stack of books into the room. Stepping around the computer screen, he went to the built-ins and began filling the empty shelves.
“When will you get round to putting a ring on this lady’s finger?” Martin asked him.
“I’m waiting for Ellie to tell me what she wants. Unfortunately, I haven’t got a stonking heirloom diamond like the one that sealed your engagement to Hannah.”
“You gave me this.” Ellie touched the gemstone pendant dangling from its gold chain. “It stays on in class and during rehearsals. If I had a ring, I’d constantly be taking it off. Anyway, we haven’t set a date yet. Or decided on a location.”
“Getting the dog was a higher priority,” Dan added. “Where is Jasper?”
“Fast asleep in the parlor on his cushion, curled around his favorite fish toy. Looking adorable.” Ellie presented her phone so he could see the most recent photo.
Martin coiled the cables he had detached and placed them in a carton with the keyboard. “I could use an extra set of hands carrying this lot to the van.”
Ellie opened the glass door and stepped onto the balcony. The leaves of her potted Stella Nue rose, a housewarming gift from Terry, were changing from green to yellow, but it continued to bear flowers. Their petals were as pale and pink as a satin pointe shoe.