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CHAPTER FIVE
Clare switched off her blow-dryer and ran her fingers through her clean hair, fluffing out the blunt-cut ends so that it framed her face in a thick bob. She had showered and dusted herself with fragrant talc and put on her nightgown and warm, wine-red robe. Now she intended to relax for the rest of the evening with a good book to ease the restless tension of her day.
It was the fourth day of the Deverenkos' stay at Moonlight, and Clare had found it just as difficult as the previous three. Tim's reluctance to go to school was more marked than usual, although Clare had been unprincipled enough to use the bribe of violin lessons with David as she packed him off on the boat each morning in time to catch the school bus which picked him up from the Lake Romata stop on State Highway 86. Today it had been his regular lesson with Cheryl, and when Clare had taken the station wagon—the road was just passable by afternoon—into Rotorua for her 'jazzercise' session at the gym before she ferried Tim to and from his lesson, the Deverenkos had accompanied her. David had gone with Tim to his lesson, while Tamara went to the gym with Clare and watched her join the fifteen or so other women in their energetic dancing. Tamara, who had obviously regretted her confidences of the second day, had thawed slightly as Clare, sweaty from her exertions, had come off the floor.
'You must have to be awfully fit,' she said wistfully. 'We do—did—gym at school, but it was always boring and sport was compulsory. Ugh, I hated it!'
'I'm fit, but then I've always danced,' said Clare as they walked towards the changing-rooms. 'But we have new people joining all the time. They just do as much of the routine as they can manage. The important thing is to enjoy it. My working hours are pretty flexible, especially when our bookings are light, so I can come as often, or as little, as I want. Most women find twice a week is enough to keep in shape, especially when they've built up to the full hour session. Maybe you'd like to try it some time.'
Tamara instantly backed off. 'I've never done any dancing or anything. With all our travelling there was never any time for stuff like that…except music lessons, of course.'
And yet she said she didn't play an instrument. Tactfully Clare ignored the tail-end of her remark. 'You don't have to be an expert, the instructor demonstrates everything.' She dimpled mischievously. 'And you notice how I always stay at the back? That's so I can watch everyone else instead of them watching me.' She often wondered whether she would have been able to make a career out of ballet even if it hadn't been physically precluded, given her shyness in front of people, but she hadn't been tempted. Dancing in a gym with a group of friendly women was vastly different from doing it on stage. No, this way Clare had the best of both worlds: she could lose herself in the music and the physical enjoyment of dancing without drawing attention to herself.
'I don't have any of the gear, anyway,' said Tamara, eyeing Clare's slinky purple leotard and blue tights, the pink leg warmers and foreshortened T-shirt she wore.
'All you need is the leotard and tights, and you can hire those from the gym. Do you want to have a go next time, Tamara?'
She shrugged, as if afraid of expressing any eagerness. 'I don't know. Dad might want to do something else.'
'What about what you want to do, Tamara?' asked Clare quietly. 'Why don't you forget your father for once, and be responsible for your own enjoyment? It's not as if this is something your father can join in with. It's sexist, you know, but it is a women-only group.'
'No, I suppose he couldn't, could he?' Tamara had seemed struck by the novelty of being able to do something her father couldn't. Clare could see her mind ticking over behind the ruffled brow. Nagging her father for attention had backfired; perhaps she might get her revenge by shutting him out! 'But I'm so scrawny.' She looked down at herself with dislike. 'I'll look horrible in those clinging things.'
'Better than having rolls of fat bulging all over the place,' said Clare briskly. 'We'll just make sure we get you a fattening colour in horizontal stripes, the sort of thing which makes me look like an elephant.'
Tamara had produced her rare giggle, and Clare had thought what a nice girl she could be when she forgot to shoulder her chip. What she really needed were a few interests of her own. For all her sophistication, in some ways Tamara was less mature than Tim. She had told Clare that she had turned thirteen a few months ago, had shown her the gold locket on a chain that her father had given her, and talked about the party that Deverenko had arranged for her, long distance, since he was in Japan at the time.
Four days ago Clare might have condemned David Deverenko for abandoning his daughter on her special day, but having seen them together she conceded that he was having every bit as difficult a time of it as Tamara. He undoubtedly loved his daughter, but her prickliness and her unpredictable moods had him at a loss. They spent all day together while Tim was at school and Clare was concentrating on shutting out her intrusive awareness of the new presence at Moonlight in her work, and yet still Tamara wanted more. That made Deverenko impatient with her, which in turn made Tamara sulk. It seemed a vicious circle with no break in sight. To fully satisfy Tamara's demands Deverenko would have to give up his career, sacrifice his love of creating great music for love of his daughter, and if be did that he would not be Deverenko any more. That he realised it was obvious in the dark concern with which be watched his daughter when she was being particularly morose. That Tamara didn't was also obvious. If she did, Clare thought she would probably be horrified at the very idea, and yet that was what she wanted, to be first in her father's life— before his music. There would be even more pain ahead for the girl if she continued the self-destructive round of confrontation and selfish demand. Pain for David, too, watching the slow alienation. Clare's heart ached for both of them.
'Mum? Are you ready to tuck me up?'
'Just coming, Tim.' Clare went into his room and began their night-time ritual of discussing their day and planning the next one.
'Miss Tyson let Mr Deverenko take my lesso
n today.'
'Did she?'
'Then he played us a sonata on her violin. Did you know that he didn't bring his own down with him?'
'No, I didn't.'
'I wanted to see it. Did you know it was famous? I looked it up in a book. It's a Guarneri, they're even rarer than Strads, you know. Of course he has a Stradivarius, too, and a Tononi. You'd think he'd have brought one down with him,' Tim's piping voice was much aggrieved. He frowned. 'Unless he's going to leave soon. He couldn't not practise for more than a week, could he, Mum? Not Deverenko!' The thought obviously appalled him. From the first time his chubby toddler's hands had laid on the violin, Tim had played every day. It was unthinkable to spend a day without practising. In all the books he read, it was the cardinal sin.
'He played today,' Clare pointed out.
'Not for very long. He practises at least four hours a day, longer than that, too, because of rests.'
'I'm sure he knows what he's doing,' placated Clare, wondering herself what it portended. She, too, found it difficult to think of David Deverenko without a violin within reach of his magic fingers. 'Perhaps his violins are too valuable to bring down here. No doubt the dampness and central heating wouldn't do them any good.'
'No, but you'd think he'd have brought an old one.'
'Why don't you ask him about it?' Clare said. Tim was like a terrier when on the track of a problem. 'How did your maths test go today at school?'
Tim decided it was time to snuggle down. He wriggled his small body down under the down cover and yawned impressively.
'Tim?' his mother said warningly, and he sighed, his brown eyes soulful, and so like Lee's that Clare weakened.
