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He was trying not to, but she looked very pale and he saw the flash of tears in her eyes and he was quite sure it was down to him. Daniil had seen the cautious look on Rachel’s face when she had opened the door to him and George’s words were still like a worm in his ear. It would seem that Libby Tennent was no longer happy.
No, it wasn’t a brilliant dinner.
And despite the most sumptuous company, and chocolates to boot, as well as the very best seats at the ballet, as Libby stared at the curtain that would soon part all she felt was that she was on the wrong side of it.
It had been a mistake to come tonight, she knew as she looked through the programme. The biographies made her want to weep, the sound of the orchestra taking their seats, the air of anticipation all made her want to run for home.
She turned to him, to tell him that this was possibly the worst place on earth that she could be right now.
‘Can we just...?’ Libby’s words were halted by an announcement, telling the audience that the part of the Firebird would tonight be performed by the understudy Tatania Ilyushin.
It was like rubbing salt into the wound for Libby. She looked through the programme and saw that the dancer usually played one of the thirteen princesses. Tonight Tatania had her chance to shine—it was the breakthrough Libby had long dreamed of as her career had started to fade.
Daniil, on best first-date behaviour, though wondering how long it would go on for, stifled a yawn and glanced down at his own programme. The second he turned the page his head tightened as he looked into pale green eyes and remembered a little girl being sent by her mother to get the box that held the tape.
It couldn’t be Anya, surely?
Yes, it could.
Tatania might be her full name, or a stage name perhaps. He had never known Anya’s surname. Sergio’s wife had told him that Anya had done well and had moved to St Petersburg and that Katya had moved there to be closer to her daughter.
He glanced at Libby but her attention was now on the stage, watching as the curtain drew back.
It was stunning, Libby thought as she saw the smoke swirling around the trees on the stage.
And far, far too late to leave without making a small scene.
She peered into the dark forest, waiting for the lights to lift further, but they didn’t and she strained to see, wondering if there was a problem. But then a streak of burnt orange flew across the stage, and the audience gasped as Tatania’s entrance was made. Graceful, reed thin, Libby knew that if she never ate another piece of cheese in her life and exercised and trained for every minute of every hour she could still never achieve the amazing lines that this dancer made.
She was surely too tall, Libby thought as she attempted a critical eye, yet her arms were like wings without feathers, and it was as if Tatania was truly flying. She spun in the prince’s arms—fragile, tiny and seductive—and Libby sat grieving for her own dreams. She had been wrong to come. It was far too soon, a torture of her own making. Yes, it might sound selfish and self-absorbed but that was what it took to make it as far as Tatania had. For Libby it had killed her to leave it behind.
It was a relief when the interval came.
For ten seconds.
‘She’s amazing,’ Daniil said, as did the people standing behind them. As did the people to the left.
‘Do you know...?’ he started, but how could he tell Libby here? How could he say that possibly the leading lady might know something about his twin?
If it even was Anya.
And if it was, would she even remember him?
Libby could sense his distraction and chewed on the slice of lemon that had come with her water—she didn’t dare risk gin, not just because she might well be pregnant, more for the hopeless tears it might produce. Still, the lemon matched the sourness in her mouth and she was about to bite the bullet and suggest that they leave when Daniil drained his drink and spoke.
‘I’ll be back in a moment.’
He might never have been to the ballet but he was very used to getting his demands met and after a few enquiries he was told that, certainly, they would relay a message to Tatania, asking her to meet him afterwards.
As Daniil went to give his name, he hesitated, wondering if Anya would remember him, given that he had left the orphanage when he was twelve. She had only really come in on her school holidays, he thought.
She would remember the Zverev twins, though, surely?
It was his best chance of being allowed backstage.
‘Tell her that one half of the Zverev twins is here and would like to congratulate her personally.’
