LITMIR.BIZ

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causing her lips to part ever so slightly. The intimacy of his touch astounded her, caught her breath. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it – his gorgeous face staring down at her momentarily clouding her mind.

      ‘I don’t even know you; all we’ve done is talk about me.’

      ‘And I’ve enjoyed that very much … but unfortunately I’m going to have to dash. I fly to the US tonight.’

      ‘Oh! OK, well have a safe flight.’ Disappointment washed over her as the special moment they’d shared evaporated. ‘Liam?’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Thanks for the chat to a confused stranger.’ As she smiled her face lit up, before the concern crept in once again.

      ‘The pleasure has been all mine.’ He smiled back. ‘Best of luck with your decision.’

      ‘Well, thanks.’ She was flummoxed by him. ‘And best of luck with the rest of your life.’

      ‘That’s the attitude, Elle!’ he said with a wink and a smile. No one had ever called her that before. ‘Until we meet again …’

      He said it as if he were certain they would, deftly placing a European-style kiss on each of her flushed cheeks.

      Their eyes met briefly before he winked, turned away and jogged off into the swell of London’s human tide, promptly disappearing from her life.

       Decision

      That night, Eloise couldn’t shift the unusual events of the day from her mind. Meeting with Caesar and his bizarre proposal. Her fortuitous albeit brief encounter with Liam. It was as though she had been cast out into the real world for the first time. Her tiny apartment didn’t feel quite so lonely and she was surprised that her appetite was back; even after the lunch at the Tate Modern, she was ravenous.

      With that thought, she ordered some home delivery of tom yum soup and honey-steamed fish with Asian greens and completely tidied her messy apartment while awaiting the food’s arrival, something she hadn’t done for weeks while she’d been wallowing in misery.

      With food in her stomach, and feeling more emotionally stable than she had for some time, she settled herself onto her bed to read the contents of the offer in detail.

       Eight grand slams.

      Two years. She could do that. If she was lucky the Russian dominance of ballet would have dissipated by then …

       All accommodation and expenses included.

      No problems with that, and she could save on London rent.

       A three-bedroom apartment in Belgravia, fully transferred into your name at the completion of the contract.

      That was really quite unbelievable. After her childhood in foster care, she had never imagined such luxury could be hers without the safety net of ballet. Actually, she hadn’t believed she would ever own her own place in London, so this was simply incredible. But as she’d said to Liam, what was the catch? She wondered …

       An annual payment of £100,000, indexed to inflation for twenty years.

      This sounded obscene! Only the best of the best dancers in the world could ever hope to aspire to such a salary, and that would be with endorsements. She wondered whether Caesar had more money than sense.

      These two years would give her complete independence.

      To realise her dream.

      To follow her passion.

      To dance!

      On her terms …

      For the rest of her life!

      This was the reason she must seriously consider this outrageous offer – even if it was risky …

      She suspected that Caesar had more information than he acknowledged about her career and life, and that she had played nicely into his hands. He seemed authentic enough on the surface, but she also sensed – as, she suspected, did many others – an underlying danger that meant the idea of signing a contract with Caesar should never be taken lightly. His influence in Great Britain, at least, was a sticky web entrenched both wide and deep in the business community and beyond. She had no doubt that he was adept at perfecting any number of masks during negotiations, to gain the outcome he desired.

      But what did it matter when his offer was so generous? It would more than provide her with a cushioned transition from the secluded world of ballet into the upper echelons of society’s elite – so long as she remained locked in his genie bottle for two complete years, to be set free just after her twenty-fourth birthday.

      She couldn’t deny the feeling that there was also something about his proposal that made her feel special, essentially ‘chosen’ above all others. Although she didn’t understand why Caesar wanted her and only her, there was something about being specifically sought after and needed that soothed her dented soul. More significantly, she would belong somewhere – however temporarily – and she needed that more than anything right now, while she felt like she was in freefall.

      Eloise had a restless night tossing and turning, imagining the direction her life might take should she accept Caesar’s offer. Liam’s words continued to penetrate her dreams, intertwined with Caesar’s convincing monologue.

      The most crystallising of these dreams occurred just before dawn.

      The Répétiteur was casting his eagle eyes onstage as Eloise performed her first solo during the final dress rehearsal of Swan Lake. As she commenced her pirouettes, she felt like she could fly; the flow of the music had taken over her body and she was free from all anxiety as she continued en pointe. Around and around her body swirled, her eyes fixated on the small light she used to anchor her spins. Her execution was flawless.

       This was why she danced; when she became the dance she was free from the world. Free from pain and hurt and abandonment, intrinsically connected to the music. Knowing that at last she belonged. Her body was awash with acceptance and love. She was, at long last, at peace with herself.

      So absorbed was she in these feelings, feelings she had been searching for her entire life, that she hadn’t noticed that the ballet had spontaneously changed from Swan Lake to Manon and she was suddenly being torn between the wealthy Monsieur G.M. and her lover Des Grieux. She had forgotten the moves as her body was pulled and pushed by the two men fighting over her. She didn’t understand the dance, because this wasn’t the ballet she had rehearsed over and over for so many years. This dance was different and she had no way of predicting what would come next. She felt as if she were being torn in half by these characters, a pawn in their play. Her arms were stretched painfully in opposite directions as she oscillated between both men, the suddenly violent music tensing her movements as she was thrust into the air by the four strong hands controlling her body.

      Time was momentarily frozen, allowing her to perfect her position mid-flight – her legs stretched into a grand jeté with her arms held beautifully in fifth position. Her training kept her mouth closed, as though no physical exertion were required to perform this move. Suddenly the music became ominous as she began her descent. Floating downwards in slow motion, which gave her time to glance towards the floor, she discovered to her horror that no one was there to catch her fall; she was once again alone onstage. She desperately flapped her swan-like wings, before crashing violently onto the floor, her body shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

       The Répétiteur’s voice bellowed from the back of the auditorium. ‘Get someone from maintenance to clean up this mess and find me the understudy, now! Everyone prepare for the next act.’ And clapped his hands loudly.

       Eloise watched from afar as the pieces of her broken body were

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