A Dance in Blood Velvet by Freda Warrington

Author:Freda Warrington [Warrington, Freda]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781781167267
Publisher: Titan
Published: 2013-09-19T17:52:00+00:00

* * *

Violette was alive, healthy, hard at work; Charlotte was desperately relieved that her attack had caused no apparent harm. Soon, though, her initial relief turned sour.

Dans le Jardin had nothing but bad reviews. The ballet disturbed and confused its audience; critics universally loathed it. Churches called for it to be banned.

The work was accused of being too modern, too simplistic, obscene, grotesque, a waste of Violette Lenoir’s huge talent. It proved the folly of a woman trying to replace the great Janacek. Yet the worst accusation was that it was too serious. The mood of these times was one of frivolity; Violette had tackled a theme too dark and disturbing.

“Lenoir was pupil of Pavlova’s but will never be as great as her teacher because she lacks warmth,” one critic wrote pompously. “She is a superb actress but it is an act; her emotions do not come from the heart.”

You blind idiots, Charlotte thought in fury. Her dancing is completely from her heart. Her coldness stems from her pain. It’s self-protection!

One day, in more enlightened times, Dans le Jardin might be revered; but now it was a disaster. At every performance, Charlotte was disheartened by shrinking audiences. Once the public decided to hate the ballet, nothing would move them to love it.

Now Violette was newsworthy again; the Ballet Janacek faced ruin.

The tour was cancelled halfway through, and the company returned to Salzburg. Charlotte retreated to her hotel, thinking of Violette alone in her flat across the river; imagining the disappointment and worry she was enduring. And she longed to go to her...

The following day, as she sat reading in her hotel room, Charlotte felt a wave of heat scamper over her. A human approaching. She threw aside her book, knowing who it was even before she heard light footsteps in the corridor. Opening the door with undignified haste, she found Violette standing there with her gloved fist raised, about to knock.

Charlotte didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She did one sensible thing: refrained from throwing her arms around the dancer. They stood and looked at each other; Violette unsmiling, unreadable as always.

“It’s so lovely to see you,” Charlotte said at last. “Come in. How are you?”

Violette walked in, not replying. Her coat was deep blue, trimmed with black fur. She looked around the room, went to the window and stared out.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Charlotte said, subdued. “Won’t you take off your coat?”

Violette turned and gave her a long, hostile look.

“I won’t touch you,” said Charlotte. “I swear. Please. You’re in no danger.” Then Violette hesitantly took off her coat and hat and laid them on the bed. Underneath she wore a lavender dress with silk roses on the shoulder. No jewellery.

Charlotte said, “How did you know I was here?”

“I know you’ve been in Salzburg for weeks, and at every performance.”

“Why have you come to me now?”

“I wish I knew,” Violette said abruptly. “I tried to stay away but I couldn’t help myself.”

And nothing’s changed, Charlotte thought helplessly.

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