Prima Donna (18 page)

‘Forget it,’ Tanner muttered. If Silk thought playing the charitable saviour was going to change anything that had happened between them, he could think again. ‘I’m going
home.’

‘Don’t be an idiot! You’ll get sick.’

‘You’re not my keeper, Silk. I don’t take orders from you,’ Tanner growled, switching direction and heading back towards the path that led past the terrace and towards
the gate in the boundary that divided the two men’s estates.

Pia moaned, becoming more alert as the shouts pierced her stupor.

‘Sssh. We’re home now,’ Will said, bringing his attention immediately back to her. ‘Let’s get you warmed up.’

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. ‘You saved me,’ she whispered. ‘You saved me again.’

Will looked down at her. She was looking up at him through hazy eyes and there was a look on her face he’d never seen before. Gratitude.

She clasped her arms around his neck, letting her head rock against his chest. He felt her curves press against him and he realized that in spite of the dramatic events of the past fortnight,
he’d never touched anything more of her than her hand.

He swept into the house, bounding up the grand staircase, two at a time. The bath was already drawn.

‘Mrs Bremar,’ he said, settling her on the towelling-covered chaise. ‘I’ll leave you to do the honours of getting Miss Soto in the bath. Just keep her foot up and out of
the water, and make sure she doesn’t get out until she’s as pink as a poodle, okay?’

‘A gentleman as well as a hero,’ Pia mumbled, trying to chuckle but lacking the energy.

He winked and quickly left the room. He couldn’t bear seeing her so weak and listless; he couldn’t bear seeing her with blue lips and grey skin; he couldn’t bear seeing her
pretty much butt-naked in Tanner Ludgrove’s jumper.

The doctor arrived within five minutes and arranged for an ambulance to take her down to the cottage hospital. She needed checking out – her temperature was still too low – and they
needed to use the X-ray machine to check whether any of the bones in her foot had moved when she’d smacked her leg against the tree. And of course the cast needed to be redone. The original
one now looked like a toddler’s attempts at pottery.

It was dusk by the time she was returned to Plumbridge House and the fire in her bedroom was roaring, casting out a golden glow that restored the last pigments of colour to her complexion. Mrs
Bremar helped her into a fresh nightie, and plumped the pillows on her bed.

‘This’ll help you sleep,’ the older woman said kindly, putting a brandy in Pia’s hand.

She sipped the toddy quickly, watching the apple-wood logs crackle and burn. She handed the glass to Mrs Bremar and sank back into the plump pillows. For the first time in God only knew how
long, Pia felt at home. She wanted to wait for Will to come up to her, but she was asleep within moments.

Will watched her from the doorway, having left his office two minutes too late.

Two minutes. What if Tanner had been two minutes too late today too? That would have been all it would have taken. Two minutes and it could have been weeks before they’d found her. No one
knew she’d gone there. What if . . . what if?

He shuddered at the thought as he watched her sleep. She was dressed in a nightie Emma had chosen and he made a mental note to give his PA a pay rise. It was a gauzy white-dotted virginal
number, with cap sleeves, which made Pia’s skin looked toffee-coloured and supple next to it, and he marvelled at the way it clung to her curves. God, he’d do the same, given half the
chance.

As he swallowed his cognac, his eyes skipped over her – her nipples were clearly visible beneath the flimsy fabric – and his jaw clenched at the sight of her lying there. She could
even turn him on in her sleep. It was so strange having this exotic, provocative creature in his house, sleeping in one of his beds yet again. He had pursued her so vigorously, and now she was here
and he couldn’t act on it. That damned plaster was as effective as any chastity belt and he didn’t really know how to behave with her. They weren’t friends or lovers, but neither
were they strangers. He’d been her saviour, but he couldn’t cash in on it. They were together but still apart.

Until today he hadn’t been at all certain that she’d ever succumb to him. It wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d kept up the defence, just to win the fight. But on the
lawn this morning there’d been a look on her face that had suggested a change. She clearly thought he’d saved her from drowning, and there’d been a shift in her demeanour back at
the house that suggested he was no longer the enemy.

He finished the last dregs in his glass and shook his head, quite disbelieving that it had taken two rescues just to get
this
far with her. It meant two things were now absolutely
certain: the next two months were going to drive him mad; and she could never know it was Tanner Ludgrove who’d pulled her from the water.

‘Mind if I join you?’ Will asked, standing in the doorway the next morning. He was standing with a tray in his hands. Pia looked up from her breakfast and
smiled.

Will walked in and settled himself down next to her on the bed. He could smell her hair on the pillows as they moved beneath his weight.

‘You’re hungry, then,’ he grinned, taking in the full English that was piled high on her plate.

Pia shrugged as she put a forkful of black pudding and scrambled egg in her mouth. She felt ravenous today, as though her body was trying to recover from yesterday’s near-death experience
by packing her full of fuel.

‘Aren’t you meant to be working?’ she mumbled, her mouth full.

‘I wanted to keep you company,’ he replied. ‘I’ve scarcely seen you since you got here.’

Pia thought she heard a note of guilt in his voice and she wondered what Mrs Bremar had reported back to him about the past week.

‘Besides, what’s the point of keeping a beautiful woman captive in my house if I can’t sit and have breakfast with her? Did you sleep well?’

‘I don’t think I moved.’

‘Good. No bad dreams?’

‘Uh-uh. No dreams at all. Just oblivion.’

‘Excellent.’ Will drank some orange juice.

‘You?’

Will’s hand hovered in mid-air. He looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Did you have any bad dreams? At least I didn’t know what was going on. But you did.’

‘Uh, well, yes, I guess,’ he faltered, eyes down. ‘I slept okay.’

He felt a small warm hand on his arm. ‘Thank you, Will,’ Pia said quietly. ‘I am in your debt.’

Will looked at her. There was no guile in her face. No teasing. She was just completely . . . open.

‘Yeah, well,’ he said, breaking out into a wicked grin. ‘You’ll pay.’

Pia burst out laughing. ‘I don’t doubt it.’

She clocked the graze and a purple bruise above his cheekbone. He looked shattered. No, more than that – he looked beaten up. She jerked her chin towards the cut. ‘What
happened?’

Will turned away, embarrassed. ‘It’s nothing. Just a disagreement with one of my staff.’

Pia’s eyebrows shot up. Was that what she had heard from the loo? ‘And that’s how he resolves disputes? By punching you? What is he – a cowboy?’

Will shook his head grimly. ‘There’s just a lot going on, that’s all. Your accident wasn’t the only disaster to befall me in St Moritz.’

‘It didn’t befall
you
,’ Pia said quickly, her voice suddenly flat.

‘Yes, it did,’ he countered, looking straight at her. ‘You know exactly how much I care for you . . . how much I want you.’

‘Yes. Two hundred grand’s worth,’ she said sarcastically, instantly reverting to her usual antagonism, and just as quickly regretting it. She didn’t want to go back to
that.

Will’s eyes narrowed. ‘When are you going to let that go? You know very well there isn’t a price for what I’d do for you. Haven’t I shown you that? Aren’t I
showing you now?’

Will sighed, frustrated, and stared at his plate.

Pia nibbled her lip, feeling small, as she watched him. She knew it was a push too far. It was time to turn the page.

‘So tell me about your other disasters, then,’ she said in a conciliatory tone.

There was a heavy lull. ‘My head groom nearly died on the trip back and my polo manager holds me responsible.’

‘But how could he possibly blame you?’ Pia retorted angrily, siding with him to show support. ‘How can he be so unreasonable? What is he – deluded as well as incompetent?
Surely, looking after the stable hands is
his
job. You weren’t even there. You were with me,’ she said.

‘I know,’ he replied, his voice low.

Pia was still for a moment, and then she leant over and kissed his cheek.

Will turned his face to her, astonished. Their first kiss. Okay, so it had been about as sexual as buttering toast, but still – small steps.

‘The guy’s a loser,’ she smiled, feeling better having exerted a little of
her
power for a change. She sat back on her pillows and raised an eyebrow at him as he
continued to stare at her. He clearly wanted so much more. ‘Do you mind?’ she asked, holding her hand out for the
Sunday Times
Culture section.

Will smiled and handed it to her, shaking out the Money supplement for himself, and they settled into a long, easy silence together.

Twenty minutes passed.

‘The bastard!’ Pia suddenly exclaimed. And then, after a long pause: ‘The bitch!’

Will didn’t know whether to laugh or not, as Pia gasped and raged her way through the centre-spread article. Best not, he decided, as her language grew bluer and then switched altogether
into Portuguese. She put down the newspaper hotly and looked at him, as though he knew what was going on.

‘What?’ he asked warily – should he commiserate, or run for his life?

‘Baudrand’s given
The Songbird
to Petrova!’ she cried.

‘What’s
The Songbird
?’

‘It’s
my
ballet,’ Pia wailed. ‘Dimitri Alvisio wrote it especially for me. I was going to debut it in March.’

‘But you won’t be better by March,’ he said slowly.

‘No!’ she said, in a tone that said: ‘Yes, I will!’

‘So . . . surely, then, Ava has to dance it?’ Will replied, worried about saying the wrong thing and inadvertently pitching himself against her. ‘She was already filling in for
the
Giselle
tour, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes! But we hadn’t even started rehearsals for
The Songbird
yet. Baudrand could have chosen
any
other ballet for her for the spring rep. He didn’t
have
to give her mine,’ she snarled hatefully.

‘I’m sure there’s a good reason why he made the decision to debut the ballet without you,’ he said, unable to think of one.

‘It’s my ballet . . . mine! How many principal dancers get their very own ballet written for them? And now he’s gone and given it to the very worst person. My arch rival. He
knows
that! And she’ll butcher it, you know. Chop it up with her feet. She’s about as lyrical as a kick boxer. It’ll look like a Jane Fonda workout by the time
she’s finished with it. How could he? How could he do this to me?’

Her voice was going higher and Will could tell anxiety was beginning to override her shock and anger. She gasped suddenly and the tray on her lap wobbled precariously.

‘Oh my God! You know why he’s done this, don’t you?’ she said, her eyes wide, hands cupping her chin.

Will shook his head. There was no point trying to keep up. Her mind was on speed.

‘He doesn’t think I’m coming back. He’s given it to Ava because he doesn’t think I’ll ever dance it.’ Big tears shone in her eyes. ‘He thinks
I’m finished.’

Sophie watched, charcoal poised, eyes creased in concentration, as Ava few through the air, Adam’s strong arms outstretched and ready to catch her nimble form. She was
dressed in a blood-red unitard, black tutu and her signature glossy black
pointe
shoes. They’d been rehearsing for three hours now but there wasn’t a sniff of a sweat patch on
her, only wafts of No.5 perfuming the studio.

There was no doubt that Adam and Ava made an incongruous pair. Where Pia’s raw sensuality had matched his own ripe looks, Ava looked as pristine as porcelain, and just as frigid.

Sophie watched Adam closely. It was their first day back in Chicago following the end of the tour, and she was desperate for a word or a look or a smile that might mean their affair was back on.
Ever since Ava had arrived in New York, Baudrand had been all over his new super-team, and Adam had been whisked from class to performances to press conferences to swanky patron dinners and back
again. He hadn’t had a moment to himself, much less a moment alone with her, and Sophie wasn’t even sure that he had heard about her promotion yet.

She had been hoping that, being back on home turf, things might settle down a bit. The choreographer, Alvisio, had delivered his new ballet,
The Songbird
, and it was to be the jewel in
the crown of the spring repertoire. But here in the studio, nerves seemed to be running high. All the smiles Ava had handed out as she ingratiated herself to the company in New York seemed to have
gone now, and Adam was looking stressed as he tried to adapt to Ava’s bombastic way of rehearsing.

He certainly looked altogether less sleek than his new partner: one leg of his tracksuit bottoms was rolled up past the knee, grey footless tights poking out beneath them and thinning to white
over his muscular calves, his black vest rippling over his carved stomach and cut away from his huge shoulders. His cheeks were flushed and a sheen of sweat misted his skin. Sophie wasn’t
surprised. They were working on
The Songbird
adagio, in which Adam had to perform thirteen lifts over twenty bars. He was exhausted.

The piano playing stopped at the end of the bar. Adam lowered Ava to the ground and she paced away from him restlessly, hands on hips, breathing hard, the blocks of her shoes thumping on the
floor.

‘That was better,’ Baudrand said from his seat at the side, his legs crossed at the ankle but his upper body curiously erect and held away from the chair back. He kept stroking his
white goatee as though soothing himself, his bald pate gleaming under the lights.