Authors: Lucinda Riley
The chestnut tree now stood leafless – stark and bare in the bleak November mist.
Helena buried her face in her trembling hands. Like the leaves that had fallen from the tree, Alexander – and their love – seemed to have vanished into thin air.
κγ
‘So’ – Helena’s entire body drooped from exhaustion – ‘in the end, I realised he wasn’t ever coming back. And that was
that.’
There was a long pause before William spoke. ‘Of course, you realise you aren’t unusual, don’t you? He’s always had a short attention span when it comes to pretty women.
He’s in love with being in love. Don’t flatter yourself, Helena. I can assure you that you were only one of many.’
‘I’m sure.’ She refused to react to the jibe. She knew she deserved it, and far worse besides.
‘I’m amazed he never told me about you. He usually gave me chapter and verse on his illicit conquests.’ William let out a harsh chuckle. ‘If I’d have known you at
the time, I could have warned you. But of course, I didn’t. And, if I
had
known you . . . well, we wouldn’t be here now. The last thing I’d ever have wanted was one of his
cast-offs.’
Helena retreated into herself to find the strength not to run away from William’s dreadful words. He was the injured party; he had a right to say whatever he wanted.
‘I understand.’ She looked down at her hands as she spoke. ‘Maybe he didn’t tell you because he was ashamed.’ ‘Sacha, ashamed of bedding a woman?! Hardly. It
was what he lived for. Why on earth would he be ashamed?’
‘I discovered . . . much later, that he’d gone home, because Jules was pregnant with Rupes.’
‘I see.’ William nodded. ‘Well, that must have been a bit of a shock.’
‘Yes.’ She looked up at him. ‘But I didn’t know that at the time,
or
that he was married.’
‘Really? Isn’t that convenient.’
‘He didn’t tell me, William. He never even gave me a clue, I swear.’
‘And it never occurred to you when you met me that your Viennese lover was one and the same as my oldest friend?’
‘William, when you first mentioned your best friend “Sacha Chandler” – who granted had been at Oxford with you and suggested that you visit Vienna – how could I
have known they were the same person? I knew him back then as “Alexander Nicholls”.’
‘As I’m sure I’ve told you before, “Sacha” is his childhood nickname and the full family surname is actually “Chandler-Nicholls”. I find it very hard to
believe that you wouldn’t have known that at the time, seeing as the two of you were so’ – he almost spat the next word – ‘
close
.’
‘William, our relationship lasted only a couple of months. We were two strangers who met in a foreign city. Call me naive, but I honestly knew very little about his background. I’m
not trying to make excuses, but until I set eyes on him on the day of our wedding, how
could
I have known?’
William glared at her, and Helena knew that nothing she could say would blunt the edges of his shock.
‘So, let’s move on. Obviously, he left you in the lurch.’
‘Yes.’
‘And what happened next? Did he contact you once he got home to England?’
‘No. I heard nothing at all. I know now that he got a job in the City and Jules gave birth to Rupes a few months later—’
‘Hold on a moment . . .’ Something was slowly clicking in William’s brain. ‘Shit!’ His expression changed to horror as the reality of the thought took shape.
‘There’s worse than what you’ve told me so far, isn’t there, Helena? Much worse?’
She was silent. What was there to say?
‘Because . . . there’s only four months between Alex and Rupes . . . Isn’t there, Helena?’
‘Yes.’
William looked up to the glorious night sky, studded with glittering stars. It had been there last night, and the night before, and it would be there again tomorrow. Yet, tonight, everything in
his
world had changed irrevocably. And could never be the same again.
Eventually, he stood up. ‘Finally, I understand. No wonder you’ve never told me who Alex’s father was. All I can say is God help
him
when he hears all this, Helena. God
help your poor son. Jesus!’ He paced across the terrace distractedly. ‘I’m searching for a way back from here, but at the moment I can’t see one.’ He shook his head
desolately. ‘There is no comfort. Anywhere.’
‘I know. William, I . . .’
‘Sorry’ – William held out his hands, as if physically protecting himself from her – ‘I really can’t. I have to leave, now.’
William disappeared inside, and ten minutes later Helena heard a car engine start up and roar across the gravel and up the hill. She watched the tail lights recede until they faded into the
blackness.
12th August (continued)
I am sitting on the end of my bed . . .
Waiting.
Waiting for my mother to come in here and wake me up. She will walk in and hold me like she did when I was younger, stroke my hair and tell me I have had a nightmare. That none of
it really happened, that I did not hear the terrible words spoken on the terrace just below my bedroom window. That my father who isn’t my father did not leave the house in his car, perhaps
never to return.
Because of who my real father is.
My brain will burst soon. It will explode into a million tiny bits and make a terrible mess all over the walls. It cannot contain what it knows. It doesn’t know how to process
the information. It is grinding, churning, going round in circles, but getting nowhere.
It can’t cope. And nor can I.
I hit my knees with my fists, hurting myself to make the physical pain worse than the mental, but it doesn’t work.
Nothing works.
Nothing can take away the pain I am feeling.
And the worst thing is that the one person who could always make things better has caused it.
So I am alone now. In the dark.
When my brain eventually becomes unblocked, it will start to process the ramifications of what I have just heard. All I know is that I am no longer who I thought I was.
And neither is my mother.
κδ
Hands shaking as she poured herself a brandy, Helena drained the glass, feeling it burn her stomach with its warmth, but knowing that it could never burn away the horror of
what had just happened. Standing up, she walked inside and made her way along the corridor to Alex’s bedroom. Summoning every ounce of strength she had left, she knocked on his door.
‘Can I come in?’
There was no reply, so she pushed it open.
The room was in darkness, the open shutters letting in the pale glow of moonlight. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a figure sitting on the edge of the bed.
‘Can we talk?’ she asked quietly.
‘Has Dad left?’
‘Yes. He has.’
‘Will he be back?’
‘I . . . don’t know.’
She moved across the room and, feeling her way to the bed, sat down before her legs collapsed under her.
‘Were you listening?’
There was a long pause before Alex replied. ‘Yes.’
‘To all of it?’
‘Yes.’
‘So . . . you know now who your biological father is?’
There was silence from Alex.
‘Can you understand why I’ve never told you? Or anyone else, for that matter?’
‘Mum, I can’t talk about this . . . I can’t.’
‘Dad . . .
William
didn’t want to hear how, or why. I understand you won’t either. But I want to finish the story, explain to you what happened after he . . . Sacha, as
you know him, had left me in Vienna. Please listen, Alex, it’s so important that you know. And for me to explain why it had quite a lot to do with Alexis, and what happened here,
too.’
There was no response, so Helena began anyway.
‘I found out I was pregnant with you just after Christmas . . .’
Vienna
December 1992
Helena’s breath crystallised in delicate, curling wisps of white in the freezing air as she made her way to morning class from her apartment.
The city was especially beguiling at this time of year; the gorgeous stone buildings adorned with traditional festive decorations and twinkling fairy lights, which were in turn garnished with a
lustrous frosting of the fresh snow that had fallen overnight. It was the day before New Year’s Eve, and an atmosphere of gaiety and excitement seemed to infuse everything and everyone.
Everyone, that was, except her. Helena wondered whether she would ever feel happy, excited or just . . .
anything
again. It had been almost two months since Alexander had left, and days
of desolation and nights spent sobbing herself to sleep had eventually given way to a numbness that seemed to reach the depths of her soul. She’d finally had to accept that, for whatever
reason, Alexander wasn’t ever coming back to Vienna. Or to her.
Helena paused briefly in front of the State Opera House and looked up at the golden stone arches that, come tonight, would be uplit to spectacular effect. How ironic, she thought, that at the
lowest emotional point of her life, her career was reaching new heights. Tonight she was to play the title role at a gala performance of
La Sylphide
, and the new ballet,
The Artist
,
was taking shape and would be the biggest production of the forthcoming season. Helena knew that the prestige of creating a role could take both her own and Fabio’s career to a new level, but
just now she struggled to find the energy to care.
At least, she thought, as she approached the stage door, the discipline and rigour of her professional life had kept her from going completely insane with grief.
Having greeted the doorkeeper, Helena made her way through the maze of corridors to her dressing room, where she shrugged off her fur-collared coat and donned her practice leotard and leg
warmers. She added her favourite, somewhat moth-eaten cross-over cardigan to keep out the chill until her slender body had had a chance to warm up. She scraped her mane of blonde hair back into a
bun and laced the satin ribbons of her
pointe
shoes tightly around her ankles before leaving the sanctuary of her dressing room.
Various members of the company were already waiting on the vast stage, chatting in groups or stretching at the barre that had been set up for the purpose. Despite her sombre mood, Helena
couldn’t help smiling ruefully as she reflected on how the motley assortment of practice outfits – complete with holed tights – and the make-up-free faces of the dancers were so
at odds with how they would all appear on the stage that night. She shivered slightly as she turned to gaze for a moment into the darkness of the empty auditorium, which would later be dazzlingly
lit to reveal the splendour of the gilded balconies filled to bursting with an expectant audience of over two thousand people.
She greeted her fellow dancers as she took her place at the barre. The
répétiteur
arrived to conduct the class, the lone pianist began to play and the class began with the
usual
pliés
. Helena didn’t have to think about the exercises; her body had performed them so many thousands of times that it went onto autopilot as it prepared itself for the
demanding role of the Sylph in
La Sylphide
. They’d had a full dress rehearsal yesterday and all had gone well, although as it was the first time she’d performed the role,
she’d felt nervy and on edge; but from experience, she knew she’d be better in front of an audience when the adrenaline kicked in.
‘Good morning, Helena,
cara
,’ a voice said behind her, as Fabio took his place at the barre.
‘You’re late again,’ she chastised him, as they all turned to perform the same exercise on the other leg.
‘It must have been the alarm clock, it’s obviously broken,’ he said with a mischievous roll of his dark eyes.
Helena knew this was Fabio-speak for a liaison.
‘Well, I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it after class.’
That evening, Helena sat in her dressing room, putting the finishing touches to her make-up with a practised hand. It had been a whirlwind of a day, the morning rehearsal
followed by a round of media interviews after lunch. She’d had little time to rest, and she felt the electric zing of nervous tension running through her. To distract herself, she picked up
the card that sat beside a sumptuous bouquet of white roses – the largest and most lavish of several floral tributes that were dotted around the room – and read it.
‘My dearest Helena
Thank you once again for the pleasure of your company at dinner last week and for agreeing to accompany me to the ball tomorrow night. Good luck this evening. I will be out front watching
you.
Yours, F x x
Prince Friedrich Von Etzendorf’
She noticed then that tucked in amongst the blooms was a small package encased in silver tissue paper. She unwrapped it to reveal a velvet-covered box, and opened the lid.
Inside lay a delicate necklace, comprising a trio of sparkling teardrop-shaped diamonds suspended on a whisper-thin chain. She sat back in her chair, overwhelmed by the extravagance of the gift. As
she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the irony of it.
She had first been introduced to Prince Friedrich a month ago, at an after-show drinks reception. Someone had told her that he was descended from one of the oldest and wealthiest families in
Austria, and had a particular interest in the arts. Despite the fact that he was handsome and courteous, she hadn’t been able to muster much enthusiasm during their conversation. After all,
he wasn’t Alexander; and the fact that Friedrich
was
– certainly on first impressions – just about everything a woman could ask for had somehow depressed her further.
The following day she had received an embossed note from him, inviting her to dine with him. She wanted to refuse immediately, but knew that she desperately needed to move on after
Alexander’s abrupt disappearance from her life. She told Fabio about the invitation as they waited in the wings together for their entrance.