Reflections Page 4

  “I really hope she does.” For a moment Lindsay allowed her mind to linger on her mother’s restless, unhappy face. “She could use a change.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  Lindsay let out a long sigh. There was nothing she felt she could not discuss with Andy. She’d had no closer friend since childhood. “Physically, so much better. There’s a great improvement even in the last three months, but otherwise . . .” She linked her fingers together, then turned her hands palms up, a gesture she used as others used a shrug. “Frustrated, angry, restless. She wants me to go back to New York to dance. She can’t see it any other way. It’s tunnel vision; she’s refused to accept the fact that picking up where I left off is virtually impossible. Three years away, three years older.” She shook her head and lapsed into thoughtful silence. Andy gave her a full minute.

  “Do you want to go back?”

  She looked back at him now, and though the frown brought a line between her brows, it was one of concentration and not annoyance. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I did it all once, and I’m very content here, but . . .” She sighed.

  “But?” Andy turned left and absently waved to a pair of youngsters on bicycles.

  “I loved it when I was doing it, even though so much of the life is brutal. I loved it.” She smiled, relaxing against the seat again. “Past tense, you see. But Mother continually pushes it into the present. Even if I wanted it—wanted it desperately—the chance that the company would have me back is so—so slim.” Her eyes wandered to the familiar houses. “So much of me belongs here now. It feels right, being home. Do you remember that night we snuck into the Cliff House?” Her eyes were alight again, laughing. Andy responded with a grin.

  “I was scared to pieces. I still swear I saw the ghost.”

  Lindsay’s laugh was a light, bubbling sound. “Ghost or no ghost, it’s the most fantastic place I’ve ever seen. You know, it was finally sold.”

  “I’d heard.” Andy shot her a look. “I remember you swearing you’d live there one day.”

  “We were young,” she murmured, but the sadness she felt at the memory was warm and not unpleasant. “I wanted to live high up above the town and feel important. All those marvelous rooms stacked on top of each other, and those endless corridors,” she recalled out loud.

  “The place is a labyrinth,” he remarked unromantically. “There’s been a lot of work going on up there.”

  “I hope they haven’t ruined the atmosphere.”

  “What, spider webs and field mice?”

  Lindsay wrinkled her nose. “No, idiot, the stateliness, the magnificence, the arrogance. I’ve always imagined it with the gardens blooming and the windows wide open for parties.”

  “The place hasn’t had a window open in more than a decade, and the garden has the toughest weeds in New England.”

  “You,” she said gravely, “have no vision. Anyway,” she continued, “the girl I’m seeing this morning is the niece of the man who bought the place. Know anything about him?”

  “Nope. Mom might; she’s always up on the town’s latest gossip.”

  “I like the girl,” Lindsay mused, conjuring up a picture of Ruth’s poignant beauty. “She has rather a lost look. I’d like to help her.”

  “You think she needs help?”

  “She seemed like a bird who wasn’t quite certain whether the hand held out to her would squeeze or stroke. I wonder what the uncle’s like.”

  Andy pulled into the studio parking lot. “How much could you find wrong with the man who bought the Cliff House?”

  “Very little, I’m sure,” she agreed, slamming her door behind her as Andy slammed his.

  “I’ll take a look at your car,” he volunteered, and moving to it, lifted the hood. Lindsay walked to stand beside him. She scowled at the engine.

  “It looks dreadful in there.”

  “It might help if you’d have it serviced once in a while.” He grimaced at the grime-coated engine, then gave a disgusted look at the spark plugs. “You know, there are things that need to be replaced other than gas.”

  “I’m a mechanical failure,” Lindsay said carelessly.

  “You don’t have to be a mechanic to take minimal care of a car,” Andy began, and Lindsay groaned.

  “A lecture. It’s better to plead guilty.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed both his cheeks. “I’m incompetent. Forgive me.”

  Lindsay watched the grin flash just as she heard another car pull into the lot. With her arms still around Andy’s neck, she turned her head. “That must be Ruth,” she thought aloud before releasing him. “I really appreciate your checking out the car, Andy. If it’s anything terminal, try to break it to me gently.”

  Turning around to greet Ruth, Lindsay was struck dumb. The man who approached with the girl was tall and dark. Lindsay knew how his voice would sound before he spoke. Just as she knew his taste in jackets.

  “Marvelous,” she said just under her breath. Their eyes locked. She decided he was not a man who surprised easily.

  “Ms. Dunne?” There was a hesitant question in Ruth’s voice. Shock, distress and annoyance were all easily read on Lindsay’s face. “You did say I should be here at nine?”

  “What?” Lindsay stared a moment. “Oh, yes,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry. I’ve had some car trouble; I was a bit preoccupied. Ruth, this is my friend Andy Moorefield. Andy, Ruth . . .”

  “Bannion,” Ruth supplied, visibly relaxing. “And my uncle, Seth Bannion.”

  Andy discouraged handshakes by holding out his grimy palms and grinning.

  “Ms. Dunne.” Seth’s tone was so bland, Lindsay thought perhaps he hadn’t recognized her after all. A glimpse of his face, however, scotched the theory. Recognition was mixed with mockery. Still, the handshake was unquestionably polite, his fingers making firm but brief contact with hers. Two can play at this game, she decided.

  “Mr. Bannion.” Her tone was politely distant. “I appreciate your coming with Ruth this morning.”

  “My pleasure,” he returned. Lindsay eyed him suspiciously.

  “Let’s go inside,” she said directly to Ruth. Moving toward the building, she waved a quick farewell in Andy’s direction, then dipped into her jacket pocket for the keys.

  “It’s nice of you to see me early this way, Ms. Dunne,” Ruth began. Her voice was much as it had been the night before: low with a faint tremor that betrayed nerves barely under control. Lindsay noted that she clung to her uncle’s arm. She smiled, touching the girl’s shoulder.

  “It helps me to see students individually the first time.” She felt the slight resistance and casually removed her hand. “Tell me,” she went on as she unlocked the studio door, “whom did you study under?”

  “I’ve had several teachers.” As she answered, Ruth stepped inside. “My father was a journalist. We were always traveling.”

  “I see.” Lindsay glanced up at Seth, but his expression remained neutral. “If you’ll just make yourself comfortable, Mr. Bannion,” she said, matching his seamless politeness, “Ruth and I will work at the barre for a few moments.”

  Seth merely gave Lindsay a nod, but she noticed that he lightly touched Ruth’s hand before he moved to a seat.

  “The classes are on the small side,” she began as she slipped out of her jacket. “In a town this size, I suppose we have a fairly good number of students, but we’re not turning them away in droves.” She smiled at Ruth, then drew white leg-warmers over her dark green tights. She wore a chiffon overskirt in a shade of sea green. Lindsay realized abruptly that the color was identical to Seth’s eyes. She scowled as she reached for her ballet shoes.

  “But you like to teach, don’t you?” Ruth stood a few feet from her. Lindsay looked up to see her, slim and uncertain in a rose pink leotard that enhanced her dark coloring. Lindsay cleared her expression before s
he rose.

  “Yes, I do. Barre exercises first,” she added, gesturing to Ruth as she herself moved to the mirrored wall. Placing her hand on the barre, she indicated for Ruth to stand in front of her. “First position.”

  Both figures in the mirror moved simultaneously. Both women were poised together, of nearly identical height and build. One was all light, the other stood as a dark shadow, waiting.

  “Grand plié.”

  With seemingly no effort, they dipped into deep knee bends. Lindsay watched Ruth’s back, her legs, her feet for posture, positioning, style.

  Slowly she began to take Ruth through the five positions, working her thoroughly. The pliés and battements were well-executed, she observed. Lindsay could see by the gesture of an arm, the movement of a leg, the love Ruth had for the dance. She remembered herself a decade before, achingly young, full of dreams and aspirations.

  She smiled, recognizing a great deal of herself in Ruth. It was easy to empathize with the girl and in their joint motions to forget everything else. As her body stretched, her mind moved in close harmony.

  “Toe shoes,” she said abruptly, then walked away to change the CD. As she did, her eyes passed over Seth. He was watching her, and she thought there might have been something soothing in his look had it not been so uncompromisingly direct. Still, she met his eyes levelly as she slipped Tchaikovsky into the player. “We’ll be about a half-hour yet, Mr. Bannion. Shall I make you some coffee?”

  He didn’t answer with the immediacy she expected from a casual question. The ten seconds of silence left Lindsay oddly breathless. “No,” he paused, and she felt her skin grow warm. “Thank you.”

  When she turned away, the muscles that had been loosened at the barre were taut again. She swore under her breath but wasn’t certain if she cursed Seth or herself. After gesturing for Ruth to stand in the center of the room, Lindsay walked back to the barre. She would start adagio, slow, sustained steps, looking for balance and style and presence. Too often in her students she found a desire only for the flash: dizzying pirouettes, fouettés, jetés. The beauty of a long, slow move was forgotten.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes, Ms. Dunne.”

  There was nothing shy about the girl now, Lindsay thought. She caught the light in Ruth’s eyes.

  “Fourth position, pirouette, fifth.” The execution was clean, the line excellent. “Fourth position, pirouette, attitude.” Pleased, Lindsay began to take a slow circle around Ruth. “Arabesque. Again. Attitude, hold. Plié.”

  Lindsay could see that Ruth had talent, and more important, she had endurance and drive. She was further gifted with the build and face of a classical dancer. Her every move was an expression of her love for the art, and Lindsay responded to her involvement. In part, Lindsay felt pain for the sacrifices and self-denial that lay ahead for Ruth, but her joy overpowered it. Here was a dancer who would make it. Excitement began to course through Lindsay’s body. And I’m going to help her, she thought. There’s still quite a bit she needs to learn. She doesn’t yet know how to use her arms and hands. She has to learn to express more emotion through her face and body. But she’s good—very, very good. . . .

  Nearly forty-five minutes had passed. “Relax,” Lindsay said simply, then walked over to switch off the CD player. “Your several teachers appear to have done a good job.” Turning back, she saw the anxiety had returned to Ruth’s eyes. Instinctively, she moved to her, placing her hands on her shoulders. The withdrawal was unspoken, but feeling it, Lindsay removed her hands. “I don’t have to tell you that you’ve a great deal of talent. You’re not a fool.”

  She watched her words sink in. The tension seemed to dissolve from Ruth’s body. “It means everything to have you say it.”

  Surprise lifted Lindsay’s brows. “Why?”

  “Because you’re the most wonderful dancer I’ve ever seen. And I know if you hadn’t given it up, you’d be the most famous ballerina in the country. I’ve read things, too, that said you were the most promising American dancer in a decade. Davidov chose you for his partner, and he said you were the finest Juliet he ever danced with, and . . .” She stopped abruptly, ending the uncharacteristically long speech. Color deepened her cheeks.

  Though sincerely touched, Lindsay spoke lightly to ease the embarrassment. “I’m very flattered. I don’t hear nearly enough of that sort of thing around here.” She paused, resisting the instinctive move to touch the girl’s shoulder again. “The other girls will tell you I can be a very difficult teacher, very demanding and strict with my advanced students. You’ll work hard.”

  “I won’t mind.” The gleam of anticipation had returned.

  “Tell me, Ruth, what do you want?”

  “To dance. To be famous,” she answered immediately. “Like you.”

  Lindsay gave a quick laugh and shook her head. “I only wanted to dance,” she told her. For a moment, the amusement flickered out. “My mother wanted me to be famous. Go, change your shoes,” she said briskly. “I want to talk to your uncle now. Advanced class on Saturday is at one, pointe class at two-thirty. I’m a demon on punctuality.” Turning, she focused on Seth. “Mr. Bannion . . . shall we use my office?”

  Without waiting or an answer, Lindsay walked to the adjoining room.

  Chapter Four

  Because she wanted to establish her authority from the outset, Lindsay moved behind her desk. She felt neat and competent, light-years away from the first time she had met Seth. With a gesture for him to do likewise, she sat. Ignoring the instruction, Seth stood, scanning the photographs on her wall. She saw that he had focused on one of herself and Nick Davidov in the final act of Romeo and Juliet.

  “I managed to get my hands on a poster from this ballet and sent it to Ruth some years back. She has it in her room still.” He turned back but didn’t move to her. “She admires you tremendously.” Though his tone was even, Lindsay understood he felt the admiration implied responsibility. She frowned, not because she was loath to take it, but because he gave it to her.

  “As Ruth’s guardian,” she began, circling around his statement, “I feel you should know precisely what it is she’ll be doing here, what’s expected of her, when the classes are set and so forth.”

  “I believe you’re the expert in this field, Ms. Dunne.” Seth’s voice was quiet, but Lindsay wasn’t certain his mind was on his words. Again his eyes roamed her face inch by inch. It was odd, she thought, that his manner and tone could be so formal while his gaze was so personal. She shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.

  “As her guardian . . .”

  “As her guardian,” Seth interrupted, “I’m aware that studying ballet is as necessary to Ruth as breathing.” He came closer now, so that she had to tilt her head back to keep her eyes on his. “I’m also aware that I have to trust you . . . to an extent.”

  Lindsay lifted a brow curiously. “To what extent is that?”

  “I’ll know better in a couple of weeks. I like my information to be more complete before I make a decision.” The eyes that were fixed on her face narrowed ever so slightly. “I don’t know you yet.”

  She nodded, miffed without knowing precisely why. “Nor I you.”

  “True.” He took the statement without a change of expression. “I suppose that’s a problem that will solve itself in time. It’s difficult for me to believe that the Lindsay Dunne I saw dance Giselle is clumsy enough to fall into puddles.”

  She sucked in her breath, staring at him in outraged amazement. “You nearly ran me down!” All the restraint she had practiced that morning vanished. “Anyone who comes barreling down a residential street in the rain that way should be arrested.”

  “Fifteen miles an hour isn’t considered barreling,” he countered mildly. “If I’d been doing the speed limit, I would have run you down. You weren’t looking where you were going.”

  “Most people take a little care to learn t
he streets when they move into a new neighborhood,” Lindsay retorted.

  “Most people don’t go for walks in rain storms,” he returned. “I’ve an appointment shortly,” he continued before she could answer. “Shall I write you a check for Ruth’s tuition?”

  “I’ll send you a bill,” she told him icily, walking past him to open the door.

  Seth followed her, then pausing, crowded her into the jamb as he turned to face her again. Their bodies brushed in brief, potent contact. Every coherent thought veered out of Lindsay’s brain. Tilting her head, she stared up at him, surprised and questioning, while her body reacted with instinctual knowledge.

  For a moment he stayed, his eyes again making their slow, intruding study before he turned and walked to Ruth.

  ***

  Off and on during the day, Lindsay’s thoughts returned to Seth Bannion. What sort of man was he? On the surface he appeared to be conventional enough. But there was something more beneath. It wasn’t just the glimpse of his temper she had witnessed in their first meeting. She had seen something in his eyes, felt something in the touch of his body. It was an energy that went further than the physical. She knew that volcanoes were usually calm and well-mannered on the surface but that there was always something hot and dangerous underneath.

  It’s nothing to me, she reminded herself, but her thoughts drifted back to him more often than she liked. He interested her. And so did his niece.

  Lindsay watched Ruth during her first two classes, looking for more than technique and movement. She wanted to discover attitude and personality. Outgoing herself, Lindsay found it difficult to understand the guards the girl had built. She made no move to reach out to any of her fellow students nor to accept any overtures made to her. She was not unfriendly nor impolite, simply distant. It would be her fate, Lindsay knew, to be labeled a snob. But it isn’t snobbery, Lindsay mused as she took her class through glissades. It’s overwhelming insecurity. Lindsay recalled the instant withdrawal when she had laid her hands on Ruth’s shoulders. She remembered how Ruth had been clinging to Seth before the morning session. He’s her anchor at the moment; I wonder if he knows it, she mused. How much does he know about her doubts and her fears and the reason for them? How much does he care?