Reflections Page 9

  She turned to move away, but he took her arm again, keeping her facing toward him. “Do you really think we can walk away from what’s already between us?”

  “Yes.” The word came out sharply as doubts crowded her. “It’s necessary.”

  “I want to see you tonight.”

  “No, absolutely not.” He was close, and Lindsay backed away.

  “Lindsay, I’m not going to let this pass.”

  She shook her head. “The only thing between us is Ruth. Things would be simpler if we’d both remember that.”

  “Simple?” He caught a strand of her hair. A half-smile played around his mouth. “I don’t think you’re the sort of woman who’d be satisfied with simplicity.”

  “You don’t know me,” she retorted.

  He smiled fully now, and releasing her hair, took her arm to lead her firmly into the house. “Perhaps not, Lindsay,” he agreed pleasantly, “but I will.” The iron determination of his tone was not lost on Lindsay.

  Chapter Seven

  It had been almost a month since Ruth had joined Lindsay’s school. The weather had turned cold quickly, and already there was a hint of snow in the air. Lindsay did her best to keep the school’s ancient furnace operating to its fullest capacity. With a shirt tied loosely at the waist over her leotard, she taught the final class of the day.

  “Glissade, glissade. Arabesque on pointe.” As she spoke, Lindsay moved up and down the line of students, watching each critically for form and posture. She was pleased with her advanced pointe class. The students were good, possessing a firm understanding of music and movement. But the longer Ruth remained in the class, the more she stood apart from the others.

  Her talent is so far above the ordinary, Lindsay thought, studying her for posture and flow. She’s being wasted here. The now-familiar frustration overcame her, bordering on anger. And the look in her eyes, she thought as she signaled to one of the girls to keep her chin lifted, says, “I want.” How do I convince Seth to let her go for it—and to let her go for it now before it slips away?

  At the thought of Seth, Lindsay’s attention wavered from her students. It locked on the last time she had seen him. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit that she’d thought of him over and over again these past weeks. She wanted to tell herself that the physical attraction she felt for him would fade. But remembering the strength, remembering the speed, she knew it was a lie.

  “Tendu,” Lindsay instructed and folded her arms over her chest. Still the memories of his touch, of his taste, lingered. Often she had caught herself wondering what he was doing—when she was drinking coffee in the morning, when she was alone in the studio in the evening, when she woke without cause in the middle of the night. And she had forced herself to resist the urge to question Ruth.

  I will not make a fool of myself over this man, she thought.

  “Brenda, hands.” Lindsay demonstrated, fingers flowing with a movement of her wrist. The ringing of the phone caught her by surprise. She gave her watch a frown. No one ever called the studio during class. Instantly the thought rushed through her mind: Mother.

  “Take over, Brenda.” Without waiting for a reply, she raced back to her office and grabbed the phone.

  “Yes, Cliffside School of Dance.” Her heart fluttered in her throat.

  “Lindsay? Lindsay, is that you?”

  “Yes, I . . .” Her hand paused on its way to her lips. “Nicky.” There was no mistaking the musical Russian accent. “Oh, Nick, how wonderful to hear your voice!” Monica’s piano playing continued smoothly. Lindsay cupped her hand over her ear as she sat. “Where are you?”

  “In New York, of course.” There was a laughing lilt to his voice which she had always loved. “How is your school progressing?”

  “Very well. I’ve worked with some very good dancers. In fact, there’s one in particular I want badly to send up to you. She’s special, Nick, beautifully built, and . . .”

  “Later, later.” As he cut off Lindsay’s enthusiastic report of Ruth, she could almost see the quick brushing-away gesture that would have accompanied the words. “I’ve called to talk about you. Your mother does well?”

  Lindsay’s hesitation was barely a sigh. “Much better. She’s been getting around on her own for some time now.”

  “Good. Very good. Then when are you coming back?”

  “Nick.” Lindsay moved her shoulders, then glanced at the wall at the photograph of herself dancing with the man on the other end of the phone. Three years, she mused. It might as well be thirty. “It’s been too long, Nick.”

  “Nonsense. You’re needed.”

  She shook her head. He had always been dictatorial. Perhaps, she thought, it’s my fate to tangle with domineering men. “I’m not in shape, Nick, not for the merry-go-round. There’s young talent coming up.” Her mind drifted back to Ruth. “They’re needed.”

  “Since when are you afraid of hard work and competition?”

  The challenge in his voice was an old ruse that made Lindsay smile. “We’re both aware that teaching dance for three years is entirely different from performing for three years. Time doesn’t stand still, Nick, not even for you.”

  “Afraid?”

  “Yes. A little, yes.”

  He laughed at the confession. “Good, the fear will push you to dance better.” He broke in on her exasperated laugh. “I need you, ptichka, my little bird. I’ve almost finished writing my first ballet.”

  “Nick, that’s wonderful! I had no idea you were working on anything.”

  “I have another year, perhaps two, to dance. I have no interest in character parts.” During the slight pause, Lindsay heard the murmur of girls as they changed into their outdoor shoes. “I’ve been offered the directorship of the company.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised,” Lindsay returned warmly. “But I am pleased, for you and for them.”

  “I want you back, Lindsay, back in the company. It can be arranged, you know, with some strings pulled.”

  “I don’t want that. No, I . . .”

  “There is no one to dance my ballet but you. She is Ariel, and Ariel is you.”

  “Oh, Nick, please.” Lifting a hand, she pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. She had put the world he was offering behind her.

  “No, no argument, not over the phone.” She shook her head silently and shut her eyes. “When I’ve finished the ballet, I’m coming to Cliffdrop.”

  “Cliffside,” Lindsay corrected. She opened her eyes as a smile came to her lips.

  “Side, drop, I’m Russian. It’s expected. I’ll be there in January,” he continued, “to show you the ballet. Then you’ll come back with me.”

  “Nick, you make it sound so simple.”

  “Because it is, ptichka. In January.”

  Lindsay took the dead receiver from her ear and stared at it. How like Nick, she mused. He was famous for his grand, impulsive gestures, his total dedication to the dance. And he’s so brilliant, she thought, replacing the receiver. So confident. He’d never understand that some things can be tucked away in a memory box and still remain precious and alive. For Nick it was all so simple.

  She rose and walked over to study the photograph. It’s the company first, last and always. But for me there are so many other factors, so many other needs. I don’t even know what they are, only that I have them. She folded her arms across her chest, hugging her elbows. Maybe this was the time of decision. A flutter of impatience ran through her. I’ve been coasting for too long, she accused. Shaking herself back to the moment, Lindsay walked into the studio. Students were still milling about, reluctant to leave the warmth of the school for the cold outside. Ruth had returned to the barre alone to practice. In the mirror, her eyes followed Lindsay across the room. Monica looked up with her cheerful smile.

  “Ruth and I are going to
do a pizza and a movie. Want to come?”

  “Sounds great, but I want to do a little more work on the staging for The Nutcracker. Christmas will be here before we know it.”

  Monica reached out to touch her hand. “You work too hard, Lindsay.”

  Lindsay squeezed Monica’s hand, meeting the grave, concerned eyes. “I’ve just been giving that some thought.” Both women glanced up as the door opened. A blast of cold air whooshed in with Andy. His normally pale complexion was reddened with cold, his huge shoulders hunched against it.

  “Hi!” Lindsay held out her hands to take both of his. She chafed at the chill. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

  “Looks as though I timed it pretty well.” He gave a quick look around as students pulled slacks and sweaters over their leotards. He greeted Monica casually; she, in turn, seemed to nod almost hopefully in Andy’s direction.

  “Hello, Andy,” she seemed to stammer at last.

  ***

  Ruth watched the simple exchange from across the room. It was so obvious, she thought, to everyone but the three of them. He was crazy in love with Lindsay, and Monica was crazy in love with him. She had seen Monica flush with anticipation the moment Andy had entered the studio. He, on the other hand, had seen only Lindsay. How strange people are, she reflected as she executed a grand plié.

  And Lindsay. Lindsay was everything Ruth ever hoped to be: a true ballerina, confident, poised, beautiful, with something elusive in her movements. Ruth thought she moved not like a butterfly or bird, but like a cloud. There was something light, something free, in each step, in each gesture. It wasn’t with envy that Ruth watched her, but with longing. And she did watch her, closely, continually. And because she did so, Ruth felt she was growing to know Lindsay well.

  Ruth admired Lindsay’s openness, her free flow of emotions. She had warmth, which drew people to her. But there was more playing beneath the surface, much more, Ruth felt, than Lindsay was in the habit of revealing. Ruth doubted whether those hidden passions were often fully released. It would take something strong, like the dance itself, to release them.

  As Ruth pondered these thoughts, the door opened again, and her uncle strode into the studio.

  A smile sprang to Ruth’s lips along with a greeting. She halted the latter to play the observer once more.

  The jolt of the eye contact between Seth and Lindsay was quick and volcanic. Its flare was so short that had she not been watching so intensely, she would have missed it. But it was real and potent. She paused a moment, frowning thoughtfully at her mentor and her uncle. This was unexpected, and she didn’t know how she felt about it. The attraction between them was as patently obvious to her as Monica’s for Andy and Andy’s for Lindsay.

  Amazing, she decided, that none of them seemed aware of the emotions at play among the four of them. She remembered the awareness in her parents’ eyes when they had looked at each other. The vision brought both warmth and sadness. Ruth badly wanted to feel a part of that kind of love again. Without speaking, she moved to the corner of the room to remove her toe shoes.

  ***

  The moment Lindsay had looked over and seen Seth, she had felt the power. It flooded her, then ebbed so swiftly she was certain that her legs had dissolved below the knees. No, the attraction hadn’t faded. It had doubled. Everything about him was instantly implanted in her brain: his wind-tousled hair, the way he left his sheepskin jacket unbuttoned to the cold, the way his eyes seemed to swallow her the moment he stepped inside.

  It seemed impossible that without even an effort she could completely obliterate everyone else from her consciousness. They might have stood alone, on an island, on a mountaintop, so complete was her absorption with him.

  I’ve missed him, she realized abruptly. It’s been twenty-six days since I’ve seen him, spoken to him. A month ago I didn’t know he existed, and now I think about him at all sorts of odd, unexpected times. Her smile began of its own volition. Though Seth didn’t return it, Lindsay stepped forward, extending her hands.

  “Hello. I’ve missed seeing you.”

  The statement came spontaneously and without guile. She took Seth’s hands as he studied her face.

  “Have you?” He asked the question quietly, but the demand in his tone reminded Lindsay to use caution.

  “Yes,” she admitted. She took her hands from his and turned. “You know Monica and Andy, don’t you?” Monica stood near the piano stacking sheet music, but Lindsay approached her now and claimed the task. “You don’t have to bother with that,” she said. “You and Ruth must be starving, and you’ll miss that movie if you stay around too long.” She rambled, annoyed with herself. Why, she asked herself, don’t I ever think before I speak? She lifted her hand in farewell as loitering students trickled out. “Have you eaten, Andy?”

  “Well, no, actually, that’s why I stopped by.” He glanced at Seth. “I thought maybe you’d like to grab a hamburger and take in a movie.”

  “Oh, Andy, that’s sweet.” She stopped shuffling music to smile at him. “But I’ve got some work to finish up. I’ve just turned down a similar offer from Monica and Ruth. Why don’t you switch to pizza and go with them?”

  “Sure, Andy.” Monica spoke up rapidly, then struggled with a flush. “That’d be fun, wouldn’t it, Ruth?”

  At the entreaty in Monica’s liquid brown eyes, Ruth smiled and nodded. “You weren’t coming by for me, were you, Uncle Seth?” Ruth rose, pulling on jeans.

  “No.” He watched his niece’s head disappear inside a bulky sweater, then pop through the neck opening. “I came to have a few words with Lindsay.”

  “Well, we should get out of your way.” Monica moved with a grace unexpected in a large-boned girl. There was an athletic swing to her gait softened by her own early years at the barre. Grabbing her coat, she looked back at Andy. Her smile wasn’t reserved, but hesitant. “Coming, Andy?” She saw the quick glance he aimed at Lindsay. Her heart sank.

  “Sure.” He touched Lindsay’s shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Night, Andy.” Rising on her toes, she gave him a light kiss. “Have a good time.” The statement was made to all three. Andy and Monica walked to the door, both battling depression. Ruth trailed after them, a smile lurking at her mouth.

  “Good night, Uncle Seth, Ms. Dunne.” She pulled the studio door firmly shut behind her.

  Lindsay stared at the closed panel a moment, wondering what had caused the gleam in Ruth’s eyes. It had been mischief, pure and simple, and though it pleased her to see it, Lindsay wondered at its cause. Shaking her head, she turned back to Seth.

  “Well,” she began brightly, “I suppose you want to discuss Ruth. I think . . .”

  “No.”

  Lindsay’s thoughts paused in midstream, then backed up. “No?” she repeated. Her expression was one of genuine bafflement until Seth took a step closer. Then she understood. “We really should talk about her.” Turning away, she wandered to the room’s center. In the wall of mirrors, she could see their reflections. “She’s far more advanced than any of my other students, far more dedicated, far more talented. Some were born to dance, Seth. Ruth is one of them.”

  “Perhaps.” Casually, he shrugged out of his jacket and laid it on top of the piano. She knew instinctively that tonight he wouldn’t be easy to deal with. Her fingers plucked at the knot in her shirt. “But it’s been one month, not six. We’ll talk about Ruth next summer.”

  “That’s absurd.” Annoyed, Lindsay turned to face him. It was a mistake, she discovered, as the reality of him was far more potent than the mirror image. She turned away again and began to pace quickly. “You make it sound as though this is a whim she’ll outgrow. That’s simply unrealistic. She’s a dancer, Seth. Five months from now she’ll still be a dancer.”

  “Then waiting shouldn’t be a problem.”

  His logic caused Lindsay to close her
eyes in a spurt of fury. She wanted badly to reason with him calmly. “Wasted time,” she said with quiet control. “And in this situation, wasted time is a sin. She needs more—so much more—than I can give her here.”

  “She needs stability first.” There was annoyance just under the surface of his voice. It mirrored Lindsay’s own sentiments as the glass did their bodies.

  “She has something,” she tossed back, gesturing with both arms in frustration. “Why do you refuse to see it? It’s rare and beautiful, but it needs to be nurtured, it needs to be disciplined. It only becomes more difficult to do that as time goes on.”

  “I told you before, Ruth’s my responsibility.” His voice had sharpened to a fine edge. “And I told you I didn’t come to discuss Ruth. Not tonight.”

  Lindsay’s intuition repressed her retort. She’d get nowhere with him now, not this way, and it was possible to ruin the chance of any further opportunity. To win for Ruth, she needed patience.

  “All right.” She took a deep breath and felt her temper recede. “Why did you come?”

  He walked to her, taking her firmly by the shoulders before she could move away. “You missed seeing me?” he asked as his eyes bored into hers in the glass.

  “In a small town like this it’s rare to go nearly a month without seeing someone.” She tried to step away, but his fingers tightened.

  “I’ve been working on a project, a medical center to be built in New Zealand. The drawings are nearly finished now.”

  Because the idea intrigued her, Lindsay relaxed. “How exciting that must be—to create something out of your head that people will walk in, live in, work in. Something that’s solid and lasting. Why did you become an architect?”

  “Buildings fascinated me.” He began a slow massage of her shoulders, but her interest was focused on his words. “I wondered why they were built in certain ways, why people chose different styles. I wanted to make them functional and appealing to the eye.” His thumb trailed up the nape of her neck and awakened a myriad of nerve endings. “I’ve a weakness for beauty.” Slowly, while Lindsay’s eyes were glued to the mirror, he lowered his mouth to tease the freshly aroused skin. A breath trembled through her lips to be sucked back in at the contact.