This Could Change Everything(104)

He took a couple of photos of them to capture the moment, then turned his attention back to the stage. It wasn’t the full ballet being performed, of course; that would have been impractical, both too complex and too long for many in the audience to cope with. But the performance was a carefully curated, edited-highlights version of forty minutes’ duration, performed by an adult ballet school from Bristol.

When Zillah had first told him about it, Conor had envisaged something a bit amateurish and embarrassing. But this wasn’t amateurish at all. As Zillah had discovered, the school was attended by dancers who had trained to a high standard at major ballet academies and worked with prestigious companies around the world. They might not currently be working on the professional stage, but they still attended regular classes in order to keep up their skills, and put on performances to raise money for good causes or to entertain those who might not be able to experience the joy of ballet first hand.

And it was a joy, Conor was now realising; the standard was so much higher than he’d expected. The dancers on the stage looked amazing in their gauzy white costumes and matching headdresses. He didn’t know the technical terms for much of what they were doing, but they were doing it incredibly well, dancing en pointe with their toned legs moving in absolute unison as they leapt and pirouetted across the stage.

He raised his camera, entranced by the elegance of their coordinated arm movements and marvelling at the uniformity of their costumes. Even their make-up was identical, each dancer’s eyes heavily outlined beneath the feathered caps covering their hair—

Oh what?

What?

Surely it couldn’t be.

Conor froze, staring at the figure currently closest to him on the left-hand side of the stage. It couldn’t be, but for a second there he’d been so strongly reminded of Scarlett that he’d thought it was her.

Holding his breath, he watched her face as she executed a series of swanlike moves. Those eyes . . . the shape of her face . . . the tilt of her chin . . . It really was the most extraordinary thing . . .

The next moment her eyes met his, and with a thud of recognition Conor realised it was indeed Scarlett, up on the stage and dancing like a professional. Furthermore, she’d seen his face but hadn’t reacted, had turned away now and was continuing the sequence of moves, stepping and stretching in time with the music and her fellow dancers.

All the complicated emotions he’d been feeling towards Scarlett over the course of the last few weeks came rushing to the fore. Conor felt invigorated, electrified. As the music soared, filling the hall with its timeless magnificence, he realised that Essie had turned her head and was observing him with a tiny smile on her face.

He had so many questions to ask. So many. And forty more minutes to go before the performance ended.

OK, time to remember why he was here and take some more photos . . .





Chapter 50


The applause at the final curtain was thunderous. Everyone capable of cheering was doing so. The ten dancers up on the stage curtseyed and beamed and in turn applauded the audience, and fresh tears glistened on Alice’s thin cheeks as she clapped her hands together and shook her head in delight.

Then the dancers jumped down from the stage in order to greet her, and Conor took a few informal photos before making his way over to join them.

Essie, who’d beaten him to it, was saying to Scarlett, ‘That was brilliant. Everyone loved it.’

‘Good.’ Still out of breath from her exertions, Scarlett glanced at Conor. ‘Although I’m sure there were one or two people in the audience who weren’t that impressed.’

It was a dig. Conor ignored it. ‘Well they should be impressed. I was. You were amazing.’

She shrugged, bringing her breathing under control. ‘Thank you.’

‘Why did no one tell me you’d be dancing?’

‘Because I didn’t want you assuming I wouldn’t be good enough,’ Scarlett said flatly. ‘I was nervous anyway. The last thing I needed was you telling me I’d be a big let-down and ruin the show.’

Conor was taken aback. ‘Why would I say something like that?’

‘Well you didn’t trust me to take those photos at the racing stables, did you? You always expect me to mess things up.’

‘But . . . I had no idea you could do this!’ He gestured at her costume, at the stage. ‘I mean, you were incredible. And you’re clearly trained, but no one ever told me . . . neither of you even mentioned it!’

‘I did,’ said Essie. ‘Once. You weren’t impressed.’

‘What?’ Conor turned to stare at her in disbelief. ‘That’s not true. I’ve never known that!’

‘Yes you have. I told you.’

‘You didn’t.’

‘It was around Christmas time. We were in Zillah’s kitchen and I mentioned how Scarlett had done some busking last summer, and you pulled a face and said, “What, singing?” and I said no, she was a ballet dancer. And then you pulled another face and did a little oh-my-God laugh, so I gave up and left it there, because you clearly weren’t—’

‘No, no.’ Conor shook his head vigorously, recalling the conversation. ‘You said belly dancer.’

Essie gave him a look. ‘I said ballet. I wouldn’t say belly, would I? Because belly dancing isn’t what Scarlett does.’