mind. The countryside had been beautiful and she’d longed to stay for longer but at the end of the holiday she’d been dragged crying to the train station and they’d returned to Paris. Ballet school had taken over her life and her mother’s finances and there had been no more holidays.
Since then of course she’d travelled all over the world but had never been back to Brittany. Maybe when she retired she’d take a holiday there—see if it was as beautiful as her childhood memories had painted it.
Back in the apartment Suzette went through to the small room she laughingly referred to as ‘Le Boudoir’. Originally intended to be a guest bedroom she’d had it converted years ago into a mini dance studio with a wooden floor, mirrored walls and an exercise barre running the length of the room. After pulling on her ballet shoes and tying the ribbons she crossed over to the small table holding a CD player and a pile of CDs. Taking a compilation of slow piano pieces she placed it into the player and pressed the button. Within seconds she was concentrating on the familiar plié exercise routine that had been a part of her daily life—injury time excepted—for as long as she could remember.
Waiting for Malik later that day Suzette picked up the white velvet evening cape she was personalising with some delicate embroidery beadwork. To celebrate his first evening back from the south of France they were due to go to the theatre and have supper afterwards in one of their favourite bistros.
She glanced at her watch. Malik was typically late. She’d so wanted to talk to him before they left for the theatre but that clearly wasn’t going to be an option.
Half an hour later than she’d expected him, Malik let himself into the apartment. “Desolé,” he said. “I got held up in traffic. That’s looking good,” he said moving closer. “Stunning in fact.”
“Thank you. I’m really pleased with it,” Suzette answered. “I decided I needed a cover-up to go with that dress I wore for the Cannes Film Festival last year. The one with no back, remember?”
“The scarlet one that caused such a sensation?” Malik said smiling. “The one a certain film star was very jealous over?”
“That’s the one,” Suzette said, carefully placing the material on the special cloth she wrapped her work in.
Malik bent over to take a closer look. “It’s beautiful,” he said studying the intricate butterfly, vine and flower layout Suzette was painstakingly creating.
“It’s meant to be a tribute to Lesage—I adore his designs. I hope to finish it in time for Monaco. Talking of Monaco how did it go?”
Malik shrugged. “I would prefer to be using the Princess Grace Theatre but the Grimaldi Forum has everything we need.” He glanced at her feet. “How’s the ankle?”
“As good as it ever gets these days,” Suzette said glancing at him. “Can we talk? I need your advice.”
“Over supper,” Malik promised. “But now we need to get to the Champs Élysées or we will miss the First Act.”
“And whose fault would that be?” Suzette gently grumbled at him.
After the performance, it was nearly eleven o’clock before they were shown to a secluded table in the bistro and she was able to begin to voice her worries and fears to Malik about what the future might hold for her.
“I can’t believe I said that line about just wanting to be me, on live TV,” she said. “I mean, it’s almost as bad as saying ‘I want to be alone’. Which I don’t,” she said laughing at the absurdity of it.
Malik, when she looked at him wasn’t laughing.
“It must be all this thinking about retiring getting to me.” She sighed. “The truth please, Malik. Do you think my inevitable retirement from dancing is getting ever closer?” she said as he poured their champagne.
Carefully he put the bottle in the ice bucket, handed her a glass, picked up his own and took a sip before answering her.
“You still dance beautifully and are rated as one of the top ballerinas in the world, but I think the injuries are mounting up, which will become more and more a problem for you.”
Suzette sighed and waited. Malik was confirming what she already knew deep down.
“After Monaco the only date you have is the short season here in town with me for Swan Lake at the Paris Opera, no?”
Suzette nodded. “Not even been asked to do The Nutcracker this Christmas.”
Malik reached across the table and took her hand in his. “I think after Paris, ma chérie, you would be advised to think about taking a new direction. Perhaps teach? Choreography? Non! I forbid choreography.” He wagged a finger at her. “I do not need the competition.”
“As if I would ever be as good as you,” Suzette said.
“Maybe I take you on as my assistant, that way you have a new career and I need not worry.”
Suzette shook her head at him before taking a sip of her champagne. “So it seems Swan Lake will be my personal swansong. My life over.”
“Non—you will have a new beginning,” Malik said. “Look at me. I thought it was the end of my world when I had to retire but I’m fine. I love my new career. You will too. I will help you find a new career.”
“Doing what, Malik? I honestly don’t think I want to go down the choreography route—not even as your assistant. And I’m not at all sure I’ve the patience for teaching—I still remember how horrible my friends and I were to our teachers.” She drained her champagne glass before continuing. “As for dealing with all the pushy yummy mummies who are convinced their little darling is going to be the star of the decade.” She shook her head. “Couldn’t do it.”
She watched as the waiter placed a salad niçoise in front of her and steak and frites in front of Malik. “That’s another thing—one day I want to be able to eat what I fancy without worrying.”
“If it will make you feel better have a frite,” Malik said piercing one onto his fork and holding it out.
“Thank you.” Suzette chewed the frite slowly, making it last. “Life would be a lot simpler if only I had a family and a patient husband waiting in the wings to whisk me away to live a normal life.”
“Pshaw!” Malik said. “Who wants a normal life anyway? It would be boring. Something will turn up; you’ll see. Paris is months away yet. You’ve got plenty of time to think and make decisions.”
Bleakly Suzette smiled at him. The trouble was, she realised with a pang, she was starting to yearn desperately for a husband and a normal family life—always had really, but dancing had taken precedence over everything.
“Have you truly never wanted to marry? Have a family?” she asked.
Malik shook his head. “Never been high on my agenda, no. I’ve told you before—my home life wasn’t that great. I didn’t see the need to re-create a stressful situation that I was happier without. But then, unlike you, I don’t have a biological clock ticking away.”
“No, you don’t,” Suzette said. “And you have
