Читать книгу Match Pointe - Indigo Bloome - Страница 10

‘Caesar King requests the pleasure of your company for lunch at the Tate Modern,’ his personal assistant explained rather pompously to Eloise over the phone. When she opened the gold envelope, it contained a formal invitation along with the personal flurry of his distinctive signature.

Eloise had no idea what to expect when she dressed that morning. Her entire wardrobe consisted of the baggy trousers and sweat shirts she wore over her ballet clothes, some jeans and T-shirts for Sundays – her only day off each week – a denim jacket, her faux fur coat and a few evening dresses for when she changed after performances to meet visiting dignitaries.

Given she had no idea what the dress code would be, she was forced out of the house to quickly purchase a formal knee-length skirt and neat floral blouse from Zara, as well as a small attaché case. She loosely pulled her unruly hair into a braid, grabbed her jacket from the hook by the door, then set out for her mysterious meeting with the renowned billionaire.

After a short Tube ride Eloise arrived at the Tate Modern more than an hour before her scheduled meeting, hoping that wandering around the magnificent works of art would provide the necessary distraction to calm her rising apprehension. She would have given anything to have had something else on today, anything rather than meeting Caesar King at this famous art gallery on the Thames … But she didn’t have an excuse not to go, and what was worse was that he knew she didn’t.

Even beyond his connection with the Royal Ballet, she knew of the illustrious Caesar King. And everyone knew that when Caesar called, you answered. The only problem was that neither the phone call nor the gold-embossed invitation she had received had provided any clue as to why he would want to meet with her. Although it did manage to pique her interest enough to temporarily suspend her state of misery.

Deep down she secretly hoped Sir Lloyd had asked him to check up on her, maybe even offer her her position back, but she knew she was hoping against hope and that Natalia would be Principal for the foreseeable future. Unless she was prepared to play second fiddle – which she most certainly was not – her future with the Royal Ballet seemed doomed.

As the time of the meeting approached she was sorely tempted to run in the opposite direction. She hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone since her demise and was still in a precarious emotional state. But just as she was considering retreating back home, the great man himself appeared, saying farewell to his guests from his previous meeting. He cheerfully greeted a nervous Eloise, whose palms had suddenly broken into a warm sweat.

As far as she could remember, she had only briefly made Caesar’s acquaintance at one of the Royal Ballet’s gala performances where the senior dancers were required to socialise with benefactors and the Board of Trustees. His well-known Italian–American heritage contrasted with his upper-crust English accent, and he was better looking, fitter and more polished in real life than the way he was portrayed in the tabloids (which was usually with a drink in his hand). But more than anything it was his charisma that was evident from the moment he walked into the entrance hall. It took her by storm.

‘Thank you so much for meeting me, Eloise. After you.’ He gestured for her to precede him into the lift. ‘We’ll go up to the restaurant on the seventh floor.’

Although she had visited the gallery, Eloise had never dined on the seventh floor. The views of London over the Millennium Bridge were breathtaking as she settled into her plush seat in the private room. She was pleased she had worn a formal skirt and blouse rather than more casual attire, given that Caesar was dressed in a navy suit with his trademark cravat and handkerchief; today’s colour was cerise.

‘I hope you don’t mind, I’ve ordered lunch for us. Would you like a cocktail to start, or perhaps some champagne?’ He raised his eyebrows, awaiting her answer.

If Eloise had been nervous before, she was practically speechless now. Apparently a cup of tea wasn’t on the agenda, she thought anxiously, still unable to believe she was meeting with Caesar alone and still hadn’t so much as uttered a word.

‘I, ah, I’m not sure …’

‘We’ll start with two bellinis, I think, Max, and take it from there.’

‘Certainly, sir.’ The waiter silently disappeared, closing the door behind him.

‘Now, I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here,’ he began, his smile broadening.

‘The thought has crossed my mind, Mr King.’ Eloise was relieved when her first words came out more smoothly in reality than she’d imagined them in her mind.

‘Please, call me Caesar. I’ve no doubt it has. But before I get to that matter, let me just say how sorry I am that you’re not currently dancing with the Royal Ballet. You are such an extraordinary ballerina; it is definitely our loss.’

Eloise had been dreading discussing this, but had known it would be unavoidable given Caesar’s active involvement in the company.

‘Thank you,’ was all she said in reply.

‘So tell me, do you have any plans for your immediate future?’

It took Eloise a moment or two to answer. ‘To be honest, I haven’t given anything much thought since walking out. I realise I’ll need to soon …’

‘I know this is out of left field, but your future is the very subject I’d like to discuss over the course of this lunch. I have a proposal I want you to consider. But let’s get to know each other a little better first, shall we?’

Eloise agreed, still unsure where any of this was headed.

‘How about I start with a little bit about me?’

‘Sure, sounds good.’ Eloise was grateful he was taking charge, given her level of discomfort with the whole setting.

If there was one thing Caesar was great at – and loved – it was talking about himself until other people relaxed around him, and he didn’t mind how long it took. He was a patient man when it served him to be.

Eloise listened attentively, politely at first and then with fascination at the twists and turns his life had taken. Caesar’s passion for tennis and ballet was obvious, as his eyes lit up and his gestures became more animated whenever he mentioned these topics. Before long, Eloise was completely engaged, laughing at his stories and hanging on his every word. Looking down at her plate, she was surprised to see that she had already finished her lunch. Caesar filled up her glass for the second time with a crisp Pouilly-Fuissé, which she found delicious even though she rarely drank. It didn’t take her long to realise that it was far simpler to go with the flow of all things Caesar, and he was never slow in taking the lead in the conversation – which suited her no end.

‘So, tell me about yourself now that I’ve disclosed most of my life to you.’

‘Mine isn’t nearly as interesting. Up until recently it was pretty much ballet, ballet, ballet … Now I don’t know what it is.’ She forced herself to swallow the tears these words evoked.

‘Tell me more, I’m all ears.’

As stoically as she could, Eloise described her childhood of foster care and her thrill of being accepted at age twelve to study ballet at White Lodge, home of the Royal Ballet School: something that had changed her life. It was the first time she had verbalised her bitter disappointment about Manon, and once she’d started she couldn’t stop.

Caesar observed her as she disclosed the bare bones of her life story, knowing they were nothing more than scraps. He already had a file compiled on her life, so didn’t press for the details she avoided, and which he already knew. He merely took notice of what she left out and her mannerisms as she spoke, which fascinated him.

The poor child had nothing in her life other than ballet. There were times when she was fighting back her tears and he felt like holding her hand to help her through the pain, but he quickly checked himself. He was depending on her feeling completely abandoned and the plan he had developed hinged entirely on that premise.

‘Do you plan to return to the Royal Ballet, Eloise?

She shook her head solemnly, knowing that words might break her.

‘But you said yourself, you were given the role of Soloist. It’s not as if you were sacked.’

‘I will not return as Soloist.’ Eloise spoke quietly but firmly, and felt anger and disappointment cascading over her crushed heart all over again. She made an effort to rein in her tumultuous emotions; the last thing she wanted was for Caesar to see her like this, though she feared it was already too late.

‘So what are you going to do? You must have some idea. You’re too gifted to simply walk away. Perhaps you just need some more time to think things through.’

‘Dancing is all I have, Caesar. My pride won’t let me go back – not after the argument I had with Sir Lloyd. It was made very clear to me that the Russians are the next big thing to hit the ballet world and that being “home grown” is now seen as second-rate.’

‘I’m sorry you feel that way, but I understand what you’re saying. As you know, our new choreographer, the world-renowned Xavier Gemmel, is on a two-year contract and has the full support of the Board. I’m afraid he has scope to bring in more dancers from Russia, which doesn’t help your situation either.’

Caesar watched as Eloise shuffled uncomfortably in her seat, confirming the truth of his words. He often found that succinctly stating the reality of a situation, although difficult for people to hear at the time, had a profound impact on their decisions. It was a strategy he often used to his advantage.

‘Maybe I should apply to another company overseas … I’m not sure. I’m not skilled in anything else. And I can’t imagine a day without dance in my life.’

‘You could apply overseas, but you would need the Board’s approval to do so.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m assuming you’ve read your contract, Eloise …’

‘My contract with the Royal Ballet?’

‘It states clearly that you do not have the right to accept a position at another ballet company without the Board’s approval. From what I can ascertain from the other trustees, they’re looking forward to having you back – albeit as Soloist. In the meantime, I believe Lloyd has approved an extended leave of absence, and you should receive a letter shortly.’

‘If Xavier doesn’t believe I am good enough to be Principal, I can’t return under his leadership. I worked hard to be in that position, but to pretend I can return when Natalia has been promoted to my role is impossible. Xavier is well known in the industry for his nepotism and I’m sure it will only get worse during his tenure.’

‘Unfortunately I can’t disagree with you there. This issue was discussed at length before he was appointed. We all knew what we were getting into. So let me ask you this: if you aren’t returning to the Royal Ballet under the current conditions and you are unable to dance elsewhere, what exactly are you going to do, pray tell?’

Caesar couldn’t deny that right now he felt like the cat circling the canary whose cage door was open – she was such a delicate little bird – but he’d learnt from experience that it was far more effective to let people work through their feelings. At least then they believed they were making their own decision rather than being masterfully manipulated towards his end game, as was usually the case.

Eloise felt as desolate as she had the day she walked out of the ballet on hearing Caesar’s words. Her current situation was almost too much for her to bear.

‘I just want to dance,’ she replied at last. ‘I do think I need some distance from the Royal Ballet, but I have no idea how to go about it.’

That was the cue Caesar had been waiting for, and if truth be told, he’d had enough theatrics for one day. So he wasted no time in cutting to the chase.

‘Then I’m hoping that’s where I may be able to help. I would like to make you an offer and I’m hoping you’ll consider it very seriously. It is something I have put much thought into and I hope it is of equal advantage to both of us. It will guarantee your financial independence – but I won’t lie to you: nothing in this life comes without a price.’

He took a moment to open his Italian leather briefcase, removed a manila envelope with her name on it and slid it across the table towards her.

‘Essentially it means that you would contract yourself to me for the next two years.’

If Eloise had been desolate a moment ago, she was in shock now.

‘What?’ She stared at him wide-eyed. ‘Why me?’

‘Because you are financially vulnerable, and you are a magnificent dancer whose skills should be allowed to develop – even if away from structured ballet. You are a beautiful young woman whose life has barely begun – even though you think it is over. I am in a position to provide you with a lifestyle that surpasses what you had with the ballet and surrounds you with athletes who are the top of their field. But I need your personal commitment for two years. After that, Xavier’s term with the Royal Ballet will be complete, you will have just turned twenty-four, with more life experience than you’ve ever imagined and, well, let’s just say who knows what your future may hold?’

He looked directly into her enormous, dewy eyes, giving her time for his words to sink in.

‘I don’t know what to say …’ Eloise wondered whether she was trapped in a warped dream or perhaps it was a nightmare; she couldn’t decide which.

‘I completely understand this may come as a surprise, so let me explain my proposal, the specific details of which are inside that envelope.’

Eloise’s dessert – once again, pre-ordered by Caesar – arrived just as he was relating his discussion with Ivan Borisov. Eloise had vaguely heard of Ivan on the sports news, but was far more impressed that his mother was the famous ballerina Anna Alexandrava.

‘Ivan is Number One in the tennis world, and for the moment, it’s not in my interests to see him lose that coveted position. He believes that having you dance for him before every match would bring back his motivation and passion for the game. It may or it may not; only time will tell. I know that you are feeling dejected about losing your own role as Principal, but I’m hoping I can make you an offer too good to refuse. I’m calling it my “Number One Strategy”. Although I’d oversee the arrangement, to cover all expenses and ensure that the conditions of the contract were being met, you would become accountable to the top-ranked male tennis player. You would travel with him around the world and essentially he would become your new “Master” – to use a term familiar to you. It would be up to both of you to agree on the terms of your relationship.’ He paused. ‘Do you have any questions so far?’

‘My new Master?’ She couldn’t remotely fathom why this piqued her interest.

‘In my opinion, the most successful tennis players tend to be dominant and controlling – the game demands these characteristics of its champions. Just as you, to the best of my knowledge, are submissive by nature, which drives your perfection in ballet. Professional ballet dancers must adhere to the rules of the dance and depend on certain boundaries. By all reports, you perform at your best under the strict demands of your masters and mistresses.’

There was no doubting Caesar had certainly done his research thoroughly as he paused to watch all the colour drain from Eloise’s face, when just moments ago it had been flushed. He smiled as he continued, congratulating himself again on his choice. She was even more perfect for the role than she had appeared on paper, and so very easy to read – an open book in every sense.

‘It will be up to both of you to negotiate the parameters of your relationship. This will be an important discussion, as your respective lawyers would then draw up the terms of your agreement, which of course I would require you to uphold.’

‘And by parameters you mean what exactly?’

‘The rules that define and determine your relationship.’

‘So I would negotiate this with Ivan?’

‘You would negotiate this with whoever was Number One, as per the ATP’s – the Association of Tennis Professionals – rankings. Currently this is Ivan, and he is very keen for you to be his private ballerina.’

‘Oh, I see. So the contract would be with you for two years but my agreement would be negotiated separately with each Number One during that timeframe?’

‘Exactly.’ Caesar was pleased she seemed to be catching on.

‘And would my relationship with the Number One ever be more than dancing?’

She had to ask; it needed to be clarified.

‘That would be entirely up to you, but you should be prepared for the possibility. It is certainly not my aim to place you in a situation that isn’t consensual. That is why the agreement between you is such an important step in the process. Of course I can’t speak for each Number One; it would be for them to negotiate the boundaries with you. Only then would the specifics form part of the contract.’

‘And how do you know they would even agree to such a proposal?’

‘I manage the top six male players in the world. I know their lives inside out, more than their nearest and dearest ever will. If Ivan doesn’t maintain that position, one of the other five will be Number One. I have included a brief dossier on each of them for you to review before making your decision. I think you will be pleasantly surprised.’

He smiled, almost like the cat that had already swallowed the canary.

‘But how do you know that they would even want me in their lives?’

‘Believe me, Eloise, I know every one of these men would welcome you into their life in whatever shape the relationship takes. As you know better than anyone, being at the top is lonely and isolating. To have someone who doesn’t judge them and understands the pressure of their lives, the need to perform on cue over and over, would be invaluable. It became abundantly obvious to me after my discussion with Ivan. If these elite athletes don’t have a partner one hundred per cent dedicated to their career, it’s only a matter of time before the stress cracks show and their relationship fails, often affecting every part of their life. I see it time and again. Should you come into their lives, understanding what drives them to be Number One, as you know first-hand, supporting them to achieve, with no strings attached … do you think they’ll knock all that back? You’d be a dream come true!’

The entire situation was too much for Eloise to take in.

‘I know it’s a lot to absorb, and probably the last thing you were expecting from our meeting today. So I’d really appreciate it if you could read through the information when you go home, consider what I’ve offered and let me know within the next two days if you are remotely interested. I’d be more than comfortable if you feel you need to experience the lifestyle I’m proposing before committing to anything. If you decide to proceed, the contract between us will be legally binding for the next eight grand slams; there are four a year. You’d start with the French Open in May, then Wimbledon, followed by the US Open, and finally the Australian in January.

‘It’s a big decision, which I encourage you to consider seriously. And I need to be clear: should you proceed, your life for the next two years will not be your own.’ His eyes became lethal for a flicker of a second, right before his tone lightened. ‘If you have any more questions whatsoever, just call my direct line.’ He handed her his business card.

‘Unfortunately, my next meeting is across town and I need to get going. As I said earlier, Eloise, I hope you will consider my offer seriously over the next day or two. I’ve really enjoyed our time together today and hope we can continue getting to know each other in the near future.’

He stood up, so Eloise followed his lead, and he shook her hand again. Instead of having warm, sweaty palms, now all blood had drained from her fingers, leaving them stone-cold.

‘Please feel free to stay here longer if you wish to.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll look forward to hearing from you.’

As he reached the door, he stopped and turned back to face her. ‘Don’t look so scared, Eloise; life is meant to be an adventure. I hope I’ve just added to yours.’

‘Thank you, Caesar. For lunch, for the chat, for everything.’ As she said the words she realised her life now had options she hadn’t even imagined a few hours ago. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

‘Good. I’m counting on it!’

On that note, Caesar exited the room, leaving a befuddled Eloise standing in his wake.