The Conductor by Sarah Quigley Read Free Book Online Page A

certain you do — you simply have to give in to it. And be glad that you’re capable of loving.’ His voice faltered a little, making Nikolai glance at him. ‘Of course I love Nina.’ Shostakovich sounded almost indignant. ‘But not, perhaps, to the extent that most women would wish. You, on the other hand, were the ideal husband, and will very likely be the ideal father.’
    After that evening, the white flickering had gradually cleared fromNikolai’s vision. By the end of the summer, he was able to look at his daughter quite steadily, could pick her up and kiss her, and soon even Tanya was convinced that it was safe to give up temporary guardianship of her dead sister’s child and visit — as previously arranged — on a daily basis only, to cook and clean. ‘About time,’ she said, trundling around the apartment, packing her meagre possessions. ‘I was wondering how long you were going to stay in that mood.’
    Yet Nikolai’s ‘mood’ had never entirely left him. At times, such as this morning with Sonya’s arms around his neck, his fear of love was nearly enough to overwhelm the love itself. It felt like an impairment that he would struggle with for the rest of his life — not crippling but exhaustingly constant.
    ‘Come on!’ Sonya danced ahead, occasionally turning to admonish him. ‘Slow old Papa!’
    ‘I’m out of condition. Sitting around all day teaching lazy students to scribble sonatas isn’t the best exercise.’
    ‘Perhaps if I run backwards you can keep up,’ offered Sonya.
    ‘Perhaps if I hop —’ Nikolai raised his left foot off the ground — ‘you’ll realise that I’m wearing my seven-league boots. All the better to catch you with!’ Hopping, watching Sonya running backwards, he crashed into a lamp-post. ‘Care to dance?’ he said to the metal pole, making Sonya giggle.
    ‘Thank you! I’d love to.’
    Nikolai unwound himself from the lamp-post, and saw a slim dark figure beside him. ‘Oh! Nina Bronnikova! Good day!’ He’d been half-hoping to see her, knew she lived somewhere in this block — but this was certainly not the ideal way of meeting. He tried not to blush. ‘Of course I’d rather dance with you than a lamp-post, though I fear you’re used to more athletic partners.’
    ‘Not at all,’ replied Nina Bronnikova, smoothing back her dark hair. ‘You’d be surprised at the clumsy oafs admitted into the Kirov these days.’
    ‘You’re in the Kirov?’ Sonya stared at the woman’s narrow shoulders, and her muscular legs clad in black stockings. ‘Oh, I’ve always, always , wanted to be a ballerina! But Papa says dancers are stupid and I’d be better off being a musician.’
    Once again, Nikolai felt close to blushing. ‘I wasn’t referring to anyone specific,’ he mumbled. ‘Certainly not you.’
    A slight smile crossed Nina Bronnikova’s face. ‘Your papa is probablyright,’ she said to Sonya. ‘On some days, even I consider dancing to be a stupid profession.’ And with that she walked away, feet turned slightly outwards, elbows tucked into her slim waist.
    Sonya stared at her longingly. ‘She’s wonderful. Is her name Nina too? Like Mrs Shostakovich?’
    ‘That’s right.’ Nikolai’s forehead was throbbing where it had connected with the lamp-post. ‘But she’s not at all like Mrs Shostakovich. Quite the opposite.’ He’d never seen Shostakovich’s wife in one of her legendary rages, but he had no problem imagining it, whereas Nina Bronnikova seemed as cool as water.
    ‘I’ve never met a real ballerina, I’ve just seen them from afar. They look much bigger up close.’ Sonya peered at Nikolai. ‘Are you all right? Your face is red.’
    ‘I expect it’s the sun. I’ve been indoors such a lot this spring, my skin’s not used to it.’
    ‘You need to get out more,’ agreed Sonya. ‘Shouldn’t we go to the country this summer? Galina Shostakovich said they might be renting a dacha near Luga. It’s only a few hours by