The Visitors by Sally Beauman Read Free Book Online Page B

examine me. I felt the full glare of those predator eyes of hers. ‘I will question her myself. Vous permettez, mademoiselle? ’
    Miss Mack and I, unsure whom she addressed, both nodded. The inquisition was brief and to the point. In rapid-fire time it elicited the information that, despite having reached the advanced age of eleven, I had never attended a ballet performance, a ballet class or indeed any other kind of dancing class in my entire life. Furthermore, I neither rode, nor played tennis, and my swimming was unreliable. I was not, Madame deduced, sportive.
    ‘ Enfin – what can you do, child?’
    ‘Well, I read. I read a lot,’ I said desperately, casting around for an answer and giving her a Cambridge one.
    Madame raised her eyes to the heavens. ‘Do you wish to dance, Mademoiselle?’
    ‘No. Yes. That is, I didn’t, but––’
    ‘ Incroyable… Still, I must not be hasty. You have been ill, I must make allowances. I shall be fair. Fair play, as the English never cease reminding us. We shall see with our own eyes. Child – remove your hat, please.’
    I did so. Miss Mack gave a small mew of distress and protest; no one else said a word.
    Madame recovered first. ‘Let us continue,’ she said. ‘Child – bend over and touch your toes… Now, stand straight, raise your arms above your head, and lower them slowly – slowly , Mademoiselle. Enfin , remove your shoes, hold on to the barre and raise yourself on your toes – comme ça, vous voyez ?’ She demonstrated. I copied. She sighed. ‘Extend your left leg, point the toe and raise it as high as you can… Mon Dieu, but you’re stiff , I’ve seen a chair, a table, with more animation. Ça suffit. ’ She began to turn away. ‘We will not waste each other’s time any longer.’
    ‘That’s not fair, Madame.’ To my astonishment, Frances Winlock pushed past me and spoke. ‘There are umpteen girls in our class who can’t dance very well and never will – and you didn’t turn them away. Lucy wants to learn, she told me so. And besides, you’re not giving her a chance. She’s – she’s – she’s very – acrobatic . She can do these amazing handsprings and cartwheels. Somersaults too… ’
    This lie was brazen: I blushed to the roots of my tragic hair. It was stated with wide-eyed innocence and in a tone of such heartfelt conviction that Miss Mack was completely taken in. ‘Why, Lucy, dear, I never realised––’ she began.
    Mrs Winlock gave her a sharp nudge, and said quickly, ‘Frances, that’s quite enough. But perhaps my daughter has a point, Madame? After all, Lucy will be moving on from Cairo to Luxor in a few weeks, just as we shall, so it’s only a short-term arrangement. Surely you could fit her in? Imagine how much she’d learn from a teacher such as you! And I know Frances would love it if you could… She and Lucy are such friends.’
    I said nothing. I could see Madame was not deceived for an instant. She knew that Frances was lying, and I could no more perform a cartwheel than I could read hieroglyphs. I was an impostor, a fake – and about to be exposed as one. All she had to do was ask me to demonstrate. I saw her eyes gleam with that malicious possibility, but then she seemed to change her mind. Possibly Frances and her mother weighed more with her than all the Stockton and Wiggins and Emerson tribes put together: maybe she felt like playing up to her own reputation for unpredictability; perhaps it was simply that the blatancy of the lie amused her.
    She looked intently at Frances and at me. A long fraught silence ensued, and then she laughed. ‘Well, well, well – you have talents I should never have suspected, Mademoiselle,’ she said in a dry tone. ‘ Eh bien , you will be on trial, but since your friend vouches for you, you may attend my class next Tuesday. By then I shall expect you to have learned the first five ballet positions; if you haven’t – out on your ear. Mrs Winlock, Miss Mackenzie – you