Page 27 of Stripped
Chapter 15
Wraith watched from the corner of the studio as Pim rehearsed. He had dropped her off this morning for class and went to the café to do research on his laptop, hitting dead end after dead end. No one stuck out as a possible suspect for the thief assassin, and if it was drug related, he could find no correlation to the person threatening Pim. The CCTV cameras near her flat had all been disabled. Whoever was following her, knew they were being watched. As for the persons who trespassed at Angus' house, there were no cameras facing his door, a convenience Wraith was sure the old man paid for to conceal his iniquitous business dealings, leaving associates free to come and go unnoticed.
"Take it again from the top of the coda," Peter said, running his hand along his ponytail. "Paul, you look bloody constipated. I need more height on your grande jetés or I'm fucking cutting you."
Wraith watched as Paul mouthed across the room to Pim. "You okay?"
She nodded as the music began and Paul took his place for the start of his variation. Wraith's eyes narrowed. A suspicious red spot had formed on the front of her pointe shoe. She limped to the corner, awaiting her turn, adjusting the black tutu she wore. As Paul finished his section, she entered, walking gracefully to the center of the room and began a sequence of thirty-two fouetté turns, stirring up the entire space, an enchantress of seduction.
An elderly gentleman joined Wraith in the corner by the door. "She's something to watch," he said admiringly, his aged eyes cloudy and opaque. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped them. "A dancer like our Rosy comes along once in a lifetime."
Wraith nodded. "Aye, so different from the white swan."
"It takes someone special to pull off both roles. The innocence and perfection of Odette, fragile and fearful, and the thrill and charisma of Odile, dangerous to even herself."
"Again," Peter shouted. "We'll keep doing it until you fucking get it right. You're bloody Prince Siegfried, you're supposed to be impressing her. Fucking impress her."
The spot on Pim's shoe had grown. "Sorry." Paul motioned to her. She shook her head. The music started and they began again.
"She'll be sore tonight. This is some of the most difficult choreography." He held his hand out to Wraith. "Sorry, Niall Leonard, Ballet Master."
"Robert Wraith. I'm a friend of Primrose."
"I heard Rosy had a companion. I've never seen her with anyone in the two years she's been with us. I'm glad you came."
The music cut off abruptly. "Again," Peter yelled.
"I don't think Pim—" Paul started to say.
"She's fucking fine," he said dismissively, waiving his hand at her. "Maybe if you get it right, she won't have to do it again."
"I'm fine," she said to Paul, taking her place. The whole tip of her shoe was red at this point.
The accompanist started again at the beginning of the variation. Wraith watched, disgusted with Peter as Pim danced through the pain without ever letting on her toe hurt.
When she was finished, Peter stopped them. "Fucking hell. I'll run the pas de deux with Pim. Paul, you can fucking watch and I'll show you how it's done. You're supposed to be enraptured with her." He turned to the piano player. "Pick it up at the second stanza."
The dancer playing the evil Rothbart finished warming up and joined Peter and Pim in the center of the floor. Wraith had seen enough ballet to know that Peter was touching her unnecessarily, his hand brushing over and lingering on her breasts and thighs. He brought her down from a lift above his head, their faces inches from each other, and ran his hand down her face and neck, a depraved hunger filling his eyes. A sudden flash of anger burned in Wraith, and he was glad when they were finished before he had to recognize it for what it was—jealousy. Peter let go of her, walking away. "You can go. Catriona will run it with Paul," he said callously, not even looking at Pim as he brushed her off.
Pim took the tutu off and pulled on a pair of sweat pants. Grabbing her bag, she went over and spoke to Paul before leaving. Niall stopped her on the way out. "Soak your foot when you get home, Rosy," he said, patting her hand. "You did well today."
"I will." She gave him a weak smile, but Wraith could see the strain in her eyes.
He followed her out. "Stop," he said, catching up to her. "Let me help you."
She shook her head. "Not here. I can't appear weak. I just need to go."
He took her bag from her as she hobbled to his car, getting in. Fog blanketed the city in oppressive grayness, limiting visibility. "What the hell was all that about?" he asked, sitting down and starting the engine. "What does he have against Paul?" He reached across and checked her seatbelt.
"It wasn't a punishment for Paul. It was a punishment for me," she said, taking the pointe shoe off her good foot and putting on a soft bootie.
"Why you? You looked amazing."
"Probably for the other night. The fact that I didn't wake up in his bed. He'll have taken it as rejection."
"He's lucky he wasn't arrested. You need to say something. He can't treat you like that."
"He can. The ballet world is really insular. He has the authority to ruin my career if he wants. It's intensely competitive and hypercritical; you can't cave to the pressures. You learn to shut up and live with it or get out. Peter is a control freak. I tested that the other night."