Precious Things (11 page)

‘Thank you, my love,' Lexi said. ‘How do you know me so well?' The question ran through her mind, incomplete;
and yet, still love me?
But Dariusz only smiled in response. Even if their appearance drew stares – the gigantic strongman beside his tiny, unlikely bride – he paired her in a way that no other man could.

‘A coronet, you say?' asked Lexi, looking down at the beaded piece in her hands. ‘I like it,' she nodded. ‘I could sew it to one of my leotards. But it
would
look beautiful worn as a headpiece, you're right. I'd only need to attach a few ribbons. I think I have some silver grosgrain here somewhere.' Lexi glanced around at the overflowing shelves lining the small parlour.
Now, where could it be?
Not in the old cigar boxes filled with scraps of lace and mother-of-pearl buttons. Or in the many jars of needles and thread, slotted beneath the bright gauzy silks she'd picked up in India. A shadow passed across her face.

‘What's wrong?' asked Dariusz, tuning in to her mood. He grabbed a bottle of champagne sitting in an ornate brass bucket and wrestled with its cork. With a satisfying
pop
, bubbles spilled out over the dark glass neck.

‘Oh, nothing, except . . . that last landing was far from perfect . . .' she trailed off, knowing she needed to do better. Trying to find a space for Dariusz's gift upon a high shelf, she gave up. There wasn't even a single inch to be found on the crowded shelves.
There's no room at all – how do we live here
? she wondered in exasperation. But she loved it; it meant they were always close. Bending down to the bench where Dariusz had hidden her gift, Lexi felt a spasm, a sharp twinge give way in her back. She bit back a cry. Even with all the training – countless hours spent practising and perfecting that performance – she still hadn't managed it. Not without hurting herself. She sighed, and left the coronet on the bench. As Dariusz turned away, she quickly rubbed at the painful spot on her back.

Maybe she had reached her limits? But they needed to keep going if they were ever to buy a little apartment in Prague. What else would they do if they stopped performing? Trapeze and rope walking, those were her best skills. Skills which had just started to pay off, after years of gruelling dedication. A showgirl's salary wouldn't bring in nearly enough, and Dariusz's career was almost over – how long did he have left in him before retirement? A few years, maybe? Five, at most. Five years to save money for their old age . . .

It'll be all right
, Lexi told herself. She straightened up again.
As long as nothing changes.

Dariusz passed her a glass of champagne, and Lexi focused on the shimmering bubbles rising up, up, up towards the surface of the glass.

‘You look worried, my darling. But you mustn't be. Your act is still the best there is. Even that new star of Benikoff's circus, what's her name? Valeria? Even she couldn't manage that move so elegantly. Or anyone else, for that matter. You floated to the earth as if in a dream . . . Have faith in yourself. I always do.' Dariusz's black eyes crinkled as he shook his head, his side-parted hair shining with pomade in the candlelight. The fitted tank and black trousers strained against the bulging muscles of his sculpted torso and legs, his skin shaved and smooth. Towering over her, his bent head almost brushed the carriage's ceiling.

She caught sight of their reflection in the mirror and startled.
I'm a wreck
, she thought, noting the garnet-coloured lipstick now half-gone, and the bruised-looking circles under her eyes. The lines where her foundation clumped and gathered in wrinkles like marching crows' feet. The extra shows were taking their toll: twelve performances this week, with Sunday still to come. She was so tired. But when every matinee was then followed by an evening performance, with barely a break in between . . .

If only we can finish the last leg of this tour, and then start looking
, she thought.
Two rooms – that's all we need. A living area and a bedroom for the both of us. A shared bathroom will be fine, if we have to make do . . .
Years of shows stretched out behind them, with only a few more stops on their
itinerary before they took the train back home to Prague. They were nearly there, and Lexi could almost taste it: their very own home. A fixed point to call their own.

Lexi thought of the first time she'd laid eyes upon Dariusz, and how she'd fallen so deeply in a single instant. He had seemed so impressive and exotic. So solid and tall. Dariusz filled up a space like no other man she'd ever met. Her seventeen-year-old self had trembled in longing as she'd watched the parade pass by. Until then, she'd never known anything close to such desire. Their eyes had met and, just like that, her life was rewritten.

‘Can you imagine what it will be like when you fall pregnant?' he asked, the old glint entering his eye. He was unable to help it, but Lexi was mightily sick of the conversation she knew was coming next. ‘A little boy. Or a girl, even. You'd love a girl, wouldn't you? She'd take after you, of course.'

A heavy mood suddenly descended upon Lexi and she suppressed a sigh.
Impossible
, she thought. What was Dariusz thinking? No, there were already too many mouths to feed – even if it was just the two of them.

‘Dariusz,' said Lexi, swivelling around to face him. ‘Can you imagine bringing up a child . . . in this?' She motioned around them, trying to keep the anger from her voice.

‘Maybe not,' he said, eyes hopeful. ‘But there's always Prague.'

Lexi sat down at her dressing table, feeling, as she always did when the thorny topic reared its ugly head, quite desperate. Much as she loved the small children who came to their shows, she couldn't imagine carrying a baby inside her. Or being a mother. Week in, week out, for the rest of their lives. It simply wasn't for her. She had chosen a different path for them. Lexi pushed back a curl from her face and winced at how exhausted she felt.
I really must tidy up before the encore
, she thought, letting her husband's suggestion hang in the air between them, steadfastly ignoring it. She glanced at him in the mirror. Lexi could tell he was trying not to push her. But the look of disappointment she caught in his eyes as he turned away made her heart break.

Someone knocked loudly on the door, then rattled on the handle. Lexi smoothed down the sheer nude mesh at her shoulders, which, under the lights, gave her the appearance of being caught in a maelstrom of shimmering, silver stars, and bent to quickly reapply the garnet lipstick.

‘We could practise, later maybe?' Dariusz whispered, appearing at her shoulder, enticing again. He never could stay away from her for very long. He slid a hand inside her leotard, and a little gasp escaped her. Lexi slapped him away, laughing, her heart lifting.

‘What? What did I do?' Dariusz asked innocently, palms outstretched. He slid back the oiled bolt on the door, reaching a hand to still the swaying costumes on their rack. The door shook again, more violently this time. ‘Come in,' called Lexi, plastering a bright smile across her face.

Rutherford mounted the steps, leaning lightly upon the cane he used more for effect than necessity.

‘Why are you here?' Dariusz rumbled, discomfited, backing into the caravan. ‘I've still ten minutes to go before I'm on.'

Lexi was surprised to see the ringmaster – he'd be needed back on stage soon.

‘Ah, Dariusz,' said Rutherford, taking off his top hat and tipping it in his direction. ‘Ready for your little appearance?'

Dariusz stared back impassively at the small man, only Lexi noticing the little tic of his jaw clenching.

‘More and more every time, isn't that right, Rutherford? That's what you want, isn't it? Don't worry, I have quite a show planned for you this evening. It will be nothing short of a . . .
sensation
,' he said, crossing his arms across his chest defensively.

Rutherford raised his eyebrows and Dariusz took a step forward, eyes flashing. The old man stiffened, but Lexi could see the cogs turning in his brain. Rutherford made a wise decision to take Dariusz at his word.

‘Of course you do, my boy,' his crocodile teeth flashed. ‘My circus strongman. You'll toss those logs like little twigs,' he said, tapping the cane upon the floor for emphasis.

Dariusz turned away to rub oil into his biceps, silent and fuming.

Lexi realised she was holding her breath. She let it out carefully, feeling suffocated suddenly by the cloying atmosphere. The candles seemed to have stolen all the air, and the scent of the flowers was now overpowering.

Rutherford turned to her, teeth bared in an approximation of a smile. ‘Lexi, my Angel!' he said. ‘How are we doing this evening, my dear? You were fabulous, by the way. That landing! It was simply thrilling, although you almost had me there,' he said, wagging his finger at her. ‘I thought you were about to take a tumble! That last turn, very dangerous, even for you.'

Lexi sensed the danger behind the charm. ‘Thank you, darling, you are too kind. It was all planned, including that . . .
suggestion
of a stumble – to make the audience hold their breaths.' She waved a careless hand. ‘You know how we work.' Leaning into the mirror, she fussed at her curls, avoiding Rutherford's eyes. ‘But shouldn't you be in the ring,
ch
é
ri
?' she asked, patting on more powder. ‘How can we help?'

‘By God, I almost forgot!' said the circus manager, slapping his palm against his forehead. ‘No doubt you noticed the Benikoffs, sitting over there by the horses?'

Dariusz's head snapped up.
No, I hadn't
, thought Lexi. Looking to Dariusz, she saw the panic in his eyes, and swallowed down her shock.

‘I certainly didn't,' she said in as cool a voice as she could muster. ‘Why were they let in?'

‘That inept new man selling tickets, I would imagine . . . they're stealing your routine again, no doubt,' said Rutherford, tilting his chin towards the ceiling. ‘Rest assured, I won't stand for it.' He rocked back and forth on the stacked heels Lexi knew were hidden beneath his gaiters, which brought him up to her own diminutive height. Despite that, he was still intimidating. It wasn't easy running a show the size of theirs. Regardless of what anyone said, Rutherford was still a formidable presence. And he always managed to keep the pay envelopes coming in, too – no mean feat during these lean days.

‘I thought the Benikoffs had left Europe already,' Lexi said casually.

‘Not yet apparently . . . Anyway, I thought to let you know. We need to start planning our show for the Orient if we hope to win any forward bookings. Tonight was superlative, my dear, but we must keep it fresh, fresh, fresh, especially if we hope to journey on to the Middle East . . . I can't have another
incident.
' His mouth twisted as if he'd eaten a lemon.

‘We won't,' Lexi said, thinking of Turin. Several weeks of potentially sold-out shows, cancelled in an instant . . . That was what happened when you weren't on top of your game and your competitors got in ahead of you.

‘So, my darling Angel,' the ringmaster's shrewd eyes met hers, ‘you know what you have to do then?'

‘I do,' Lexi said, slowly nodding.

For as long as she could remember, Lexi had created her routines based on inspiration from the great battles and triumphs of history, the mythical feats of gods and men. While her routines might not appear to bear any resemblance to her inspiration, she knew one thing: her imagination could never be replicated. Lexi could keep coming up with new feats, as long as her competitors didn't steal them right out from under her, before she'd barely had a chance to break them in. The costumes were all hers as well; she lay in bed dreaming them up in the minutes before sleep stole over her. Ever more fanciful, they sometimes incorporated bells and feathers and sequins – bead-encrusted masterpieces fashioned from materials she found in all the places they visited. But they took work – hours and hours of painstaking, dedicated work. As did a new routine.

Lexi sighed. So much for their sojourn in Prague, making a home. Instead, the following few months after this run would need to be spent developing and perfecting a new show, before they took to the road again. And then next season they would head to the Far East on a slow train, meeting up with the troupe in Shanghai.

A drum roll sounded from the tent, scattering her thoughts. ‘Dariusz,' said Rutherford, gesturing towards the door. ‘Shall we?' Lexi caught Dariusz's eye, and watched as her big strong husband seemed to deflate into something smaller and less substantial next to the ringmaster.

‘You don't have to come up with something tonight, Lexi,' Rutherford called over his shoulder. ‘Let's resume this conversation later.' The tip of his cane clicked against the bare wooden ramp as he walked towards the big top. ‘Come, Dariusz!' His voice floated back to them, a steel edge under the pomp.

‘Well,' said Lexi into the silence left in his wake. ‘You should go.'

Her husband crossed to rest his hands upon her shoulders and bent to murmur in her ear. ‘We could leave for good, you know. When there's a baby . . .'

She tried not to frown. Lexi had done everything she could to keep them here, and make them both stars. It hadn't worked for Dariusz, but she had top billing now . . . finally! They couldn't leave. Didn't he understand that? What did he think would happen? How would they live? For all his talk, Dariusz had no real understanding of the outside world. He had been with the circus for such a long time, he didn't know how dull or difficult or painful the outside world could be; he didn't have a clue. And it was only thanks to her that he'd managed to keep his act going for so long, willingly making all the small changes that Lexi suggested, so as to avoid the same fate as Mercurio. Indeed, what would Dariusz say if he knew quite how much she wanted to keep performing, and to be able to afford a flat in Prague? If he knew what she had been willing to do? All the sacrifices – every single one of them – that she'd made to keep them here?