“See, you’re just so smart, Maggie. I could never be as smart as you and Paige are; you went to university, after all. Here I am complaining about the weather, and you’re quoting dead writers. It’s positively intimidating sometimes.”
A smart woman, yes. So useful. Like a pretty gorilla. “Are you joking? You’re a dancer with the Sadler’s Wells Ballet—an artist. And you’re gorgeous! Believe me, I’d love to spin on my toes the way you do.”
“It’s overrated, but you’re sweet to say. I started dancing when I was just a little thing, on doctor’s orders. My mum didn’t have the money for it, really, but I had weak knees and flat feet, and the doctor said I might have to wear leg irons. But he’d just been to the ballet and thought the exercises might do me some good.”
Leg irons. Little Sarah in leg irons. “My goodness.”
She smiled ruefully. “All I know is I heard the words leg irons and not only did my one class a week but practiced almost every waking hour. Pretty soon there was no more talk about leg irons, and the school took me on as a scholarship student. When the Vic-Wells Ballet played in Liverpool, my teacher wrote a note to Madame Ninette de Valois, who came to watch class. She said I could come to London and study at the Sadler’s Wells School, on scholarship. I was fourteen, and became a member of the company at seventeen. So I just never had time for much school, or even family. Just ballet, really—all the time.”
“But it must have been such an amazing experience, to find what you love and then have the opportunity to pursue it. The tutus, the roses, all those handsome men …”
“The tutus are sweat-stained and mended, the roses have thorns, and most of the men are big poofs, so there you go. It’s the theater, it’s illusion. None of it is real.” They walked along in silence for a while. A bird on a high tree branch warbled and then fell silent. “There are a lot of sacrifices.”
“Well, of course,” Maggie said. “All that time you put in, the rehearsal schedule, the pressure of performing.”
“And it’s especially hard now, with everything that’s happening,” Sarah said, dropping down onto the soft, sweet-smelling grass under the boughs of the willow. “I mean, we’re at war. The Nazis have taken Paris. Bombs could fall from the sky and we could be invaded at any moment. What does it matter if we’re all dancing around, pretending to be swans or sylphs or whatever? It’s all quite ridiculous, really.”
At the edge of the park, they sat down near a particularly splendid old oak. They could see men removing the stately black fencing to be taken away and melted down for the war effort. Watching them, Sarah, with her long neck, looked particularly photogenic. When Maggie pointed the camera at her, she nodded, giving permission to shoot away.
“Look, Sarah, I understand how you feel,” Maggie said, camera clicking. “And if you decide you want to make bullets or planes—or whatever—you know Paige and I will be right behind you. But what you do is important. You have a real gift, and unlike some people, you have the opportunity to use it. I mean, it’s going to get ugly soon. And what you do—it’s beautiful. Yes, it’s an illusion, but there are going to be a lot of people who’ll need to see that, to have a few hours where they can just get away. Me included.”
“You think so?” Sarah said. “The things I’ve given up—sometimes I just don’t know if they’re worth it.”
Maggie put down the camera and looked straight at her. “I do.”
“What about you?” Sarah asked suddenly. “We live together, but I don’t know the first thing about you, really—other than that you prefer coffee to tea and hog all the hot water. Are you a southern belle like Paige?”
“Goodness, no! Perish the thought,” Maggie said, doing her best Paige impression. Sarah chortled. “I’m from New England, actually.”
“Well, I’m glad you ended up in London, however it came about. Paige, too.” Sarah rose and brushed off the bottom of her trousers. “And I like Chuck quite a bit. But those twins—”
“—can really get on your nerves?”
“Ha! Absolutely.”
Then, “You know, today when I came in, I left my suitcase near the front door. After breakfast, Chuck had it in her room and was going through it. She said she wanted to do my washing.” Maggie looked at Sarah. “Do you think I’m being paranoid?”
Sarah laughed. “Chuck? A spy? Hardly. She probably just knew you’d been working hard and wanted to help out.”