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Eloise was nonplussed to discover that one of Caesar’s staff would accompany her on her first-class flight to meet Ivan in St Petersburg. Her thoughts oscillated between wondering whether Caesar thought she might flee and not fulfil the legal requirements of the contract, and speculating that he now considered her such precious cargo she required one of his keepers to guard her.
It was only when the plane arrived on schedule at Pulkovo Airport that she began to grow curious about what might happen next in her now unpredictable life. She was both excited and nervous about what the future might hold. Other than being aware of Ivan’s passion for ballet, she really had no idea what he was like as a person. She couldn’t help but ponder whether he was experiencing the same apprehension about her arrival. The only certainty she had was to expect the unexpected as her life unfolded over the coming days, weeks and months.
She watched her suitcase, containing everything she needed for the foreseeable future, being loaded into the car. When the boot slammed shut with a loud thud, she couldn’t help but think her fate was being sealed in with it. She was pleased Caesar’s people had organised a luxury limousine to collect her rather than the coach that had last taken her through the streets of this majestic city. She had loved performing here, and hoped this time she might have more opportunity to explore its rich history than the ballet tour had allowed.
Caesar had assured Eloise it wasn’t important for her to know much about tennis, which was a relief, because she didn’t. She had only ever been vaguely aware of the players in the finals of Wimbledon, mainly because she lived in London. What she did know was that from today she would be Ivan’s private ballerina. In return, he would be her new Master, for want of a better word, and most importantly, her first Number One.
Any confidence she had had leaving London suddenly evaporated when she alighted from the limousine. She composed herself as best she could before stepping through the doors of Ivan’s vast apartment, overlooking the River Neva.
Ivan’s maid showed her to her room and she settled in quietly, awaiting further instructions. Eventually she was called to join him for some tea in the lounge room.
Ivan was dressed entirely in black and seemed polished and urbane as he greeted Eloise with a respectful nod, barely brushing her hand with his lips. He was not an ugly man, though his nose was a little too big for his face and his eyes a little too close together. At just under five foot eleven, he was by no means the tallest player on the circuit but he was as lean and athletic as any top sportsman. Eloise wondered where he hid the killer instinct required to win match after match, when there was no such aggression to be found in his personality off court. He appeared to be rather shy by nature, and the perfect gentleman.
Their discussion about her role in his life was simple and succinct. ‘Caesar has sent through your details, Eloise,’ he told her in his heavy Russian accent. ‘I’m so pleased you decided to accept his offer to dance for me.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ She expected him to continue but he gazed idly out the window. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could outline your expectations of my role.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. It’s simple, really. You will dance for me before each match I play. I’m not sure how long each performance will last; it will depend on the day. I’ll be playing in quite a few tournaments leading up to the French Open and you will travel with my team. The schedule is on the table. Other than before my matches, your time is your own unless I let you know otherwise.’
‘Nothing else? Only dancing?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ He turned to look at her as if he were missing something. ‘I’m sure Caesar explained it to you. I’ve also informed my mother of your arrival and she is hoping you might dance some scenes from her favourite ballet, Cinderella. We’d both like to watch.’
‘Yes, of course, sir!’ she said with genuine excitement. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
‘Excellent. The maid has prepared lunch for you in the kitchen. I’ll see you at 4pm in the studio.’
He then promptly left the room to go about his own business.
Eloise had had no idea of what to expect on her arrival, but even so it all seemed rather formal and distant. She wondered whether she had managed to do something to upset Ivan – though she couldn’t imagine what in such a short space of time – or whether it was just his personality. Perhaps this would change as they got to know each other. She did her best to swallow her disappointment – if that was what it was – knowing that her job wasn’t to question, it was to adapt to his needs. If this was how he preferred it – minimal interaction at best – then she would fulfil his wishes graciously.
That afternoon was the first time she danced for Ivan and his mother, Anna. It would be the first of many times, and they whispered in Russian as they watched her perform with enthusiasm. Occasionally Ivan asked her to stop and repeat certain elements of her scene, after which his mother would applaud and blow kisses towards her in appreciation, saying ‘Beautiful’ or ‘Perfect’, which Ivan translated from Russian to English for her. At times Eloise and Anna danced together, and it was then that Eloise enjoyed seeing Ivan’s smile light up his face, making him look friendly and relaxed, in place of his usual austere disposition. It was obvious that he adored his mother and she appeared thrilled to have Eloise as an addition to their daily lives.
From the outset Ivan showed no real interest in Eloise other than her dancing. Eloise learnt that his preference was to keep communication between them to a bare minimum. His manager generally left notes informing her when and where she was needed to perform for him. The rest of the time, as he had said, she was free to do as she wished. So Eloise revelled in her lengthy explorations of the beautiful palaces, museums and cathedrals and majestic gardens of St Petersburg. There was no shortage of attractions in a city with such a rich heritage.
The only event Ivan and Eloise attended together publicly was a surprise trip to the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow to see Don Quixote. Eloise forced the memory of Natalia’s face from her mind, knowing this was where Natalia had trained, though she couldn’t deny that she was on high alert, critiquing the performances and keen to absorb improvements that could be made to her own repertoire.
It was the first evening that she and Ivan had spoken at length; Ivan was attentive to Eloise’s observations about how she felt as a member of the audience rather than as a dancer onstage. The next evening he had her perform for more than three hours in his studio as he wandered around the room, his eyes silently studying the intricacy of her movements at close range. At the end of her exhausting routine he smiled and clapped his hands, declaring, ‘Bravo! Simply exquisite!’
Then he promptly left the room. As was often the case.
Eloise often hoped her relationship with Ivan would become a tad more communicative than it was, but she adored the meticulous way he studied her body when she danced for him. Even though she was alone more often than not, as long as he needed her to dance for him, she was content to fulfil her role.
Eloise knew her contract ensured that she was Ivan’s responsibility, and this at least gave her comfort that she belonged somewhere. In many respects it was no different from her previous life – she was still paid to dance, she maintained her former nomadic lifestyle – but at the same time, she was no longer competing in the stressful world of ballet, the hotels were five star, her travel first class (if not private jet) and her expense account indulgent, even if she never took advantage of it and always asked for permission to spend regardless (for instance, to purchase clothes more suited to her new lifestyle). Having her needs completely catered for and her whole life organised on her behalf was more than satisfactory.
Yet what she hadn’t realised was how accustomed she had become to interacting with a bevy of virile male ballet dancers. She might not have had many sexual relationships, but she desperately missed the physicality of men and the feeling of their muscled limbs against her own, their hands sliding along her taut curves and over her legs, neck and face. Their sheer strength in lifting her petite form into the air as though she were a feather, and effortlessly catching her as she fell. The physicality of dance was the part that made her feel connected, like she belonged. Suddenly she’d been removed from this overtly sensate world and thrust into a life where no one touched her at all, and her longing for more had taken her completely by surprise.
Ivan appeared absorbed in her beauty and grace but never once approached her. Although their contract clearly facilitated, among other things, a sexual relationship should they be so inclined, she was comfortable with the fact that it was all about dancing, as she wasn’t exactly attracted to him. The contract also stipulated that she should not be sexually intimate with anyone else – not that she had the opportunity for that. So she accepted her enforced celibacy without complaint, knowing that going against Caesar’s rules was never an option she could consider.
Lifestyle
Ivan never asked Eloise to watch him play, but she did learn first-hand that tennis was one of the busiest sports in the world. Whereas soccer had one World Cup every four years, tennis had four grand slams every year. And the top players were also required to compete in mandatory ATP World Tour Masters 1000 series that added to their ATP rankings each year in Asia, America and Europe.
Eloise soon grew accustomed to the heavy demands of the tennis calendar as Ivan competed in Monte Carlo, Munich, Madrid, Rome … It was a never-ending whirlwind of airports, stadiums, crowds, cars and hotels and she danced for him before every match he played. He always chose the particular ballet and the precise scene he wished her to perform. Sometimes it was for as little as ten minutes, at other times it was for a couple of hours. During some tournaments he would have her perform the same scene before each match.
It allowed little time for her to reflect on what she might be missing back in London. If the truth were told, Eloise felt like her previous lifestyle was in ultra-slow motion compared with this – like comparing a snail with Usain Bolt. She had no concerns about keeping physically active when they were on tour, particularly as Ivan often asked her to dance again after he’d won a match to help him unwind, which she did willingly.
All of these tournaments led up to the French Open: the true beginning of her eight-grand-slam commitment to Caesar, and the end of her one and only escape clause. Everything up until this point had been preliminary, allowing her time to adjust to her new lifestyle. Once the grand slam commenced, there was no turning back. But although she appreciated the gesture of Caesar’s ‘trial run’, in her mind the clause was superfluous. Once she had committed to something, her disciplined self would always see it through.
Before the French Open, Ivan asked her to perform the final scene of Swan Lake. She wondered whether he envisaged his opponent as the dying white swan and himself as the victorious black swan. She had read that some athletes used the soundtrack of movies like Rocky to psych themselves up before a major match, and perhaps this was Ivan’s version of the same thing.
Being the perfectionist she was, she took her job seriously and aimed at improving her performance with each match Ivan played – just as he did. The philosophy seemed to be working, since the more she danced, the more he won, including the title of Number One for the third consecutive year. Ivan was in top form and Eloise was confident he would continue to win, ensuring her position as his private ballerina – she liked to think of herself as his lucky charm and felt she was contributing to his success.
After Ivan won the title in Paris, Caesar hosted an elaborate private dinner for Ivan, his coach, his manager, Anna and Eloise to celebrate. At the end of the evening he asked if he could have a private word with Eloise and agreed to escort her back to her hotel.
As they sat down at a table in the hotel bar, he began, ‘So, how is everything going, Eloise?’
‘Very well, Caesar. I’m really pleased for him.’
‘And how are you adjusting to your new life?’
‘Pretty well, actually. It’s certainly busy, but I do feel that Ivan appreciates my dancing for him.’
‘There’s no doubting that. He has told me himself on many occasions the motivating impact your dancing has on his game. I believe we both have you to thank for helping secure his Number One world ranking. From my perspective you are fulfilling your role perfectly, Eloise. I couldn’t hope for more.’
Eloise blushed at his words of praise. ‘Thank you, Caesar. I’ve certainly tried to do my best.’
‘So you will commit to the entire term of the contract?’
‘I always had every intention of doing so.’
He smiled at her conviction.
‘You do realise there is no guarantee that Ivan will remain Number One?’
She hadn’t given much thought to the other players on the circuit, other than briefly flicking through the profiles Caesar had provided her with after their initial meeting.
‘Are there ever any guarantees in life?’ She laughed. ‘It’s OK, I’ll take my chances.’
‘I like your style, Eloise.’ He noted that she seemed much more relaxed than when they had last met, not as emotionally distraught. It seemed this lifestyle was working for her.
‘And are you still comfortable with the contract as is?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Then let’s get the formalities out of the way, shall we?’ He handed her a thick black pen, which she accepted, and she signed the document he placed in front of her.
‘Let me welcome you officially to my world, Eloise. I believe you’ve made an excellent choice.’ He signed his flamboyant signature below hers, sealing her fate, then immediately called the waiter over and ordered them both a celebratory glass of 1996 Dom Pérignon.
Two chilled flutes of champagne swiftly arrived at their table. ‘Cheers to the game!’ he toasted.
Caesar was thrilled that his combined love of ballet and tennis was proving to be a formidable formula, and one that had the potential of making him wealthier with each title. Ivan’s victory in the French Open was simply icing on the proverbial cake if his forecasts proved to be correct.
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WIMBLEDON I (#ulink_69c1b78b-b9b6-5b99-8542-b1fee9b8631c)
June–July (#ulink_69c1b78b-b9b6-5b99-8542-b1fee9b8631c)
Surprise
Given his recent form, it was only to be expected that Ivan should have a smooth run through to the semifinals of Wimbledon. But he met a glitch in his comfortable winning streak when playing against a young, up-and-coming Australian who took everyone by surprise. This opponent proved a worthy competitor, pushing Ivan into extensive rallies and forcing him to hit winners even he was a little shocked to have executed. The Australian’s tenacity and self-confidence certainly captured the eye of sports commentators, and there were lengthy discussions about whether he had the skill and drive to become the next big drawcard of the tennis world.
The crowd was thrilled with the five-set marathon, which, after many hours, saw the top seed proceed to the final – just as the bookmakers, including Caesar, had predicted he would. Although Ivan was pleased with his performance and eventual win, there was no doubting his thirty-one-year-old body felt the additional strain of such a challenging match. It ensured his personal physiotherapist was more than occupied for the next thirty-six hours leading up the final.
In keeping with the noble traditions of Wimbledon, the atmosphere at the gentlemen’s championship final was cordially electric. Ivan’s opponent was the twenty-six-year-old Swede Stephan Nordstrom.
Nordstrom had never been in a final at the All England Club, even though he had convincingly won the Australian Open earlier in the year, his first ever grand-slam victory. His form could be erratic and nobody was sure whether he was a one-slam wonder or set to settle in for the long haul, given that his win had occurred when the world’s Number One was absent from Melbourne Park. One thing was certain, however: the truth would be discovered by the end of the day.
There was not much time for Eloise to dance for Ivan before the final, as his coach took complete responsibility for orchestrating his every movement before he walked onto centre court. Eloise did her best in the twelve minutes she had been allocated, but she could tell he was distracted by nerves as he prepared to defend his Wimbledon title for the third time. His coach seemed as nervous as Ivan, so she assumed this tournament meant more to them than any of those he played leading up to it. After all, the Championships at Wimbledon were the most prestigious of all the grand slams – the slam all players dreamt of winning the moment the game of tennis took their lives hostage.
Right in the middle of Eloise’s performance, the coach opened the door, declaring that her time with Ivan was over.
Ivan looked a little flustered as he walked over to her. ‘Thank you, Eloise. Unfortunately my time is running out. I have a ticket for you, should you be interested in watching the final.’
It was unusual enough for him to speak to her after she danced for him, let alone offer her a ticket to one of his matches.
‘Thank you, Ivan, that is very thoughtful. Bonne chance.’
And with that she was immediately guided away so his coach could have final words with him before the match.
It was a warm, sunny day so Eloise wore a tailored emerald dress with mid-length sleeves that came to just above her knees, pairing it with court shoes and a matching handbag. She had changed her outfit when she found a guide to sartorial standards included with her ticket. It amounted to ‘No riffraff, please, we’re Wimbledon’. Apparently short skirts, bare midriffs, jeans, trainers, bomber jackets and sleeveless tops were all deemed inappropriate attire. She also opted to wear her hair in a sensible low braid, just in case her unruly flowing curls were deemed unacceptable and she was refused entry. She would hate to cause a scene and any embarrassment to Ivan.
Even after reading the sartorial guide, Eloise was surprised at the formal attire of some of the people bustling around the Wimbledon members’ enclosure. As she attempted to blend in, she felt like she was walking around inside a Burberry catalogue.
Staring at her ticket to ensure she was in the right place, she suddenly heard a vaguely familiar voice calling from behind her.
‘Elle, over here! Eloise?’
Elle? Only one person had ever called her that. She turned around and came face to face with Liam’s warm eyes and friendly smile.
‘My goodness, hi! I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!’
‘The universe works in mysterious ways! How are you?’
‘I’m really well, thanks. How about you?’
‘Same, although I’d prefer to be playing in the final.’
‘You play?’
‘I do.’ He laughed.
‘I’m sorry, I had no idea.’
‘No need for apologies, you didn’t ask and I didn’t say. Besides, most people hadn’t heard of me before yesterday. If Borisov hadn’t had the stamina and experience to last five sets in the semis, I’d be playing Nordstrom on centre court today. But that’s how the cookie crumbles.’
‘You played Ivan?’ She was astonished.
‘Yeah, you know, world Number One, presumably the person you are here to watch,’ he said with a cheeky grin.
She wasn’t sure how to answer, and thought it best to keep their conversation focused on him. ‘You certainly take losing well.’
‘I gave it my all on the day, that’s as much as I can expect from myself. It was a strong effort but he’s a great player – obviously. It’s just a game – admittedly a game I would have loved to win – but I had a good run, and made it much further than I’ve done here before, so I can’t complain.’
She remembered his positive attitude from when she met him in the pub, but still found herself shaking her head in surprise. ‘I wish I could be more like that.’
‘I know my day will come; I didn’t reach the Wimbledon final this year, but maybe next year, who knows?’ His high-voltage smile was on full display. ‘Hey, are you going to be around later? I’d love to catch up with you, but right now my coach is waiting for me in the stands. We need to be able to analyse my opposition in detail.’
‘Oh, sure, of course, I’d love to catch up. Sounds great!’ Spending some time with someone other than herself sounded like too good an opportunity to miss – especially someone like Liam.
‘Excellent!’ He pulled a card out of his back pocket and handed it to her. ‘Call me after the match and I’ll see if we can find something more potent to drink than an untouched pint – I have the next week off so I can let loose.’ His grin exploded into a heartfelt smile.
‘Sure!’ Eloise looked down at the card. ‘Noah?’
‘Yeah, that’s me. Liam Noah Levique. Not using my real name makes it easier for me to stay incognito when I meet beautiful strangers, and my nan always called me Noah, so it sort of stuck as my tennis name.’
‘Well, that makes sense. I’m not great at the whole tennis thing but at least I’ve heard of Noah Levique. You really did give Ivan a hard time.’ She knew more than anyone how flustered and aching Ivan had been after such a brutal match. Noah had put up a mammoth fight.
‘And I hope to do it again, only next time I’ll win.’ He winked at her as a flustered man began approaching from the stands. ‘Gotta go – see ya, Elle! Call me. Tonight!’ He held his forefinger and thumb to the side of his face as once again he jogged away from her with the boundless energy of an excitable puppy.
Eloise held the card to her chest and couldn’t help but smile as she considered the amazing coincidence that Liam was actually Noah Levique, a professional tennis player – and obviously a good one at that. Never in a million years …
She heard the polite announcement asking everyone to find their seats as soon as possible and settled in to watch her first ever professional tennis match.
The young woman next to her was dressed in blue, with her face covered in blue and yellow zinc.
‘Who are you going for, Russia or Sweden?’ the woman asked, in an American accent.
‘Russia – how about you?’ Eloise asked with a smile, given the answer was so obvious.
‘Who do you think? Sweden – of course. With him in the game, tennis has just got a whole lot hotter. He could do me any time!’ With that she screamed and waved her arms in the air as Stephan Nordstrom was introduced and walked onto centre court for his first Wimbledon final.
There was something overwhelmingly charismatic about Stephan Nordstrom, everyone else in view almost diminished as he took centre stage. Eloise felt a strong attraction seed in her belly. And suddenly she had far greater interest in the match about to be played. Like the rest of the crowd, she watched in absolute awe as the two players shook hands and commenced their first game.
Today, on centre court at the All England Club, it was abundantly clear that each player wanted this title as desperately as the other. And by all accounts, they would fight to the death to have it.
Eloise could barely sit still in her seat. The pangs of guilt were like shards of glass penetrating her skin as she found herself continually drawn to Nordstrom more than Ivan; it was difficult not to be. Her remorse deepened when she caught herself spontaneously clapping as Nordstrom sent a backhand winner flying down the line after an epic rally, almost knocking out a linesperson as the ball continued its destructive path.
