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At the airport Julian paced back and forth, constantly glancing at his watch. He was afraid I'd back out and wouldn't show up. He looked very handsome in his new suit as his eyes lit up when he saw me approach. "Thank God, I was thinking I flew down here for nothing--and I wouldn't do this twice."

The evening before, I'd already said a private good-bye to Paul. His words rang in my ears to haunt me even as I boarded the plane. "We both knew it couldn't last, Catherine. From the beginning I warned you, April just can't marry with September. '

Chris and Paul followed us up the ramp to help with the many pieces of hand luggage I wouldn't trust to the baggage compartment, and once more I had to hug Paul close. "Thank you, Catherine," he whispered so neither Chris nor Julian could overhear, "for everything. Don't look back with any regrets. Forget about me. Forget all the past. Concentrate on your dancing and wait before you fall in love with anyone--and let it be someone near your own age."

Choking, I asked, "And what about you?"

He forced a smile and then a chuckle. "Don't worry about me. I've got my memories of a beautiful ballerina and that's enough."

I burst into tears! Memories! What were they? Just something to torture yourself with, that's all! Blindly I turned to find myself locked in Chris's arms. My Christopher Doll who was six feet tall now, my knight so gallant, chivalrous and sensitive. Finally I could pull away and then he took my hands, both of them, as our gazes met and locked. We too had shared a great deal, even more than Paul and I. Good-bye my walking, talking, cheerful, chiding, and living set of encyclopedias, my fellow prisoner of hope. . . . You don't need to cry for me. . . . Cry for yourself . . . or don't cry at all. It's over. Accept it, Chris, like I have, like you have to. You're only my brother. I'm only a sister, and the world is full of beautiful women who'd love you better than I can, or could.

Every word I didn't speak I knew he heard, and still he kept on looking at me with his heart in his eyes, making me hurt all over.

"Cathy," he said hoarsely, loud enough for Julian to hear, "it's not that I'm afraid you won't make it, I'm sure you will if you don't get so damned impulsive! Please don't do anything reckless that you'll regret later on. Promise to think of all the

ramifications first before you jump in with both feet. Go easy on sex and love. Wait until you're old enough to know what you want in a man before you choose one."

I'm sure my smile was crooked, for already I'd chosen Paul. I flicked my eyes from Paul who looked serious, to Julian who was frowning and glaring at Chris, then at Paul. "You go easy on sex and love too," I said jokingly to Chris, making sure my tone was light.

I hugged him tight once more, hurting to let him go. "And write to me often, and come to New York with Paul, Carrie and Henny whenever you can--or come alone, but come--promise?"

Solemnly he promised. Our lips met briefly, and then I turned to take my seat near the window. Since this was my first plane trip, Julian graciously gave up that privilege. I waved like mad to my family who I couldn't even see from the plane window.

Julian, so adroit and adept on stage, was at a loss when it came to handling a girl who sobbed on his shoulder, trembling, already homesick, wishing she wasn't going even before the plane was five thousand feet up. "You've got me," he said smoothly. "Didn't I swear to take care of you? And I will, honest to God. I'll do everything possible to make you happy." He grinned at me and kissed me lightly. "And, my love, I'm afraid I exaggerated the charms of Madame Zolta just a wee, wee bit, as you'll soon find out."

I stared at him. "What do you mean?"

He cleared his throat and without the slightest embarrassment he told me about his first meeting with the once-famous Russian dancer. "I don't want to spoil the surprise in store when you meet up with this great beauty, so I'll save that and let you see for yourself. But I'll warn you about this, Madame Z. is a toucher. She likes to feel you, your muscles, how hard and firm they are. Would you believe she put her hand directly on my fly to find out the size of what was

underneath?"

"No! I don't believe that!"

He laughed merrily and threw his arm about me. "Oh, Cathy, what a life we're g

oing to live, you and I! What heaven will be ours when you find out you've got sole property rights to the handsomest and most gifted and graceful danseur ever born." He drew me even closer and whispered in my ear, "And I haven't said a word about the talented lover I am."

I laughed too--and shoved him away. "If you aren't the most conceited, arrogant person I've ever met. And I suspect you can be quite ruthless too when it comes to getting what you want."

"Right on!" he said with a following laugh. "I'm all of that and more too, as you'll soon find out. After all, wasn't I ruthlessly determined to get you where I want you?"

New York, New York

. It was snowing hell-bent when our plane landed in New York. The cold in my nostrils stunned me. I'd forgotten bitter winters like this. The wind howling down those narrow canyonways seemed to want to rip the skin from my face. Ice seemed to enter my lungs and shrivel them with constricting pain. I gasped, laughed, turned to glance at Julian who was paying the cab driver, and then I pulled from my coat pocket a red knitted scarf Henny had made for me. Julian took it and helped me swath it about my head and neck so it half-covered my face. Then I shocked him by pulling from the other pocket a red scarf I had knitted for him.

"Gosh, thanks I never thought you cared." He seemed very pleased as he wrapped his neck and ears.

On this day of days the cold had made his cheeks as red as his lips, and with that blue-black hair that curled just above his coat collar and those sparkling dark eyes the sheer beauty of him was enough to steal anyone's breath. "Okay," he said, "pull yourself together, and prepare to meet ballet

personified--my sweet, delicate, delicious dance instructor whom you will positively adore."

Just to be here had me on edge, so I clung as close as possible to Julian, staring at all the people who dared to brave such ferocious weather.

The luggage we'd brought was left in a waiting room of the huge building, and in the flurry of scurrying after Julian I didn't notice much of anything until we were in the office of our ballet mistress, Madame Zolta Korovenskov. Her stance, her arrogance immediately reminded me of Madame Marisha. But this woman was much older, if all those wrinkles could be counted as tree-rings to indicate her age.

Queenly stiff she rose from behind a desk that was impressively wide. Coolly, all business, she stalked over to us and looked us over with bead-black eyes as small as those of a mouse. What hair she had was skinned back from her dry brittle face like fine white floss. She wasn't five feet tall, but radiated six feet of authority. Her half-moon glasses perched precariously on the end of an astonishingly long thin nose. Above those half-disks she peered at us, squinting, so her minute eyes almost disappeared in the crow's feet. Julian was so unlucky as to gain her scrutiny first.

Her puckered little prune mouth drew up like a drawstring purse. I watched and waited for a smile to come and break her parchment skin. I expected her voice to crackle, cackle, witchlike


Tags: V.C. Andrews Dollanganger Horror