The Rose Suite, one of two penthouse suites at the St. George, had two bedrooms, a living room, kitchen, and two bathrooms. The curtains were drawn, but she could tell the room looked over London and afforded a majestic view of the historic city. The room she currently occupied contained a soft gray, pink, rose, and white color scheme. The center of the room contained the king-sized, four-poster bed she sat upon. Glancing around, Clara noted there was also a television, large dresser, two fully stocked bookshelves, and a small sitting table. Clara’s entire apartment could fit in just the bedroom of the suite!I wonder what a place like this would cost to rent in L.A.
“George has gone ahead and checked you into the hotel. We left your room keys on the nightstand to your left with your aspirin and water. I know you may not have been comfortable with it being just us here, so Nancy, the head maid of the Rose Suite, is in the room next to us. George, who vouched for me earlier, is letting Dr. Evans in. I’ll go ahead and give you some privacy.”
Clara sat up on the bed and scooted toward the edge carefully to not jostle her foot. “David, I appreciate this, but it’s too much. Please…” David’s cheeks grew slightly pink.
Knock, knock.Both Clara and David were distracted by the knocking on the door. David moved toward the entrance to see who it was.How can I ever repay David for all this?
“Dr. Evans, please come in. Your patient is waiting for you here.” David opened the door to admit the family physician. The two men exchanged handshakes. David continued, “Ms. Little, allow me to introduce Dr. James Evans.”
Dr. Evans carried himself with perfect posture and presented himself with an air of command. He appeared as if he could remain calm in any situation. He stood about a head shorter than David with red, thinning hair and a mustache.
“Your Highness, I apologize for taking so long to reach you.” Dr. Evans had a thick Irish accent as he spoke; it took Clara a moment to understand him, but she attributed that to the accident. “How is my patient? I was informed over the phone that young Edward had gotten into trouble again. I assumed I would be taking care of him first, not this lovely lady in front of me.” Dr. Evans paused and smiled at her. “Miss Little, my wife and daughter both hope to see you dance this evening, yet that remains to be seen.”
“Dance?” asked David. He turned toward Clara and shot her a questioning glance. His blue eyes widened in amazement at learning Clara’s hidden talent and his head tilted to the side.
“Oh yes. Miss Little is a very gifted ballerina from America. My wife has been reading up on your career and watching quite a few internet videos of your dancing since she learned you would be performing this evening. She’s been looking forward to your performance for the past week and a half. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.” Dr. Evans’s eyes twinkled in mirth. “As sad as she was to hear about the Bolshoi’s Russian Prima, Maria Tsukyskia, being out, she was even more excited to hear you would be replacing her.”
“This discussion will have to be continued over a homemade meal,” David offered and winked at Clara. “I’ll go ahead and give you some privacy.” David didn’t wait for an answer and exited the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
What could David cook? Maybe she should have given him a few suggestions. Could he even cook? What had she gotten herself into?Endless scenarios about the non-date played in her mind.
Dr. Evans cleared his throat as he reached into his medical bag and extracted a penlight. “Let’s see what’s going on here.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Evans. I didn’t mean to zone out. I’m ready.” Clara centered herself on the bed. Dr. Evans clicked the penlight on and observed her reaction to the light. Clara shied away.I was not ready for that. Wow, that light was bright.
“Hmm…” Switching into doctor mode, Dr. Evans took a closer look at her forehead and ran through a series of concussion protocol questions and tests. “No stitches required, but a nasty little bugger of a bruise will be on your forehead for a few days. You have suffered a mild concussion. You need to rest as much as possible and tell me if you are feeling dizzy for any reason. Let me have a look at your foot.”
Clara always referred to her feet as ugly-duckling feet. The satin pointe shoes that gave the illusion of moving weightlessly across the stage were painful and caused bunions, blisters, bruised toenails, and more often than not, ingrown toenails. She took care to soak her feet in an Epsom salt bath and an ice bath every night, but it was never enough.
Dr. Evans palpated the bones of the foot softly and applied just enough pressure to Clara’s foot to thoroughly examine it without making it more painful than necessary. “Without a doubt, I can tell you have a fracture in the fifth metatarsal and a possible fracture on the fourth as well. My professional medical advice to you is not to dance on it. However, your feet tell me you’ve danced on worse before. I would need to have a few scans done to confirm my diagnosis. Those can wait until tomorrow.”
Clara was fearful. She was already fully aware that Dr. Evans would find some tendonitis in her Achilles tendon on the scan, in addition to some scar tissue from previous injuries. She had just been promoted to soloist at home. Clara hoped, at the very least, she could enjoy the fruits of her labor and only be out a few weeks, as the performance season was just getting underway. Clara dreaded telling her company’s director the news. Maybe she could postpone that unpleasant task until she returned home.
She had pushed herself hard during the past few weeks with rehearsals and performances for her own company. She’d promised her already battered body she would rest after the showcase. The original plan had been to enjoy a few days in London and Paris during her first trip to Europe after the showcase. She would have to rethink that plan of attack.
Dr. Evans gave Clara a sympathetic look. “I want to make you fully aware that the injury will most likely not become any worse than it already is. It is my medical advice not to dance this evening, however, as the father of a young ballerina, I understand you may have other ideas. My daughter was indeed stubborn when she was forced to let her hip injury heal, but I know from experience you will know the right thing to do.”
“Thank you,” she responded with relief in a small voice. She was not going to let all of her hard work be for naught. She would dance tonight no matter the consequences.She released the deep breath she had held in. “This is my moment, Dr. Evans. I may never have another opportunity to dance at the Royal Opera House. Thank you for understanding.”
“You will need to promise me you will ice your foot until the moment you warm up and prepare for the evening. You must rehearse cautiously and not keep on your pointe shoes unless absolutely necessary. I can give you a numbing agent and assist you with wrapping it, but the second the curtain goes down this evening, you will call the number I am writing down on my card. There is no room for negotiation; there will be no excuses. I will be in attendance as a member of the audience this evening with my wife and my daughter. If you need anything during the performance, please send me a message with the ushers. They will know where to find me.”
The two talked for a bit longer. Clara was happy to hear about Dr. Evans’s daughter and her schooling at the Royal Ballet. She promised she would meet with his daughter, Jenna, sometime later that week for lunch. Clara always enjoyed being able to spend time with eager ballet students and imparting whatever pearls of wisdom she could to them.
Eventually, there was a knock on the door and their conversation was interrupted. Both Dr. Evans and Clara were stunned to realize they had been conversing for just over half an hour. Clara understood the tight time frame in which she needed to leave for the theater, as it was now close to 2:00 p.m., however, she wanted to make sure she wouldn’t have any further damage to her feet.
If she got her costume and shoes ready, she could head out in twenty minutes and make it to rehearsal with enough time to warm up. The visit from Dr. Evans took a large load of concern off Clara’s plate. Now she needed to focus on the gala.
David poked his head into the bedroom. Clara’s pulse quickened. She was excited and nervous to see him once more. “I’m sorry to bother you, but Myles just called. Eddie is having a rather miserable time at his apartment and he thought it prudent to have you check on him, Dr. Evans.”
Dr. Evans sighed. “Edward is going to feel off until his system has rid itself of the many drinks he’s seen fit to indulge in. I supposed he will require my famous banana bag IV drip before he faces the king.”
“I’ve made my excuses to Aunt and Uncle this evening that Edward is otherwise occupied in my care.”
“You’re kinder than I, Leeds.”
Turning toward Clara, David added, “Miss Litt… Clara, my car and Michael will be at your disposal should you like a ride over to the Opera House at Covent Garden. I do not believe you have time to rest. You mentioned something of a tight deadline. Just when exactly do you need to be at the venue?”
Clara hadn’t thought much about how she was going to get to the Opera House and was touched that David would go as far as to offer his own car.Would it be too forward to invite him to the performance this evening? On second thought, I better not. What if my performance is a disaster? He might not even like ballet, like most men.