Letters from Yelena Read Online Free PDF Page A

find out.’
    ‘I might do. Perhaps. If you could talk to your famous friends,’ I said, waving airily, ‘and find me a penthouse with a riverside view.’ I peered over the edge of the
balcony.
    ‘Anything else?’
    I smiled. ‘A concierge. And an enormous bathroom, with a full size mirror. And a sexy Spanish chauffeur to take me to ballet rehearsal every day.’
    ‘I know a Portuguese taxi driver,’ you said, your eyes moving with mine. ‘But I don’t know about the sexy.’
    ‘And you can come and visit me. And I can make you pancakes.’
    You laughed. ‘Why pancakes?’
    ‘Because it’s the only thing I can cook,’ I said, feeling tempted to stretch my legs out on the balcony rail, but thinking better of it.
    ‘So what you are saying, is that if I sort you out a home, and a toy boy, you will make me possibly burnt pancakes in return?’
    ‘Exactly. Don’t pretend to not be tempted by the offer.’
    ‘I wouldn’t dare,’ you said.
    I caught Michael’s eye. He was flanked by three floating soloists, all framed by the doorway. ‘Yelena, I am about to make a speech,’ he called. ‘Can the two of you come
inside for a few moments?’
    The two of us. I rolled it around on my tongue. You pressed your hand against the base of my spine and a tingle reached from there, knifing up through my body, and glistened around my cheekbones
as we began to step inside.
    The night ended at around ten. And although you left my side for a brief while, to congratulate Michael, and for a few worrying minutes to laugh with Eva, we remained close to one other the
whole evening.
    As a waiter drew my coat over my shoulders, I found you back at my side. You looked concerned. ‘It is still light outside, how about we check out your future home before calling it a
night? I’ve not been down there for a while.’
    ‘Okay,’ I said, trying to sound wary. I turned to look for Michael, as if to seek his consent, but he had already left, as if deciding that you and I leaving together was
inevitable.
    You kept your arm around me as you guided the way towards the elaborate staircase, and I wondered if your interest in me would disappear now we were alone, no longer garnering the attention of
onlookers.
    But nothing changed. I skipped ahead of you slightly, as if ready to dance, and you trod slightly impatiently in my wake. Already, I had grown to like this grumpiness, which I knew I could
soothe if it suited me. I moved towards the bridge, and you took my arm. ‘Where are you running to?’ you said, forcing a smile onto your suddenly serious face. I feigned being
dramatically pulled into you. I looked up, and you moved into my body. The wind passed overhead like applause, and I took in your fragrance. It felt natural to be close to your body. You lowered
your head, and I suddenly felt very small, as if I had been sealed shut for years, as you kissed me. I opened my mouth, but only for a second. A sharp pang of pleasure darted through me. I closed
my mouth and pulled away. ‘Where is this house of mine then?’ I asked.
    As we walked over the bridge, the city before us seemed to settle into itself expectantly. The water below was still and dark, winding its way mysteriously out of the city. At the other end of
the bridge we could see on the quayside women in sparkling dresses, purposeful yet lost, trailed by their woozy men. Once on the other side of the bridge you led me down half-lit alleyways, trying
to remember how to find your way to those houses. There was one small, concealed entrance we would be able to use you said, but you had to remember where it was.
    ‘Down here,’ you finally announced, leading me down a small flight of stairs. I suddenly found myself in a brightly lit courtyard, surrounded by saloon cars. Looking around me I felt
like Alice, having fallen into Wonderland.
    Taking it in, I understood why, as a lost youth, these homes had  been  so  significant to  you.  They  clearly  represented