Lauriesighed.He knew exactly what she meant.There was no point inhiding from her, and this was a curious, stinging relief.“No.Isneaked that one behind his back, and I...”
“You got what you deserved.”She wriggled round a little way toface him.“One newspaper said I danced like a gazelle.That wasnice.The next one mentioned a duck.You can't let them get to you,Laurie.Anyway, all I'm saying is—don't expect your life to beperfect, just because you're Romeo now and you've got a swish flatand a drop-top SL.”She craned her neck to glance at the Mercparked among the wedding cars.“Nice choice, by theway.”
“Thank you.I don't expect life to be perfect,Clara.”
“You're bound to have damage after that kind of upbringing.Atany rate if you're human.”
Laurieconsidered this.People got damaged on the streets, not in Mayfairmansions with thick carpets.That had been his rule for himself,anyway.Sasha had a right to damage, not him.And Laurie didn'tfeel hurt, not from any of that.He didn't feel anything about itat all.“Human,” he echoed thoughtfully.“Am I, though?”
“Well, you're an actor.”
Claralet go his hand.Lithely she hitched one foot into her lap.Theyboth examined the narrow, upturned sole.The marks on it weremostly healthy calluses, scar tissue that would never bleed again.But Laurie could see that the arch was too high, the bones of thetoes too pronounced.That the musculature of her ankle was slenderbut overdeveloped.“Is it meant to look this way?”
“Partly.In part it's because I drill too much.I can't helpmyself.I'm not happy unless I do.Don't look so worried,Laurie—I'm only showing you this so you'll know I understand thedifferences, between humans and actors.Or dancers.”
“I should grass you up to your dragon.”
“Don't bother.She'd breathe a little fire at me, but take hershoes off and you'd see we look the same.She understands thedifference too.So does Sasha.”
The namehit Laurie like a mild electric shock.“I know he does.Why...”
“Because you'd go a long way before you found anyone else whodid.My dragon's lived her whole life on her own.Sometimes I thinkI might do the same.”
“Nonsense.You're eleven years old.”
“The thing is, she doesn't mind it.I wouldn't mind either—thatway I could just dance, and work, and not have to worry aboutanybody else.But you—you do need someone.”
“Ihavesomeone.”Laurie shook his head in confusion.“Clara, what'sall this about?”
“You and Sasha.”
“What about us?”
“Something's different between you.There's adistance.”
Lauriegot down off the wall.He took a few steps away, then turned toface her, pushing his hands into his pockets.“A distance?”he saidawkwardly.“You just barely missed us doing—er...”
“The thing you don't want me to know about until I'm thirtyone?”
“Exactly.That thing.Distance doesn't seem to be aproblem.”
“Not that kind of distance.”She gestured impatiently,dismissing sex and all its complexities to its proper place in theuniverse.“The important kind.What aren't you telling him, Romeo?What aren't you telling me?”
She was like a little bird of paradise, there on the wall ofthis very English church in her wedding finery.Her eyes shone withthe sanity their mother should have had, as if it had skipped ageneration, and her proud Languedoc ancestry declared itself in thepoise of her spine.Suddenly Laurie wanted to confide in her.Outof every soul on earth, she would be the one to understand.“I'mnot Romeo,” he said.“Not any more.I've taken a film role inHollywood.I won't tell you which one, but it starts inBloodand ends inMoonand it'sbollocks.”
It took her a second, for all her mercurial brightness.“Blood Moon?Youtook a part inBloodMoon?Mondieu, Laurie, why?”
“Because I need to get Sasha away for a while.Some of thepeople who wanted to hurt him—his father, the Romanian gangstersStefan was involved with—they should have gone to prison.But theydidn't, and I think they're here.”It was such a relief to talk.Hecouldn't stop.“I've seen him—Stefan, and someone else as well.Ithink they're stalking us.”
Shestared at him.She had stopped swinging her feet.She was still asa frightened mouse, her face a colourless blank.“Does Sashaknow?”
“No.I couldn't tell him—and you mustn't either.He hasnightmares about Stefan.He's been ill.”
“The police, Laurie.Have you told them?”
“I tried.But the man who helped us, Kucharski—the case againstStefan and all the others depended on him, and he's dead.He waskilled before he could testify.”
“Kucharski?John?That nice man?”
