Read Online Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy by Judith Gould - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Judith Gould
Tags: Action, hollywood, New York, israel, Marriage, Terrorism, Actresses, Palestine, movie star, Actress, arab, hollywood bombshell
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theatre troupe, then?'
'Yes, Highness, and I am the business manager.'
'And you'll be performing here in St. Petersburg?'
The young man shrugged. 'If we can find a theatre to per form in.'
The Prince looked thoughtful. Despite himself, he was intrigued. 'What sort of plays do you perform?'
'Drawing-room comedies, satires, the usual repertoire.'
'Where did you last perform?'
'In the town of Sestrovetsk. We came directly from there. The Princess Sviatopolk-Korsokoff herself came to see us and congratulated us on the performance.'
The Prince did not register his surprise, but digested this information in silence. Anastasia Beletnova Sviatopolk-Kor sokoff moved in his circle. She had just come to St. Petersburg from her country palace outside Sestrovetsk, and now that he came to think of it, only two days ago when he and Irina had spoken to her during intermission at the ballet, she had mentioned something about a marvellous theatre troupe she had recently seen.
'Chekhov. Do you perform him?'
'We have, your Highness, but . . .' The young man shrugged. 'Chekhov is a master, and we ... we are not that experienced.'
'And for the Princess . . . what did you stage when she came?'
'La Dame aux Camellias.'
The Prince looked surprised, then nodded approvingly. 'An amusing piece, and quite popular.' And harmless froth, he thought. 'I have seen it twice myself, and it is among my wife's favourites. Who among you plays the ill-fated Marguerite?'
They looked at each other in silence, and the young man stared at the ground. 'Her name was Olga, but she caught pleurisy and died.'
Like most members of the Russian nobility, the Prince did not concern himself with the misfortunes life doled out to strangers—certainly not itinerant entertainers—only by how they affected him. 'Then you cannot now perform it, I assume.'
Suddenly the green-eyed woman holding the child stepped eagerly forward. 'I can perform the part. I have watched Olga countless times, and have memorized the lines.'
The young man turned to her. 'Senda, you've never played that part. You've had only minor roles—'
'Please, Schmarya,' she pleaded. 'I am ready for it. I know it.'
The Prince caught sight of the most expressive, mesmerizing pair of emerald eyes he had ever encountered. 'She is your wife?' he inquired politely.
'No, your Highness. She is the widow . . .' He paused. '. . . of my brother.'
'She is a very young widow.'
'Sometimes,' the young man said bitterly, 'it is the lot of the young to suffer misfortune or death.'
'Yes, yes.' The Prince made a gesture of irritation. He did not like to involve himself with the problems of the lower classes. Still, something about the woman wove a spell. He was silent a moment longer and then made up his mind. 'Come to my palace. We have a private theatre. Two days from today is my wife's birthday, and I shall expect you to perform The Lady of the Camellias then. My majordomo will find you accommodations in the palace. You will be well-paid.'
The young man nodded toward the dead horse. 'It will be our honour to perform it without pay. Lodging and board for two nights are enough. We are grateful that you put our horse out of its misery.' His voice was proud.
'It is settled then. The Danilov Palace on the Neva. If you have difficulty finding it, ask anyone for directions.' The Prince turned to leave and then caught a movement out of the corner of his eye which caused him to turn back around. The woman named Senda had reached up and lowered the scarf from around her face and pushed the fur hat back on her head, a seductive gesture even in this cold and public place.
Prince Vaslav's breath caught in his throat. She was extra ordinarily beautiful. She met his gaze unblinkingly, and he nodded abruptly, then tore his eyes from her and strode quickly back to his barouche.
All in all, he felt extremely pleased with himself. And as he heard the snapping of the whip carrying backward in the wind, another, even more
'Yes, Highness, and I am the business manager.'
'And you'll be performing here in St. Petersburg?'
The young man shrugged. 'If we can find a theatre to per form in.'
The Prince looked thoughtful. Despite himself, he was intrigued. 'What sort of plays do you perform?'
'Drawing-room comedies, satires, the usual repertoire.'
'Where did you last perform?'
'In the town of Sestrovetsk. We came directly from there. The Princess Sviatopolk-Korsokoff herself came to see us and congratulated us on the performance.'
The Prince did not register his surprise, but digested this information in silence. Anastasia Beletnova Sviatopolk-Kor sokoff moved in his circle. She had just come to St. Petersburg from her country palace outside Sestrovetsk, and now that he came to think of it, only two days ago when he and Irina had spoken to her during intermission at the ballet, she had mentioned something about a marvellous theatre troupe she had recently seen.
'Chekhov. Do you perform him?'
'We have, your Highness, but . . .' The young man shrugged. 'Chekhov is a master, and we ... we are not that experienced.'
'And for the Princess . . . what did you stage when she came?'
'La Dame aux Camellias.'
The Prince looked surprised, then nodded approvingly. 'An amusing piece, and quite popular.' And harmless froth, he thought. 'I have seen it twice myself, and it is among my wife's favourites. Who among you plays the ill-fated Marguerite?'
They looked at each other in silence, and the young man stared at the ground. 'Her name was Olga, but she caught pleurisy and died.'
Like most members of the Russian nobility, the Prince did not concern himself with the misfortunes life doled out to strangers—certainly not itinerant entertainers—only by how they affected him. 'Then you cannot now perform it, I assume.'
Suddenly the green-eyed woman holding the child stepped eagerly forward. 'I can perform the part. I have watched Olga countless times, and have memorized the lines.'
The young man turned to her. 'Senda, you've never played that part. You've had only minor roles—'
'Please, Schmarya,' she pleaded. 'I am ready for it. I know it.'
The Prince caught sight of the most expressive, mesmerizing pair of emerald eyes he had ever encountered. 'She is your wife?' he inquired politely.
'No, your Highness. She is the widow . . .' He paused. '. . . of my brother.'
'She is a very young widow.'
'Sometimes,' the young man said bitterly, 'it is the lot of the young to suffer misfortune or death.'
'Yes, yes.' The Prince made a gesture of irritation. He did not like to involve himself with the problems of the lower classes. Still, something about the woman wove a spell. He was silent a moment longer and then made up his mind. 'Come to my palace. We have a private theatre. Two days from today is my wife's birthday, and I shall expect you to perform The Lady of the Camellias then. My majordomo will find you accommodations in the palace. You will be well-paid.'
The young man nodded toward the dead horse. 'It will be our honour to perform it without pay. Lodging and board for two nights are enough. We are grateful that you put our horse out of its misery.' His voice was proud.
'It is settled then. The Danilov Palace on the Neva. If you have difficulty finding it, ask anyone for directions.' The Prince turned to leave and then caught a movement out of the corner of his eye which caused him to turn back around. The woman named Senda had reached up and lowered the scarf from around her face and pushed the fur hat back on her head, a seductive gesture even in this cold and public place.
Prince Vaslav's breath caught in his throat. She was extra ordinarily beautiful. She met his gaze unblinkingly, and he nodded abruptly, then tore his eyes from her and strode quickly back to his barouche.
All in all, he felt extremely pleased with himself. And as he heard the snapping of the whip carrying backward in the wind, another, even more
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