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Authors: David Dickinson
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could be brought back if necessary before they returned to the Royal Opera House.
‘It’s more or less what you would expect, Lord Powerscourt,’ she said, ‘but there are one or two interesting bits. They’re all frightened of Diaghilev. He seems very big to them. They were nearly all on stage at the time of the murder and heard or saw nothing unusual. Fokine shouts at them so much because he is such a good dancer himself and he thinks they are very slow to understand what he wants them to do. Deep down, I think they’re quite fond of him. Alexander Taneyev was the same age as a lot of the girls. He didn’t seem very interested in them. One of them wondered if Diaghilev fancied him. They all mentioned Diaghilev’s affair with Nijinsky. ‘He thinks we don’t know, but he’s wrong,’ one of them told me. ‘Everybody knows all about it.’ The really interesting thing is this: they don’t like Alfred Bolm at all. One of them blushed scarlet when his name was mentioned. Another looked down at the ground. Maybe he’s tried to make love to them.’
Natasha stopped to drink her tea. ‘One other thing, Lord Powerscourt, I nearly forgot. I think I can see now why Diaghilev was so quick to have the death chamber repainted and cleaned up. They all got hysterical when they heard about the murder the next morning. They didn’t actually use those words, but that in effect is what they told me. One or two hysterical girls would be bad enough, don’t you think, Lord Powerscourt? A whole crowd of them doesn’t bear thinking about.’
By half past three the last dancer had left. The samovar was empty. Olga, the shorthand expert, had departed to her bank and her typewriters.
‘Well,’ said Natasha, looking at the notes she had scribbled down in the gaps between one group of three corps members leaving and the next trio arriving. ‘Almost all of them are frightened of Diaghilev. One of them said she just gives him a big hug whenever she thinks he might be going to get cross with her. Apparently he’s so taken aback he just laughs. But they are all worried that he will run out of money. One of the older ones remembers it happening before. There was a gap of a couple of months with no pay, which wasn’t very pleasant for them. On the whole they’re fond of Fokine. He usually apologizes after he’s shouted at them, apparently. More black marks for Alfred Bolm. Nobody had a good word to say about him. I don’t know what he has done. I’m certain that they could have told me but chose not to.’
‘Do you think they would say more if they were on their own with you in your own house?’
‘I don’t know, I’m just not sure, Lord Powerscourt. Maybe some of the technical people will know more. They’re usually aware of everything that’s going on.’
‘Even if all the girls hate Bolm, I’m not sure that takes us any further forward. Even if they did wish him harm, they couldn’t have done it themselves. And I can’t imagine any of them knowing enough about London to pop out and pick up a hired killer to stab him to death. We still don’t know who the real victim was meant to be, for heaven’s sake. Anything else, Natasha?’
She laughed. ‘Well, there is one thing that will amuse you, Lord Powerscourt, as it doesn’t reflect very well on London. Three of them complained about themarket being so close to the opera house. That, they said, could never happen in St Petersburg. Imagine having to thread your way to the Mariinsky Theatre through rows and rows of beetroot and tomatoes and red cabbages.’
There was a very loud knock on the door. It was thrown open before anybody had a chance to say anything. The figure was wearing a dark coat with an astrakhan collar and a homburg hat. He was carrying a cane in his right hand and a sheaf of notes in his left.
‘Sergei Diaghilev,’ he announced himself in flawless French. ‘I found I have a couple of moments to spare so I thought I would present myself. I
‘It’s more or less what you would expect, Lord Powerscourt,’ she said, ‘but there are one or two interesting bits. They’re all frightened of Diaghilev. He seems very big to them. They were nearly all on stage at the time of the murder and heard or saw nothing unusual. Fokine shouts at them so much because he is such a good dancer himself and he thinks they are very slow to understand what he wants them to do. Deep down, I think they’re quite fond of him. Alexander Taneyev was the same age as a lot of the girls. He didn’t seem very interested in them. One of them wondered if Diaghilev fancied him. They all mentioned Diaghilev’s affair with Nijinsky. ‘He thinks we don’t know, but he’s wrong,’ one of them told me. ‘Everybody knows all about it.’ The really interesting thing is this: they don’t like Alfred Bolm at all. One of them blushed scarlet when his name was mentioned. Another looked down at the ground. Maybe he’s tried to make love to them.’
Natasha stopped to drink her tea. ‘One other thing, Lord Powerscourt, I nearly forgot. I think I can see now why Diaghilev was so quick to have the death chamber repainted and cleaned up. They all got hysterical when they heard about the murder the next morning. They didn’t actually use those words, but that in effect is what they told me. One or two hysterical girls would be bad enough, don’t you think, Lord Powerscourt? A whole crowd of them doesn’t bear thinking about.’
By half past three the last dancer had left. The samovar was empty. Olga, the shorthand expert, had departed to her bank and her typewriters.
‘Well,’ said Natasha, looking at the notes she had scribbled down in the gaps between one group of three corps members leaving and the next trio arriving. ‘Almost all of them are frightened of Diaghilev. One of them said she just gives him a big hug whenever she thinks he might be going to get cross with her. Apparently he’s so taken aback he just laughs. But they are all worried that he will run out of money. One of the older ones remembers it happening before. There was a gap of a couple of months with no pay, which wasn’t very pleasant for them. On the whole they’re fond of Fokine. He usually apologizes after he’s shouted at them, apparently. More black marks for Alfred Bolm. Nobody had a good word to say about him. I don’t know what he has done. I’m certain that they could have told me but chose not to.’
‘Do you think they would say more if they were on their own with you in your own house?’
‘I don’t know, I’m just not sure, Lord Powerscourt. Maybe some of the technical people will know more. They’re usually aware of everything that’s going on.’
‘Even if all the girls hate Bolm, I’m not sure that takes us any further forward. Even if they did wish him harm, they couldn’t have done it themselves. And I can’t imagine any of them knowing enough about London to pop out and pick up a hired killer to stab him to death. We still don’t know who the real victim was meant to be, for heaven’s sake. Anything else, Natasha?’
She laughed. ‘Well, there is one thing that will amuse you, Lord Powerscourt, as it doesn’t reflect very well on London. Three of them complained about themarket being so close to the opera house. That, they said, could never happen in St Petersburg. Imagine having to thread your way to the Mariinsky Theatre through rows and rows of beetroot and tomatoes and red cabbages.’
There was a very loud knock on the door. It was thrown open before anybody had a chance to say anything. The figure was wearing a dark coat with an astrakhan collar and a homburg hat. He was carrying a cane in his right hand and a sheaf of notes in his left.
‘Sergei Diaghilev,’ he announced himself in flawless French. ‘I found I have a couple of moments to spare so I thought I would present myself. I
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