A/N - I know, another OC story with Blake but I wanted to do a student/teacher one, and I wasn't ready to do a Blandie so...this is the result! Enjoy!
Oh and please review it, even if you hate it. I don't mind.
Chapter 1 - A Brief Encounter
Blake Collins nodded and excused himself from the conversation, making some excuse about going to use the bathroom and slipped into the grand foyer of the house where it was marginally cooler. The dining room, now busy with over thirty people and that not including staff, was becoming unbearably hot and loud and Blake didn't have the patience to keep up a conversation with Edward Fenton much longer. The man was insufferable and had talked entirely about himself the whole evening and nothing else. Blake knew he had to excuse himself when Edward tried to tell him that the underline theme of Swan Lake could be construed as feministic.
"It's a love story," Blake had said, exasperated but hiding it behind a glass of orange juice and a forced smile.
"You seem a little testy Mr. Collins," Edward had crooned, "perhaps you're not used to being challenged in your views?" The room of men and woman laughed and Blake couldn't believe it had come to this.
Turning down another corridor, Blake managed to find a bathroom; brightly lit and far too big to feel homely. He detested dinner parties but his mother had insisted he went seeing as Major Cross was an old friend of his father's, and had only just returned from military duties in Iraq. Blake stared at himself in the mirror and noticed how tired he looked at the moment. Washing his hands and splashing his face with some cold water, Blake psyched himself up to go back to the party. With a final look at himself he frowned. He should have worn a tie. Everyone else was wearing a tie.
Closing the door softly behind him, he began to make his way back through to the dining room. He past the grand staircase, which was the centrepiece of the room in which you first entered from the outside. Lavish, gold and ivory laced its way around the banister and a rich burgundy carpet covered the mahogany wood it was made from. He had seen it a thousand times in his youth when his family had frequented Cross Manor. Movement on the top of the stairs caught his eye. Blake stopped.
A woman, younger than him he thought, was skipping down to him, each foot treading very lightly. She was not part of the party he could tell; she was not wearing a gown for a start, in fact, she was dressed in a t-shirt and sweat pants and her dark hair was pulled back into a messy bun. Noticing him staring at her, she stopped and opened her mouth in surprise.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to startle you."
"You didn't," she started, "Well, you did but...it's ok." She looked awkward and unwelcoming as she crossed her arms and stood up straight.
"You're part of the dinner party?" she asked, looking at his suit.
"Er, yes, yes," he murmured, wondering why he was having a conversation with her. He glanced down at her feet and frowned slightly.
"Well, if you excuse me," she said, trying smile and turning on her heels to head back up the staircase.
"Wait," he found himself saying, as he went to the bottom of the staircase. She turned and looked at him, not bothering to disguise the fact that she was anxious to get away. "Yes?" she asked, sounding mildly irritated.
"Sorry," he apologised. "But you're a dancer aren't you?"
She looked at him in surprise. "I...yes, how did..." she crossed her arms again. "How did you know?" she queried with a frown.
"You stand with your feet in first position," he said with a faint smile. "Only people who have been dancing for a long time do that."
She nodded and for the first time gave him the hint of a smile. She headed down a few steps. "Yes, I'm a dancer. Since I was five."
He nodded and felt a sense of ego boosting pride. His instincts were never usually wrong.
"You're Mr. Collins aren't you?" she asked.
"Yes, Blake Collins." He paused. "Have we met before?"
"No, no. I recognised your face."
He felt himself blushing and was grateful that the hall was not as well lit as the bathroom. "Oh, I see."
"Well, I'm going this way," she smiled weakly, pointing up the stairs. "I'm kind of...in my pyjamas," she added, sounding embarrassed.
"You're not part of Major Cross' dinner?" he said with a frown. She shook her head with a bitter laugh. "I hate parties," she said, turning once more. ""It was nice to meet you."
He nodded and carried on walking towards the noise.
"Wait, wait!" she called. He stopped in his tracks confused. "I'm sorry," she said, walking down the stairs until she was at his level. She was tall but still shorter than him, was wearing very little make-up and he could see now the outline of a thin, silvery scar on her the side of her head, almost hidden by her fringe.
"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I can't pass the opportunity up. I need help with a step in something I'm working on and well, you're kind of the expert."
He raised an eyebrow and looked back to the door where the party was. "Ok, quickly though."
She smiled gratefully and moved to the centre of the room where there was more space. "Ok, in part of it I got from the pas de bourree to the pirouette but then before these chaînés turns..." she stepped through each move slowly and carefully and Blake could see the concentration clearly on her face. "But the step in-between just lacks any sort of..."
"Definition?"
"Yes! And it's messy too." She sighed and placed her hands on her hips.
Blake had his finger to his lips in thought and closed his eyes briefly before saying," Just walk through it again. Please."
She did so. "Ok, I think you should perhaps insert a tombe after the pirouette and then when you do the chaînés turns finish in fourth with the arms."
She nodded and tried it out. He watched carefully and as she finished, he smiled. "Yes, that's much better. Does it feel better?"
She nodded suddenly bashful. He stepped forward. "Just remember though; when you're in fourth...may I?" he asked raising his arms to position hers. She nodded. "Extend the fingers like so..." he moved her fingers, his own hands brushing hers gently, "And the whole position seems so much more elegant." She nodded quietly.
A loud chink of someone's glass hitting someone else's came from the dining room and Blake realised he had stood holding her hands for longer than necessary. Dropping them like they were something hot, he smiled and stepped back. "I need to get back."
"Thank you, for your help," she said, the same cold face returning. "It was a pleasure, Mr. Collins."
She headed back up the stairs for the final time and Blake sighed deeply as he pushed open the door to the dining room.
"Blake!" his father called out from across the room. "We'd wondered where you'd got to!"
"I just..." he went to say but Edward had already begun to speak over him. "He probably didn't want to carry on our conversation; feeling beat, Mr. Collins?" Blake fought the urge to roll his eyes. "I went to the bathroom actually," he found himself saying, too tired to mask his irritation.
He didn't think to mention the girl to anyone. She had never told him her name or said what she was doing there but he, being the only one to have seen her, began to doubt her and think of her as an apparition. He was tired after all. How often did beautiful women ask for his advice these days?
