With a newly bought pocket dictionary, Alex was slowly improving his basic grasp of reading cyrillic as he ploughed his way through a recently published biography of Marek Veshin. The work only available in Russian and with a price tag of nearly sixty dollars, making it was purely for academics, choreographers and die hard fans of ballet. The author had corresponded with Maria, who had dictated her terse replies to Alex and hinted that she had been entrusted with the great man's legacy, which comprised two notebooks of notation for dances never performed, crafted when the man had been blacklisted as 'culturally suspect'. She had made no mention of the folder of sheet music, which contained several pieces hand written by various composers for the dance master himself. Alex was enjoying studying, while he waited for the archivist to interview him about Maria's heirlooms. He needed to learn about the man who should have been a household name, but was relegated to a footnote in history, who had only kept working by teaching class to children. Alex bitterly thought on the fact Manfred's work was now sidelined to history. The Schnagel Family had complete control of his estate and had declined all of Alex's requests to continue to perform pieces composed by Manfred for him.

…

The book of notation was all of Veshin's works after his heyday in the late 20's and 30's. His early 'acceptable' works were in stored in the Maransky theatre archives, but had not been performed since then. Maria had thought of him as her mentor, a father-figure and best friend combined. He had encouraged her to marry a party official to advance her career in a time when political connections had meant more than talent. Many gifted dancers, musicians and artists died unknown and unmourned in Siberia.

Oksana had carefully read through each page of the fragile notebooks. Her hands encased in gloves. The books contained notes in French and Russian for staging ideas as well as movement. In the archivists opinion, Veshin had been a genius, introducing modern ideas ahead of his time, only to fall foul of Stalin. Sixty years when Russian Ballet had been stifled to the narrow officially approved works reflecting the views of the Party. The man only saved from the Gulag by his bravery, compassion and unfailing drive during the Great Patriotic War.

The archivist had recorded conversations with Sasha Makarov and was the first to notice, that Maria might have picked the American boy to pass on her legacy as the young dancer had perfect recall and could word for word recite conversations that had taken place over four years ago. It was more than eidetic memory but the ability to remember all facts and repeat all gestures, movement and inflection.

Sasha took a long drink of water after talking about Maria's rose tinted recollections of Veshin. "I went through most of these pieces with Maria before she passed, but I need to go through each dance with a partner. I texted Alia Uslana about it. Grennady said she was a good match for me… Kirov trained… a fan of Veshin's early work… tall and fiery. I'll video what I remember. It should help bring these woks to life." Alex had a million ideas for bring the notes on those pages to life. He wished he had Serge here to network with musicians and photographers. Costumes would need to be simple and folk influenced.

"Will you need the notebooks and music back?"

"Err, no. Its OK, I have copies… Vladimir had the books and music professionally scanned before I went back to London. He said that it was needed doing as a failsafe, in case I lost the books or they got stolen. So, I have them all on a data stick." Alex then smiled and asked the studious woman who was all work, about becoming friends. "So are you doing anything on Friday? I'm organising a small dinner party. Just some friends, wine and good food. Its not a pick-up, its not a date, just networking." Alex then nervously laughed. "OK, I might be matchmaking. Boris is lonely and so is my land lady."

…

Misha Balanko, formally Breshkin, was walking through Freedom Square in Baku on his way to his favourite café for a late breakfast. He stopped by the news kiosk to buy a copy of the Herald Tribute and paused to glance at the magazines. There were three trash gossip magazine at the front, which mostly covered the exploits of pop stars and television actors. This week's issue of POP! had a granny photo of Boris Kiriyenko and the young blond American ballet dancer, Aleksandr Makarov, on the cover. He picked up the magazine and flicked to the article which included salacious details hinting that Makarov was the bastard son of Kiriyenkov's best friend, General Alexei Sarov, including photos from Cuba taken in 2001. The man paid for the magazine, remembering Alex and his bitterness over his short paternal/abusive relationship with that General. The retired fixer had only loose connections with Mocow and was happy with his investments in Baku. Alex had worked hard to be chosen as a guest soloist at the Bolshoi. The press were sure that Maria's adopted son had some mythical pedigree. Rumours fuelled by the fact Sarov had been in London during the late summer of 1986 for disarmament talks. He would not be the source telling the truth about the only child of Scorpia's top assassin in the mid 1980's.

…..

The dinner party had been a success, now Boris and Madam Lenkova were laughing and gossiping. Dima, ever the gentleman, had escorted Oksana home. Alex and Alia were sat in a local bar, lively with a mix of students and tourists. The pair had bonded over their love of pushing the boundaries of dance, that even the traditional works and styles should evolve and adapt to modern ideals to stay current. The six Veshin works Alex was adapting were a time capsule of style, but open to fresh interpretation over music, presentation and setting. He had imposed a tight timetable of a week for his reimagining of these 'Leningrad Variations'. This evening, the Crimean ballerina was happy to practice her English conversation, she spoke of her failed marriage and the fact she was no longer on the call sheet at the Bolshoi as younger stars now danced in the main ballets. She taught at the Academy, but was bitter that she was a better technician than those in favour. She had caused her own decline by putting her marriage first and lost out after several traumatic courses of IVF.

"I have cried enough tears over that man. Here I am complaining about my past failures, when you lost your Manfred so cruelly. Tonight you were quite adamant telling Boris not to consider you a good son, when you have loved so dearly and so truly and been genuinely destroyed by grief."

"I loved a man thirty five years older than me… most labelled me nothing more than a toy rather than a life partner. Boris and my psychiatrist have rightly pointed out that I have 'father figure' issues, as well as the driving need to rebel against the strict expectations set by my uncle and his associates. I have been the antithesis of a 'good boy'. Maria and Manfred got that being a thief, a whore and an addict was my evolution from broken child to the man you see today. I will never sweep my mistakes under the carpet. I have learned important lessons from mentors and abusers alike." Alex looked at Alia and drank in what a handsome woman she was. "I happen to find older, mature partners more attractive. My brief flirtation with Serge and Cindy proved to me that I have little in common with those in my actual age group."

Alia drained the last of her wine and her finger trailed along the rim of her empty glass. "So, do you sleep with all your dancing partners?"

"Not all, no." Alex smiled at her coy flirtation. "Are you offering?" The normal intimacies of touch and sensuality during practice meant she knew he was attracted to her.

"Work and no play is boring. Is it not?"

….

Kolya read the text from the strange boy, stating he was not coming back tonight as he had a better offer. The worldly Ballerina was attempting to straighten the boy out. He smiled and wished her luck with that. The body guard was sat in the kitchen of the small apartment as Boris flirted with the lonely widow. He wondered if the dinner party had been a ploy by Sasha to get his boss to interact with the very comely lonely lady.

….

Sasha stretched and could overhear the giggles and salacious titbits as Alia gossiped with the dancers at class. A feather in her cap as she described in detail her seduction of the new boy. She was not the first female he had slept with by a long way. The first had been the bored wife of politician in Mexico city. Misha had used Alex as a Raven for a simple blackmail plot. Consuela had been a kind and generous lover; who had instructed a fifteen year old novice on how to please a woman, as fucking was for men, and all women wanted love and attention. He had often wondered about her, probably a much happier widow than she had been dutiful wife. He then overheard his current lover tell her crowd of BFF's that Sasha's troika had been more than just a dance partnership. The American boy had had his heart broken by the desertion of his last lovers.