Hello, I promised a quick update! It unfortunatly means that the story is nearing it's conclusion - quelle horror! No idea what I am going to write next - any suggestions?

Thank you for all your kind reviews and messages, it brightens my day. Pips xox

Chapter Seventeen

Stupid woman, stupid bloody woman! One minute she was all sweet and lovely, cuddling up to me, the next she was breathing fire and swearing undying hate. I had no idea how I was suppose to approach, talk to her, love her. It was like trying to hold sand, for as soon as I thought I had a grip she would slip through my fingers. Well damn her! I had spent the best part of eight hours flying through the night so I could come home and see her and all she could do was hit and swear at me.

There was only one way I could deal with the fury that flowed through my veins. I stalked across to the piano, picking up the mask and pressing it to my face once more. In a curious way its hold was comforting, the pressure familiar. I could cope with its presence far more easily then with Ali's fluctuating temper.

Sitting down on the stool I lifted the lid and put my finger to the keys, letting a barrage of noise flow out. No happy, loving Christmas Carols for me. Away in the Manager was far away from what I was playing. This was music that took hold and wouldn't let go. Possessive, intense, prying music that crept into your system and ripped you apart. It was this music that had been my mistress for the past few months, not one of flesh and blood.

Damn her, I thought as I hit the keys with force. Why could she not just do as planned? I knew that my leaving her would hurt, it was calculated to. I was a true believer in the age old fact that you never know what you had until it was gone. The theory had been forced upon me. Ali and I had been wandering around each other, feinting and parrying with our feelings, but never letting go; never surrendering and I knew that retreat would be the only way to win the battle.

I was so sure that I knew Ali, was convinced that she would retreat to my apartment where I left a long and eloquent letter for her explaining my actions. The keys to the car also lay on the table so she would have wheels and in an envelope were two tickets for her and Tess to see me. I believed it to be the perfect plan. Possibly slightly melodramatic, but I felt she would appreciate that and thought she needed the three or so weeks it might take for her anger to dissipate and her love to come to the fore.

But obviously it hadn't worked that way. I had forgotten about her damn pride. I have should have calculated it really. A woman did not raise a daughter single handed without any assistance from her family unless she had a spine of steel to support her. Judging by her appearance she had instead internalised her emotions, let them eat away at her both mentally and physically.

I paused in my playing, as I thought I heard a shuffling at the door, letting the music changed from the earlier anger of the score into the long sweeping and lilting notes that I referred to as Ali's dance. That piece of music that I had recorded all those months ago. A smile came to my face as I played for I could not contain it. In those notes were all the love, passion and fear I felt for the girl who I knew was listening outside the door.

Oh god, it was all such a mess! My carefully planned and plotted path was disintegrating before my eyes and was not quite sure what I could do to rectify the situation. Obviously abject apology and a lot of pleading on bended knee had a high chance of working, but that was not my style; nor was it Ali's. Boy, she didn't hide the fact that she was pissed off.

There was the music, this beautiful piece that was the pas de deux highlight of the whole ballet I had now completed. It was fully written and recorded and ready to be choreographed. On the strength of the piece of Ali's dance, the Royal Ballet had accepted the piece and was due to work on it for their period two release. Without a doubt it would be choreographed on Ali. It was to be one of the gifts I would have given her today, the icing on the cake of devotion I had been prepared to feast her with. Obviously that was before she chucked her shoes at me.

Her manner seemed so wary; as if she had convinced herself of my guilt. Possibly it was the lack of contact between us this past few months that had made her jumped to the conclusions that I had once again returned to sleeping around and taking drugs. I snorted at the irony, for it was so far from the truth.

I had sort refugee in Mattie Burns's villa that he had on the island of Barbados; a place where more then once I had spent indulged in the antics that Ali imagined. But this time apart from the kindly housekeeper and her husband, both of whom fussed over me more then my mother, I had been alone.

Once I would have found balked at the idea but this time I found the tranquillity a balm. I spent my days composing, followed by an evening swim and an early night spent reading or on the computer. The beautiful house and its staff were all I needed as I recovered from the operation and more slowly from my heart.

Time and time again I had written to Ali, everything from begging letters and e-mails to strict brusque request to call me and tirades of anger at her silence. It had never occurred to me, in my wildest dreams that she had never read my letter and therefore never understood my heart.

I pushed back from the keys with a cry of realisation. Whilst I could not turn back time; the one thing I did have on my laptop was the draft of the letter I had left for her. As she was always so rude about my abysmal handwriting I had typed my feelings and added a PS in ink. And I still had that very same letter on my computer sitting with my unpacked bag in the corner of my bedroom!

It was time to do something about this farce and it couldn't wait a moment longer.

I knelt there with my ear pressed to the planks, unable to move; bound by the music flowing from the room. More then anything Eric had said to me, it made me realise the anguish and pain he had been through. You could not compose such music without it piercing you soul. Guilt flooded through me at that thought, hot and white and burning in it's path. I had helped cause that pain for time and time again I had rejected him, it was hardly surprising that he left me.

Just as I was about to stand and enter the room, the music changed, from the pounding tempo of earlier it was melodic flowing cords, that cried out their passion and heartache. It was as if the music was asking for my love. I knew this piece! I could not hum it or dance blind to it's notes the way I could to the scores I had grown up with in the rehearsal rooms, more that it sat just beyond my conscious reach, echoing through my dreams and thoughts. I had heard snippets of it here and there, he had once even offered the CD to me, but I had heavier thoughts on my mind and had left it on top of his piano. He never offered it again.

Suddenly I was aware that the music has stopped, it's absence leaving a great gapping hole in my emotions. Suddenly I craved the noise, wanted to hear it again for the emptiness of silence was almost painful. Except the music had been replaced with the creak of someone standing up and the squeak of the floorboards. Unless I wanted to be discovered I needed to disappear. My lack of courage won the day and I beat a hasty retreat back to my bedroom.

It took a while for my heart to calm down to a normal tempo again, fuelled by the adrenalin of nearly being discovered. I sat on the edge of the bed, examining by holey tights with a grimace – another pair down the drain. Glancing up, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror hanging above the dressing table. Was it possible to look anymore bedraggled then me?

Tears tracks marked my cheeks, outlined with black mascara, there were huge dark rings under my eyes where my carefully applied foundation had been rubbed off. My lipstick had smeared itself away and my eyes were bloodshot. It looked like I needed to do an industrial repair job and could have done with the help of the thick pancake that I used on stage to hide the damage. Instead all I had was light and simple cosmetics.

Even my beautiful skirt and top bought on an indulgent whim in Covent Garden one lunchtime; were now creased and my shoes were discarded on the floor, one half under the bed where my bad aim had thrown it; the other at the foot. The sight of them reminded me of my current torment and misery. I had no idea what Eric had been up to and accused him of all the darkest imagining my fevered mind had dredged up through the sleepless nights I had endured over the past few months.

Deep down I didn't believe them, but then I could find no other explanation, no other reason for his extended absence and the silence that split us more deeply then any distance. Therefore it was easier to attack and accuse before he could make excuses and lull me into a false sense of security. I knew that as soon as I let my guard down I would be his and nothing would separate us again.

Sinking into the rocking chair I covered my eyes with the palm of hands and slowly let the movement carry me back and forth, calming my throbbing head and jumpy heart. I knew that I needed to repair my face and join in the Christmas celebrations, this was not a time to hide in my room.

I gently moved my hands, blinking slightly as my eyes adjusted to the cool winter's light that flooded through the window. I gave a smile to my reflection and set about removing the damage of the makeup, whilst humming a Christmas carol and trying to recover a bit of the festive spirit. The smell of turkey wafted upstairs along with the strains of carols on the radio as if trying to remind me what today was and how happy I should be.

It didn't work; instead only serving to make me more miserable. In the season of goodwill and love I was unhappy and adrift. Therefore the rustle of paper being pushed under the door startled me, my nerves already stretched and jumpy. It was a envelope, my name clearly written on the front, the handwriting making it obvious who the author was. It took me a mere second to cross the room and withdraw the contents, desperate to know what the letter said. Was this a terse communication terminating any form of relationship? Had I finally lost my best friend and truest love through plain stupidity?

With shaking hands I unfolded the two pieces, the clearly typed words breaking a smile on my face. He knew how scathing I was of his handwriting. I wanted to skim through it, desperate to know what it said, but patience and fear made me calmly sit down in the rocking chair, smooth the two sheets out and start to read. Immediately the date jumped out at me clearly. August! This was old – the letter he claimed to have written to me explaining his departure and and extended absence. The letter I never received.

'My darling Ali,

As you are reading this, I can only guess that you have come to the flat. It should be easier now that I am not there and these rooms are as much yours as mine. I never realised how big and emptying and echoing it was until you and Tess left me here alone.

Please feel free to stay here and use whatever you need to use, do whatever you need to do. I know the floor is good for you to practice your dancing, I think there may even be an abandoned ballet shoe under the couch still, the cleaner said she pushed something under there. Likewise the car keys are on the table and you know you are fully insured on the Landie, so please use it as yours.

I miss you already and I haven't even left yet. I miss you here, Tess' laugh as you give her a bath, her soft breathing at night, even the worst nappy she can produce. She is a darling girl and I love her as my own.

I miss you too, my darling Ali, my stubborn dancer. I am sorry for having to do it this way, abandoning you. But before I can explain, before you start swearing and shooting fire at any picture of me you can find, please read and listen. Come and join me! I know it is not that easy for you, but if you can find a way to take a break then there are two tickets in with this letter and I beg that you and Tess come and see me; stay with me.

So why have I gone? I know that is what you are asking me and in someways that question is very easy to answer and very difficult.

The reason for the my haste is that I had to go and see a man about a face, or rather a surgeon to see if he could help repair the one I have. It is a specialist in America, who is leading the field with reconstructive surgery on burn victims. I am hoping that he has accepted my doctors request for surgery, but will have next to no notice to fly out there. If he says jump all I can ask is how high, for appointments with him are gold dust. He may or not say there is anything he can do, but if he can then it will be straight away and it will be quick. And like all these horrid operations there are weeks of recovery afterwards.

I will be in hospital for about a week and then have to do and hide somewhere. I am an evil evil person when in pain and high on morphine. I don't want you to witness that, I don't want you to panic or worry and so that is one of the reasons I haven't told you until now.

That was the simple answer, now for the more difficult.

I love you Ali! God it is so wonderful to write these words. I am scared to say them to you, for I don't know how you are feeling. Oh deep down I know. I know that you love me, but I believe you are scared because of it. I realise that love had dealt you more then it's fair share of hard blows in life and I can understand why you turn from it, but please believe me when I promise that I love you with all my heart and never wish to hurt you!

I can almost hear you snort at the contradiction I just made. Have I hurt you with my disappearance darling? Maybe I have and part of me wants to; just a little bit so that you realise how much you love me – that is all I can hope for.

So if you agree. If absence has made your heart grow fonder then please bring Tess and come and see me. I will be out in Barbados, in a friend's old house and it will rattle without you two to fill it.

I can say no more. I am not going to read what I've written for I know without a doubt this is the corniest thing I have ever composed. Forgive me for that, but know that every words comes from the heart.

I cannot wait to see you my darling one.'

I stopped reading as Eric had not bothered to sign this copy, but looked up with tears streaming down my cheeks once again. Oh god, it was the most beautiful and stupid letter that I had ever been written. It made me realise how much he loved me and what an idiot I had been. On the other hand he wasn't exactly clever, assuming that I would definitely go back to the flat.

I nearly had on several occasions, but had always stopped myself, scared that I would just mop in memories. And every time that I stopped myself I would hurt a little deeper and steel myself against his love a little more.

Sitting back I sucked my upper lip, overwhelmed with the passion and tenderness of what I had just read. It was a part of Eric I knew existed, but hardly ever saw. He was more likely to show it through his composing, such as the piece I had just heard on the staircase. He loved me. The words were so simple and there I was flinging all sorts of accusations in his face, condemning his emotions to simple desires of the body and not of the heart.

He was right when he said I was scared, for it was true. Love was not something I trusted. Those ties that are suppose to be so obvious did not exist for me, the love of parents and siblings. I barely knew my Mother, disliked my father intensely and was indifferent about my brother. All I knew was that I needed an answer for him once I left the sanctity of this room, for there was no way he would let me escape again now he had declared his hand.

The wail of my daughter ran through the house; disrupting the piece and immediately placing me on high alert. I had ignored her for far too long. With a glance in the mirror and a quick swipe of a brush through my hair, I was ready to go downstairs – no longer needing the protective shield of perfect hair and makeup. I could save that for the stage tomorrow.

I opened the door lightly, not wishing to attract attention; just in case Eric was waiting in his room, or worse; outside! Thankfully the coast was clear and I lightly ran downstairs, looking for my daughter.

It was as if fate had given me another chance for once again I stopped in the doorway of the living room. Once again, Eric was alone in there with my daughter in his arms. Together they were sitting at the piano, her hands slapping at the ivories in a random harmony, accompanied by her giggles, whilst he braced his arms either side of hers, pushing the keys down in resonant chords.

The din drowned out any other sound, so I was able to approach them silently, neither showing any awareness of my presence until I stood next to the piano. He looked up and saw me then, standing there, my eyes beseeching; a hesitant smile on my lips. And I watched as his mouth widened in reflection of mine. His large hands removing my daughters hands from the din and holding them loosely in his grasp. "Hello Ali," he said softly, before rising and standing in front of me, Tess on his hip.

"Hello," I replied inanely, unable to formulate what I wanted to say, my brain having frozen. "That was an unholy racket you were composing there."

"It's Tess' piece," he said with another smile, "you should direct your comments to the composer, I am simply her manager." I let out a nervous chuckle at the stupid conversation and took a step away from the piano, watching as Tess wriggled to get down and play with her new toys that were scattered around the room.

I watched her for a moment before transferring my gaze back to the tall silent man in front of me. "Eric I…" I started and then hesitated, knowing exactly what I wanted to say and still lacking the words to phrase it. "I…" There was no point anymore, it wouldn't come out correctly. "Oh damn it," I sighed and glanced down at my nails. There was nothing for it anymore, I would have to show my hand.

Lifting my head, I looked up at him with a slight smile and then rising onto demipointe I held onto his shirt front and pressed my lips to his. I could feel his mouth widen in a smile beneath mine before he opened his mouth, allowing my tongue to gain entry the entry it demanded. We held onto each other for what felt like hours kissing and caressing with our lips, mouths teeth and tongue'. Eventually even my strong feet gave way and I had to lower myself back down to earth with a sigh, clinging onto him for support.

He smiled down at me and ran his hand through a lock of my hair that fell over my eye in a dishevelled fashion. "I take it that's a 'yes' then?"