Alex made his way back to the rehearsal room. His bag was still there with his much needed nicotine gum. He had no cigarettes, but he would be purchasing a packet on his way home. What brand though, he doubted you could legally buy papirosi in the EU, so he would settle for Sobraine Black Russians, Gauloises or at a push Lucky Strikes.

He snuck in and started to stretch, while Barry's attention was completely concentrated on Regina. Her first staring role in such an emotional pivotal character. The Director was there to push for not just technical perfection but soul, drama and realism in the ballet about love, the weight of expectation and duty, and the enticement of death.

The Director rubbed his chin and asked the male lead for input, "Sasha join Gina and help her understand motivation."

With the story only told through mime and movement, you had to be completely centred to give a convincing performance. The twenty-five year old dancer fully concentrated on his own experience of obsessional 'love', as his role required. He looked in the nineteen year olds lovely soft hazel eyes, noting uncertainty and nerves. "It is only us, darling. Nothing else matters in the world. I have only experienced love like this twice, once on the receiving end, unrequited on my part and once as a full partnership, a meeting of minds body and soul. You and I are those lovers for our performance." He moved to his starting place and held out his hand for his partner to join him. "My love, my heart, my light in this dark universe. You blind me. I am a slave to you. All others are beneath you, my Mistress. Think on my words as my prayer to you as we dance." He then embraced her in hold and whispered in her ear, repeating those in Russian as they moved.

Barry watched and then clapped "Bravo, perfection, delightful. Starting places. Now a run through from the top with that intensity."

As the ballerina left that evening, she saw Alex beg a roll up off the doorman. His words earlier had made her heart flutter and now she understood his earlier comment that life was art. You had to understand your emotions to be a credible performer. She had to connect with her own instances of complete misery over unrequited love and could not wait for the real thing, even if it was fleeting.

…

Pavel sat in the secure communications hub and connected to his colleagues in Moscow. His full report had been emailed and he was confirming his conclusions with the investigative team. "My interview with Makarov over the images in question has shown your initial assessment was right, Lupov was blackmailing him into a sexual relationship. The intel from his contact reports has shown he had two heterosexual relationships with his dance partners in the last three years and no inclination for reverting to his earlier homosexuality. I also agree with the doctor's assessment of Makarov, that he is psychologically fragile. He has very low self esteem and was willing to comply with his blackmailer, with the agreement Lupov destroyed images he had of Dimity Ivanov. He also passed information on to Dieter Sprintz and Paul Roscoe, that images from Point Blanc Academy were in the open, both are rich and powerful men, both of whom are alleged to have used less scrupulous methods to exact revenge. The situation is unlikely to have any relation to the assassination at the Kremlin, in my opinion. I think if we push Makarov, it may cause us problems with Alexandrov and his allies, he is and always has been the little spy's protector."

…..

Alex was trying to drown himself in the shower. He did not feel like cooking but neither did he feel like going out to eat. There was some left over kasha in the fridge, only that was meant to be breakfast in the morning. After work, he had cancelled his follow up appointments with Dr. Pritchard, as he was sick of talking. If Graeme brought it up, he would go back but he knew work was more therapeutic than rehashing things that were better left buried. He scrubbed his skin under the hot spray, wishing for his thoughts to stop. Here, he was getting drawn back into a dark place thinking about Columbia. For years he had buried those memories by existing day by day, fighting to keep sober, learning everything he could about dancing, life and expanding his horizons, never stopping moving and keeping sleep as a luxury. Luci probably only missed him because he cleaned and baked and then entertained Grisha and Petrushka during the early hours of the morning. Even here, housekeeping arrived to a spotless apartment. The Irish woman had sat down drunk tea and watched Good Morning, telling the polite and tidy guest of Mr. Sprintz, all the details of what a messy beast James was when he stayed in London to visit his mother.

As his skin wrinkled under the deluge, the dancer cut off the water, dried his skin and still naked he went into the modern kitchen and ate two crisp green apples, washed down with a carton of buttermilk. Simple good food, tomorrow he would have supper with Alia, at the Dorchester. The apartment was dim in the evening twilight and he sat on the floor and he measured each breath, deep and even. He picked up his phone and called one of Paul's nearest and dearest.

"Danny? … Yeah, its Sasha. Are you free tonight? ….. I need your special brand of TLC… I'm living at Dieter's place. Cool, see you in half an hour. Bring supplies, not even got condoms."

…

First rule as Assistant to the Artistic Director was to keep him happy by making sure all the principals were happy. Sasha Makarov's personal life was a walking disaster area, but he was punctual and he worked like a demon, personable, challenging his own boundaries and always with a fresh perspective to his art, the staging and his motivations. The directors, the ballet master and the choreographers all raved about him. Class was due to start in five minutes and the guest artiste was a possible no-show. Not unsurprising since the events of yesterday. The rumour mill knew images of Sasha as a teenager had been found by the police, pornography, proof of exploitation by pedophiles had been the reason for him to go off the rails. Now the American had to face the mix of pity and hopefully support.

Then he arrived with seconds to spare and she let out the breath she'd been holding. Everything was back on track and she need not have worried. The dancer was accompanied by what she took to be a bodyguard, a frankly huge, burly, bald man with tattoos on his neck and hands.

The whole company got to watch as Sasha put on his shoes, watched by his protector, whose full attention was on the dancer. There followed as gentle exchange of soft touches, a lingering hug and finally a blistering farewell kiss. "Promise you'll eat, don't work too hard, you know your boundaries and I'll see you tonight at 11. Ok Sugar?"

"I'll be good. Thank you for dropping everything for me. You are wonderful. See you tonight." Alex then went and took his place at the bar, a soft and relaxed expression on his tired face.

So, Sasha had a mysterious boyfriend.

….

A slick black BMW 5 series picked Alex up promptly at five. By six fifteen he was back at Heathrow awaiting the arrival of Alia Uslana, his BFF from Moscow. She was here to dance and to scare the living daylights out of everyone at the Royal Ballet. A true diva, who lived and breathed her art. She had a new vocation reviving lost Soviet era works, a woman working on her doctorate, teaching and dancing only part-time. Now career orientated, she no longer moaned about her ex-husband and her dull existence.

The woman looked like a grand duchess, dressed in Donna Karan underneath a genuine sable coat, which was an heirloom from her grandmother. The mistress of the french ambassador; therefore a high ranking KGB officer. A teenage member of British Airways ground crew had volunteered to push the trolley containing the prima ballerina's Louis Vuitton luggage.

"Good evening, naughty boy. Your friend Dimitry has been trying to call you. He drove me to the airport and moaned about you and the shit head Lukov. You should not switch off your phone, it is not polite."

"I spoke to him on the way here. I apologised about everything. I thought he knew my quirks better than anyone. I was giving out all the signals for an intervention, but alas they let me dig myself into a hole. I would have happily stayed in Russia, if not for Maxim and his games." Alex looked at her in full seriousness, "I've signed a contract to go to Sydney. I'll be living on the other side of the world from you, from Boris, from Vladimir and my family. I will also be away from Paul and his bad influences. There I will try to make a home with some sort of stability and maybe love."

"And this man who you are with? This big dangerous criminal?" Alia said full of concern.

"I guess you have a direct link to the gossip grapevine through Malia in the costume department or was it your good friend Sandy, queen B of the Corps de Ballet? Have I guessed right on who grassed me up?" Alex looked pissed for a second, arms crossed and confrontational, before relenting and holding his friend's hands, his thumbs stroking her palms. "Danny is a sweetie… a dom. We're old friends from when I stripped for Paul. I was a mess yesterday, but he gets TLC, he looked after me. Got me out of a dark space, by being there 110% for me. I know you don't get that shit, but I need it sometimes, to get perspective. He never hits… its not abusive, its about reseting my boundaries and he shows me I'm beautiful and that I deserve love." Alex then shrugged, "I do get to call him daddy as well."

"Dima's right. You are fucked in the head. I, Dima… your other school friends from France can handle shit doled out by creeps like that TV producer. Even if he gets off with a fine, which is highly likely considering his advocate. I'm afraid all of Russia knows he tried to shaft you… that he's an obsessive creep into children, which means no one will give him the time of day again. His bitch of a wife had been harping on about you breaking up her happy marriage, now with the truth, she will get no sympathy anymore and has been tarred as child abuser by association. Everyone is on your side, Sashenka. You do not need to run away, my beautiful broken brother."

As Alia settled into her suite and refreshed herself before for their casual supper. Alex phoned Dieter Sprintz on a newly bought pay-as-you-go unregistered phone. "I have sunk Maxim. Have you given Interpol the info you had on the archivist at Albert Embankment who leaked those documents?"

"Yes, that misguided fool would have been better of being caught selling documents to the Chinese. Jail for a pedophile can be quite brutal, especially as the one he hurt is a close friend of Paul McAlaster. Dimitry has been quite put out about it all and James has flown to Moscow to console him. Your plan was brilliantly executed. Another stunning performance. Enjoy your stay in London, I'll see you next week when James and I attend your premiere. I'm afraid I have to fly out again straight after the performance, but James will be staying at my Park Lane apartment. Try not to scare him too much, he's had a sheltered life compared to you and I."