When George Warleggan quits a high powered job in the City to take care of the finances of the South West Ballet, run by his friend, Francis Poldark, it changes his life - even more so than he expected.
Elizabeth Chynoweth came to the South West to come back home, take on new challenges, and leave behind a less than perfect time in her life. She intends to focus on her art, but everyone knows what they say about best laid plans…
Ch 1 & 2
~
Chapter 3
“And it’s worth the investment?” Francis tasted his coffee, made a face and reached for another milk.
“Yes. It’s a decent outlay, but since you’re a registered charity they’ll give you a discount. And it’ll save a lot of time and unnecessary paperwork – the system can handle everything: general accounting, payroll, personnel, even scheduling for your studio space and performances.”
“Wow, really?”
“Yes, it’s a few different programs, but they all work together, and there’s another discount if you purchase several of them.”
“God, George, this all seems so simple and yet so complicated at the same time. I honestly had no idea about any of this.” He shook his head.
“Look, you don’t need to know all this. You’re the Artistic Director. It’s like expecting me to know about…..fouettes? Is that a thing?” George frowned and Francis laughed heartily. George had heard Francis and Verity discuss dance endlessly, but he had to admit he hadn’t taken a lot of it in.
“Yes, that’s a thing. You’ll pick up a fair bit of stuff quickly, I imagine. Rosina will help. She trained as a dancer, you know.”
“She did?” He’d talked quite a lot with Rosina in the two weeks he’d been here. He’d learned that she was born in Marazion, and had studied at the University of Falmouth, but she’d never mentioned any ballet training.
“Yes, but she couldn’t continue. Injury, I think.”
“Shame.”
“Yeah.” Francis glanced at the clock. “Oh, I’d better go. Afternoon practice. Our Rodeo debut is getting closer.”
“You’ve completely sold out, by the way.” Francis looked momentarily taken aback.
“We have? I have to admit, I’m surprised. It’s not the best known show.”
“Perhaps not, but the company has an excellent reputation. The reviews for your last season couldn’t be more glowing.”
“I thought you didn’t know anything about ballet?” Francis cocked an eyebrow at him.
“I may not have the technique down, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t do my research!” Taking the job might have been a rather impulsive decision, but he wasn’t going to join an organisation without so much as a quick Google. Every local newspaper, and even a few nationals, had been full of praise for the company’s recent productions, which had certainly given him hope that it wouldn’t be too difficult to put them on a financial even keel.
“Well, that’s a start, I suppose. But you’re going to have to properly immerse yourself. Not like when you used to hang around with me and Verity in London. Once I finally get myself in gear and get you introduced to everyone, you could come and watch some rehearsals. You never know, might even let you join in…” Francis left, cackling at what George was sure was the look of sheer terror on his face.
~
The clock in the stage manager’s office read 6:15pm. Ellen Tabb was her name, a bespectacled woman in her 40s who exuded an air of competence. Francis had told George that Ellen was invaluable to the running of the company, and it hadn’t taken much to see why. She’d been highly amenable to all of the suggestions George had had so far about more efficient management and already come up with plenty of ideas about how to implement them. She’d made a point of introducing herself to George on his second day and said he could come to her with any questions he had about the running of the place if Francis wasn’t available, or it was to do with her responsibilities, for which George had felt pathetically grateful.
Since the company was deep in rehearsals for the new season, Ellen had a lot on her hands, and her work-room was almost as chaotic as the finance office had been when George arrived. That seemed to work for her, however. He didn’t like to pry, but he’d seen the walls covered in what looked like plans of the Hall’s performance spaces and sketches of set designs, along with typed notes on half a dozen things. Her desk was piled with copies of programmes, photographs of dancers in costume, and even sheet music. Somehow she had to cohere all of this into a final production, overseeing the co-ordination of every department, from dancers to costumers, stage hands to musicians. George had considered his own task something of a challenge, but it was nothing compared to this.
She seemed to have taken a well-earned finish at a reasonable hour today which, considering it was Friday, was fair enough. So George left the paperwork on her desk, hoping the fluorescent orange Post-It note Rosina had stuck to it would make it noticeable enough amongst everything else.
The Hall was quite an extensive complex, and he still hadn’t fully got his head around the layout. He realised he’d taken a wrong turn and was about to double back when he heard an unexpected snatch of music floating down the corridor towards him. Music in general wasn’t unexpected here, of course, since he’d inadvertently ended up in the direction of the rehearsal spaces; it was just that what seemed to be playing was rock music. Muse, if George wasn’t mistaken. Intrigued, he couldn’t help but follow the sound, finding it emanating from the closed door of one of the studios. Without thinking, he looked in through the window.
A dozen or so dancers, still dressed for practice by the look of them, were in the room, dotted around the sides, leaning on the barre – he knew what that was – nodding their heads to the music. He hadn’t been properly introduced to the full company, but he’d read all of their personnel files, feeling like he was prying the entire time, despite the fact that save a few payroll details, most of the information was in their profiles on the South West’s website. As he watched, a young dancer with a short, dark bob who he recognised as Morwenna Chynoweth stepped into the middle of the floor and, in time with the entirely incongruous beat, executed a series of perfect – to George’s completely untechnical eye – turns across the room before effortlessly leaping into the arms of a slim young man who lifted her into the air as if she weighed almost nothing. George had met this dancer by chance when he’d previously dropped by Ellen’s office. Hugh Armitage was his name, and he’d shaken George’s hand with a strength he seemed unaware of, welcoming him sincerely to the company.
A few others cheered and clapped as Morwenna delicately came down from her lift, and then two male dancers – Paul Daniel and Ed…something– performed a sort of Cossack-style dance to much laughter. George smiled to himself and was about to turn away when two ballerinas came forward on the other side of the room. Both tall and dark-haired, they were a striking pair. The one closest to the door was Margaret Vosper, who had frightened the life out of him by loudly greeting him in the car park as he was about to go home a few nights previously. Like everyone else so far, she had been extraordinarily friendly, insisting he come for coffee with the dancers the next time they went.
But it was the other who really captured George’s attention. The other Miss Chynoweth. Elizabeth. He’d found his mind drifting back to his first day quite a few times since, remembering the faint blush that had come into her cheeks when Francis had called her their ‘prima ballerina’, not to mention her wide smile and soft eyes. She’d seemed keen to get away, however, although he’d hoped it was nothing personal. Rather guiltily, he’d researched her a bit more thoroughly than he had the other dancers, even finding a video online of her performing a solo in the title role of Madame Bovary the previous season. On stage, she was just as stunning as off, her movements elegant and lyrical, the emotion of the dance written in every gesture.
Even here, dressed in her simple practice wear, accompanied by pop music, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. In perfect synchronicity with Margaret, she took several flowing steps forward, picking up speed to leap into the air, hitting flawless splits and landing effortlessly, the women finishing en pointe at the exact same second, to whoops of approval from the others. George barely noticed Margaret, however. As Elizabeth spun out of her finishing position, she paused for a moment facing away from him, exposing the low back of her top and the nape of her neck bared by her hair piled up in a bun.
She glanced in the direction of the door and, although he couldn’t be sure, George thought their eyes met. With a gasp he pulled back, striding quickly away down the corridor, feeling horribly embarrassed and trying desperately to put the image of her sailing through the air, face alight with joy, out of his mind.
Chapter 4
“All right, Folies-Bergeres from the top. We won’t need most of you until after lunch now, so you’re free until then. Back here by 2:15 at the latest for Dracula in full.” At the balletmistress’ words, a few dancers gathered up their things and headed for the door, either to another practice room, or for a long lunch. After an hour’s general class first thing, they’d run through Checkmate and now it was time for its companion piece. Both had been devised by the legendary Ninette de Valois, but were very different in style. Bar aux Folies-Bergeres, to give it the full title, was a much more romantic counterpart to the avant-garde Checkmate. Inspired by the Manet painting, it was a one-act piece with an even smaller cast than its partner. It was Margaret’s proper come-back in a way, as she was playing the role of the seductive can-can dancer La Goulue. Considering she had to dance the famous high-kicking steps, it was a challenge with her injury, but if she said she could do it then Elizabeth believed her.
Her co-stars were primarily soloists – Emma Tregirls had been cast as the barmaid, a role for which she had both the perfect look and more than the requisite ability. Paul Daniel was to play the waiter she loved, with Ruth Teague, Keren Smith and two girls from the corps as La Goulue’s fellow dancers. As she made her way to the centre of the room, Elizabeth caught Ruth sending a nasty look at Demelza’s back and rolled her eyes. Ruth was not a bad dancer, but it was generally accepted that she had her place in the company primarily due to the fact that her mother was the head of the St Ives School, which supplied the company both with potential candidates and youth cast members.
Ruth had coveted Verity’s principal slot and been the most vocal in her sneering at Demelza’s appointment. Demelza, to her infinite credit, had been nothing but unfailingly polite to Ruth in return and if she saw the look, she pretended she hadn’t. Like Elizabeth, she’d obviously decided to stay and watch, as had Caroline, and the three women settled down in an unobtrusive corner. Morwenna came over to join them, but Hugh pulled on his hoodie.
“I’m going to nip in to see Donna, my shoulder’s aching a bit.” Donna was the company physiotherapist.
“That’s chucking Elizabeth about – ow!” Caroline made an exaggerated hurt expression as Elizabeth whacked her on the arm. “Seriously though, are you okay?”
“Oh, fine, just stiff I think. Catch you this afternoon.” With a quick wave he disappeared out the door, the last to leave. Anne closed it firmly and then clapped, signalling it was time to begin.
The practice went off without a hitch. Paul and Emma’s pas de deux was sweet and beautiful, and Margaret’s high kicks were flawless, as were the rest of the women’s, even Ruth’s. Elizabeth considered herself an experienced and skilled dancer, but she didn’t envy them the task of perfecting the can-can en pointe.
At the final note, as Emma returned to that iconic pose, the observers burst into applause, cheering and whooping. With a laugh, Emma took a bow, blowing her ‘audience’ exaggerated kisses. After Anne had given the cast what few notes she had, she announced it was time for lunch and reminded them when they needed to return. She gathered up her own things and departed while others changed their shoes and slipped on sweaters. Margaret sat down next to them and pulled at the ribbons around her ankles.
“That’s was amazing, Margaret.” Demelza smiled. “How’s the knee?”
“Okay, actually. That’s the first time I’ve really gone for it and I was expecting it to lock any second, if I’m honest. I’m really pleased with that.” She’d danced with her knee strapped, and she adjusted the tape, flexing the joint gently. “I’ve got plenty of time, so it’s looking good, all in all.”
Margaret wasn’t in Rodeo and had only a small role in Dracula, as one of the Weird Sisters. For most dancers, such a long period of inactivity would be highly frustrating, but when recovering from an injury it was a blessing. Elizabeth herself had sadly been forced to miss their last Christmas production – The Christmas Carol – due to bruised ribs. As disappointed as she’d been, it had allowed her to be fighting fit in time for their spring-summer season.
“Lunch, girls?” Caroline asked as they headed out. “We’ve got a couple of hours so how about we treat ourselves to trip to Craftworks? Build up our energy for the Count!”
Everyone was prompt back for the afternoon session and there was palpable excitement in the room. Ever since the earliest of prep, it had been clear that Dracula was going to be a great production, and this was their first full run-through. Elizabeth loved her role of Mina, and was dancing with Hugh again, as well as a beautiful and unusual pas de deux with Caroline’s Lucy.
While the dancers were finishing off their warm ups, Francis – the Count himself – entered, accompanied by another man, a tall blonde with a handsome face. He was lithe enough to be a dancer, but didn’t quite have the right posture.
“Hello, everyone! Before we start, I’ve got some introductions to make. This is Dr Dwight Enys – he’s going to be our Medical Director, so Donna and Leila will be working under him.”
“Lucky them,” Emma whispered from somewhere further down the room before hissing as Morwenna elbowed her in the ribs.
“And – ah! There you are! – this is – “
“George!” Caroline cried when George Warleggan slipped in behind the other two men. Elizabeth frowned as her friend skipped across the room and embraced him fondly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Demelza and Margaret raise their eyebrows at each other and felt an odd sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“Oh, I didn’t know you two knew each other?” Francis glanced between them.
“Oh –er – “ George glanced around, obviously a bit embarrassed by having the attention of the company on him. “I didn’t actually know Caroline was with you.”
“It’s been ages!” Caroline exclaimed, still holding onto him.
“Yes, well you can catch up later!” Francis said. “Since we’ve got some rehearsing to do. Everyone, this is our new Financial Director, George Warleggan. Now, let’s get on. Would you both like to stay for the rehearsal?”
“Oh, yes, please.” Dwight smiled and George nodded in agreement. Francis chivvied the dancers into place, and they finally organised themselves, starters moving into position, the two newcomers sitting down by the piano. As she took her place, Elizabeth felt hyper-aware of eyes on her, but it wasn’t the doctor she was concerned with.
~
With a sigh, Elizabeth tilted her face into the spray, letting the warm water of the shower relax her whole body. She’d slept late, and was feeling refreshed. Tonight was the opening night of Rodeo, so they’d been given the day free. Although they rehearsed productions while others were in performance, it was tradition that they rested before the first night. Even the most experienced dancers had first night nerves, and a quiet day often helped. Her role was a small one, so she was mainly just enjoying the free time. Or trying to enjoy it, at least.
Ever since that first Dracula run through she’d been feeling a bit odd, and she knew it was to do with George Warleggan. She’d been dancing in front of people for over 20 years, but she couldn’t remember ever being so conscious of being watched. It hadn’t affected her performance if Anne’s notes were anything to go by, but the sensation of his gaze on her had been almost physical. She couldn’t explain it. Or understand it.
Nor could she understand the feeling she’d had when Caroline had greeted him so warmly, or when she’d seen them chatting animatedly at the company dinner the new staff had been invited to. She’d still never got to the bottom of how they knew each other, but Caroline was a beautiful, sophisticated young woman and George was a handsome, intelligent man. One possibility certainly sprung to mind.
She’d run into him outside of the restaurant as she waited for a taxi home. He’d asked if she’d like a lift, but it turned out they lived in opposite directions; kindly, he’d offered to take her anyway, but she’d demurred, not wanting to put him out, and disconcerted by how much she wanted to go with him. She barely knew him. When a cab pulled up, he stepped forward to open the door for her, and when she turned to thank him as she stepped in, he’d said:
“You danced beautifully today. I just wanted to say.” It had been a simple, sincere statement and had completely thrown her for a loop. She shivered slightly now as she remembered the look in those fascinating, icy eyes as he’d spoken.
With a sigh she sat down on her sofa, wrapped in a soft dressing gown, and rubbed her hair with a towel. With hairspray, temporary colour and everything else required for performances, it went through a lot, so when she could she let it dry naturally instead of blow-drying. She tossed the towel to one side and leant back, putting her slippered feet up on the coffee table.
Absently, she gazed ahead of her. On the wall above her television she had a large picture frame filled with a collage of special photos. She would need a bigger frame soon. Her eyes wandered over the images – baby Elizabeth in the arms of her late father; a tiny Morwnna in a too-big tutu; Elizabeth, Francis and Verity in their RBS uniforms; Caroline, Margaret and Demelza blowing kisses to the camera in full stage make-up; and a recent addition, Verity in full Highland dress for the Scottish Ballet’s Ivanhoe. She missed her friend badly, although they talked as often as possible. Elizabeth wished she could call Verity now, but she was in rehearsals this week, for the title role in Jane Eyre. Verity knew her better than almost anyone, and most importantly, would understand exactly why Elizabeth was finding being attracted to someone – because that’s what she was, there was no doubt about it – very worrying indeed.
Day 5: A minor character you want to get back, but they magically disappeared and you’re sad - Ruth Teague-Treneglos
Ruth disappears quite quickly from both the series and the books, and wasn’t perhaps the nicest person ever, but I feel like she was a really interesting antagonistic(ish) figure with potential of future character development (it would require some changes, but it’s an adaptation after all). I remember that in the books she was mentioned to be somewhat respected by George, and her marriage to John Treneglos not being a happy one. It would be great to see another, more vulnerable side of Ruth - for example when she gave birth to a firstborn daughter, disappointing basically everybody in her husband’s family, and see her coping with that.
Day 4 of the Poldark Minor Characters Appreciation 2 Weeks: Best dressed (Margaret Vosper and Ruth Treneglos with an honourable mention to Cary Warleggan and Mr Tankard).
