The Diamond Horse. Stacy Gregg
Countess’s smile disappeared for a moment but then she regained her composure. “Powdered wigs are very Parisian. You do not understand fashion yet, my little one,” she said sweetly.
From a dark blue box on the dressing table the Countess picked out a pair of black diamond earrings, their tiered crystals glistening like miniature chandeliers. She put aside the earrings and then picked up the box that had been stacked beneath.
Anna’s heart leapt. She rose from her velvet cushion and came over to stand at her mother’s shoulder.
“Can I open it for you?”
The Countess smiled. “Of course.”
Inside, nestled against silver silk, was a priceless necklace. The black diamond, attached to a silver filigree chain, draped across the cloth like a glittering teardrop, the size of a walnut. Round the brilliant-cut gemstone a setting of smaller, white diamonds created a halo that contrasted its rare dark beauty.
“It is so beautiful,” Anna breathed. “Where did it come from?”
She had heard this story a million times, but she still wanted to hear it once more.
“It was given to me by my mother,” the Countess said. “And to her by my grandmother. It is a family heirloom, passed down from generation to generation. One day, milochka, I will give it to you.”
The Countess fixed the clasp on her earrings and looked at herself admiringly in the mirror. Then she reached out her milk-white fingers to grasp the silver chain and lift the necklace from its case. She was about to lift it up when there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” called Anna’s mother.
“Excuse me, Countess?” Katia, the head maid, quietly entered the bedchamber.
“Yes, Katia? What is it?”
“There is a problem in the dining room. We have Count Tolstoy seated next to Count Bobrinsky …”
The Countess stood up. “That will not do at all! They cannot stand each other!” She made her way briskly to the door. “You had better show me what can be done. Quickly now, Katia!”
And with that, the two women left the room.
Anna waited until their footsteps had receded down the corridor and then she sat herself down at the Countess’s dressing table.
She twisted up her dark blonde hair and secured it in a loose bun on top of her head, revealing the pale ivory skin beneath, just like her mother’s.
As the diamond teardrop fell against her breastbone, Anna admired its darkness. It contrasted against the whiteness of her skin, the light glowing from inside the stone as if it were on fire. For a moment she was lost in its beauty, and then she raised her eyes to see her reflection. But the eyes that returned Anna’s gaze were not her own. There was a girl looking back at her from the mirror who Anna had never seen before.
The girl in the mirror was blonde too, her ice-white hair twisted in a braid on top of her head, her alabaster skin glimmering as if it had been dusted with stars. She wore a glittering costume that shone like a star, covered with silver spangles. She was leaning into the mirror and painting on make-up, lining her lips with a brilliant scarlet.
Anna stared at the girl. And, holding Anna’s gaze, the girl in the mirror smiled right back at her! Then she smacked her red lips together and adjusted her glittering costume, wriggling the straps so that her silver spangles shimmied. Then the ice-white blonde reached out to the dresser in front of her and lifted a black diamond necklace to her throat. It was identical to Anna’s. They were both wearing the same necklace!
Anna reached out her hand to the mirror glass. The girl smiled again and then she stood up. There were voices in the distance calling out her name:
Valentina, Valentina, it is time …
In the wings behind the velvet curtains, Valentina Romanov was dashing up the rungs of the rope ladder. Through the curtains she could see the spotlights beginning to circle, seeking her out. The drums were rolling.
When she reached the platform at the very peak of the big top, Valentina rose to her feet and stood curling her toes over the edge before looking down. She was twenty metres above the ground with nothing to hold on to and no safety net. Below her she could see the tigers prowling out of the ring, their shoulders hunched as if in a sulk, their performance over for the evening. Now, it was her turn.
The music swelled and the spotlights swooped up to expose her to the audience at last. Valentina struck a pose: one hand raised in a flourish above her head, the other grasping the wooden bar of the trapeze. And then, without hesitation, she leapt.
She flew out into mid-air and then felt the jerk of the trapeze snatching her back again. The spotlight followed Valentina as she swung back and forth like a pendulum. When she reached the highest point of her arc she suddenly let go of the wooden bar. She twisted her whole body high in the air so that her hands now gripped the bar facing the other way. Then, with her elbows locked into position, she executed a half-pike, turning and flipping her knees over the bar to dangle upside down.
As she felt the blood rush to her head the music changed to a familiar tune that signalled the arrival of the clowns.
Valentina could never figure out why people liked clowns. She found their white greasepaint faces and gigantic red lipstick smiles disturbing. What was funny about the way they charged around like idiots, pushing each other and falling over their own feet?
Yet their antics instantly brought on gales of laughter from the audience. The clowns ran into the ring below her, leaping up on top of each other’s shoulders to make a human pyramid, juggling batons and knocking each other off stilts, and all the while Valentina swung high above them, waiting for her moment.
The spotlights suddenly flew skywards and Valentina grasped the bar and performed a double-flip, pushing up so that she was almost doing a handstand. She twisted round and round, somersaulting in mid-air, and on the third twist her hands suddenly slipped loose from the bar.
There was a horrified gasp from the crowd. Valentina looked down as the ground came hurtling up to meet her and automatically braced, going into a tumble roll. In the ring below, the clowns sprang into position, forming a circle and pulling the firemen’s net taut between them.
She landed smack in the centre, curling like a ball on impact and rebounding up into the air. As she flew upwards she did a knee tuck like a diver on a high board, and then, with an easy grace, she reached up to grasp the red silk sash dangling from the rooftop.
The crowd, now realising the fall had been a part of the act, began to clap enthusiastically. Valentina wrapped herself in the sash and started to twirl, rotating one way and then the other, unwinding like a spinning top. She did the splits, throwing her head back and arching her spine, as if being held by an invisible tango partner. The silver spangles on her costume sparkled like a mirror ball in the spotlight and then, in a flash, there were three more spotlights, their beams illuminating the ring below. The clowns had disappeared and the lights traced patterns on the empty space. The drumroll quickened, the lights circled faster and then the velvet curtains were flung to one side as Sasha made his grand entrance.
So far tonight the audience had witnessed a snarling ambush of golden tigers, a bear on a unicycle, and monkeys in waistcoats and top hats riding dogs in tutus. All the same, when a pink horse came cantering into the ring, they truly thought their eyes were deceiving them. Surely the strange colour must have been a trick