"Roberts, Nora - Stanislaski 08 - Dance of Dreams" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Nora)

the children, and Uncle Seth had begged her to come visit them her first free
weekend.
And through all the tidbits and family gossip, Lindsay sensed something she
hadn't even realized herself. Ruth frowned. That she wasn't happy. Not unhappy,
she thought and took the comb smoothly through her long, wet hair. Just
dissatisfied. Silly, she decided, annoyed with herself. She had everything she'd
ever wanted. She was a principal dancer with the company, a recognized name in
the world of ballet. She would be starring in Davidov's latest ballet. The work
was hard and demanding, but Ruth craved it. It was the life she had been born
for.
But still, sometimes, she longed to break the rules, to race back to the
vagabond time she had known as a child. There had been such freedom, such
adventure. Her eyes lit with the memories: siding in Switzerland where the air
was so cold and clean it had hurt her throat to breathe it; the smells and
colors of Istanbul. The thin, large-eyed children in the streets of Crete; a
funny little room with glass doorknobs in Bonn. All those years she had traveled
with her journalist parents. Had they ever been more than three months in one
place? It had been impossible to form any strong attachments, except to each
other. And to the dance. That had been her constant childhood companion,
traveling with her in an ever-changing environment. The teachers had spoken with
different voices, different accents, in different languages, but the dance had
remained there for her.
The years of travel had given Ruth an early maturity; there was no shyness, only
self-sufficiency and caution. Then came her life with Seth, then Lindsay, and
her years with the Evanston family that had opened her up, encouraging her to
offer trust and affection. Still her world remained insular, as only the world
of ballet can be. Perhaps because of this she was an inveterate observer.
Watching and analyzing people was more than a habit with Ruth; it had become her
nature.
And it was this that had led to her further annoyance with Nick. She had watched
him that afternoon and sensed disturbances, but she hadn't been able to put a
name to them. What he had been thinking and feeling remained a mystery. Ruth
didn't care for mysteries.
That's why Donald appeals to me, she mused with a half-smile. She toyed with the
bottles of powder and scent on her dressing table. He's so unpretentious, so
predictable. His thoughts and feelings are right on the surface. No eddies, no
undercurrents. But with a man like NickЕ
She poured lotion into her palm and worked it over her arms. A man like Nick,
she thought, was totally unpredictable, a constant source of annoyance and
confusion. Volatile, unreasonable, exhausting. Just trying to keep up with him
wore her out. And it was so difficult to please him! She had seen many dancers
push themselves beyond endurance to give him what he wanted. She did it herself.
What was it about him that was endlessly fascinating?
A knock on her door broke into Ruth's thoughts. She shrugged, turning away from
the dressing table.
It was no use trying to dissect Nikolai Davidov. She flipped on a light in the
living room as she rushed through it to the front door. Her glance through the
peephole surprised her. She drew the chain from the door.
"Donald, I was just thinking about you."
She was swept up in his arms before she had the chance to offer him a friendly