Clementine Rose and the Ballet Break-In 8 Read online

  ‘All right, everyone, I want you to look at the picture on the screen and use this as your first sentence.’ The teacher brought up the slide.

  Clementine gasped.

  ‘I thought you’d enjoy this one, Clementine,’ Mr Smee said, smiling at her.

  ‘What?’ Joshua wailed. ‘That’s so dumb.’

  Projected onto the screen was a stage full of twirling ballerinas and, underneath it, a sentence which said ‘Seventeen dancers twirled across the stage …’

  ‘I’m not writing about ballet. Ballet is for girls!’ Joshua bleated.

  ‘Joshua, what did we write about yesterday?’ the teacher asked.

  ‘Dragons,’ the boy replied.

  ‘And did you enjoy that topic?’

  Joshua nodded. ‘Yeah, because dragons are cool.’

  ‘Well, today I want you to stretch your imagination and write about ballet. I like to choose things that are interesting to the class and at the moment I know this is a biggie.’ Mr Smee turned to the class. ‘Has anyone got an idea of what to write about?’

  ‘I could write about going to Swan Lake with Aunt Violet,’ Clementine said. ‘She’s taking me on Saturday.’

  ‘That sounds great,’ Mr Smee replied.

  Astrid put up her hand and the teacher pointed at her. ‘It could be a picture on a wall and someone is daydreaming about wanting to be a ballerina.’

  ‘Another good idea,’ said Mr Smee. ‘Joshua – good to see you with your hand up.’

  ‘They could all fall off the stage and the hall blows up.’ Joshua grinned.

  There was a rowdy chorus of approval from some of the boys. Joshua stared at Angus, who quickly nodded.

  ‘I’d enjoy your stories more if they were less violent,’ the teacher said, giving Joshua a stern look. ‘What about you, Angus?’ Mr Smee asked.

  ‘Umm.’ The boy hesitated. ‘A spaceship could suck them up to outer space and the aliens could eat their brains?’

  Several students cackled loudly.

  ‘Perhaps you boys could try to write something a little more sensible. Maybe there’s a concert and something goes wrong. What if the ballerinas start spinning so fast they can’t stop? They could spin out of control, twirling all the way into the street and across the whole country.’

  Joshua wrinkled his nose.

  ‘Well, you’d better get started,’ Mr Smee said to the class. ‘See if you can try to write more than you did yesterday and remember to read over your work once you’ve finished. I’ll come around and help anyone who needs it.’

  Clementine started immediately and wrote about the dancers leaping and twirling across the stage. They even did the pas de chat. Once she finished, she checked over her writing and started to draw a picture to go with it.

  ‘What’s your story about, Angus?’ she asked, looking at the boy sitting opposite her.

  Angus shrugged.

  ‘I thought you liked ballet,’ Clementine said.

  Angus glared at her. ‘You’re not supposed to say anything,’ he whispered.

  Clementine frowned at him. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘You’d better not,’ Angus hissed.

  ‘What’s the matter? Are you having a fight with your girlfriend?’ Joshua leaned over from the Cheetahs table beside the Warthogs.

  ‘No.’ Angus’s face was red and his eyebrows were angry.

  ‘What’s up, boys?’ Mr Smee asked.

  ‘Angus is having a fight with his girlfriend,’ Joshua teased.

  This was followed by a titter of giggles around the room.

  ‘Angus is not my boyfriend, Joshua,’ Clementine snapped.

  ‘Joshua, get on with your work.’ Mr Smee walked over to see whether the boy had yet managed to put pencil to paper. He was surprised to see that the lad had written half a page. ‘Well done, Joshua, but it would be great to have a picture to go with your story.’

  Angus hadn’t fared nearly as well. His page was still blank.

  ‘You’re usually full of interesting ideas,’ the teacher said.

  The boy shrugged.

  ‘You can write about the aliens if you really want to,’ Mr Smee offered.

  ‘I don’t care.’ Angus picked up his pencil and wrote ‘The Stupid Ballet’ at the top of the page.

  Roderick Smee looked at the lad. Something wasn’t right. Angus was never at a loss for words.

  Clementine had been marking the calendar in the kitchen every afternoon, counting down the days until she and Aunt Violet would be going to the ballet. When Saturday morning finally arrived, she sat up in bed and counted the chimes from the grandfather clock in the downstairs hall.

  ‘It’s only six o’clock,’ she said with a sigh. She pushed back the covers and scampered to her wardrobe.

  Clementine had spent the previous evening trying to work out what she should wear, and in the end she still hadn’t decided. Her mother had warned that she was becoming as fussy as Aunt Violet, but Clementine didn’t mind. She wanted her outfit to be perfect.

  The child ran her hand along the row of dresses until she came upon a navy smock with long sleeves. She pulled out some white tights and laid the ensemble on her bed, then took out a fluffy white vest from her chest of drawers. She settled on a spotted navy bow for her hair and, last of all, a pair of patent black boots.

  ‘What do you think, Lavender?’ Clementine consulted the pig, who was still snoring gently in her basket on the floor.

  Clementine wrestled her arms into her dressing gown and then skipped down the main stairs to the lower landing. She stopped and looked up at her grandparents’ portraits.

  ‘I’m going to the ballet today,’ Clementine informed the pair. ‘Aunt Violet is taking me and, even though she won’t say so, I think she’s as excited as I am.’

  Clementine could have sworn that her grandfather gave a little grin and Granny nodded. Even though they had both been gone for a very long time and Clementine had never met either of them in real life, she loved to tell them things.

  She gave the pair a wave and shot off downstairs, skidding along the hallway into the kitchen, where her mother and Uncle Digby were already busy preparing breakfast for the guests. Quite some years ago, before Clementine had arrived, Lady Clarissa had opened Penberthy House as a country hotel. There were seven people staying in the house for the weekend, so it was just as well Clementine had asked Aunt Violet to take her to the ballet. Her mother had far too many things to do.

  ‘Good morning, Mummy. Good morning, Uncle Digby,’ the child said.

  Digby Pertwhistle turned from where he was making a pot of tea. ‘You’re up bright and early, Clemmie.’

  ‘It was the butterflies in my tummy. They woke me up.’ Clementine climbed up on a chair at the kitchen table and poured herself some cereal.

  ‘You’ve still got a few hours before you have to leave,’ Lady Clarissa said. ‘Why don’t you put on some play clothes after breakfast and take Lavender and Pharaoh for a walk in the garden? I can call you when it’s time to get ready.’

  ‘What are you looking forward to the most?’ Uncle Digby asked Clementine as he set the teapot on the table.

  ‘The tutus and the twirling,’ Clementine replied. ‘Tilda said that they do lots of twirling.’

  Uncle Digby and Lady Clarissa smiled at the child.

  ‘I’m sure they do,’ Uncle Digby said.

  Clementine nodded. ‘This is going to be the best day ever.’

  Clementine squeezed Aunt Violet’s hand as the train pulled into the station.

  ‘Well, off we go,’ the old woman said, steering the pair to their carriage. She led Clementine down the aisle, searching for the cleanest seats. ‘Looks like this will have to do.’

  Clementine went to sit down.

  ‘Stop!’ Aunt Violet commanded, and pulled a packet of antiseptic wipes from her navy handbag. She gave the vinyl seats and armrests a quick going over, then wiped them dry with a tissue.

  ‘What’s wrong, Aunt Violet?’ Clementine
asked. She didn’t think the seats looked dirty at all.

  ‘One can never be too careful, Clementine,’ the woman replied, eyeing a man who was picking his nose further down the carriage. Aunt Violet shivered. ‘Ghastly,’ she muttered, and directed Clementine to sit beside the window.

  ‘You look very nice today, Aunt Violet,’ Clementine said. The woman was wearing a smart cream pants suit with navy accessories.

  ‘Thank you, Clementine. These clothes are as old as the hills, which just goes to show that when you buy quality it lasts.’

  Clementine grinned.

  As the train sped through the countryside, Clementine stared out of the window. She picked out familiar objects and fired a volley of questions at her great-aunt about the sights she didn’t recognise.

  ‘Do you know the story of Swan Lake?’ Aunt Violet asked after a while.

  Clementine shrugged. ‘A little bit. Tilda said that it’s about a prince who wants to marry a swan that’s not really a swan. She’s really a princess who’s under a spell.’

  ‘Very good. Her name is Odette. And there’s a nasty brute of a man called Von Rothbart who wants Prince Siegfried to marry his daughter instead,’ Aunt Violet explained.

  Clementine could feel her heart beating. ‘What happens in the end?’

  ‘Perhaps we should leave that as a surprise,’ Aunt Violet said.

  ‘I can’t wait to find out,’ Clementine sighed.

  The train pulled into station after station, with more travellers getting on at each stop. Clementine wondered if everyone was going to the ballet.

  A young man with curly brown hair dressed in black from head to toe sat down opposite them. Clementine noticed that he had a tattoo of a snake wriggling out from under his right sleeve and he was carrying a small black case.

  Aunt Violet shuffled closer to Clementine and wrapped her arm protectively around the child.

  ‘Do you think he’s going to the ballet?’ Clementine whispered.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Aunt Violet curled her lip. She hadn’t travelled on the train for a very long time and wasn’t especially enjoying the experience. It would have been her preference to drive but the city traffic always made her nervous.

  ‘What’s in there?’ Clementine asked, pointing to the man’s black case.

  ‘I have no idea, Clementine,’ the old woman breathed back. ‘Just look out the window.’

  ‘What’s in your bag?’ Clementine asked the fellow loudly.

  ‘Clementine, it’s rude to ask questions of strangers,’ Aunt Violet sniped.

  ‘Oh, this?’ the young man said, placing the case on the seat beside him. ‘It’s for my work.’

  ‘Good heavens,’ Aunt Violet gulped and reached for Clementine’s hand. She was imagining exactly what sort of work he did.

  The young fellow unclasped the latches and opened the lid.

  ‘It’s an … oboe,’ Aunt Violet declared as a wave of relief passed over her.

  ‘Can you play it?’ Clementine asked. She’d never heard of an oboe before and wondered what sort of sound it made.

  The man smiled. ‘Yes, but I don’t think the other passengers would appreciate it right now,’ he said, closing the lid again.

  ‘We’re going to the ballet.’ Clementine’s eyes widened. ‘To see Swan Lake.’

  ‘Really? It’s a great production,’ the man said, nodding. ‘The dancers are lovely.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re very well acquainted with it,’ Aunt Violet muttered and rolled her eyes.

  The train’s speakers crackled and a voice announced their arrival at the central station.

  Clementine leapt from her seat and peered out at the platform. ‘Are we here, Aunt Violet?’

  ‘Yes, come along, Clementine,’ the old woman said, taking her hand.

  The young man picked up his case and stood up. ‘I hope you enjoy the performance,’ he said with a wink.

  ‘We will.’ Clementine grinned and waved goodbye as she and Aunt Violet hurried off the train.

  Clementine skipped along beside Aunt Violet as the pair navigated their way from the station to the opera house. A small crowd had gathered in front of the grand building. Clementine’s eyes were everywhere as she took in the soaring columns, the enormous doors and the people in pretty dresses and smart suits.

  Aunt Violet looked down at the girl. ‘Ready?’

  Clementine nodded, and they made their way into the building.

  ‘Oh!’ The child gasped as they entered the foyer. ‘It’s beautiful!’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ Aunt Violet replied. She’d almost forgotten how majestic the opera house was with its plush red velvet walls and gold fittings.

  ‘Where do we have to go?’ Clementine asked, trying to see through the growing mass of people.

  Aunt Violet put on her reading glasses and retrieved the tickets from her purse.

  ‘I think our door is around there,’ she said, pointing to their right. ‘We’re miles away from the stage.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ the child replied. ‘The most important thing is that we’re at the ballet.’

  Aunt Violet handed their tickets to the young usher on the door.

  ‘I have to exchange these,’ he said, producing an envelope from his pocket.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Aunt Violet snapped. ‘Don’t tell me there’s been a mistake. We’ve come all the way from Penberthy Floss and I just don’t see that we could turn around and do it all again another day.’

  The young man with a shock of red hair and a dusting of freckles looked at the envelope, then back at Aunt Violet. ‘Are you Miss Appleby?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Aunt Violet replied crisply, wondering how he knew her name.

  ‘You have been upgraded to a private box, just for the two of you,’ he explained.

  Clementine recoiled. Why did they have to sit in a box to watch the ballet? How would they see anything?

  ‘Oh.’ Aunt Violet’s face lit up. ‘Well, this is a surprise. Forget what I said about being miles away, Clementine.’

  The young man noticed Clementine’s discomfort. ‘Is there something the matter, miss?’

  ‘How big is the box?’ Clementine asked. She hoped it was roomier than the cardboard box she and Sophie had made a cubby out of in the sitting room the last time Sophie stayed for a sleepover.

  Aunt Violet and the usher looked at each other and grinned.

  ‘Big enough,’ Aunt Violet said with a twinkle in her eye. ‘You’ll see.’

  Clementine frowned. She found that hard to believe but at least it was only for the two of them.

  The young usher smiled at the pair. ‘Someone will be up to collect you at the end of the performance.’

  Aunt Violet frowned. ‘What for?’

  ‘I believe Miss Barkov has arranged something for you.’

  Clementine’s eyes sparkled as she wondered what Ana had in store for them.

  ‘That sounds intriguing.’ Aunt Violet looked at Clementine and raised her eyebrows.

  The usher motioned for a girl with long dark hair to come over. ‘Tasha, would you please show Miss Appleby and her granddaughter to their box?’

  Clementine flinched. ‘She’s not my granny! She’s my great-aunt.’

  Aunt Violet rolled her eyes.

  ‘But I wouldn’t mind if she was my granny,’ Clementine added quickly.

  The old woman looked at the child. ‘Do you mean that, Clementine?’ she asked softly.

  The child nodded, giving Aunt Violet’s hand a squeeze. Aunt Violet smiled and squeezed her hand right back.

  ‘Sorry,’ the man said. ‘I just thought …’

  ‘Nothing to worry about, it was an easy mistake.’ Aunt Violet nodded. ‘And thank you.’

  A few minutes later, having climbed a wide staircase with banisters so highly polished Clementine could see her own reflection in them, Tasha pushed open a door into a small balcony overlooking the stage.

  Clementine’s eyes almost popped out
of her head. ‘This isn’t a box! It’s a mansion.’

  Three golden balconies, one above the other, wrapped themselves around the U-shaped theatre. There were rows and rows of red velvet seats, twinkling chandeliers and a vast red curtain hung across the enormous stage.

  There were four seats in their private box. Clementine sat on the one closest to the stage, with Aunt Violet beside her.

  They watched as the theatre filled with people, and it wasn’t long until the ding-dong of bells rang out.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘It’s to let everyone know that the performance is about to begin,’ Aunt Violet said. ‘People who turn up late have to wait until intermission to come in.’

  Clementine looked at the old woman blankly.

  ‘An intermission is a break in the middle of the performance for everyone to stretch their legs,’ Aunt Violet explained.

  ‘And go to the toilet?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘Godfathers! You don’t need to go again, do you?’

  The child shook her head.

  The plunk-plunk of strings could be heard over the murmur of the audience. Clementine looked over the rail to see the orchestra tuning their instruments in a pit in front of the stage.

  ‘Why are they in a hole?’ Clementine asked. She studied the rows of instruments. ‘Look, Aunt Violet! It’s the man from the train.’

  Clementine jigged about and pointed, but the old woman interrupted her. ‘Shush, Clementine. Sit down! It’s about to start.’

  Clementine perched on the edge of her seat and stared over the balcony rail. A man dressed in a tail coat walked into the pit and stood on a platform. He bowed to the audience, who clapped loudly.

  ‘He’s the conductor,’ Aunt Violet explained in a hushed tone. ‘He’s in charge of the orchestra.’

  The man turned back to the orchestra and held a long skinny stick in the air. With a nod and a wave of his hand, the musicians began to play. The music was soft at first but steadily grew louder as more instruments joined in. After several minutes, there was a loud clash of cymbals, a rumbling of drums and then the curtain went up.