Break of Dawn

Sadie forgot the mistress/servant role she adopted most of the time and hugged Sophy back. ‘I think the boot’s on the other foot.’ Harriet wasn’t the only one who was aware of how different her life would have been if Sophy hadn’t come across her. Then, gently pushing Sophy away, she said, ‘Go and have a wonderful evening. You deserve it and so does he.’


Kane was waiting in the hall as Sophy descended the stairs, her coat over her arm. The expression on his face made her suddenly shy, and to cover her confusion she said quickly, ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting, is the cab outside? I didn’t mean to—’

‘You look beautiful.’ He cut through her babbling, his deep voice husky, and then turning to Harriet and Sadie who were watching them with beatific smiles, he said, ‘I shall look after her, so don’t worry.’

He could have been referring to their evening out but Sadie knew better, and as her smile widened, she said, ‘I know that, Mr Gregory. She couldn’t be in better hands.’



The Ballets Russes was breathtaking. The technical brilliance of the Russian dancers, led by Vaslav Nijinsky and Anna Pavlova, electrified the audience, and the choreography went far beyond the vocabulary of classical steps, stressing the male dancer’s role. Nijinsky seemed to defy gravity in his airborne leaps, his muscular energy stunning, and the decor and costume designs were like nothing London had seen before with their boldness and brilliant, exotic colours. It was a new experience for all the spectators at the theatre and one that would have normally had Sophy spellbound. As it was, in spite of the incredible performance on stage, her senses were almost completely tied up in the big dark man sitting quietly at her side.

Kane had always looked good in evening dress – his brooding air lent itself well to formal attire, but tonight there was something about him which caused her to tremble inside. He was altogether a very masculine man, as different in stature and build to Toby’s slight, slim physique as chalk to cheese.

He had ordered refreshments to be brought to their box in the interval – ice-cold champagne and strawberries – partly, she supposed, because he would have found it difficult to mingle with the crowd, still being a little unsteady on his legs, but also so the poignant, almost tangible emotion between them would not be broken. They talked of inconsequentials while they sipped the champagne and ate the strawberries, their eyes holding for long moments.

Just before the second half began, Kane leaned across and took her hand, turning it over, palm uppermost, as he kissed the pulse beating in her wrist. ‘I’ve dreamed of being with you like this every night in that damn hospital bed,’ he murmured against the scented warmth of her skin. ‘But the reality is so much better than the dream.’

The second half was even more spectacular than the first, and the curtain went up and down several times before the audience let the performers retire, the stage strewn with flowers the crowd had thrown. Sophy and Kane waited until most of the throng had dispersed before making their way out of the theatre. Once they were standing on the pavement, a cool night wind ruffling tendrils of hair across Sophy’s flushed cheeks, Kane drew her hand through his arm. It was only a two-minute walk along Cranbourn Street to Leicester Square, and when they arrived at the restaurant, their table was waiting, tucked away in a quiet corner of the glittering room. Kane ordered more champagne, ignoring Sophy’s protest that she would be tipsy, and after the waiter had left them to peruse the heavily embossed menus, he again took her hand. ‘I was going to do this at the end of the meal,’ he said softly, ‘but I find I cannot wait. However, one thing I must make very clear before I continue. I’m aware I’m no catch for a young and beautiful woman, a woman of substance’ – when she would have spoken, he raised his other hand, palm facing her – ‘and there is the matter of age to consider. I will not hold you to anything you might have said when I was in hospital and you were feeling sorry for me, and nothing you say tonight will prevent us con tinuing as friends.’

She stared into his craggy face. Now the moment had come her mind was clear. Her only regret was for the wasted years when they might have been together, but she would make up for them, she told herself fiercely. She would love him as no man had been loved before.

Rita Bradshaw's books