Match Pointe. Indigo Bloome

her aquamarine eyes were too big for her heart-shaped face, instead of seeing them as her most distinctive feature. At least her body proved to have excellent proportions for a ballerina, though she would have preferred a tad more height.

      Yet Eloise had long ago relinquished all rights to her own body. Her diet was strictly controlled so she maintained the delicate balance between her fear of putting on even one additional pound of weight, and ensuring she had the stamina to endure the demanding twelve-hour days. Adept at being weighed, pinched, probed and analysed on a regular basis, she was more than skilled at detaching herself from her physical form. Every measurement had to be recorded in detail; even ‘point to point’ (the distance between her nipples) was noted for each new ballet performance. She liked the way others took control so she could focus solely on her craft, her one creative outlet. In her mind, her body was only a means to an end; merely an instrument to enable her to dance.

      She was a quiet, reserved person, not exactly shy but certainly not outgoing. Although she was friendly enough when spoken to, she preferred to keep to herself and didn’t have many friends. Being in the ballet meant that her opportunity to form any real friendships was limited, for in her mind the other ballerinas were all potential threats who could unravel her dream – something she was fiercely determined to protect. She had been ensconced within the realm of ballet for more than a decade and it had protected her from the harsh realities of the outside world. She had experienced this world in her youth, and had no desire to revisit such a heartless place again.

      So she never raised her voice or caused any trouble, instead choosing to focus on listening intently to what was required of her. She appreciated the calm passivity of conforming with her ballet masters’ strict requirements – with the aim of always exceeding their demanding standards. And from her perspective, this compliance had finally paid off.

      Earlier this year, Eloise had been proudly announced as Principal of the Royal Ballet. Everything she had worked for with utmost focus and physical dedication had finally been acclaimed by her esteemed ballet mistresses and masters, and endorsed by the Board. Striving for such recognition had given her the drive to ensure she was as close to perfect as she could be since arriving as a student at the Royal Ballet School aged twelve. Throughout her teenage years, she had never socialised if it interfered with her studies, rarely succumbing to potential suitors, who would no doubt distract her from achieving her dream.

      Now she – and everyone else – knew that her dedication to the art of ballet had been worth it. For she was the best; she was Number One. All of the other girls would aspire to be like her, to act like her, dance like her, be her. It provided her with an identity she had never had before. And she loved it!

      But even though she had reached the pinnacle of all she’d ever wanted to achieve, before each performance, the fear of losing everything crept insidiously into her thoughts. Fortunately, she had become adept at forcing her mind outwards – to focus on the rapt applause she would hear from all over the darkened theatre at the end of each act, and the beautiful flowers she would receive at the end of the performance, rather than on the lonely holes in her emotional life. After all, to show fear was to admit weakness, which she saw as a dreadful imperfection. Imperfect was something a prima ballerina would never be.

      Staring into the mirror on the opening night of Swan Lake, she saw a vision of what she was about to become onstage. She had discarded the loose grey sweats that usually covered every inch of her feminine body, and her wild auburn mane was now tightly restrained and unrecognisable beneath an elaborate headpiece. She liked the fact that her pert lips were artificially red and her aquamarine eyes were buried beneath a swathe of dramatic black make-up. The headpiece accentuated her neck – long and supple, as a swan’s should be – and her striking costume and feathers miraculously gave her the birdlike qualities that would see her fly onstage. And though she was petite, at five foot four, she knew she would become larger than life in order to do whatever the ballet required of her.

      She had come from nothing to being the most revered person in every performance. She lived for this feeling and for this feeling alone. When she danced beneath the heady lights, she was as close to home as she had ever been. It was the only sense of belonging she had ever experienced, and she would cling to it for dear life. For to fail now, when she had reached the peak of her career at twenty-two, would destroy her. To fail was intolerable. She had dedicated her life to perfection and there would be no turning back.

      So, drawing her dramatic eyes away from the vision in the mirror as the announcement was made for her to make her way to the stage, she completed the ritual she performed before every performance. She sat down, placed both her hands on top of a small, worn music box and closed her eyes. After a moment of quiet meditation, she opened the box and watched as the tiny ballerina swirled around and around, to the tune of ‘Music Box Dancer’.

      Eloise imagined herself as the ballerina, who only ever truly came to life when the box was open and provided her with an opportunity to dance. Absorbed by the music and the tiny dancer’s pirouettes, Eloise transformed into the tragic heroine Odette, losing all sense of self in the process.

      She turned and made her way to the stage, to give the performance of a lifetime to her many admirers – knowing the music box would only be closed after the final curtain was drawn, and be safely packed away until next time.

       Ballet

      Caesar’s relationship with Ivan Borisov dated back to the days when Ivan was a junior tennis champion. Now Ivan was Number One in the rankings of the Association of Tennis Professionals (ATP), and had been for the past two and a half years. Ivan was a client of The Edge, but his passion for ballet – as insatiable as Caesar’s own – ensured their friendship went much deeper than the connection Caesar shared with the other top players.

      Ballet was in Ivan’s blood, which was why Caesar found their discussions on the topic so engaging. Ivan’s mother had been a prima ballerina in her youth, and still taught ballet in St Petersburg. Ivan had grown up around dance and could easily have made it his career, had his tennis not been identified as such a strength; comparatively, ballet was a new discovery for Caesar.

      The two men met up at performances of the Royal Ballet as often as their schedules allowed. It was on one such evening, after the final curtain call of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden, that Ivan turned to Caesar and commented: ‘I’ve seen this ballet on many occasions around the world, and never have I been so captivated by the ballerina dancing the lead roles of Odette and Odile. Yet she seems so young.’

      Caesar nodded. ‘Indeed. Swan Lake is her first performance as Principal of the Royal Ballet. Her name is Eloise Lawrance. She’s one of our own, actually; studied at the Royal Ballet School.’

      Ivan’s eyes shone with enthusiasm. ‘She is just beautiful; she illuminates the entire stage. The precision of her movements is a joy to watch, simply bewitching.’

      ‘It appears you are attracted in ballet to what you illustrate on the court, Ivan.’ Caesar’s features creased into a smile, which Ivan returned.

      ‘You’re being way too kind, Caesar. My mother, perhaps, but I’m afraid I have no such elegance.’

      ‘Until recently, no one could even get close to winning against you,’ Caesar observed, moving the conversation on to his other favourite subject.

      ‘I know, Caesar, you’re right.’ Ivan sighed. ‘It all depends on motivation, and I seem to have lost mine recently – which is why I didn’t compete in the Australian Open this year.’

      ‘You know better than I that it was a huge risk to take with your ranking; luckily your sponsors didn’t ask too many questions. The other top seeded players are all hungry to close in on you like a pack of wolves. Any thoughts on what you’re going to do to stay on top?’

      ‘In all honesty I’m not sure. All I know is these days, if I have to choose between training and ballet … well, as you can see, I’m here, aren’t I? Which is not such a good thing for