Tango in Istanbul

Pera Palace Hotel, Istanbul, 1935

It was his moustache I noticed first. As with all men with modern moustaches, his was rather well-groomed. But the face was of a man I was not expecting to see. I shook so hard I thought I would lose a limb; the way Cinderella lost her glass slipper running from the ball.

‘No! It can’t be him! It just can’t!’

The crowd gathered in the ballroom hummed as dancers took the floor.

My Aunt Gwen, her curly blonde hair peppered with white and coiffured into vivacious perfection, leaned towards me. ‘What was that, my dear?’

I eyed her suspiciously. ‘Did you know he was going to be here?’

 ‘Who?’ Aunt Gwen replied and peered through a pair of bejewelled opera glasses.

I jabbed a finger towards the dancers gliding around the parquetry floor. ‘Lord Paul Warburton.’ The words strained my voice. ‘Did you know?’

‘Why on earth would I know? Besides, he’s a lord he can go wherever he likes.’

‘Then why did it have to be here? We have to leave,’ I said. ‘We have to go—tonight. Find another hotel.’

‘We can’t, your father will be here in two days and Sir Althorn—’ she sighed and nudged me with an elbow. ‘He’s asked for your company and your father has agreed.’ 

Lord Althorn, the man twice her age that her father wanted her to marry. Stability, honesty, integrity. Everything that Paul Warburton lacked.

‘So, unless you’d like to bed down with the Bedouins, we don’t have a choice.’ She laughed. ‘Bed down with the Bedouins, oh I am hilarious am I not?’

‘Yes, Aunt, you are.’

My shoulders slumped. Even in the ruins of my miserable unhappiness I had to admit that Aunt Gwen always found the light. I wish I was the same. But a dark cloud hung over me, as it would hang over anyone whose greatest love had deserted them.

She edged away from her aunt and towards the door. She would rather walk off into the desert than face Paul again.

* * *

Four months ago, I, Lord Paul Warburton, second son and heir after my brother’s untimely death, left the most captivating and darling woman at the altar.

What a bloody fool.

Although the woman currently in my arms and dancing the Tango was equally beguiling in looks and charms, nothing could surpass the delicate features, the good heart, and the crystal blue eyes of Miss Lucy Hargraves. Even across a crowded room, she shone like the hot Turkish sun. But in her was the softness I once knew, until my father ruined everything.

‘Something distracts you from the dance,’ Valentina said. ‘Is your Lucy here?’

My Lucy. But would she ever be mine again?

‘Yes, that’s her headed towards the door.’

Valentina turned her head, the curls of her dark bob tickling my nose. ‘The girl wearing blue silk?’

I heaved a sigh. ‘Yes.’

‘What are you doing, you stupid boy? Why are we here dancing when you can go to her?’

‘But Valentina…’

Valentina stepped away from me and pointed to the door. ‘Go, tell her how you messed up. Bring her back and dance with her like we rehearsed, and she will understand.’

‘Will she? You honestly think a dance can do all that?’ Lucy had to hate him. Because what girl wouldn’t hate a man who wanted to marry her but then broke her heart. Her degradation and humiliation was at his hands, and was his mistake.

‘No. I don’t. But it is not the dance that matters.’

I narrowed my gaze at her. For the last three months, Valentina had been my coach, my inspiration, my employer. We would travel to Spain and if Lucy did not want me, then I had a place to lay my head. I pushed my way through the crowded room to reach her.

In the corridor outside the ballroom, Lucy hurried towards the elevator. Against the soft hue of her dress, her shoulders glowed pink. I wanted to kiss those shoulders, take back the hurt and lay it on my own cowardly back. I would do anything for her.

‘Miss Hargraves!’ My voice came out a harsh bellow that stopped her in her tracks. She didn’t turn but remained still like a marbled statue. The clasp in her golden hair shone in the light. I cleared my throat willing a gentle woo into my address. ‘Miss Hargraves.’

Lucy turned but looked anywhere but at me: the expanse of Persian carpet, the ornate ironwork of the balustrade and the glass pendant of the stairwell. ‘Lord Warburton. What a surprise. I did not know you were here, otherwise I might have gone elsewhere.’

I ignored the spike in her tone, even as it impaled me on its coldness. ‘How have you been?’

‘Fine.’

‘What brings you to Istanbul?’

‘My aunt and I travelled the Orient Express. We’re here to meet with Sir Althorn. He has a proposal for me.’

‘A proposal? What sort of proposal?’ Another cold stab hit my core.

‘There’s only one kind isn’t there? Usually, one makes it and keeps that promise.’

Was I hearing right? She was going to marry someone else? My mind scoured through a list of peers and lords and knighted honorariums. ‘Sir Althorn…’

‘Yes, that’s right. He’s the Turkish consulate chief. He’s my father’s great friend. You know, the kind that don’t abandon you in a time of need?’

The cold stab turned to a churn in my stomach. ‘Your father’s here?’

‘Not yet, but he soon will be.’

I could not forget the threats to my life her father had uttered to me on the street a month after our intended nuptials. If duels were legal, I’d likely be dead.

‘Miss—damn it—Lucy, come dance with me, I can explain.’

She stepped closer and a hint of exotic jasmine filled my senses, threatening to bring me to my knees. ‘Why on earth would I do that? You had your chance.’

The motorised clang of the elevator door rang through the corridor. Lucy entered and shut the door.

I watched her ascend as if an angel had spoken its last words to me and cast me out of heaven.

* * *

I stomped into the hotel room and paced. My shoes suddenly feeling too tight, I removed one and flung it at the wall. ‘Damn you, Paul Warburton!’

It was eight o’clock and the evening soiree had only just begun. I sat on the edge of the bed, daring myself to cry. But after months of flood, the river was dry. ‘How dare he? Explain?’

What on earth? If he had wanted to explain, why wait until now? Why not come to me earlier? He was a coward.

I stood and paced the room again. A cat jumped from the windowsill into the room, meowed and ran towards me, rubbing against my legs. I patted its smooth white head.

‘No doubt his bully of a father had something to say about it all, hey kitty?’ The cat responded with an eager meow. ‘It wasn’t enough that Lord Peter Warburton abandoned my father and his business partner, but to make his son leave me too? Too cruel.’

I knelt to rub under the cat’s chin. ‘What say you kitty? Should I go back?’

The cat’s purrs rumbled against my fingers.

‘But what excuse could he give me?’

I stood, retrieved my heels, and took a deep breath. Time to face him. I had to know why he left and why he didn’t love me anymore.

My hand hovered above the knob before wringing the door open. ‘You’ve helped a great deal, kitty. Thank you.’

The elevator took forever to reach the mezzanine level. What on earth was I thinking? The doors opened and several people stood waiting. I politely made my way through the throng, my heart throbbing.

I bumped into someone and my small clutch dropped to the ground. The woman who retrieved it stood tall in front of me. The woman who danced with Paul. Her face was like an elf, her eyes, although creased with age at the corners, were like deep dark pools framed by winged eyeliner.

‘I’m dreadfully sorry,’ I stammered.

‘Why are you sorry?’ Her Spanish accent had rich velvet undertones, like a smooth chocolate drink that matched her eye colour. She smiled and it was if a light illuminated her.

‘I bumped into you.’

‘An accident, cariño.’ 

Of course, Paul Warburton would have someone new. I just didn’t expect him to have someone quite so stunningly beautiful. He always told me that beauty was the last thing he found attractive on a woman. I suppressed the urge to turn on my heel and run away, and the heat pooling behind my eyes threatened to spill.

‘Lucy,’ Paul said and joined the woman’s side. ‘You’ve met Valentina?’

’I… um… not exactly’ I stumbled over my words.

‘Then let me introduce you.’ He spoke as if nothing had happened between us, as if we were merely old friends. There was a glint in his eyes. ‘Valentina here is a world class Tango dancer from Argentina. She has been a mentor and tutor to me these past months.’

Valentina took my hand. ‘I would love to see my pupil dance with someone else. I would like to see how far he has come. I think you, Miss Lucy, would be a perfect partner.’

‘To dance the Tango?’

‘Yes. In Argentina, Tango is the dance of love. Love is passionate, sometimes angry, but love remains even after hurt.’

‘Oh, no I—’ A reply frothed and bubbled in my mouth. Valentina’s hand, still holding mine, morphed into something distinctly masculine. Paul’s familiar grip. His other hand encircled my waist like a blanket warms you on a frosty night.

We were on the dance floor and Valentina, gone.

* * *

Lucy was in my arms. Finally, the embrace I had wanted for months.

‘Luces hermosa esta noche mi cielo.’

* * *

I didn’t understand what Paul said and instead stared at his shiny lapels. His fingers unfurled and clasped mine firmly, and we took our first steps around the dance floor.

I swallowed a gulp of air that would surely have me hiccupping.

His gaze was resolute, as was mine. I’d forgotten how his brown eyes held the warmth of an undying hearth fire; how curly was his lustrous deep brown hair; and the feel of his hands on my waist. His scent: woodsmoke, leather and earth mingled with the exotic fragrances of Istanbul’s night air. The others in the room melted into the surrounding walls and the last four months of anguish and hurt buried itself deep inside me.

‘Lord Warburton, you’re staring at me.’

‘I’m no longer Lord Warburton. I am simply Paul.’

‘Your father might disagree.’

‘I don’t give a damn what my father says. Or what my father wants. My father’s greatest mistake was stopping me marrying you. I miss you, Lucy.’

My heart fluttered and words caught in my throat. The music started. ‘I’m not very good at the Tango.’

‘You know how to dance, just let me lead.’

His expression appeared earnest, and my heart? I’m sure it showed on my face. Heat burned my cheeks, and my chest beat in time with the music.

The Tango began.

His body, scandalously close to mine, made the bare skin of my shoulders and upper arms tingle. The sensation travelled up my spine. His breath, hot on my neck, sent shocks up through to the base of my skull.

‘Your scent, ethereal. Ambrosial. I remember,’ he said.

I shivered at his words. ‘Actually its “Quelques Fleurs”—simply a perfume.’

‘It’s a memory.’

‘Not a good one. Or is it one of relief that you escaped marriage with me?’

He remained silent, and a dizziness washed over me, but I didn’t faint. Instead, I merely moved like an automaton captured by his embrace.

When I think of music and the dance, I’d always constructed a room, one with mirrors to see yourself. And if a mirror was absent, you could see yourself in the eyes of your partner. You knew where you stood, you knew what you meant to them. If I looked into Paul’s eyes, what would I see?

‘Look at me, Lucy. Please look at me,’ he whispered.

He dipped me and brought me forward face to face. I shivered and shook. Where I expected to see loathing, anger, and pity, there was only tenderness. But that couldn’t be. He left me.

My reaction was half anger that I let him lead me onto the dancefloor, half delirious to be in arms again. A lightness hit my feet.

The music swelled to a more dramatic beat, and we danced cheek to cheek.

‘I never meant to hurt you,’ he said in a low and husky voice. ‘It was all my father. All of it.’

The surge of emotion running through me sent my heart rate soaring, and I struggled against him. ‘Let me go.’

I spun away from him, but he grabbed me and whirled me towards him. Drawing me close, his hand was hot on my lower back.

‘No, please listen. I was coward. I should never have allowed my father—’

I pushed him away with both palms. ‘You are a coward.’

He fell to his knees and grabbed my hands. The audience gaped at us with head tilting curiosity, as if this scene we were playing out was part of the performance.

I pitied Paul then and remained rooted to the spot. He stood and took me in his embrace again. I let him.

A Tango is an easy dance, but expert dancers say it takes a lifetime to master. But if you have the right partner, that lifetime can be a moment.

He dipped me again and the crowd surrounding us burst into applause. We moved as if we meant to be here and meant to dance this dance.

‘You are a coward,’ I repeated through a blur of tears.

He nodded and smiled. ‘Yes. The worst kind.’

The worst kind.

In parts of the Tango, you’re not supposed to look at each other, you’re supposed to keep your faces turned in the same direction. He swung his head back to meet my gaze.

‘I want to look at you. I want to never stop looking at you, but I also want us to look in the same direction. I want us to look forward to a future together. I love you.’

The dance finished, and the audience applauded again, then coalesced. More congratulations followed; on the dance; on the ease of the movements. On how in tune with each other we seemed. But My heart remained heavy and my breath came in staggered inhalations. I ran from the ballroom. He didn’t follow me this time.

In my room, the cat had returned.

‘My feline friend, how did you know?’

* * *

I walked into the breakfast room the following morning. Lucy sat with her Aunt Gwen and Valentina, and I was ebullient. ‘Good morning.’

Gwen stood and took my hand in hers. ‘Lord Warburton, perhaps you can keep my niece company, Valentina and I have business to attend.’

Lucy stood her eyes widened. ‘Aunt Gwen… I knew it! You knew he was here! You planned it!’

‘Do you honestly think I’d let you marry Sir Althorn? Why Valentina and I are old, old friends. She helped me. I will never stand in the way of true love.’ Gwen glanced at Valentina. ‘Like it was for me.’

‘You know each other?’ I said my gaze jumping from one woman to another.

‘My boy, yes we do, and this is all arranged. You have danced the dance. The feeling is in the heart, not the feet.’ Valentina reached and took Lucy’s hand and joined it to mine.

‘You don’t want me to come to Spain with you?’

Valentina took Gwen’s arm. ‘I have a companion and you, cariño, have something important to attend to.’

I turned to Lucy. Her mouth parted in disbelief, as was mine. ‘Everything I told you last evening was true. It was my father who stopped me from coming to the church. And I should have stood up to him.’

She whispered through soft lips. Lips I wanted to see curled into a smile.

I continued. ‘I followed you here. My father has disinherited me. He has taken away everything. The house in Chelsea. The generous allowance. All gone. He even took my job away. But none of it matters. Not if you are in my life.’

She bowed her head. ‘I don’t know if I can trust you again.’

I reached out and took her hand and brought it to my lips. The soft skin of her knuckles was smooth and radiantly creamy. I kissed them again and again and she let me. ‘Lucy, I will always love you. Always.’

* * *

He’d left me standing at the altar. In my humiliation, I had ignored my gut instinct. That something was wrong. That he had to love me because I had never felt a love like this. He still loved me. Could I find my way back? Could I shove aside the hurt to return to him?

‘It’s all true? About your father? He stopped you?’

‘Yes.’

I closed my eyes and all I could see in the darkness was Paul. And they remained closed as he kissed me. Soft, warm and a measure of a promise fulfilled.

 I opened my eyes, and his hands were on mine.

‘Am I not a good dancer?’ he asked.

‘They say it takes two to Tango.’

‘Only two? Are you sure?’ Paul nodded towards the balcony where Gwen and Valentina stood with their heads together.