Jon followed Madeleine through the final curtain opening and into the crowded stage wing. The sight that greeted him brought him to an immediate halt.
Rows upon rows of women stood waiting for their cue.
Pink feathers. Pink corsets. Pink gloves and heels.
Simone had followed them a few steps behind. She had been looking forward to appearing on stage that night. She had always loved taking part in Le Jardin des Plumes. She had always thought that she looked good in pink.
Jon looked around. Every dancer looked almost identical from behind. For a moment, he simply stared.
How was he supposed to find Karyn in all of that?
Madeleine stood to the side and hoped, much like Jon did, that they could find his friend before the chorus went on stage for Le Jardin des Plumes. That way, they could still remain in control of the situation. If the American girl went on stage, they would have to wait until after the number had finished before they could talk to her, no matter what Jon said.
Henri would never tolerate someone interrupting the show in his theatre, and Madeleine was not at all sure she would be able to explain why one of the dancers had been taken off the stage in the middle of the number.
Jon scanned the space in front of him.
That was when he saw her.
Or at least he thought he did.
A blonde dancer stood only a few yards ahead of him near the rear of the formation. Same height. Same build. Same blonde hair Karyn had got thanks to that old wish she had made back when she had been annoyed by Sarah McMillan and her entourage of drooling, over-muscled football players and other assorted testosterone-fuelled flunkies.
Boy, did that seem like a long time ago now.
Relief surged through him.
“Karyn!”
The woman did not react at all.
Jon pushed forward another step and tried again.
“Karyn!”
Still nothing.
Madeleine’s expression tightened as she watched him focus on the blonde woman. Something about the woman Jon was shouting at bothered her, but she was not sure what.
Ahead of them, the orchestra could be heard preparing for Le Jardin des Plumes beyond the curtain. The dancers remained calm, as though none of them noticed the frantic search taking place behind them.
Several rows deeper into the formation, Karyn heard Jon’s voice immediately.
Her head turned.
There he was.
Only a few yards away.
For the first time since arriving in the theatre, she felt genuine hope.
“Jon!” she shouted, but the word vanished into the noise surrounding the stage.
Beside her, Lucienne smiled.
“Tu es nerveuse aujourd’hui.” (You’re nervous today.)
“I need to get him,” Karyn told the French woman, even though she knew Lucienne would not understand what she was saying.
Lucienne followed her gaze briefly but appeared to see nothing unusual. To her, Jon was simply another foreigner moving through the backstage area. The only thing different about this one was that Madeleine seemed to know him.
To Lucienne, Karyn was simply another chorus girl waiting for the show to begin.
“Tout ira bien.” (Everything will be fine.)
Karyn turned again, trying to catch Jon’s eye.
He was still looking at the other dancer.
The one who was not her.
The one who had just slapped Jon’s face after he had reached for her arm.
How?
How could he not recognise her?
The answer surrounded her on every side.
Twenty women dressed exactly alike.
Twenty matching feathered headdresses.
Twenty matching feather bustles.
Twenty matching silhouettes.
From where Jon stood, she was simply one face among many.
A hand touched her arm.
Lucienne.
The French dancer gave her a reassuring smile.
“Encore quelques secondes.” (Just a few seconds more.)
Lucienne genuinely believed she belonged here, as though Karyn had always been standing beside her.
Ahead of them, the curtain glowed with warm light spilling in from the stage.
The atmosphere shifted.
Performance time.
Karyn felt her stomach drop.
He was so close.
Yet somehow he still did not see her.
Jon took another step forward.
His hand reached toward the blonde woman nearest him.
The wrong woman.
Madeleine’s eyes moved across the formation. As if she was looking for someone, Karyn thought.
Could she be looking for her?
Karyn found herself silently willing the older woman to look one row further.
One row deeper.
One row beyond the woman Jon had chosen.
The orchestra struck its opening chord.
The entire chorus straightened.
Lucienne squeezed Karyn’s hand.
A simple gesture. Friendly. Completely unaware of the crisis unfolding around them.
Then the curtain began to rise.
And Jon Gibson stood only yards away from Karyn Black while remaining utterly unaware that she was about to appear on stage at Théâtre de la Rue des Roses as part of the chorus dancing Le Jardin des Plumes.
“Merde.” (Shit.) It was the only word Karyn could think to say at that moment.
