Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky by Chris Greenhalgh

click open. It is Coco. He sees her reflection in the window. Oily shadows course down her face. He turns. She seems exhilarated.
    â€œBeautiful, isn’t it?”
    Storms always thrill her—the more spectacular the better. She loves their power, their ability to pulverize the earth. She feels animated suddenly and experiences an urgent need to participate, to draw like a galvanic battery on the fury of the storm. Yet having entered Igor’s study, she feels unusually tentative. She’s there for no other reason than she wants to see him. It seems odd that within her home there are areas that feel out-of-bounds. But with a stern sense of privacy, Igor has already made this space his own. Her energy converts into an itch to quit the room. But she can’t just leave. Her visit would appear purposeless. Another vivid flash outside is enough to spark a decision. “Let’s do something,” she blurts.
    â€œWhat?” Magnified by his glasses, his eyes hold a reflection of the last lightning flash.
    On previous evenings, Igor has played chess with his children. Tonight, however, Coco decides it is too sedate an occupation for the whole entourage. Instead, she proposes the children have some fun performing songs and dances.
    As he looks at her, her weight shifts one way and her head tilts the other. An angle is established between her upper and lower body, as though on the keyboard he had struck adjacent chords.
    She walks over and takes his hand. “Come on.”
    He enjoys this sudden contact of her palm, relishing the pressure of her skin against his. His fingers tingle, remembering the shared electricity of their first meeting. Standing up, he seems to float toward the door.
    The piano is moved into the living room to accompany the songs. Catherine, though too ill to participate, is persuaded to come downstairs to watch. Installed in a chair with blankets around her, she readies herself to be entertained.
    They begin with Russian folk songs. Coco joins in as best she can, humming along once she gets the melody. Then the children sing some songs in French that Coco taught them earlier in the day. They are joined by Joseph and Marie’s daughter, the fourteen-year-old Suzanne. She helps lead the singing, filling in the lyrics when the children are uncertain. Igor strikes up jauntily on the piano. Then, together with Coco and Suzanne, the children start to dance.
    The music hits the walls and bounces back. Coco pushes her hair up with both hands. Then, while the children dance with one another, she peels off, describing a wider circle around them. She responds to the accents of the music, feeling them chime with her insides. The high notes seem to express a sharp passion. The low notes set off a deeper sympathy. It’s as if a dialogue is being articulated between his music and her movements. In the lightning that irradiates the room, for a moment she looks goatish.
    Catherine registers with increasing alarm the intimacy that has grown between Coco and her husband. It is obvious they share an unspoken rapport. Shocked that this has happened so fast, she feels hurt and excluded. The two women have hardened against each other since their encounter the other day. She wishes now she had not been inveigled down. She feels the music and the thunder combine to drum inside her skull.
    One of the dances ends. The children rush to their mother, expecting encouragement. Instead, she tuts and turns her head. But, as she does so, the children leave her side again. They run to Coco, who beckons them back onto the floor.
    At the children’s insistence, the music begins to quicken. Suzanne and Ludmilla whirl ever more swiftly around the room. Seen from above, they form a wobbly revolving wheel. Coco holds herself very straight, maintaining an erect posture—the result of years of ballet lessons from her friend Caryathis. Her figure is given an eerie symmetry in the long French windows at the end of