Sea of Lost Love (33 page)

“Will Salazar know that Rosanna has betrayed him?” Celestria asked, worried about the woman's safety.

“No. She will pretend that she is as surprised to see you as he is. You must not give her away. That is most important.” Then she added carefully, “Salazar is a pompous man, but he is not necessarily a murderer. I cannot imagine what happened to your father and Armel's husband, and you are right that there are parallels too striking to be ignored, but remember, Salazar might be innocent in all of this.”

“Maybe,” said Celestria. “But I choose to believe he's as guilty as the devil.”

Nuzzo returned to his work and Federica to the daily tasks that kept her busy in the Convento. Armel sat with Celestria and Mrs. Waynebridge in the sunshine, debating Salazar's innocence.

“I want Salazar to know that I think about my husband every moment of the day. It is like a dagger to my heart that is twisted and twisted over and over,” said Armel bitterly. “He has stripped me of my life. My reason to go on. You know I told you that my husband was an entrepreneur?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he was that, of course. He also worked for the government. He was a very important man. However, he was a shady man. Complex. A man with many layers, like an onion. At his core, I'm afraid, he was a criminal.” She raised her eyes wearily. “It was only when I looked into his affairs after his death that I discovered he was an arms dealer, too. He bought and sold arms to Israel. To both sides. I am ashamed, but it doesn't stop me loving him.”

“How did you make the connection to Salazar?”

She chewed her cheek for a moment, then sighed heavily and lit a cigarette, drawing the nicotine into her lungs, visibly relaxing. “I found various accounts in his name, paid for by Salazar. Then there was this revolting Hungarian woman. At first, I thought it was an affair. My husband had an eye for the ladies, and I'm sure I was not the only woman in his life. I am French. We Frenchwomen understand that a man has his needs. But when I saw her—”

“Countess Valonya?”

“You know Countess Valonya?” Armel looked surprised.

“I had the misfortune of meeting her, yes. She worked for my father.”

“She worked for my husband, too.”

The two women stared at each other, barely able to voice the fear that now seeped into their hearts like acid.

Mrs. Waynebridge suddenly snapped out of her trance. “Sounds to me like your husband and Mr. Montague are one and the same person.” She laughed at the absurdity of her thought, but Celestria and Armel didn't laugh.

“Do you have a photograph of your father?” Armel asked quietly, her face as pale as a funeral lily.

“You don't think…It's not possible!” Celestria could barely utter the words; they stuck in her throat, which now felt as if it were full of cotton wool.

Light-headed with terror, she ran upstairs to her room. “Oh, please, Lord!” she murmured as she gazed upon the face of the man she was losing, little by little. Soon she wouldn't know him at all. When she returned, Armel had lit another cigarette and was smoking feverishly. Without a word, Celestria handed her the photograph. Armel let out a long rasping sound, like a death rattle, and bent double, laying her head on her hand.

“Mon dieu!”
she gasped.

Celestria sat down, feeling suddenly very small and frail. “Is that Benedict?” she asked in a whisper, although she already knew the answer. “We should have guessed.”

The birds twittered in the trees, the dogs barked in the road outside the Convento, and the sudden neighing of a horse agitated the still, midday heat. Marelatte continued as it always had, and yet, for Armel and Celestria, the world had shifted.

Federica emerged from the kitchen. “What has happened?” she asked, for Armel was still hiding her face in her hand, the ash on the end of her cigarette drooping like a long gray caterpillar, about to burn her fingers. Celestria could barely speak. She had lost her voice. She tried, but nothing came out, just a weak hiss.

“I suggested that Armel's husband and Celestria's father were one and the same man. I didn't think I were right for a moment. By gum, I didn't.” Mrs. Waynebridge clutched at her chest and shook her head. “This is such a shock.” Her eyes sparkled with tears, and the youthful glow Nuzzo had settled on her cheeks turned to dust.

Federica sank into a chair, her own face devoid of color. She stared at the ground without blinking. “Well, that explains a lot, doesn't it?” she said bitterly, as if she were talking to herself.

“I suppose it does,” Mrs. Waynebridge agreed, gazing anxiously at her.

“I'm so sorry,” Federica said, reaching out to touch Celestria's arm. The girl remained still.

“Did you bury him?” she croaked.

Armel lifted her head, and the ash broke off onto the paving stone below. “No. Did you?”

“No.”

“So, there was no body?”

“No. He drowned at sea.”

Armel nodded. “Benedict drowned at sea. He must have planned it very carefully.” She blinked at Celestria, as she was suddenly struck with an extraordinary idea. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Her eyes suddenly hardened and grew as cold as slate.

Celestria nodded, her jaw loose as she floundered to make sense of it all. “Could it be true?”

“You've lost me,” said Mrs. Waynebridge, turning helplessly to Federica. “Have they lost you, too?”

“I daren't say,” replied Federica, pulling on her pendant in agitation.

“I'm thinking the impossible.” Armel shrugged. “That Benedict Devere, Robert Montague, is not dead at all. That he planned his own death, transferring money to Salazar, which Countess Valonya withdrew on his behalf so that he could start a new life somewhere else. If he is capable of leading a double life, why not a triple life?”

“If that is true, he underestimated us,” said Celestria, her voice steady.

“He certainly did,” agreed Armel. “If he is alive, we will find him.”

Federica got up and walked hurriedly into the kitchen. She stood a moment with her back against the door, clutching her chest, her breathing staggered and shallow. A few moments later, she had composed herself. She reached for a bottle of wine, crossed herself, and silently asked for forgiveness.

 

Celestria ran down the little path to the fortress. Her throat was tight, her breathing labored, her head bursting with the need to cry. Finally, in the seclusion of the old stone ruin, she stood at the window, rested her eyes on the soothing rise and fall of the sea below, and let out a loud sob, like the cry of a wild animal. Once she had started, she couldn't stop. It was as if all the hurt that had built up over the weeks following her father's disappearance had now found a crack in her resistance and burst forth. She felt utterly broken by his deceit. As if he had taken an eraser and rubbed out her past and the very ground she stood on.
The most terrible discovery of all was that he hadn't included her. He had shut her out. The father she loved had never truly existed.
The tears burned her cheeks and dropped off her chin onto her pretty white dress. She clutched the windowsill for balance. That is where Hamish found her.

Without a word he enfolded her in his arms and let her cry against him. With tenderness he stroked her hair and wiped away her tears, kissing her in a vain attempt to put her back together again. After a while her breathing grew regular, and she stopped crying.

“Federica told me,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

“He lied to me all my life. He married Armel just after the war, when Mama and I came back from America. All the while he was off on business he was building another family.” She pulled away and gazed up at him. “I trusted him blindly. I loved him unconditionally. But he didn't love us at all. If he loved us, how could he bear to leave? What is Mama going to think? Harry, too? My God, what will my family do when I tell them? It will destroy us all.”

“Think very hard before you tell them,” Hamish suggested gravely.

“But he's alive,” she said, frowning. “He's alive. He's not dead at all. I've been mourning him for nothing.” She grew angry. “I've shed tears over him. I've damned the sea for snatching him. I worried about the pain he might have suffered. I prayed for him to be rescued from hell. Yet he planned his death with care. He planned to make us all suffer. He cheated us out of our money so that he could enjoy a future somewhere else. What about
our
future?”

“Your future is here with me,” he said suddenly, holding her very tightly. “Your future is in Marelatte. This is where you belong.”

“I don't know who to trust anymore,” she replied in a small voice.

“You can trust me.”

She looked into his deep, unfathomable eyes and noticed how different he was from her father, Aidan, Rafferty, and Dan. There were no smooth edges to Hamish: no gloss, no wide, enchanting smile, no pretense. Hamish's honesty was raw and natural. Of that she was grateful.

H
amish drove Gaitano's Lancia Flaminia down the dusty road to Castellino, a small, Moorish-looking town south of Marelatte. Armel sat in the front beside him, Celestria in the back. The vibrations in the car were strained, almost giving off a sound, like the high-pitched squeaking of violins. They arrived in town, their faces grim with determination. The buildings were constructed in the same pale stone as those in Marelatte, with flat roofs and tall, brown doors behind which secret courtyards were concealed from passers-by. However, in Castellino, the Moorish influence was plain to see: arched façades, twisted candy pillars, and intricate trellis balconies that would not have looked out of place in Morocco. Eucalyptus trees rustled in the sea breeze. A few old men sat on benches watching the setting sun, not knowing how many more sunsets they would live to see, and a group of stray dogs trotted casually by in search of dustbins, in hope of scraps.

The house Rosanna had directed them to was small, pale yellow, and set apart from the rest, built on a slope that descended to the bleached white cliffs. It was not an impressive house. In fact, it looked half built, as if the owners had run out of money and had to stop building midproject. Hamish looked at his watch. They were slightly early. He swiveled around to where Celestria sat quietly in the rear seat and took her hand.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned.

“I'm feeling sick. How about you, Armel?”

“Me, too. A cigarette will calm my nerves. Do you want one?” She rummaged about in her leather bag.

“Definitely,” Celestria replied, gaining strength from the warmth of Hamish's touch. Her hand, settled into his large rough one, made her feel safe.

“At least you will learn the truth,” he said, then turned his eyes away with a frown.

“Perhaps I should have stayed in England and mourned him with the rest of my family. Ignorance is bliss.

“What if we find him?” Celestria continued, leaning towards the flame that Armel held out for her. The end of her cigarette lit up like a firefly before dying away.

“I don't know,” Armel replied softly, shaking her head.

“It would be better if he were dead. At least there would be some certainty,” said Celestria, her voice hard.

“And no humiliation. He can't have loved us very much if he was prepared to fake his own death in order to be rid of us.” She chuckled cynically, her gaze lost in the half distance.

“You don't know the truth,” said Hamish. “You may never find out. It might be better that way.”

They climbed out of the car and stood in the orange sunlight. They stamped their cigarettes into the sandy earth and proceeded to walk slowly towards the house. Hamish took Celestria's hand. If Armel noticed, she said nothing, but stared grimly ahead. They were on a mission, and nothing would distract them from it.

As Rosanna had promised, she had left the door ajar. Hamish took the lead and stepped inside. The hinges made no sound as he pushed the door open. Inside the air was cool and smelled of freshly ground coffee. The floor was made of flagstones, the walls plain white. Only a simple wooden crucifix hung above the fireplace. There was no staircase to climb, as the house was built on one floor. Hamish turned to the women and nodded. They were ready. Celestria felt her stomach ache with fear. She was grateful that Hamish had come. She would not have had the courage to come alone with Armel.

Voices could be heard in the room at the end of the corridor, then the ripple of Rosanna's laughter. The smell of cheap perfume seeped under the door. Hamish crept quietly over the tiles and stopped outside the room. He paused a moment, as if to gather himself. Then he flung open the door. Inside, Rosanna lay on the bed in a cream satin dressing gown, her brown hair cascading over her shoulders in lustrous curls. Salazar stood in his underpants at the foot of the bed. To add to his humiliation, he was wearing socks, fixed at the knees by elastic black garters, and his polished two-toned shoes.

At first he looked furious, his smooth face mottled with anger. Then he looked surprised, and finally afraid, as he realized why they had come. Never would he have imagined that Celestria would align herself with Armel. He shouted at them in Italian. Hamish replied calmly, throwing him the green dressing gown that lay over the chair. Rosanna curled up at the end of the bed, feigning terror. She was a good actress. Salazar begged for them to respect her honor and let her go. Hamish agreed, and Rosanna ran to the bathroom, where she dressed quickly and left without a word. It was clear that he didn't want his mistress to hear what he had to say.

“So,” said Armel briskly, sitting on the end of the bed and crossing her legs, “you have a mistress.”

“It is none of your business,” Salazar snapped, visibly rattled.

Hamish strode over to the window and folded his arms. “Don't worry. It won't be anyone else's business. If you do something for us.”

“I've told you all I know!” he protested.

“You said Robert Montague had a partner,” Celestria asked. “Who was he?”

“Benedict Devere,” Salazar replied. Armel caught Celestria's eye and nodded. Salazar looked uncomfortable. His hair was no longer sleeked back with grease but falling over his forehead in thick tentacles. He ran his hand through it, ashamed and humiliated to be seen like that. “
Senti,
I never met him. I dealt with Robert Montague and the countess. I received my instructions by letter, telephone, and telegram. Countess Valonya acted on behalf of them, and she was paid from my office. It is she who carried out their dirty work. I just brokered the deals to keep them on the right side of the law.”

“What deals did you broker for them?” Hamish asked.

“Planes. They sold used American and British fighter planes to the Egyptians.”

“Mon dieu!”

“Since when?” Celestria asked.

“Eighteen months ago. Devere was already in the business of selling arms. I met Robert Montague while he was staying at the Convento. We agreed to do business together. There was this hangar. Devere had acquired planes. He met the Egyptians at the casino in Monaco. They wanted to buy them. I have connections in Italy. They needed me. If they are dead, I did not kill them. The Egyptians did or the Mafia.”

“Why?” Hamish asked.

“You want to know why? Then let me take you to the hangar, and you'll see for yourselves. I, too, have been misled.” It was clear that Salazar had no idea that the two men were one and the same. Celestria sensed that he was telling the truth. He had acted as go-between. He probably didn't suspect, like they did, that her father had faked his own death.

They drove farther south until they reached a large white hangar that stood isolated in the middle of an expanse of dry, rocky ground. There were no houses as far as the eye could see. Salazar led them to the large sliding door. He opened the padlock with a key, then pulled the door open. It rattled in protest. “Take a look!” he exclaimed triumphantly, striding inside. “It is not surprising that the two men have been killed. No one wants rusty, useless planes that can't fly!”

“How the devil did they pull it off?” Hamish asked, gazing around him in amazement at the motley array of shabby planes disintegrating in the gloom like bones in an elephants' graveyard.

“It is very simple. Child's play! Montague and Devere raised the money to buy the planes. The Egyptians paid a deposit. Devere and Montague took the money and disappeared. Now I'm left with creditors who do not take kindly to being played with. Do you understand what I'm saying?” He stared at them in desperation. “Salazar does not have blood on his hands.”

“He's not dead!” snarled Armel, treading lightly across the floor to take a better look. “He's in hiding. If you value your life, you don't mess about with people like that and hang around.”

“He?” Now Salazar was confused.

“For God's sake, wake up, you silly little man!” Armel had lost her patience. “My husband and her father are the same man!” Salazar scratched his head. He suddenly looked tired. “That Hungarian bitch did their dirty work for them so no one would ever know ‘they' were ‘one.' He's brilliant. I half admire him now that I know he pulled off such a daring scam. He fooled me. He fooled all of us. And you, Salazar,” she laughed meanly. “In all your deals he took two cuts. How do you feel about that?”

Salazar scratched his head again. “I don't believe you.”

“Then you're a fool!” she exclaimed, her voice shrill. “But he has not got away with it yet.”

“Hell hath no fury…” said Hamish, catching Celestria's eye and pulling a sympathetic smile.

“We can assume he is alive, then. He is not running from us, but from the Egyptians,” said Celestria quietly. “That is at least something.”

“Oh, he had two wives! What is to stop him having more? He has started a new life somewhere with our money.”

“With the Egyptians' money,” said Salazar. “I hope, for his sake, that he is never found.”

“I hope, for your sake, that you don't become a scapegoat,” said Hamish to Salazar. “I'd hate to think what the Egyptians would do to you.”

For a moment Salazar looked suitably hunted. Then he shrugged, regaining his composure. “Life is all fog and smoke and mirrors. You win some, you lose some, but there is always business for a businessman like me. Now, if you don't mind, I have wasted the afternoon. I do not wish to waste the evening, too.”

Hamish drove back to Castellino and dropped Salazar off at his love nest.

“I still think he's as guilty as sin,” said Celestria, watching him walk back into the house and close the door behind him.

“He's guilty of stealing money, I'm sure. He's got
crook
written all over his face,” said Armel. “But he's not guilty of murder.”

“So where's Papa?”

“That, my friend, is the million-dollar question.”

 

That evening Hamish and Celestria sat beside the old fort, watching the pinky glow of sunset that reflected off the water. Hamish leaned against the gnarled evergreen tree, his arms around Celestria, who lay against him.

“He could be anywhere,” she said. “I've been gazing at the sea, imagining him drowning in it. He's put us all through hell, and he's probably living it up on a golden beach somewhere.”

“If he's running for his life, he'll have no life.” Hamish's voice had a bitter edge.

“He's not very clever, is he? I've sent a telegram to my grandfather. He'll be amazed.” She chuckled cynically. “He didn't cover his tracks very well.”

“He probably never expected you to doubt him.”

“I knew he couldn't have committed suicide. The rest of the family accepted it. But I knew in my gut. It just wasn't like him. Think what he's done to my poor mother and to Harry. They believe he's dead. He's ruined their lives. What would Mama think if I told her he had another wife? It would destroy her. I wish now that he
had
killed himself. Death is better than betrayal.” Hamish said nothing. But Celestria felt him stiffen. “I'm ashamed of him. I thought he'd be smarter than that!”

“Well, he underestimated you.”

“Now what? I can't scour the globe for him. Besides, he doesn't want to be found. He's probably as far away from here as a man can possibly get.”

“You have to let him go.” Hamish kissed her temple.

“You can bet your life that Armel won't.”

“She's got nothing else. You've got family and your life ahead of you.”

She looked at him steadily. “Do you love me?”

Hamish paused, then chose his words very carefully. “I know that I
could
love you.”

“I love you. I probably fell in love with you the first time I saw you.”

“Even though I shouted at you?”

“Maybe
because
you shouted at me. You were honest; I realize now that I haven't had much honesty in my life.”

He laughed. “You have a funny way of loving.”

“I saw your pain, and all I wanted to do was make it go away.” She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips. “You see, I've never considered anyone else but myself. That's how I know I love you. Because I care about you more than I care about me.”

“There are no fancy parties in Puglia.”

“I've had enough fancy parties to last me the rest of my life.”

“I have no money.”

“You're rich in talent.”

“That doesn't put food on the table.”

“It does if you sell it.”

“I carry a burden of grief.”

“It'll be lighter if I carry it with you.”

He paused, holding her with the intensity of his eyes. “Do you know what you're taking on?”

“Let's not speak anymore. Love me, Hamish. That's all I ask.”