Authors: Santa Montefiore
She pressed her lips to his again. Unable to resist her, he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her ardently, blotting out the tragedy that dwelt in the darkness of his own shadow. Hoping that by making love to her, he could fill his soul with all that was good and joyous.
The sun sank below the earth, turning the sea inky black. Hamish peeled off her dress, revealing the ripeness of her flesh, pale in the phosphorescent light of the moon. He traced his fingers over her skin, around her breasts that were heavy with youth and the promise of motherhood, and knew that in her lay a future that was fertile and full of light, if only he could allow himself to take it. Celestria sensed his disquiet, but this was the one thing Natalia could no longer give him. She unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it over his shoulders. He was hairy, muscular, and brown. The contrast with her own body gave her a frisson of excitement. Daphne was right: with the right man the earth shook. It trembled, and it shifted on its axis. In those tender moments Celestria believed that nothing could come between them. That Hamish would choose life over death, light over darkness, and a future instead of the past. But those candles continued to burn in the city of the dead, and only he could put them out.
C
elestria lay in bed, her eyes closed, her ears taking in the light twittering of birds and the sporadic barking of dogs. She smiled at the memory of the night before and stretched. They had made love. It had been wonderful. She was filled with uncontrollable joy. She wanted to shout out of the window, let everyone know how happy she was. For a moment she felt guilty. Her father had betrayed her and her whole family; it was indecent to be so happy while they were all at home suffering. And yet her love for Hamish overrode all other feelings.
She slipped into a pale blue polka-dot sundress. Her eye caught the photograph of her father that she had left on the table, among Federica's collection of hand-painted clay figures. There he was, smiling out at her, his panama hat sitting crooked on his head, his smile wide and raffish, with the arches of the cloister behind him. Her hand hesitated above it for a moment. She was flooded with sadness. The man grinning out at her might just as well have been a stranger, someone she had met a long time ago but knew little about. No, that wasn't her father. Not the man who had taken the boys off in his little boat to play pirates, drawn trails on the sand for them to follow to find treasure, and made her mother's migraines disappear. No, her father, the man she loved, had died that day in Cornwall. Of that she was now certain. It was right that they should mourn him, because he was never coming back. She placed the photograph in the pocket of her dress and left her room.
As she stepped into the corridor, Daphne Halifax was leaving her room. She wore a long purple and turquoise dress and the oddest-looking shoes, fashioned in violet with gold feathers on the toes.
“Good morning, my dear,” she said, smiling warmly. “You look lovely today. You're glowing.”
“Thank you! I'm happy.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Oh, Daphne, can I come into your room a moment?” she asked, longing to tell someone.
“Of course. Though I think I can guess.”
Celestria followed her inside and flopped onto the bed. “I'm in love!” she enthused. “The earth moved, it really did. As you said it would!”
Daphne sat on the end of the bed, clearly delighted. “I knew you and Hamish were made for each other. I can tell you in confidence that Freddie did, too. The moment you arrived she said, âThat's the girl for Hamish.'”
“She did?”
“Of course. Sometimes we old people see things that the young are unable to. Remember, I've lived a long time.”
“He's moody and unpredictable, but I care about him in a way that I've never cared about anyone. His pain hurts me; it's as if I feel it, too. But when he smiles, the whole world lights up. He has the most enchanting smile. And his charisma, it fills the room like a light. Oh, Daphne, I'm unable to think of anything else. My mother would have a heart seizure, if she knew. In fact, my whole family would disapprove.”
“Why on earth would they?”
“Because he's about fifteen years older than me. He's been married before. He's penniless. He doesn't brush his hair. Mama would most certainly tell him to cut it. Aunt Penelope would ask him where his estate was and be appalled to discover that he doesn't have one. Only Grandpa would approve, because he started out with nothing, too.”
“Hamish's family have a beautiful estate in Scotland.”
“They do?”
“He fell out with his family and left for good. I don't think he's been back in years. You see, he's a free spirit. He found convention there too stifling. He despises the British obsession with class and money. I don't blame him. It's terribly shallow.”
“I don't think he'd like my family very much.”
Daphne paused a moment, her expression suddenly concerned. “He'll never go back, Celestria. He was very unhappy in Scotland. You do know that, don't you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“If you take him on, you'll have to compromise in a very big way.”
“I'll do anything for him.”
Daphne touched her hand. “Loving isn't all about sacrifice. I hope he makes you happy, too.”
“Oh, he will. We're both moving on now.”
“Oh, yes, your poor father. What did you discover?”
“That he was an arms dealer. He was selling rotten American airplanes to some Egyptians he met at a casino in Monaco. He must have made a lot of money and run off with it.”
“Are you suggesting he isn't dead?”
“I'm not sure. But I'm convinced he fabricated his own death in order to disappear.”
“Good God! Freddie hasn't told me any of this.”
“Didn't she tell you that he was also married to Armel?”
Daphne looked horrified. “To Armel?”
“Yes, can you imagine how terrible? He was leading a double life.”
“But, my dear, how did you discover that?”
Celestria pulled out the photograph and handed it to her. “I showed her this. As well as being Robert Montague, he was also Benedict Devere.”
“What a ridiculous name!” Daphne scoffed. “Anyone would have known
that
was invented. Really, the man should have had more imagination! Let me put on my glasses. Ah, now I can see him clearly.” Suddenly her jaw dropped. “Well, I never!” she exclaimed, raising her eyes to Celestria. “Good gracious!”
“What is it? You weren't married to him, too, were you?” Celestria teased.
Daphne didn't laugh.
“What?”
“Well, I don't think I should say.”
“Say what?”
Daphne thought about it for a moment, pursing her lips tightly, working out where her loyalties lay. Finally, she handed the photograph back. “My dear child, this whole business is nothing to do with me. However, I believe in telling the truth no matter what. You have a right to know.”
Celestria felt her stomach plummet. “Go on.”
“I saw this man two days before you arrived.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. It's the way he wears the hat, you see. Slightly crooked. And the smile. One simply couldn't mistake that smile.”
“Did he stay here?”
“No. I don't think he meant me to see him.”
“What was he doing, then?”
Daphne sighed heavily. “He was with Freddie.”
“With Freddie?” Celestria repeated in astonishment. “Two days before I arrived?”
“That's right. I was painting near the old fort. He was here when I arrived. He seemed a little agitated, now I come to think about it. He couldn't stand still. He lit a cigar and toyed with it between his fingers like this.” She moved her fingers to demonstrate.
“That's definitely my father,” said Celestria, discovering that he was capable of snatching her joy after all.
“Then Freddie appeared, and he smiled. That's when I noticed the smile. Unforgettable.”
“Please don't tell me they're lovers!”
Daphne shook her head. “I don't know. They embraced and talked for about an hour. The more they talked, the more agitated he became, until he cried in her arms. I was terribly moved. A man like that reduced to tears. Freddie looked destroyed. Then he gave her a small package and left. I don't know if he had a car waiting somewhere, or whether he walked. He just disappeared, leaving Freddie sobbing on that grassy slope where you sat the other day with me.”
“What was in the package?”
“I don't know. She didn't open it there.”
Celestria folded her arms and clicked her tongue angrily. “So she has known all along that Papa didn't kill himself.”
“I suppose she has.”
“Do you think she knew that he was married to Armel as well?”
“I don't know.” Daphne shrugged. “I don't know how much she knew. Perhaps he kept her in the dark in the same way that he kept you and Armel in the dark. There does seem to be a pattern to this.”
“But she was the only one who knew he wasn't dead. He faked his death in France as well as England. Why was Freddie different?”
“Perhaps it wasn't an affair. She's much older than him, and she's married to Gaitano.”
“I'm going to find out.” She noticed the frightened look on Daphne's face. “Don't worry, Daphne, I will keep your name out of it.”
“Thank you,” she replied, relaxing her shoulders. “Dear me, this is a horrid mess, isn't it?”
Celestria left Daphne's room, her stomach knotted with anxiety. The one question she hadn't been able to ask now tormented her. Did Hamish know about this, too? Had he known all along and not told her? Is that why he held back? Not because of the woman buried in the city of the dead, but because of his own guilty secret?
She went downstairs to find Armel in the courtyard, her bag at her feet, surrounded by the dogs. She was talking to Federica. Celestria stiffened. She wanted to confront her now, but she knew that caution would serve her better. If Federica was capable of putting on such a brilliant act, then she would do better. Feigning a smile she didn't feel, she walked up to the two women.
“Are you leaving?” she asked Armel.
“I'm afraid I am. There is nothing left for me to do.” She sighed sadly. “I will return to Paris and endeavor to get on with the rest of my life.”
“I'll miss you,” said Celestria truthfully. “We are a good team.”
“And I'll miss you. Look me up if you come to Paris, won't you? Our meeting is one of the good things that have come out of the disaster.”
“I promise.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Mourn him, like everyone else. As far as I am concerned, he is dead.” Celestria glanced at Federica, but the older woman didn't flinch. “I prefer to remember him the way he was before he disappeared. I will not allow the things I have learned to tarnish my memory of him.”
“You are right,” said Federica. “One has to look forward.”
Armel left. The dogs followed the cart up the road for as long as they could. The cloud of dust grew smaller and smaller until it disappeared out of sight, the horse's harness catching the light and twinkling in one last good-bye.
“The place will be incomplete without Armel,” said Federica, running her hand down the string of shiny pink crystals that hung down to her waist. “I've grown fond of her.”
“Do you grow fond of all the people who stay here?” Celestria asked.
Federica didn't blink. “Yes, I think I do. You see, it's not a hotel. It's a home, and you are our guests.” She walked back inside. “I'm going into Castellino for the morning. Would you like to come?”
Celestria followed her into the courtyard. “Thanks, but I think I'll go find Waynie. You haven't seen her, have you?”
“She had breakfast with Armel, then went out.”
“I've lost her, haven't I?”
Federica laughed. “I'm afraid you have. Italy has a funny way of stealing people's hearts. I hope it has stolen yours as well.”
Celestria didn't reply. In spite of the woman's treachery, she couldn't help liking her.
She waited for Federica to leave, then went to search her room. Her father's little package had to be somewhere. She hesitated outside for a moment, looking about her and listening for the sound of footsteps. In the last couple of weeks she had turned into quite a detective. She felt very different from the frivolous girl she had been in Cornwall. Her father's “disappearance” had propelled her into adulthood, and it had brought her Hamish. The death of one relationship, the birth of another.
The walls of Federica's room were decorated with paintings that caught her attention. The brushstrokes were bold, the colors vibrant, the scenes evocative. She realized where she had seen that style before: in Hamish's studio. She stepped closer and ran her fingers over the paint. It was rough and lumpy. Below he had written his initials:
HMcC.
How different these scenes were from the dark and lonely canvases that lay against the wall in his studio.
At the end of the room was a large iron bed, draped in a multicolored quilt, covered in crimson and fuchsia cushions. The bedside tables were piled high with books. The windows were open, linen curtains blowing in the wind; a dressing table below, heavy with little bowls of rings and necklaces; a large mirror over which she had draped more beads. In the center of the room there was a table laden with large wooden bowls of crystals of every color and size, on strings and loose. It was like a magical shop. Against the walls were wooden wardrobes where her clothes hung in no apparent order, and on the floor there were rugs, placed one on top of another, almost covering the flagstones. If Federica had hidden the little package her father had given her, there was no way Celestria was going to find it among all this clutter. She didn't know where to begin. She didn't know what she was looking for, either. He could have given her anything.