Griffon reaches over and pulls the cello out of my hand, leaning over to kiss me gently. “I shouldn’t have pushed you so quickly,” he says. “It’s not going anywhere. It’ll be here when you’re ready.”
One lone tear courses down my cheek, and I angrily brush it away.
As he sets the cello back down in its case, Griffon’s eyes flick to the doorway. I turn to see Mom pretending to walk into the room for the first time, although the shine in her eyes tells me that she’s probably been standing there long enough. “I, um, was just coming in to tell you that the oven timer is going off.” She hesitates, keeping her eyes deliberately off the big black case. She straightens her shoulders and regains her composure as she turns to walk back down the hallway. “I’ll take care of it, though. You just keep studying.”
As the knives and forks clatter on the plates, I can’t help but track Griffon with my eyes and try to keep the smile off my lips as he focuses his attention on Veronique. It only took a little begging to get Mom to invite him to stay too, and I’ve had her put them next to each other at the table. I watch as he sets his hand close to hers,
and brushes her arm as he reaches for the butter on the table. If he’s getting anything from her, it doesn’t show on either of their faces.
The front door slams as Kat comes rushing in, her apologies reaching the table before she does. “I know, I know,” she says, as she pulls back her chair. “I got hung up at work again. I’m sorry I’m late.”
Mom forces a smile, while Dad has on one of his what-are-you-going-to-do looks. If you didn’t know better, you could easily be fooled into thinking that they’re still together instead of Dad only making appearances downstairs on special occasions. I wonder if they’ve ever been connected in a past life, and if there was something there that made things go so wrong in this one. Are they destined to keep coming together over and over until they either get it right or give up on the whole thing for good?
“Good thing we didn’t wait for you,” Mom says to Kat, her mouth set in a hard line. “Veronique, Giacomo—you know my oldest daughter, Katherine?”
“I don’t think we’ve met,” Veronique says, giving her a smile from across the table.
“I’m the one with no talent,” Kat says, making Mom cringe in her seat. I can see her hands gripping the cushion of her chair as she tries to let Kat’s words slide off of her.
“Kat,” Dad warns from his place at the other end. Except he knows that none of us are buying his disciplinarian act, so he doesn’t push it. Dad is always best in the role of Good Cop. Mom plays the Bad Cop without even breaking a sweat.
“Oh, come on,” Kat says. “I’m only kidding.” She points her
fork at Griffon. “Well hey, look at you there.” Kat nudges me with her elbow. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing him again.” As she turns to me I catch a whiff of alcohol on her breath and wonder if Mom and Dad can tell that she’s been drinking. “Owen’s thinking about coming out here this summer. Do you talk to him much?”
Dad looks confused. “Do you and Griffon know each other?”
“Didn’t Cole tell you? Griffon is the guy who helped her out when she fainted at the Tower of London that day.”
Great
. Now I’m not only going to have to explain how we met, but also why I never mentioned it before now.
“Fainted?” Mom sits up straight. “You didn’t say anything about fainting. Sam, did you know about this?”
Dad shrugs. “She said it was nothing. Jet lag. She’s been fine ever since, haven’t you, Cole?”
“Mom, please,” I say, looking pointedly at Veronique and Giacomo. We’re quickly becoming the world’s best argument for not starting a family. Single and childless is probably starting to look pretty good about now. “It’s nothing.”
Veronique turns to Griffon. “So, let me get this straight. You were visiting London with Cole?” Dad glances at her and then over to Mom, and I know they’re all waiting for an explanation.
“I live there part-time,” he says. “That’s where we met.” He looks at me and I can tell he doesn’t know how much to say.
“That’s a funny story, actually,” I say with a little laugh for emphasis. “Turns out that Griffon’s dad is a Yeoman Warder at the Tower. I felt a little sick, and Griffon happened to be there, that’s all. Kat found out through his friend that he lived around here and we got back in touch.”
Kat spears a large forkful of salad. “Isn’t that the cutest coincidence?” she says, jamming the salad into her mouth.
Veronique tilts her head toward me, her eyes locked on mine. “Totally,” she agrees. “That’s an amazing coincidence.” Something about the way she says that word makes me uneasy, and out of the corner of my eye I can see Griffon sitting motionless next to her.
“A Warder?” Dad says. “That must be fascinating.”
Griffon’s focus shifts visibly as Dad speaks to him, and I wonder if anybody but me notices the effort. “It is,” he agrees. “When I’m there I stay with him at the apartments inside the Tower.”
Kat busies herself with the lasagna, and I can see Mom relax now that we’re on to other, less volatile subjects. “I visited there years ago before the girls were born,” she says. “What’s it like after dark?”
“Haunted,” Kat says, apparently listening to the conversation despite appearances. “Headless ghosts and chained prisoners roaming the grounds all night long.”
Images from the vision at the Tower give me a sinking feeling in my stomach, but I press them down, determined not to let detached, fleeting memories overwhelm my evening. “Knock it off, Kat,” I say. “There are no ghosts.”
Giacomo smiles at me. “Ah, a skeptic,” he says. “You do not believe in the supernatural?”
I can feel the smile on my face shift, and I will it back into place. “No. Not really.” After all, people who can remember hundreds of years’ worth of past lives, put overturned chess sets back together, and memorize a page of writing in ten seconds aren’t exactly supernatural. Are they?
Mom jumps in. “Nicole has always been the practical one,” she says. “She didn’t even like fairy tales when she was little.”
I can feel my face getting hot, and am grateful when Griffon takes over, steering the conversation in another direction. “There may not be ghosts at the Tower, but there have been a lot of famous people who came through over the years.”
“Yeah,” Kat says, “like who?”
Griffon starts naming all of the celebrities that he’s seen at the Tower, starting off with a funny story about a famous heiress who insisted on trying to buy one of the pieces in the Crown Jewels collection and almost causing an international incident. Giacomo participates in the lively conversation in his halting English, but through it all Veronique remains unusually quiet, sitting across from me with her hands in her lap. Her eyes seem to focus on the conversation, but I can tell that her thoughts are elsewhere.
After dinner, Mom shoos us all into the living room for dessert. I sit next to Veronique on the wide couch, while Griffon takes his place in the chair by the fireplace. Although he looks relaxed, I can tell that he’s watching us carefully. It’s impossible to know if he’s gotten any information from her, but he looks determined not to leave the two of us on our own.
“Has Veronique played the piano for you?” Giacomo leans over to ask me.
I look at Veronique, surprised. “No. I didn’t know you played.”
She shrugs. “I play a bit,” she says. She looks over at Giacomo like she’s going to kill him for bringing it up.
Giacomo snorts, either ignoring her or not seeing it at all. “More than, how do you say, ‘a bit.’ Go on,” he encourages her.
“Oh, you must,” Mom says, sticking her head in the room to get a coffee count. “Our piano is pretty lonely these days.”
“If you insist,” Veronique says, uncharacteristically shy. She perches on the piano bench and rubs her hands on her pants. As she exhales, she brings her hands down, and I recognize the opening bars of
Meditation
. My glance darts from her closed eyes to her hands as they flex and bend in a way that’s natural and at the same time otherworldly. She plays the whole piece flawlessly, with more passion and emotion than even Julie did, her adagio section barely more than a fluttering whisper of the keys. As she finishes, she puts her hands back on her knees and looks embarrassed at our applause.
“You play a little,” I repeat, amazed and a little irritated that she hasn’t told me that she’s some sort of piano genius before now. “And I play a little cello.” Here I’ve been teaching her the basics like she didn’t have a clue about music, and all along she could have been the one up on stage at the conservatory. “That’s embarrassing.”
“Oh, come on, it’s not embarrassing,” Veronique insists, coming back to sit next to me. “Okay, so I know how to play piano. I can’t play the cello at all. At least I couldn’t until I started taking lessons with you.” She looks down at the black splint. “How’s the arm? Did they say you can play again soon?”
“It’s getting there,” I say. Without thinking I rub my thumb against my tingling fingers, my mind flashing back to holding the cello earlier. “But they say that it might take a long time to get the feeling back in my fingers.”
If it ever comes back,
I think, not able to say the words out loud. The black splint hides all but a few
inches of the scar, and I see her eyes dart involuntarily to it as I speak. Is there a little bit of guilt in that glance?
“The important thing is that Cole came out of it in one piece,” Dad says, standing behind me with his hand on my shoulder. “Thanks to you.” He nods at Veronique. “If you hadn’t been there to help, it could have ended very differently.”
I can see a slight scowl on Griffon’s face as Dad speaks, but I turn my full attention on Veronique. “He’s right,” I say.
“Well, it’s not like I was going to let you bleed to death,” Veronique says with a small smile. “I prepaid for this month’s lessons, and I need to get my money’s worth.” She puts her arm around me and gives my shoulders a quick squeeze. I focus on where she’s touching me and feel faint Akhet vibrations. As casually as I can, I look up at her face, scanning her eyes to try to see Alessandra in them, trying to see the essence of the girl I knew back then, but I get nothing. I suddenly want to tell her everything I know about Alessandra and what happened on the roof that night. That it wasn’t me who pushed her off, that I would never do something like that. That I know we were friends and that I’d never try to take Paolo away from her. I want that connection again, to pick up the pieces of our old friendship that was cut short the last time. I feel like I’m surrounded by memories of Alessandra as the rest of the room grows distant.
The police wagon is waiting at the foot of the grand stone staircase as I’m pulled quickly through the front doors, the elegant guests quiet as they watch me struggle against the policemen’s strong arms. The horses whinny and stamp at the ground, eager to be on their way
.
“Wait! Please!” I cry. “This isn’t right!” I feel like I’m in a nightmare and can’t wake up
.
There is a shout in Italian as I’m led down the stairs. “Stop!”
I turn, almost collapsing with relief. Someone heard me. Someone will understand. Paolo is rushing down the stairs after us, his gleaming dress shoes barely touching each step
.
His eyes are wet with tears as he stops in front of me. “What happened?” he shouts, just inches from my face. “Were you so jealous of her perfection?”
My heart skips a beat. He doesn’t believe me. I’m completely and totally alone. “I didn’t do anything! I’d never hurt Alessandra.”
Tears spill down his cheeks as he shakes his head in disbelief. “She loved you like a sister. Alessandra was the most perfect creature. And you destroyed her.”
The policemen say something I don’t understand and pull me toward the open back doors of the wagon. My legs refuse to carry me another step, so they lift me roughly and deposit me on one of the wooden benches lining the sides
.
Paolo grips the edge of the open window and looks up at me with hatred in his eyes. “All I want to know is, why? Why would you do such a thing?”
I turn toward him, desperate for the words that will make him believe me. “I didn’t. You have to believe me.”
The wagon rocks as the policemen mount the front bench and the wheels jerk to life as the horses surge forward. Paolo stands at the bottom of the steps, hands at his sides, staring at me as the wagon races to our unknown destination, his figure getting smaller and smaller until we turn the corner and he’s finally out of sight
.
Giacomo leans over toward Veronique. “You should tell them that you trained to be a doctor before you went into research.”
His words bring me back to the present, to the Veronique and Cole of the now instead of the Alessandra and Clarissa from before. I realize I have no idea what we’re talking about. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
Giacomo looks shocked as I speak, but a small smile appears on Veronique’s lips.
“I was just saying that Veronique studied to be a doctor. That’s how she knew what to do with all of that blood,” Giacomo repeats.
“I didn’t know you were a doctor,” I say, making a small attempt to pick up the conversation. I can still picture the hurt in Paolo’s eyes.
“I didn’t finish,” she says slowly. “Not the medical part, anyway. I’m in research now.”
“Still,” I say, trying to shake off the memory. “The sight of blood would make most people run screaming out of the room instead of jumping in and doing what you did.” I hesitate but lean toward her. “Listen, there are some things I want to talk to you about. Can you meet me tomorrow?”
“Nicole?” Dad is looking at me in alarm. “When did you learn Italian?”
I stare at him. What a random thing to say. “What are you talking about?”
“Italian,” he says, his eyes concerned. “You’re sitting there speaking flawless Italian with Veronique and Giacomo.”
The room gets quiet as everyone seems to lean toward me. I search my brain for a rational-sounding answer, still not at all sure
what happened. “We’re learning it in school,” I say quickly. “Enrichment classes.”