‘But why was he so private, Ma? I was thinking today on the plane that I don’t ever remember him bringing friends here to Atlantis. Occasionally, when we were on the yacht, a business associate would come aboard for a meeting and they’d disappear downstairs into his study, but he never actually socialised.’
‘He wanted to keep his family life separate from business, so that when he was at home his full attention could be on his daughters.’
‘The daughters he adopted and brought here from all over the world. Why, Ma, why?’
Marina looked back at me silently, her wise, calm eyes giving me no clues as to whether or not she knew the answer.
‘I mean, when you’re a child,’ I continued, ‘you grow up accepting your life. But we both know it’s terribly unusual – if not downright strange – for a single, middle-aged man to adopt six baby girls and bring them here to Switzerland to grow up under the same roof.’
‘Your father was an unusual man,’ Marina agreed. ‘But surely, giving needy orphans the chance of a better life under his protection couldn’t be seen as a bad thing?’ she equivocated. ‘Many wealthy people adopt children if they have none of their own.’
‘But usually, they’re married,’ I said bluntly. ‘Ma, do you know if Pa ever had a girlfriend? Someone he loved? I knew him for thirty-three years and never once did I see him with a woman.’
‘Chérie, I understand that your father has gone, and suddenly you realise that many questions you’ve wanted to ask him can now never be answered, but I really can’t help you. And besides, this isn’t the moment,’ Marina added gently. ‘For now, we must celebrate what he was to each and every one of us and remember him as the kind and loving human being we all knew within the walls of Atlantis. Try to remember that your father was well over eighty. He’d lived a long and fulfilling life.’
‘But he was out sailing the Laser on the lake only three weeks ago, scrambling around the boat like a man half his age,’ I said, remembering. ‘It’s hard to reconcile that image with someone who was dying.’
‘Yes, and thank God he didn’t follow many others of his age and suffer a slow and lingering death. It’s wonderful that you and the other girls will remember him as fit, happy and healthy,’ Marina encouraged. ‘It was certainly what he would have wanted.’
‘He didn’t suffer at the end, did he?’ I asked her tentatively, knowing in my heart that even if he had, Marina would never tell me.
‘No. He knew what was coming, Maia, and I believe that he’d made his peace with God. Really, I think he was happy to pass on.’
‘How on earth do I tell the others that their father has gone?’ I entreated her. ‘And that they don’t even have a body to bury? They’ll feel like I do, that he’s simply disappeared into thin air.’
‘Your father thought of that before he died, and Georg Hoffman, his lawyer, contacted me earlier today. I promise you that each and every one of you will get a chance to say goodbye to him.’
‘Even in death, Pa has everything under control,’ I said with a despairing sigh. ‘I’ve left messages for all my sisters, by the way, but as yet, no one has called me back.’
‘Well, Georg Hoffman is on standby to come here as soon as you’ve all arrived. And please, Maia, don’t ask me what he’ll have to say, for I haven’t a clue. Now, I had Claudia prepare some soup for you. I doubt you’ve eaten anything since this morning. Would you prefer to take it to the Pavilion, or do you want to stay here in the house tonight?’
‘I’ll have some soup here, and then I’ll go home if you don’t mind. I think I need to be alone.’
‘Of course.’ Marina reached towards me and gave me a hug. ‘I understand what a terrible shock this is for you. And I’m sorry that yet again you’re bearing the burden of responsibility for the rest of the girls, but it was you he asked me to tell first. I don’t know whether you find any comfort in that. Now, shall I go and ask Claudia to warm the soup? I think we could both do with a little comfort food.’
After we’d eaten, I told Marina to go to bed and kissed her goodnight, for I could see that she too was exhausted. Before I left the house, I climbed the many stairs to the top floor and peered into each of my sisters’ rooms. All remained as they had been when their occupants left home to take flight on their chosen paths, and each room still displayed their very different personalities. Whenever they returned, like doves to their waterside nest, none of them seemed to have the vaguest interest in changing them. Including me.
Opening the door to my old room, I went to the shelf where I still kept my most treasured childhood possessions. I took down an old china doll which Pa had given to me when I was very young. As always, he’d woven a magical story of how the doll had once belonged to a young Russian countess, but she had been lonely in her snowy palace in Moscow when her mistress had grown up and forgotten her. He told me her name was Leonora and that she needed a new pair of arms to love her.
Putting the doll back on the shelf, I reached for the box that contained a gift Pa had given me on my sixteenth birthday; I opened it and drew out the necklace inside.
‘It’s a moonstone, Maia,’ he’d told me as I’d stared at the unusual opalescent stone, which shone with a blueish hue and was encircled with tiny diamonds. ‘It’s older than I am, and comes with a very interesting story.’ I remembered he’d hesitated then, as if he was weighing something up in his mind. ‘Maybe one day I’ll tell you what it is,’ he’d continued. ‘The necklace is probably a little grown up for you now. But one day, I think it will suit you very well.’
Pa had been right in his assessment. At the time, my body was festooned – like all my schoolfriends’ – with cheap silver bangles and large crosses hanging from leather strings around my neck. I’d never worn the moonstone and it had sat here, forgotten on the shelf, ever since.
But I would wear it now.
Going to the mirror, I fastened the tiny clasp of the delicate gold chain around my neck and studied it. Perhaps it was my imagination, but the stone seemed to glow luminously against my skin. My fingers went instinctively to touch it as I walked to the window and looked out over the twinkling lights of Lake Geneva.
‘Rest in peace, darling Pa Salt,’ I whispered.
And before further memories began to engulf me, I walked swiftly away from my childhood room, out of the house and along the narrow path that took me to my current adult home, some two hundred metres away.
The front door to the Pavilion was left permanently unlocked; given the high-tech security which operated on the perimeter of our land, there was little chance of someone stealing away with my few possessions.
Walking inside, I saw that Claudia had already been in to switch on the lamps in my sitting room. I sat down heavily on the sofa, despair engulfing me.
I was the sister who had never left.
LUCINDA RILEY was born in Ireland, and after an early career as an actress in film, theatre and television wrote her first book aged twenty-four. Her books have been translated into over thirty languages and sold over thirteen million copies worldwide. She is a Sunday Times and New York Times bestselling author.
Lucinda is currently writing The Seven Sisters series, which tells the story of adopted sisters and is based allegorically on the mythology of the famous star constellation. The first four books, The Seven Sisters, The Storm Sister, The Shadow Sister and The Pearl Sister have all been No. 1 bestsellers across Europe, and the rights to a multi-season TV series have already been optioned by a Hollywood production company.
Also by Lucinda Riley
Hothouse Flower
The Girl on the Cliff
The Light Behind the Window
The Midnight Rose
The Italian Girl
The Angel Tree
The Olive Tree
The Seven Sisters Series
The Seven Sisters
The Storm Sister
The Shadow Sister
The Pearl Sister
First published as See
ing Double 2000 by Pan Books
This electronic edition published 2018 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-5098-2503-5
Copyright © Lucinda Riley 2018
Cover image © RayArt Graphics/Alamy & Shutterstock
The right of Lucinda Riley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Pan Macmillan does not have any control over, or any responsibility for, any author or third-party websites referred to in or on this book.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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The Love Letter Page 48