Emily's Secret

by Jill Jones

  “Oh, no!” He reached for the tail of the ribbon, but it eluded him, and the balloon ascended happily into the misty skies above.

  They watched it in silence. Then Selena shrugged. “Never mind. Maybe that yellow balloon will bring a little sunshine into this cloudy old day.”

  Alex turned to face her and felt his heart swell in his chest. Her large dark eyes looked childlike as they followed the balloon until it disappeared into the clouds. The mist hung in tiny diamond drops in her hair. Her lips held a pout, but only for a moment, then she turned to him and smiled.

  “Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, I can—”

  “What? Call a cab? Do you know what the fare to Leeds would be? Come on. Get the cake. We don’t want to be late.”

  Alex was encouraged that Selena had seemed genuinely glad to see him, although he conceded that might be because he’d rescued her from a dilemma. He was determined to remain cool and let this unexpected turn of events unfold slowly. But as they turned out onto the main roadway, his long suppressed anxiety betrayed him. “Did you lose my phone number?”

  Selena glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, then turned to him, sitting sideways in her seat. His eyes took in soft curves outlined by a close-fitting white knit top beneath the bright fabric of the cape.

  “I…I’ve been busy,” she said. “I received orders for four paintings after that party at Harrington.”

  “Four? Really? That’s great.”

  “It is, and it isn’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They are commissions. I have to paint them before I can sell them.”

  “What are they going to be of?”

  Selena hesitated slightly before she answered. “The rest of the series.”

  “The rest? You mean you had planned to do more along the same theme?”

  “More? I’ve already done more than I ever wanted—” She broke off abruptly, leaving Alex perplexed.

  “I don’t understand. I thought artists painted whatever they wanted.”

  Selena didn’t answer. Instead she turned away, toward the windshield, and stared out.

  Alex sensed the deliberate distance she’d put between them, so he didn’t pursue the issue. It was none of his business anyway, except he would like to know if she was going to paint more of the scrap of the letter in these final pieces.

  “Tell me about your grandmother,” he said after several miles. “What’s her name?”

  “Matka.”

  “Spelled…?” he asked, not understanding such an unusual name.

  “M-A-T-K-A. It’s Romany.”

  “Romany? What language is that?”

  Selena twisted a strand of hair. “It’s not a language, really. It’s more of a tradition. Gypsy tradition.”

  “Is your grandmother from around here?”

  “She’s from Wales. She claims she’s a descendant of an ancient line of Welsh Gypsies that goes all the way back to the seventeenth century to a Gypsy king named Abram Wd.”

  Alex thought he heard a note of cynicism in her words and wondered why she seemed to be so sensitive about her background. Did Gypsies in England suffer from discrimination as minorities did in the U.S.? He personally knew nothing about Gypsies except that he somehow related them to circus people in the United States. They were the only folk he knew of in his own country who sometimes lived on the road. But as a people with a culture of their own, he was in the dark. To his American mind, Gypsies were not much more than mythical beings one read about in fairy tales or adventure stories.

  He decided not to pursue the issue, at least not at the moment, although he was curious. Instead he glanced at her with a smile. “I guess that means I’m in the company of royalty.”

  Selena did not smile in return. “I suppose. By the way,” she said, abruptly turning the conversation in another direction, “have you heard anything from your client, what’s his name, Bonnell? Is he feeling any better?”

  It took Alex a moment to grapple with her question. Do it! Explain it now and get it over with, he told himself.

  A balloon bounced against the back of his head. Not yet, he advised himself. Not this afternoon. He didn’t want anything to ruin the trip and the celebration she’d planned for her grandmother’s birthday.

  “I don’t know,” he replied noncommittally. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with him lately.” He felt rotten when he saw the disappointment mirrored on Selena’s face, but it was better than the anger he’d likely see when he told her the truth about Bonnell.

  “Did the photographs you took of my paintings come out okay?” she asked. “I’d like to see them.”

  Alex had completely forgotten about the pictures and the enlargements he’d ordered from the photo lab. How could he have let such a thing slip? “I’ll have a set made for you.” He was anxious to change the subject. “Actually, Bonnell is not the reason I showed up at your place today.” Selena didn’t respond, and a long silence ensued, making it even more difficult for Alex to proceed.

  “I came because…I wanted to see you again. And I was curious why you hadn’t called.”

  Selena’s cheeks grew red, and Alex braced himself for an answer he didn’t want to hear. Instead, her words surprised him.

  “I…I guess I was afraid to call,” she said.

  “Afraid? Of me?” he thought, deciding that kissing her had been a mistake.

  “No. Of me.”

  This came as an even bigger surprise. “Want to explain that?”

  She looked away from him. “No,” she said at last. “I can’t explain it. I don’t exactly understand it myself.” She turned back. “Look, can we not talk about this right now? I’m not very good at this kind of thing…”

  That makes two of us, Alex thought. He reached out and took her hand. It felt small and cool in his. Delicate. Fragile. He wanted only to hold it and warm it with his own body heat. Talk didn’t matter.

  “Sure.” He paused. “Tell me a little more about your work. When did you start painting?” Alex hoped he was on safe ground. It was hard to tell with Selena, whose feelings seemed to be so fragile they were almost brittle.

  “I’ve painted all my life. Ever since I was a little girl,” she said with a wistful smile. “When Matka came to live with us, she saw I needed to draw and paint. I used to steal my mother’s makeup pencils if I couldn’t find something to work with, which as you can imagine got me into all kinds of hot water. Well, one day Matka took me to the market and bought me a pad of paper, and some colored pencils, and watercolors and crayons.”

  Alex heard her voice crack, but he remained silent as she composed herself and went on.

  “I thought I was in heaven.” She smiled. “I used those supplies to take me anywhere I wanted to go. I drew carousels and fairies and beautiful flowers and clouds and mountains and—” She stopped with an uncertain laugh. “Why am I telling you all this?”

  “Because I asked,” Alex replied, squeezing her hand gently. “I want to know all about…you. Please, go on. How old were you when your grandmother came to live with you?”

  Selena thought for a moment. “Seven or eight, I guess.”

  “Where did she come from? Did she live near you before?” Alex heard a deep sigh from the woman sitting next to him and realized she might think he was giving her the third degree.

  “I told you Matka was a Gypsy,” she answered, resignation in her voice. “She was born in the early part of the twentieth century, and she lived most of her life in her family’s caravan. They traveled all over Wales and northern England, sometimes into Scotland. When my grandfather died, Matka came to live with my family. My father—”

  She broke off for a moment, and Alex sensed she was struggling with deep emotional pain. At last she cleared her throat and continued. “My father and mother, well, they had a lot of problems between them, and sometimes,” she paused, drawing in a deep breath, “they took it out on me.” Another long hesitation interrupted her story.
“When Matka came to live with us, she became my best friend.” She looked out at the passing scenery, then added pensively, “She still is, I guess.”

  Alex could only guess at what caused the anguish behind Selena’s words. He remembered the bleak statement she’d made on the terrace at Harrington House: “I have no friends.” He decided not to probe further, surmising Selena carried scars, deep, painful scars, from her childhood. Instead he squeezed her hand again.

  “Lucky Matka,” he said quietly.

  It wasn’t until they pulled into the parking lot at the nursing home that either of them broached a personal subject again. Then Selena said bluntly, “Matka may surprise you with some of her Gypsy mumbo-jumbo.”

  Alex laughed. “What’s that?”

  Selena twisted her hair, letting Alex know she was again entering painful territory. “She…she seems to believe that our family is under some kind of curse, and she doesn’t mind talking about it when it suits her fancy.”

  “Is she…in her right mind?”

  “Oh, yes. You’ll find she is very sharp-witted. She’s carried this delusion with her for her entire life.”

  “What kind of curse—?” Alex started to ask, intrigued.

  “It’s…it’s nothing. Just something she heard around a campfire long ago. Don’t put any credence to it whatsoever. Just play along, for her sake. She’s so old, I never try to argue with her about it anymore.”

  Selena’s words were detached, but she didn’t quite succeed in covering the emotions that lurked behind them. Alex had realized before that talk of her Gypsy heritage made Selena uncomfortable, but he perceived it was more than her Gypsy background that seemed to be gnawing at her.

  “I’ll try to stick to birthday party conversation,” he promised, taking the balloons out of the car.

  Selena balanced the cake tray in one hand and pulled her purse over the opposite shoulder, then picked up the brightly wrapped gift. “If Matka decides to talk about it, you won’t have much choice, I’m afraid.” She smiled ruefully. “Hurry now. We’re a little late.”

  Chapter 15

  A young woman greeted them at the door. She wore a volunteer badge with her name, Margaret, printed on it. “We’ve been expecting you,” she said with a smile, but Alex detected a note of relief in her voice. “We have the residents gathered in the Community Room, all except your grandmother, of course. She has no idea about the party.”

  Selena put the cake on the table, which was already laid with plates and napkins, forks and tea cups. Then she slipped out of the cape, revealing the slender yet curvaceous figure Alex had dreamed of for nights on end. He watched with growing desire as she moved gracefully about her party preparations. Careful, Hightower, he warned himself.

  She separated three balloons from the rest of the bunch. “Tie these on the back of this chair,” she directed Alex. “We’ll transfer them to Gran’s wheelchair when she gets here.” She took the rest and gave each party guest a balloon, tying the bright, bobbing objects to wrists, wheelchairs, and walkers. She chatted and laughed with each resident, and he could tell she was no stranger to this place. Despite his conscious effort to control his feelings, Alex felt himself being swept along in a torrent of unbridled emotion.

  “I think we’re ready, Margaret,” Selena said to the young woman.

  The volunteer laughed. “If this wasn’t a surprise, I’d send you in after her. She’s bound to be hopping mad by now that I haven’t brought her to sit by the fireplace to read her paper.”

  The others laughed knowingly. Even though it was the middle of summer, the nursing home kept a small fire going in the corner fireplace, and it was a favorite gathering place for residents, especially Selena’s grandmother. Matka was a favorite among those who lived in this restricted world, for often of a winter’s evening, she would sit by the fire and weave her storytelling magic as she once had beside the campfire when she was younger.

  Selena grinned at Alex. “My grandmother is a true creature of habit. She always comes here at exactly the same time to read her newspaper, and she has a fit if she’s late.”

  “You can blame it on me,” he answered.

  Selena came to his side. “She’s going to love you,” she whispered. “She’s an incorrigible matchmaker. Don’t take that seriously, either.”

  He placed his hand lightly in the small of her back. “Why not?”

  At that moment the door swung open and Margaret wheeled Matka into the room. The woman looked like a miniature human being, so bent and gnarled was her body in the large wheelchair. “Surprise!” Selena cried, and the greeting was echoed by a chorus of elderly voices. The old woman, who had obviously been grumbling all the way down the hall, looked up in consternation.

  “Now wha’s all this? Selena, is’t you?”

  Selena ran to her grandmother and kissed her forehead. “Happy birthday, Gran!”

  For a moment Matka said nothing. She looked around and saw the balloons and the cake and gifts on the table. Then she looked up at Selena.

  “I thought y’d forgot,” she said gruffly, but her eyes glistened.

  “Forgot? Never in a thousand years.”

  “Don’t want t’ live tha’ long,” Matka said, a grin creeping in to replace her earlier frown. Then her gaze lit on Alex. “Who’d tha’ be?”

  “He’s a new friend, Gran. His name is Alex.” She took the chair and wheeled the crone over to where Alex stood by the table. “Alex, meet my grandmother, Matka.”

  Alex looked into eyes that once must have been as black as Selena’s but were now faded and partially covered with cataracts. Still, they were mesmerizing eyes, and he felt almost as if he were in the presence of royalty. He took one of Matka’s contorted hands in both of his, bent toward her and kissed the back of it.

  “Happy birthday, Matka.”

  A rustle of approval went around the room, and Matka smiled a thousand wrinkles. “Y’ know y’ll be the topic o’t conversation here for days t’ come.” She laughed in a gravelly voice.

  “Let’s get on with it,” Selena said with an uneasy smile. “Alex, would you serve the cake?”

  “With pleasure.” He was actually relieved to be out from under the scrutiny of Matka’s eyes. He felt the old woman could see more than what met her eye.

  He cut generous slices of cake and handed them to the guests, asking each one their name and where they were from. He found to his delight these people were not senile or demented or even very infirm. They were just old. Which gave them a lot of stories to tell, which they did freely over the next two hours.

  At last the party ended, as one or two of the guests dozed off and Matka admitted that her arthritis was hurting. Margaret started to maneuver her wheelchair, but Alex interrupted. “May I?”

  Selena looked up at him in surprise. Matka nodded, and Margaret said, “Be my guest.”

  Matka motioned Selena to her side. “Thank y’, daughter, for my birthday party. I was much surprised.” She glanced up at Alex. “In many ways. I like your young man. And I have a favor t’ ask.”

  “Sure, Gran.”

  “Let him take me back t’ my room. Alone.” She winked. “Tis been many a year since I was tak’n t’ bed by such a handsome man.” This last she said loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, and there was a roar of laughter.

  Selena looked at Alex, her cheeks scarlet. She shrugged and grinned apologetically for the old woman’s ribald behavior, but Alex laughed, appreciating the witty old woman’s joke.

  “It’s not often I get such an invitation,” he replied, with a meaningful glance in Selena’s direction. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  He turned the wheelchair toward the door before Selena could change her mind or insist on going along. Alex guessed the old woman wanted him alone to interrogate him about his intentions toward her granddaughter.

  It didn’t take her long. They were barely out of the Community Room when she asked, “Wher’d y’ meet my granddaughter?”


  “Actually, I saw her artwork before I met her.”

  Matka snorted. “Her artwork, eh? What’s it like? She never brings any o’t for me t’see.”

  Alex was surprised. “She doesn’t? Why not?”

  “Ask her. Wher’d y’ see her work?”

  “In London, first. Then I came across another piece in Haworth.”

  “Haworth? What’re y’ doin’ in Haworth?”

  “I’m there…on business.”

  Matka considered that a moment, then nodded. “So how’d you come t’meetin’ Selena, then?”

  “I went to her studio. You see, something about her paintings intrigued me, and I wanted to find out more about them. As part of the business I’m in, you understand.”

  They reached Matka’s room, which Alex found surprisingly homelike. The bed was a regular hospital bed, but the rest of the room was furnished with personal items: an armchair, a bureau, pictures on the wall, an old-fashioned mirror.

  Matka pointed to the chair. “Sit. We must talk more.”

  It wouldn’t have occurred to Alex to argue. He sat down in the armchair as instructed.

  “Tell me more,” Matka insisted. “Wha’ ’tis ’t about Selena tha’ y’be int’rested in? Her work? Or herself?”

  “At first I was interested only in her work,” he began, hoping to avoid any mention of his nonexistent client. “It’s quite remarkable.”

  “How so?”

  Alex was sorry he had to describe her granddaughter’s paintings to Matka secondhand, and wondered why Selena, who seemed to care so deeply for this woman, hadn’t shared her work with her. “They’re a series,” he began. “Each one is different, but similar, too. They are surrealistic in style. Are you familiar with that?”

  Matka frowned. “No. But I c’n guess’t means they’re not realistic. Is she paintin’ those awful abstract things?”

  “No, they’re not exactly abstracts. The figures and images are definitely identifiable. There is a lot of imagery I think she got from you, actually.”

  The old woman raised her eyebrows. “From me?”

  “Selena has told me a little about you, about your days as a Gypsy…”