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.”
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.
30
Celestria 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, ‘That’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.”
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“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.”
Sea of Lost Love Page 33