“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 wh
ere 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.
With a sigh of desperation, she began to look through the drawers of the dressing table. Each drawer was filled to the brim with more beads and necklaces and rings and other knickknacks she had collected from her travels. Celestria’s heart sank.
She couldn’t confront Federica without the box because she had promised not to bring Daphne’s name into it. She searched the wardrobes and the cupboards in the bathroom adjoining. Then she sat on the bed, her shoulders hunched, certain that she was going to have to leave without it.
Suddenly, she heard Federica’s voice in the courtyard below, talking to Luigi. She peeped out of the window to see her laughing, bending down to pat the dogs, the basket she carried over her shoulder full of shopping. She must have changed her plans. Celestria felt her frustration mount. As she turned to leave, her eye caught a familiar red box partly hidden in one of the bowls full of crystals on the center table. She shoved her hand in and pulled it out victoriously, pressing it to her nose with delight. She was sure she could smell the scent of tuberose. There, glittering in the light, two diamond stars twinkled at her. Her mother’s missing stars. The stars her father had given her, then stolen so ruthlessly.
She closed the box and returned to the bed, where she sat down and waited for Federica to appear. Her heart was hopping about in her chest like a cricket, but Celestria had never shirked confrontation. Perhaps now she would learn the whole truth, and even discover where her father was. She watched the door without blinking until her eyes stung. Finally, the sound of footsteps and the rapid panting of dogs invaded the silence. Federica opened the door and stepped inside, giving a start when she saw Celestria sitting calmly on her bed, holding in her hands the little red box.
The dogs followed her inside, dispersing to different parts of the room. Federica closed the door, put down her bag, and turned to face Celestria. She didn’t seem angry at finding the girl in her room, nor was she defensive: she just looked sad.
“Papa gave this to my mother,” said Celestria angrily. “He said he had to find stars big enough to outshine the stars in her eyes. This is how I saw my parents, like two glittering stars. But to him, their marriage meant nothing.”
“I’m sorry,” Federica said, taking the place beside her on the bed. “I didn’t know.” As much as Celestria wanted to hate her, she couldn’t.
“So, tell me, how much did you know?”
“Almost as little as you. Only that he wasn’t dead. Forgive me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he told me not to tell anyone that I had seen him. My loyalty will always be to him, because I love him.” She took Celestria’s hand. Celestria let her take it, but it lay limply in the older woman’s palm. “When you arrived and told me he was dead, I was so torn. I didn’t know how to handle it, so I did the best I could. It was the hardest act I’ve ever put on. Then when you announced that you were here to discover the truth, I was given a window of opportunity. I took it. I encouraged you because I was unable to tell you myself. I thought perhaps the truth would bring him back.”
“Nothing can bring him back—least of all the truth.”
“I hoped,” she said hoarsely.
“Anyway, I don’t want him back.”
“Celestria. In spite of all that he has done, he is still your father. His life is in danger. He had to run away. He got himself into trouble.”
“Before or after he married Armel?” Federica flinched. He was indefensible. “So you told no one?” Celestria continued.
“No one.”
“Not even Gaitano?”
“Not even him.”
Celestria swallowed hard. “And Hamish. Did he know?”
“No.”
The knot in Celestria’s stomach released. “That is at least something. So where is he now?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him since, and I don’t expect to.”
“Was he your lover? Did he jilt you?”
Federica laughed at the absurdity of the question. “Of course not! I’m almost old enough to be his mother. No, I love him like a son, Celestria. I’m not saying that if I wasn’t younger I wouldn’t fall in love with him. But I’m old and married, and I know my limitations. We have an understanding that transcends words.”
“That’s what they all say. You know you’re only one of a large number of women who believe he loves them.”
“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. He brought happiness into the Convento. After our daughter died I was lost. With your father’s help I found myself again. I learned to love her memory and let her go.” Shame Hamish can’t do the same, Celestria thought, feeling miserable again.
“He’s like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Two people. One who spreads happiness wherever he goes, the other who lies and deceives and spreads pain.”
“Your father is a charming, charismatic man. But he is also deeply flawed. He cannot help but try to please everyone. He wants to be Mr. Wonderful to everyone he meets. Of course, it is impossible to be everything to everyone. Not even Monty can do that. In trying, he has created all these different worlds in which he is always at the center.” She looked at Celestria with tenderness. “For a while he was in the center of my world, too. I can only guess at the others. There may be many. Too many to control. Your father is not a good man, Celestria. But I love him in spite of all his faults.”
“Why is he so flawed? Uncle Archie and Aunt Penelope are normal! Where did their parents go wrong?”
“Sometimes people are born flawed. I don’t think your grandparents are to blame. However, from what he has told me, I know that his mother put a great deal of pressure on him to excel. He was her golden boy, but her love came at a price. It was conditional. He was the magnificent Monty, yet inside he felt inadequate and undeserving and guilty.”
“Guilty? What of?”
“Of resenting his family.”
“He resented us?”
“He resented the expectation everyone placed upon him. It was too much to bear.”
“So he started another family because he was sick of the old one?”
“I don’t know.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about him,” said Celestria grudgingly.
“I was like a mother to him. Someone he could talk to. Someone who thought the world of him, without strings.”
“I despise him,” she replied.
“Don’t hate him. Pity him.”
“I pity myself. The more I try to remember him as he was before he disappeared, the less I trust my memories. Everything I have learned about him undermines the father he was to me. He was my papa for twenty-one years, and yet who was he? He loved Mama, and yet he gave you the stars he bought for her, the gift from him that she cherished. His heart is empty.”
“Or perhaps it is too full. Take the stars back to your mother,” said Federica sadly, handing her the box. “Tell her you found them under the bed. Don’t tell her the truth. As you have realized yourself, the truth is far worse than the lie.”
Celestria closed the box and stood up. “We have all been betrayed,” she said.
“But we have found one another.”
“Yes, we have,” she replied, thinking of Hamish. “And I found Marelatte.”
Back in the solitude of her bedroom, she wrote to her grandfather, telling him everything she had discovered. He had trusted her instincts. He had supported her need to get away, to learn the truth. Now she needed his advice. Was she a fool to love Hamish?
31
That afternoon, Celestria found Mrs. Waynebridge in the garden. She was sitting in the sunshine, talking to Daphne. They wer
e both laughing beneath their sunhats. When they saw her, Mrs. Waynebridge waved and Daphne got up stiffly. “I’ll leave you two together,” she said, picking up her crocheted bag where she kept her book and reading glasses. “I must go and do some painting before the light goes.” Celestria sat down in Daphne’s chair.
“I’ve hardly seen you, Waynie,” she said, regretfully. She was on the point of telling her about the diamonds when she realized that Mrs. Waynebridge was no longer interested. The housekeeper had a faraway look in her eyes.
“Nuzzo has asked me to marry him,” she said finally.
“How did he do that? Playing charades?” Celestria hadn’t meant to sound unkind. “Or has he taught you some Italian?” she added more gently, hoping she hadn’t taken offense.
“We understand each other perfectly,” replied Mrs. Waynebridge, lifting her chin proudly.
“Did you say yes?”
“I did.”
“Waynie, I’m so thrilled for you!” She leaned across and hugged her.
“Are you really?” Mrs. Waynebridge had been worried about telling her. She didn’t like to think of Celestria traveling back to England on her own.
Celestria tried to look happy. “I really am,” she said, but then the tears spilled over and she could no longer hide her feelings. “I’m sorry. I’m so selfish. You’ve found happiness with Nuzzo in this beautiful place, and all I can think about is myself.”
“Don’t be sorry. I understand. Remember, I’ve known you since you were a baby.”
“It’s been an awful week. I came out to find Papa, but I found love instead.”
“You’ve found love?” Mrs. Waynebridge had been so distracted by her own inflating heart that she hadn’t noticed Celestria’s. “Who with?”
Celestria looked sheepish. “Hamish.”
“I thought you didn’t like him?”
“I changed my mind. I like him very much.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“I got to know him.” Her face flushed, setting her eyes alight. “It was all a misunderstanding, Waynie. But we’re past that now. Mrs. Halifax was right: he’s charming and intelligent and funny, too. When we finally talked, we clicked together like an engine and carriage that were made for each other. When I’m with him, it feels right. I feel safe with him.” She sighed. “I really love him, Waynie. I don’t yearn to return home to London. I want the simple life here with him. I want to walk up the beach holding hands, dance in the moonlight, watch him paint. I want to play the piano and sing, work my way through Gaitano’s library, and give Hamish children who’ll love the simple things, like we do. I want to make him happy.”
Sea of Lost Love Page 34