“And Grandma?” added Celestria, a little mischievously.
“Grandma playth with me, and Daddy throwth me in the air.”
“I bet Grandma doesn’t play football.”
“Grandma is very old,” he said innocently. “Wilfrid and Sam play with me, and Purdy,” he added, springing up to run to the ball. He gave it a good kick. It flew over the grass. Purdy ran after it, and Bouncy ran after Purdy.
Celestria raised her eyes to one of the drawing room windows, where Julia stood watching them. For her, Celestria’s gift was even more precious. Pendrift wasn’t just her home; it was her children’s home.
Down on the beach Celestria sat on the sand, enjoying the solitude and the gentle rhythm of the waves. She allowed her memories to take her back to the summers of her childhood, knowing that she would never spend another summer here again. One chapter had closed; another was about to begin. She didn’t know where it would take her, but she was confident that, with courage and patience, she would find happiness with Hamish.
Suddenly she heard a familiar voice behind her. She swiveled around to see Father Dalgliesh striding across the sand. “I was told I could find you here,” he called out above the sound of the sea. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“Please do,” she replied, watching him sit down.
“This is a surprise,” he said, catching his breath. “Julia tells me you’ve saved Pendrift. Your gift is generous.”
“Not really,” she replied. “My grandfather has made me very rich. I’m just pleased I’m in a position to do it. It’s what Papa would have wanted.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’m sure he’d be very proud.” There was a long silence. He took off his glasses and pulled out a handkerchief with which to clean them. “How was Italy?”
“It was beautiful,” she replied.
“I don’t know Puglia. What’s it like?”
“Dry, stony, flat, cliffy. There are parts that remind one of Cornwall, except the sun shines, and the sky is that incredible blue.” While she told him about the cemetery, the little church attached to the Convento, and the old fortress, she grew more certain than ever that Puglia was where she belonged, in spite of all the unhappiness Hamish had suffered there. If it hadn’t been for Natalia, he wouldn’t be the man he was today. Because of Natalia, she loved him. If it hadn’t been for Freddie, Gaitano, and Daphne, she might never have changed. What was the point in running away from all that?
“You look very refreshed,” he said, putting his glasses back on. It was true. She was more beautiful than he remembered her. She was no longer troubled, as if in Italy her spirit had at last found peace. “I’ve wanted to talk to you ever since you ran off,” he began, but Celestria stopped him by touching his hand.
“Father, please. I’m so ashamed. I was misguided, not to mention foolish.”
“You were confused; it was understandable. I wanted to tell you because I didn’t want you to feel embarrassed. But you were gone—”
“I remembered your eyes for days afterwards.”
“My eyes?”
“Yes, you looked at me with such compassion, and yet in your eyes I saw a reflection of my own ugliness.”
He shook his head. “You’re beautiful.”
“Perhaps on the outside, but I was ugly on the inside. Even my own father thought me spoiled and demanding. Mama thinks she’s changed because she saw a vision of my grandfather the night he died.”
“She did?”
“She might have found God, but she’s still the same person. Some people are too old to change, or perhaps too set in their ways. I’m not, and Italy has changed me. As much as I love Pendrift, I feel disconnected here, as if I no longer belong.”
“That’s because so much that was familiar to you has changed.”
“I know. My father was such a big presence; without him it just feels empty.”
“Give it time.”
She shook her head and her hair fell over her shoulders in yellow curls. “No. I’m going back to Puglia.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re going back?”
“Yes. I met a man, Father.”
“Ah.” He fought his disappointment.
“He needs me.”
“And you? Do you need him?”
“More than I realized.”
“Then you must go. But you’ll be missed.”
She smiled at him knowingly. “You’ll miss me, won’t you?”
He smiled bashfully. “Yes. But I’ll be happy to know that you are happy. Perhaps it’s too much to expect you to remain in a place that has brought you so much unhappiness.”
“No, that’s not true. This place has made me grow up. I love it more now than I ever did. But I love Puglia, too. I thought I’d want to leave it and start afresh somewhere new, but I don’t want to run away from the place that has offered me another chance.” She chuckled, knowing that Father Dalgliesh couldn’t possibly understand. “If it hadn’t been for Puglia, I would have turned out just like Mama, and imagine what a fright I would have been! Mama was bad before, but now she’s found God, she’s even worse. You wait, she’ll be down here soon enough arranging the church flowers and collection bags.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Then we have time for a walk?” he suggested.
“I’d like that,” she replied, standing up.
“So would I. At least this time it’s not raining,” he said, setting off along the beach towards the path that led up to the cliff top.
“I see you’re wearing a matching pair of socks.” She laughed, slipping her hand through his arm.
“You noticed?”
“I always noticed, Father.”
Hamish sat in Saverio’s bar playing Scopa with Leopoldo, Manfredo, and Vitalino. It was raining. The air in the bar was thick with smoke and condensation. The men of Marelatte gathered around the small tables to drink coffee and complain about their women. Hamish remembered the time he had suddenly seen Celestria talking to Salazar. He recalled the sense of outrage that Robert Montague’s daughter had invaded his inner sanctum that had combined with the overwhelming urge to protect her from the situation in which she was so clearly out of her depth. He stared blankly at his hand of cards and recalled how deftly Celestria had crept under his skin from the first moment he saw her running her fingers over the vines on Natalia’s tomb. Her allure had shone out as brightly as those two candles. It had disarmed him. He had been ashamed of his outburst and, for the first time in three years, painfully aware of what he had become. When he had discovered she was the daughter of the man who had seduced his wife, there was no other option but to avoid her. He knew himself well enough to know that she would be hard to resist. He wanted to hate her, but he couldn’t help falling in love with her. She had opened his heart and poured honey on the wounds with her humor and compassion, and suddenly he had felt hopeful again. He had rediscovered a sense of romance. Beauty had sprung out of tragedy like a flower sprouting from a rock. He had believed her carefree smile and clear gray eyes incapable of such selflessness. He had misjudged her, and he had misjudged himself. He now felt a different man; but would she come back to him?
“What’s on your mind, Hamish?” Leopoldo asked gruffly, rubbing his bristly chin. “Your eye hasn’t been on the game tonight.”
“It’s love,” said Vitalino with a smirk. “Another drink to drown your sorrow, friend?”
“I have no sorrow,” Hamish replied, smiling devilishly. “I’ll outwit you all, you’ll see!”
“You think your luck’s in?” Manfredo teased. “You’ve lost every game so far!” He caught his father’s eye and shrugged.
“Can’t you see he’s shaved his face? Only a woman could do that to a man. It’s a tragedy, it really is.” Vitalino laughed, shaking his head. “His eye’s not on the game because his mind is on a beautiful angel of a woman.”
“If she can make you shave, how much lower can she
drag you?” Leopoldo growled.
Hamish laughed, throwing his head back like a shaggy lion, but inside he was riddled with doubt. “She has the power to do anything she chooses,” he said, giving in.
“Even take you away from us?” Vitalino ventured. His smile sat uneasily on his face. “She wouldn’t do that, surely?”
“Would you miss me?” Hamish joked, slapping him on the back.
They all laughed, but Hamish remembered his promise to Celestria with foreboding. He belonged in Marelatte.
He left the bar with Vitalino. The rain had stopped, leaving the wet earth sugar-scented and glittering. The clouds had drifted out to sea, exposing a great black hole in the sky studded with stars, and there, shining in the midst of such splendor, was the moon. Hamish knew that that moon would always make him think of Celestria.
“I’m going crazy,” he confided to his friend. “Marelatte seems incomplete without her.”
Vitalino chuckled. “You seem incomplete without her.”
“I’m afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“That I didn’t give her a good enough reason to come back.”
“Aren’t you a good enough reason?”
“I should have told her how I feel.”
“Didn’t you? Women need to know.” Vitalino considered himself an expert.
“Not enough.”
“Women need a bit of poetry. You’ve lived here…how long? And you still haven’t picked up the Italian way of wooing women? It’s all in the words and the way they’re spoken. That’s why the Italians are the best lovers in the world. We’re famous for it. You’re too economical with your words, that’s the problem. Perhaps it’s because you are Scottish. But trust me, women like it laid on with a trowel.”
“You talk a lot of shit, Vitalino.”
“It’s shit that works.” He puffed out his chest, but Hamish still dwarfed him. “So you think she’ll return to her world and forget about you?”
“Yes.” Hamish’s voice cracked. “It’s only when they leave you that you realize how much they mean to you.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. If she loves you, she’ll come back.”
“She’s very young. The young are fickle.”
“They also love with passion.”
Hamish smiled, recalling the times they had made love on the slope above the old fortress. “That is true.” He turned to his friend and shook his head apologetically. “I’m doubting myself. I’ve found someone special. I’m terrified of losing her.”
“I understand. I envy you. No sooner have I settled my heart on one woman than another steals it away. I spend my life chasing it around town!” They both laughed. Vitalino noticed that Hamish walked without his stick. “Where’s the old man’s wand?” he asked.
“Don’t need it,” Hamish replied.
“I’d get it back if I were you. Women are suckers for a vulnerable man.”
“I can’t. Saverio’s wife has flown off on it!”
Vitalino chuckled affectionately. “You might have lost your heart, but at least you haven’t lost your sense of humor!”
34
The day of Richard W. Bancroft II’s funeral it rained. The sky was heavy with thick gray clouds and drizzle that fell without pause. The countryside looked bleak. The trees were shedding their leaves, and the sodden ground was covered with rotting foliage. But on her lapel, Pamela’s diamond stars shone as if they contained rainbows.
The funeral took place in a cold stone church in the nearby village. Pamela had organized flowers, but still the church looked austere. Everyone from the estate attended, and many people from the town, even though they had never met the eccentric American who owned the big castle but rarely visited. Neighboring gentry, with whom he had shot grouse and stalked deer over the years, stepped out of shiny cars in black hats and suits to say farewell to a man whose large but rare presence had nonetheless left a big indentation in their world. Harry comforted his grandmother, who had flown over from America. Pamela assured her father in her prayers that she would give him a big memorial service in New York, where he would be remembered in a way that was more fitting than this miserable place. But her father was now in spirit and no longer cared about such earthly trifles.
To Celestria’s delight and surprise, Lotty and Francis attended. Pamela greeted them warmly, determined to be a good person, especially in God’s own house. The cousins embraced, realizing that they now had more in common than they ever had. Lotty showed off the small engagement ring she wore alongside her gold wedding ring.
“We married two days ago in Kent,” she said. “It was small but utterly beautiful. Mummy and Daddy didn’t come, which was their choice, but David and Melissa did. Oh, Celestria, I’m so happy!”
“How is Melissa?”
“If you’re wondering whether she and Rafferty are going to follow in my footsteps, I’m afraid Melissa has backed out.”
“The romance is over?”
“She’s buckled under the pressure.”
“Aunt Penelope?”
Lotty nodded. “She was always going to do the right thing.”
“Not necessarily,” Celestria said with a smirk. “There’s still plenty of time for her to do the wrong thing.”
“I’ve missed your barbed sense of humor, Celestria. I feel we’ve been apart for a very long time,” said Lotty. They sat together in the pew, and Lotty held her hand.
Back at the castle they drank cups of tea and shared stories. Lotty was delighted that Celestria had also broken away from convention. “It makes me feel better that I’m not the only rebel in the family,” she said.
“They didn’t expect it of you,” said Celestria. “You were Miss Goody Two-shoes. I was always going to do something rash.”
“Like marrying a prince or a duke. No one expected you to fall in love with a penniless artist, like I did.”
“Mama still hasn’t got over it. She’s appalled. What is it about our family?”
“It’s not our family; it’s your father. If he hadn’t died, I would never have been bold enough to run off with Francis. Uncle Monty’s death taught me that life is short and precious and that one should seize the day. I’m so happy that I followed my heart and not your advice. Eddie Richmond could never have made me happy.”
“Aidan Cooney could never have made me happy, either,” Celestria agreed. “I created a few ripples there, I can tell you. I hope he forgives me one day.”
Lotty leaned forward. “Tell me, Celestria. What is Hamish like?”
“He’s like no one else,” she replied. “Grandpa would have approved!”
Pamela sat in her father’s library, in the worn leather chair he must have sat in after dinner to smoke a cigar beside the fire, and contemplated her life. Celestria’s decision to return to Italy to marry a man who had been married before had come as a great disappointment. She should have followed her mother’s advice and married Aidan, but she’d find that out later. Pamela always knew best. At least Harry hadn’t flown the nest. He was a sensible boy, right at the very top of the food chain, like his father.
While she was ruminating, she noticed a small pile of letters on the desk. She stood up and walked over with the intention of throwing it all into the fire. However, an envelope, addressed to her father in Celestria’s handwriting, caught her attention. She picked it up and looked at it for a long moment. Her daughter hadn’t bothered to write to her from Italy. She felt mildly offended and turned it over, sticking her nail into the fold to open it. As she did so, she was suddenly aware of her error. She was, after all, trying to be a good person. The letter was not addressed to her; it was none of her business. She heaved a sigh, her curiosity mounting with her frustration. I bet she told him all about this Harry McCloud character, she thought crossly. She tapped the letter on the palm of hand, deliberating what to do, struggling between the bad person she was and the good person she longed to be.
She raised her eyes to the fire that flickered in t
he grate. “God,” she said in frustration. “It’s so bloody difficult being good.” She strode over to the fireplace, longing just to take a peek at the first few lines. Celestria would never know, and she was her mother, after all. But God would know. She sighed again and shook her head. “This better get me to heaven,” she said, looking up to the ceiling. Closing her eyes, she threw the letter into the fire and watched the flames consume it. Feeling virtuous, she returned to the reception. Now I have to celebrate my daughter’s decision to marry McCloud, she thought to herself. Then, as an afterthought, she muttered, “With this one, God, you just might be pushing your luck!”
Pamela wandered back into the hall to find a large bear of a man standing dripping wet on the rug. His hair was long, his skin brown, his clothes shabby. On his feet were light summer shoes, impractical for Scotland and splattered with paint. She looked horrified and stopped a good distance away, in case he was a tramp who had found his way in uninvited.
“Who are you?” she demanded, looking him up and down with distaste.
“Never mind,” he growled, turning his attention to the drawing room, from where the drone of voices drifted out on the smoke-filled air.
“You can’t go in there!” she exclaimed. “Good Lord!” At that, he turned and stared at her, narrowing his eyes. A glint of recognition lit up his face and he smiled in amusement. Pamela was startled by the sudden transformation, and felt the color rise in her cheeks. His smile had the devil’s charm. She crossed herself. “Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “I’ve come for Celestria.”
“My daughter?” she gasped. “You’ve come…for Celestria?” Pamela felt faint. The devil himself had come to carry off her child.
“The name’s Hamish McCloud.”
Celestria was still sitting on the sofa with Lotty when Hamish’s unruly presence filled the doorway. She stopped midsentence, sensing a change in the air. Lotty looked past her to the door, and her jaw dropped. She gasped. “Who is he?” Celestria felt her heart stumble even before she turned to look. Scarcely daring to hope, she turned around. She saw him before he saw her. He was searching the room, a deep frown lining his brow. Her heart flooded with joy and compassion; he looked so out of place, standing there in his odd clothes, among funeral guests dressed in their very best. She stood up. He saw her at last, and his expression softened and a wide, infectious smile flowered upon his face. With outstretched arms he strode through the throng of people, who parted in bewilderment to let him through.
Sea of Lost Love Page 37