by Evie Blake
All my life I have lived for this summit of bliss, when the love of my life tells me he loves me.
I will write these words down, Belle thinks, so that I never forget the eternity of our love. She closes her eyes and loses herself to their passion.
As she and Santos climax in perfect, shimmering symmetry, she feels the rain of feathers upon her body, the slip and slide of his soul as it retreats back into the hazy land he now inhabits.
‘No!’ she cries. ‘My love, don’t leave me again.’
Yet when she opens her eyes, her arms are empty. She hugs herself, bereft with the knowledge of where her Santos is gone. It can be the only reason he has never come back for her. And now she realises that she knew it all along. Her love is gone, the air still spinning with black feathers like dying moths as the light fades from her heart. Beside her on the pillow is the blackbird, a bead of blood upon its yellow beak. She knows with certainty that her lover is dead. She does not know where or how, but Santos is dead, for this is how he finally came back to her and made love to her as she always dreamed he would.
That night, while Maria sleeps beside her, Belle slides over into the middle of the bed next to her daughter, and pulls back the covers on the other side for Pina. It has taken her eight years to accept the woman who loves her best, yet at last she lets her in.
Valentina
VALENTINA SITS OUTSIDE CAFFE FLORIAN WATCHING THE dirty pigeons of Venice scavenge off the tourists in Piazza San Marco. She is sipping her cappuccino, slowly whiling away the day and waiting for Theo. He rose early this morning, before she woke, leaving a note on the bedside table explaining that he had gone to talk to this Glen character. He wrote that he would meet her here at Caffe Florian at midday.
Theo insists that Glen is not dangerous, but Valentina has a gut feeling about that man. She twists her napkin through her fingers. She hopes everything is okay. Despite the fact that she spent the night in Theo’s arms, she is still anxious. Now she knows all about the art thievery, she is not so sure in the cold light of day what she actually thinks about it all. If she and Theo are to become a proper item, that will be her life as well. She wishes he had talked to her about it before. In fact the whole of this week he has denied her any kind of communication or explanation about anything. He has still left her hanging this morning.
He is trying to possess you, Valentina. She hears her mother’s warning yet again. He is controlling you by not talking to you.
Is her mother right? Valentina chews her lip. Is Theo hoping to gain some sort of power over her? So that she is weak and needy, compliant? She thinks of everything that has happened this week. The mystery of the erotic photographs, the scenarios in the Atlantis Room, the Velvet Underworld and the Dark Room. Even being here in Venice. In every instance she has surrendered control over her own life. She has been silenced through his lack of communication. And yet as she sits in the Venetian sunshine, drinking her coffee, an uncomfortable prickle of memory comes to the surface. It is a rainy afternoon in Milan, herself and Theo sitting at the kitchen table, the food in front of them untouched. It is one week since she lost the baby, and still she is refusing to talk to him.
Don’t shut me out. Tell me how you feel.
Yet she couldn’t tell him, because she didn’t want him to know the truth, that she had wanted his baby. She didn’t want him to think she was weak, or dependent. That is not who Valentina is.
Do you not want me to go away?
He asked her that question more than once. In fact every time he went away after she lost the baby. She had forgotten that. And what did she do? That day she pushed her chair back and walked out of the room, sweeping his questions away.
I don’t care what you do.
That was what she told him. She drops her head, the sudden illumination of this memory too much for her. Something else occurs to her. Is it possible that she has hurt Theo? Has she been so busy trying to protect her own heart that she forgot he has feelings too? She struggles to understand. She finds it so hard sometimes to consider the feelings of men. She has always experienced the opposite, the male preoccupation with lack of commitment. And yet Theo is different. He asked her to be his girlfriend.
She pushes her hands into the deep pockets of her suit jacket, and from one of them she pulls out a card. She looks at it in surprise. It is from Mattia, her brother. He must have put it in the pocket of the jacket when he posted the package of clothes to her. What a strange thing to do? And how odd that she never noticed it before.
Dear Valentina,
Mother also gave me these costumes of our great-grandmother, Belle Louise Brzezinska. They date from the late 1920s and could be quite valuable, though I don’t think you will sell them, will you? Mother said she had a feeling that you might have a use for them. I hope you enjoy the photographs. I should have given them all to Theo when he came by, but he only took the book of negatives. Mother told me that they are pictures of the very same great-grandmother. I would love to see copies of the enlargements once you have a chance to make them. Please give Theo my best regards. He’s a good guy, Valentina.
Love, Mattia
Valentina reads the card again in disbelief. Theo went to visit her brother in America and he never told her! Why on earth would he do that?
And the negatives! Of course, why didn’t she notice it before? She has been wearing the answer to the mystery almost every day. The lace scarf, the string of pearls, the sailor’s cap.
She has them all.
She opens her bag, and pulls out the black album. She flicks through the prints yet again. So this is Belle Louise Brzezinska, her great-grandmother. And it is most certainly not the version of her great-grandmother she has always believed true: the devoted wife of a Venetian entrepreneur, the widowed mother living a life of seclusion in her home in Castello. This is another story. It is the secret life of her great-grandmother. Valentina examines the erotic beauty of the close-ups in the book. She can see the artist’s eye in the composition of each picture. The play with the textures of the model’s body, the white skin and dark hair, and the stunning effect of suggestion within each image: a finger upon a lip, a downcast eye, a naked back, the naked breast and the draped pearls in a gloved hand. There is the enticing picture of her staring into the camera, Venetian mask concealing her identity, her arm between her legs, her open mouth seducing the photographer.
Was he the owner of the gold earring?
She knows instinctively that the man wearing the earring is most certainly not her great-grandmother’s husband, the seemingly conservative and uptight Signor Brezezinski. She flicks through the album again and again, hypnotised by the passion of the images she sees. What is Theo trying to tell her? She would not let him speak, so is he finding a different way of communicating with her?
Does he know how comforted the book makes her feel? She has never felt such a bond with anyone else in her family before. She never knew her grandparents, or her father, of course. Her brother has always been a distant presence. And her mother . . . well, she was too intense a force in her young life, so that Valentina has had to emotionally banish her. But this Belle feels like a kindred spirit. Valentina wonders if there is such a thing as genetic memory, and whether she could let her great-grandmother live her life of passion again through her. The thought amuses her, and makes her do a rare thing. She laughs. It is a small burst, almost under her breath, but nevertheless it is still laughter. So this is what Theo has done for her. He has made her realise that she is not alone.
‘Valentina, you’re laughing, and in broad daylight too!’
She looks up, and there, standing in front of her, is Theo, smiling at her warmly. She was so engrossed in the book she didn’t even see him approaching the café. The sun is in her eyes, and she squints up at him, the brilliance of the basilica behind him. Theo Steen, her errant lover. There is his tall frame, dark looks and gentle demeanour so missed from her life these past ten days. She feels a rush of emotion. She wants to fling
herself into his arms. Tell him how much she missed him. And yet she can’t do it. Even as she looks at him, her heart about to burst inside her, she starts to react as always, pulling down the shutters, trying to lock them tight. Instead of falling into his arms, she converts her emotion into anger.
‘Theo, where have you been? You’re nearly an hour late,’ she spits at him, her laughter gone.
‘I’m sorry, darling,’ he says, looking as if she has slapped him, holding back from her. Why can’t he lean down and hug her? ‘But it took longer than I thought to talk some reason into Glen.’
She calms down slightly.
‘Is everything okay? Is he going to leave us alone?’
He sits down at her table, so close to her and yet so far. She is craving to touch him. She looks at his hand, his long, elegant fingers as he waves over a waiter and orders a coffee for himself, and another one for her.
‘I hope so.’
She can’t help feeling a little alarmed.
‘Don’t you think we should report him to the police? Garelli?’
‘What for? He hasn’t actually done anything wrong, and in fact it could do me more harm than good if he decided to work with the police.’
He finally picks up her hand and squeezes it.
‘Don’t worry, my love. Everything will be okay.’
Why do people say that to each other, Valentina thinks crossly, when it is impossible to know?
She taps the black photograph album on her lap, deciding to change the subject.
‘So,’ she says. ‘Are you going to tell me what all this is about?’
The light comes back into his eyes as he takes the album off her lap and starts to flick through it.
‘You enlarged them all,’ he says, delighted. ‘God, they’re gorgeous.’
He pauses on the light box image, Valentina’s Dark Room fantasy.
‘This looks familiar,’ he says under his breath, looking up at her slyly.
‘You were watching me the whole time?’ she whispers.
‘Of course I was watching you. Wasn’t that what it was all about?’
They stare at each other, eyes locked, and she can feel her heartbeat quicken.
‘I don’t really know what it’s all been about,’ she says quietly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me where you got the album of negatives from when you gave it to me? Why didn’t you tell me they are pictures of my great-grandmother and a family heirloom? I thought it was stolen, like the paintings . . .’
‘I wanted you to discover for yourself, negative by negative. I thought it would be fun.’
There is that dreadful word again, reminding her of English tea parties and jolly hockey sticks.
‘Fun?’ she hisses, anger heating her blood again. ‘You went behind my back and visited my brother in New York. Why did you go and see him? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I knew that if I told you I wanted to see Mattia, you would tell me not to go,’ he says matter-of-factly.
She bites her lip. He is right. She would have ordered him to stay away.
‘Valentina,’ he says softly. ‘You changed.’
She looks up at him, uncomprehending. What does he mean?
‘As soon as I moved into the apartment, it was as if you froze up. You were so contrary. One minute you wanted to make love, and the next you would be angry with me for no apparent reason.’
‘But you are just as contrary,’ she defends herself, not willing to admit he is right. ‘With your secret art thievery, disappearing for days without telling me where you are, and sneaking off to see my brother.’
‘That’s different. I have always been consistent in my feelings for you.’ He pauses. ‘Right from the beginning, from the first night we met.’
She can’t help but snort derisively.
‘That’s ridiculous, Theo. How could you know how you felt the night you first met me? You didn’t know me at all. We didn’t even speak.’
He cocks his head at her and smiles, although his eyes look sad.
‘Maybe you are right, Valentina, for since the moment I moved in, you haven’t stopped reminding me that there is no way you can ever fall in love with me.’ He pauses, takes a sip of his espresso. ‘I was going to leave, after we came back from Sardinia, but then you had the miscarriage, and . . . well, I couldn’t go.’
The hurt in his eyes angers her. He has no right to make her feel so guilty.
‘I didn’t want your pity,’ she snaps at him. ‘How dare you stay with me because you felt sorry for me?’
‘Oh no, Valentina, you don’t understand me.’ He looks her in the eyes, and her anger begins to ebb. ‘I really wanted to try to find a way to make things work. It was so amazing when we first got together and I wanted to bring that life back into our relationship. That’s why I went to see Mattia. I wanted to find out more about you.’
‘Why didn’t you just ask me?’
‘Because you wouldn’t talk to me. Not about anything important, at least.’
She looks down at the table, her empty coffee cup. She is beginning to understand Theo’s motives, and yet she is not sure how it makes her feel. She is still angry with him, for nosing into her life, going to see Mattia, and yet he has always had strong feelings for her, right from the very first night. Is that possible? Or is he deluded?
‘But why did you take the album from Mattia?’ she says, skirting around the issue.
‘He offered it to me. Said you could enlarge the negatives in your darkroom. And when I got it back here, and looked at the negatives on your light box, I had an idea. I thought this could be a very Valentina way of reaching you. If I could bring you on a journey through the pictures, you might hear my message. I thought it might be easier than trying to make you listen to my words.’
‘And what is the message?’ she asks him, stunned by the lengths this man will go to reach her.
‘Have you not worked it out yet?’
He catches her with his gaze. She remembers now how she often thought his icy blue eyes intimidating, but now they look so pure and clear, and her anger dissipates. She is suddenly ashamed of herself . . . her lack of trust, her non-communication, shutting him out . . .
‘It’s erotica from the twenties, so I guess it shows that my great-grandmother was quite a free spirit?’
She looks at the book still on his lap, unable to bear his gaze any longer.
‘And it’s quite incredible the connection I feel with her.’
Theo puts his hand on hers and she feels a charge through her body. As if he has turned a light on in her heart. If they were not in Piazza San Marco in the middle of the day, she would jump on top of him, right now.
‘That’s what I thought,’ he says. ‘When I looked at the negatives I could see they were really erotic. And I remembered those pictures you took in Venice, and I thought, here is a way I can speak to you. If you can see the connection between yourself and this amazing lady from the past, your own ancestor, Valentina, maybe you will hear my message.’
Of course, these pictures are more than just images from the past. They are a part of her history. They are a part of who she is.
‘So?’ Theo asks again, suddenly leaning forward and cradling her chin within the palm of his hand, tipping it towards him, looking into her eyes again.
He is forcing me to show him my heart, she thinks, desperately trying to remain in control.
‘What did the book tell you?’ he asks, his voice low and husky.
She pulls her head away, confused and strangely nervous.
‘It’s very sexy?’
He frowns. She knows her answer is lame.
‘Is that all?’
She stares at him, holds his gaze. Her mouth has suddenly gone dry, and she licks her lips.
‘What do you want me to say?’
He looks a little disappointed. He brings her hands to his lips and kisses them. She feels herself stir, and she looks with longing at his lips. How she wants to feel those lips upon her bod
y. She has such an ache inside her, such a yearning for her lover.
‘Theo,’ she whispers. ‘Let’s go back to Locanda La Corte.’
As soon as the hotel room door clicks behind them, they fall into each other’s arms. They embrace, kissing deeply, all the while walking as one, slowly towards the bed. It hits the back of her knees and she drops down on to it. She pulls off her jacket, and he undoes her trousers. She hastily undoes his jeans, and within seconds they have stripped each other of their clothes. They pause, connecting once again with each other’s naked body. She strokes the tiny scar upon his chest; he caresses her hard nipples, and brings his lips down to kiss them, pausing in between to speak.
‘Did you miss me last week?’ he asks, with such feeling it almost stings her. Yes, yes, yes, she chants inside her head. Yet she resists the temptation to let him know.
‘Why did you stay away for so long?’ she counters, finding it hard to conceal the hurt in her voice.
‘I was there all the time, Valentina,’ he says in a low voice, and she looks at him intently. Yes, of course he was. Yet her thoughts are fading away as her body takes over. She wants to give Theo so much pleasure that he will never abandon her again. She has never felt such an intense physical union with any other man. She feels as if she will never have her fill of him. She begins to crawl down his body, kissing his arms, his chest and nipples, his legs, slowly approaching his penis. She pushes him inside her mouth, and it feels so good to taste him again. Theo is touching her, but he spins her around now and she knows what he wants to do. She stiffens for a second. Will she let him? She let Rosa and Celia kiss her there. Why not a man . . . why not her lover, Theo?
‘Will I?’ he whispers. She pulls back from his penis, hesitates before speaking.
‘Okay.’
She tries to concentrate on adoring Theo’s penis, licking him, caressing him with her tongue, pleasuring him all the way to the edge, and yet at the same time she feels herself slowly losing control. His tongue is flicking inside her, making the tension of her passion fade, until she feels it transform into a river of want flowing into him. She is letting their essence unite.