I knew from Geoff that Zac had watched the unrest and violence developing, was aware of the troubles infecting other countries. But he’d promised me he would not watch any more coverage. Had he had a nightmare again? Or one of those horrific flashbacks, when a bad experience replays itself, and is just as engulfing as the real event? I just didn’t know what had affected him. How could I?
Certainly something had set him off, made him genuinely angry. But that was easy to do. Anger lurked beneath the surface these days; he was angry at tyrants and dictators, politicians and governments, terrorists and insurgents. Overall, he was stricken by the horrors of the world that we, as photojournalists, lived in day and night on a constant basis.
Zac had covered too many wars in too many countries in the past sixteen years. It was no wonder he was full of rage and sadness and despair. We all suffered from a kind of numbed exhaustion when we finally came out, stunned by war.
He had taken his all-seeing camera to Sierra Leone, Somalia, Ivory Coast, Israel, Palestine, Lebanon, Kuwait, Bosnia, Kosovo, Iraq and Afghanistan, among other places. The thought of what he must have witnessed boggled the mind. I had seen a lot myself, but I hadn’t been with him until Afghanistan and Iraq. He had seen much more over many more years – double the time I’d been a war photographer, in fact.
I had a tissue in my pocket, and I pulled it out, patted his cheeks, which were still damp with tears.
Instantly, he opened his eyes, looked at me with a degree of intensity. ‘Serena?’
‘Yes, Zac?’
‘What happened?’
I shook my head. ‘I’m not sure why you were doing it, but you were beating the television to death, and the noise woke me up. You were hellbent on destroying it, and there’s the mess you made. Over there. I just guided you out of it.’
He followed the direction of my gaze, then looked at me, bit his lip, as if he were baffled at himself. Worry was suddenly reflected in his eyes; he was chagrined.
I said, ‘Were you watching the news? Did you get hooked on the coverage of the Arab Spring? What’s been happening in Egypt? And the Mubarak regime? Or were you focused on Afghanistan?’
‘No, none of that. I told you I wouldn’t focus on war or the uprisings, or the Middle East. In fact, I promised, actually. And I kept my promise to you, Serena.’
I nodded my understanding. ‘But were you watching TV?’ I fastened my eyes on his.
‘I was, yes, but nothing to do with news. I was zapping around, flicking different shows on and off, not really paying attention to anything in particular. I just couldn’t sleep. That’s why I got up, came in here, watched for a while, had a glass of milk. I never went near a news show.’
‘So what made you smash the TV?’ I wondered out loud.
He was silent, sat staring at me, and then finally he said, in a low voice, ‘I had a flashback. A bad one. I guess I just went berserk. I became angry. It got the better of me … I suppose I was in a rage.’
Before I could say anything his face crumpled, and tears welled in his eyes, slid down his cheeks. He brought his hands to his face, endeavoured to control himself, to choke back the sobs. But he couldn’t manage that. And so, embarrassed I think, he turned away from me, rested his head on the wide arm of the sofa and wept.
I moved closer to him, put my hand on his back, stroked it for a while.
Eventually, I said quietly, ‘Don’t try to control yourself because of me, Zac, or hold the tears back. Cry everything out, and as much as you can. It really is the only way to deal with grief. And I know you’re grieving. You’re full of sorrow and heartache.’
He mumbled something I couldn’t quite catch, and then he began to sob as if his heart was broken. And I think it was. I knew the flashback had been powerful and that it was tearing him apart. He was awash with pain.
I also understood that I must leave him here alone, give him his privacy, not encroach on him. And so I slipped away, went into my bedroom until he needed me.
As I walked into the room I noticed the clock on the bedside table. It was two in the morning. I was about to call Harry in New York and then I changed my mind. I didn’t need to report in. I was a big girl. I could handle this situation on my own without any advice.
I knew Zachary North inside out and upside down. Nobody knew him better than I did. And that was why he had wanted me to come here … to help him assuage his grief and to cope with his mental state. He understood himself well enough to know he needed to heal and that I was the one to lead him in the right direction.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but images of the front line in Afghanistan filled my mind. The sound of gunfire, shells bursting, roadside bombs exploding, the rumbling sound of the helicopters hovering overhead. The noise was incessant, barely letting up until it was dark. But even then there were noises – sounds of firing, explosions, as snipers roamed around; an insurgent accidentally stepping on one of his own bombs and being blown to bits. The stink of sweat and gunpowder and blood. The dead and the wounded. These images rolled in my head, and I wondered how I had managed to live through these nightmarish years, dodging bullets and bombs, rushing in, camera poised, to get the ghastly shots, to show the world what was happening. There was always fear, because of the ever-present danger, but I had pushed it aside to do the work. Yet sometimes the fear was crippling. Somehow I overcame it.
SIXTEEN
‘I insist on buying a new television set, to replace the one I smashed,’ Zac said. ‘I spoke to Claudia on the phone, when you were in the shower, and she’s given me the name of the best shop; it’s not far from here.’
I simply nodded in agreement and picked up my bag from the coffee table. ‘Come on, then, let’s go,’ I murmured, walking across the room towards the front door. I had seen that obdurate look on his face many times before, and I knew not to argue. The best thing was to agree to do what he wanted.
He gave me one of his lopsided smiles, rare at the moment, and we left the apartment together. When we stepped outside into the street, I was surprised how warm it was, quite balmy, with no breeze, for once. The sun was shining, and it felt good to be out of the bolthole, mingling with people, seeing the world.
We walked along, side by side, in silence as usual, lost in our own thoughts. I was relieved he had finally made reference to the TV set he had destroyed, and hoped that once the new one was installed he would tell me more about the awful flashback that had set him off five nights ago.
So far he had been reluctant to discuss it. I had asked him about it only once; when he had shaken his head, looking grim, I had instantly let the matter drop. He would tell me when he was able to do so, in his own time, of that I was certain.
After I had filled Harry in the following day, his instructions had been to leave it alone, and I had.
‘So Geoff’s coming back tonight,’ Zac suddenly said, turning to look at me, as we walked through the Piazza San Marco, which was busier than ever today; but not as busy as it would be at the end of April, full of tourists for Easter.
‘That’s what I told you earlier this morning,’ I answered. ‘What I didn’t say was that he wants us to have dinner with him. Tonight. At Harry’s Bar. He’s not staying long, just a few days and then he’s off to LA.’
‘Did you accept?’
‘More or less. I said I’d be there, but I had to check with you. I added that I was sure it would be all right. He said to tell you he’s not taking no for an answer, and that he’s already made the reservation at Harry’s Bar. From London.’
Zac laughed. ‘Just like Geoff. And of course I’ll go with you. Did he confide in you? About his decision?’
‘No, he didn’t. I’m well aware Harry’s eager for him to take over Global’s London office, and if Geoff’s as smart as I think he is, then he will.’
‘It’s one way for him to make up with his ex-wife,’ Zac muttered, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. ‘He’s keen to do that, isn’t he?’
‘Yes. H
e’s constantly told me that Martha couldn’t take it when he was covering wars. But he says they still care for each other; that she might give the idea of a reconciliation a chance … if he’s running the London bureau for us, and has no dangerous assignments.’
Zac nodded. We strolled on. He seemed deep in thought, and remained silent until we reached the shop Claudia had recommended. It was in a narrow street, and within seconds Zac was inside speaking rapidly in perfect Italian to the man whose name he had been given. Luigi. An old friend of Claudia’s, who would make a good price, she had assured Zac. It looked to me as if the two of them were already hitting it off.
I left Zac and Luigi to their deal-making and wandered around the store, not really interested in any of this complicated equipment.
In fact my mind was elsewhere. I was worried about Jessica. Last night Cara had phoned to tell me Jess had fallen at the auction house that afternoon, had taken a bad tumble down a short flight of steps. Apparently nothing appeared to be broken, but Jess was going to have more X-rays this afternoon at a clinic in Nice.
Another reason for Cara’s call had been to find out when I would be arriving in Nice. Dad had died on 22 April last year, and I’d promised my sisters I would be there with them on the first anniversary of his death. To celebrate his life, and to remember him proudly and lovingly.
Our mother’s birthday had been in May, and I’d planned to be with them anyway that month. Ever since her death, four years ago, we usually celebrated her on the day she had been born.
When I told Cara I wanted to bring Zac along, she had agreed that this was fine. Yet she hadn’t been able to resist saying, ‘I’m glad he’s feeling better, but just remember, Serena, a leopard doesn’t change its spots.’
I had laughed, then jokingly told her she shouldn’t take our grandmother’s old sayings too seriously. She had joined in my laughter, and then said she really would like Zac to join us to honour Dad. ‘Because they cared so much about each other,’ she had added, before hanging up.
I didn’t want to let my sisters down, and I wanted to go. Later today I would break the news to Zac that we would soon have to leave the bolthole and go to Nice. I had already been in Venice for over two weeks. How quickly the time had passed.
Glancing across the shop, I noticed how animated Zac was in his discussion with Luigi. I also realized he looked so much better physically.
He had put on weight, mainly because I had played on his love of his mother’s Italian food, and what better place to find it than here in Venice? He had been sleeping better, and his face was less gaunt. That tautness had left him, just evaporated.
Oddly enough, after the night of the flashback he had had fewer nightmares and bad dreams, and seemed more tranquil. Certainly I had not witnessed any anxiety, agitation, or panic attacks.
It struck me now that he was well enough to travel, and my sisters would certainly be able to help, should he show any signs of PTSD. After all, they had grown up with a war photographer for a father, and Tommy had suffered bouts of it from time to time. Zac kept saying he didn’t have it, but how did we know it was so? He hadn’t seen a doctor.
There were other reasons why I wanted to go to Nice. The bolthole was a wonderful convenience, a useful place to have. However, it really only worked for a few days, a week at the most. It was confining, which was why I had made Zac come out with me every day, to do things, go to other parts of Venice like Murano, the Lido, and Giudecca.
We even went sightseeing again, although we had done that long ago. We ate at small restaurants and cafés, where I encouraged him to indulge in the food he had been brought up on.
I believed that when we got to Nice I could get Zac involved with the picture book my father had never finished, as well as his photographic archive. I felt they would give Zac an interest, be a distraction for him.
And lastly, I missed my sisters. I longed to spend time with them in the place I had always loved, my mother’s house in the hills above Nice, Jardin des Fleurs.
‘Let’s go to Florian’s for lunch,’ Zac said as we eventually bade farewell to Luigi and finally left his shop.
‘I’d love it,’ I answered. Zac was obviously well pleased with the deal he had made for the new flatscreen TV, which would be delivered and installed tomorrow.
‘Why not today?’ I asked as we walked down the street.
‘Because it’s such a nice day, and I want to be out doing things,’ Zac answered. ‘I’ve been feeling so much better, and today I really have some of my energy back.’
He took hold of my arm and went on, ‘You’ve done me good. Been good for me, Pidge, and so has Venice. It’s a relaxing place, non-aggressive, ancient, comforting.’ He smiled at me, leaned closer, kissed my cheek. ‘I feel great, and you look good, Serena. Very beautiful.’
My heart sank. Suddenly I was acutely aware of him, conscious of his close proximity. I had to admit that off and on I’d worried about my attraction to him. There had always been something different about Zac North, something unique in him that made my head spin.
As we sat down at one of Florian’s outdoor tables, I cautioned myself to be wary of him. On my guard. I mustn’t fall into his arms again. If I did I would be lost. Irretrievably lost.
‘Shall we have a glass of champagne?’ he asked. ‘To celebrate.’
‘Celebrate what?’ I asked, puzzled, frowning at him.
‘Anything you want,’ he replied. ‘The great deal I got on the TV set, Geoff’s sudden return, dinner at Harry’s Bar, my improved health, both mentally and physically.’
He took hold of my hand and smiled at me. ‘Or we can celebrate being here together again, at one of our favourite places, enjoying the beautiful spring weather.’
I felt a sense of dismay trickle through me. I recognized the flirtatiousness in his eyes, the warmth of the smile still playing around his mouth, that irresistible charm floating to the surface of his being. Grasping this opportunity, I said, ‘Or we could celebrate our upcoming trip.’
Obviously I had startled him. Zac gaped at me. ‘Upcoming trip? Where are we going? Not New York, I hope.’
I shook my head. ‘No, we’re going to Nice. At least, I have to go there. I thought you might come with me. Cara and Jessica would like that, and we can celebrate Dad’s life together. On the first anniversary of his death.’
He looked chagrined. ‘I was the one who caused you to miss the plane from Kabul that day. Are you sure you want me to come?’
‘Yes, I do,’ I responded in my most reassuring voice. ‘Cara reminded me how much you and Dad meant to each other, and in certain ways you were like a son to him.’
‘Oh no, no, no! That’s not me. That’s you, Serena!’ he exclaimed. ‘And you’re very well aware of this.’
I ignored his comment. ‘Let’s have champagne to celebrate being alive, and being good friends again.’ As I spoke I slipped my hand out of his, rummaged around in my bag for my cell phone, found it, put it in my jacket pocket.
Zac beckoned to a waiter, ordered two glasses of pink champagne, and then said, ‘Those are great reasons to celebrate, and I’m glad we’ve made up.’
I didn’t immediately answer, wondering where this was leading, filled with apprehension. Did he think that my saying we were good friends meant our relationship was back in place?
A variety of emotions assailed me for a few seconds … fear, anxiety and worry, which I tried to push aside. If any of these feelings showed in my face, Zac did not appear to notice.
He sat back in the chair, at ease, and, much to my amazement, he seemed to be like his old self. Did my presence mean so much? Had I really helped the healing to begin? I had no answers, and I decided to relax, to let things take their course.
When the champagne arrived we toasted each other, clinked glasses and chatted, and after a short while Zac requested the menu. We ordered a selection of the small tea sandwiches and fancy pastries, because we weren’t very hungry, and a pot of English breakfast tea wi
th slices of lemon.
Once the waiter disappeared, I turned to Zac and said quietly, ‘I haven’t had a chance to tell you this, Zac, but Jessica fell yesterday afternoon. In the auction house. Nothing seems to be broken, but she’s getting more X-rays done this afternoon. Cara said I shouldn’t worry, but I do.’
I took my cell out of my pocket and put it on the table. ‘I’d like to have this here, if you don’t mind, I don’t want to miss Cara’s call.’
‘No, I don’t mind, and hey, I wish you’d told me before. Why is Jess having X-rays? Didn’t they take them yesterday?’
‘Yes, they did. But she’s not felt quite right since the fall.’
‘Understandable. It’s probably just shock, but listen, do you want to leave tomorrow? Fly to Nice? I’m okay with that, Pidge, if you do. I’ll come with you.’
‘That’s a thought, and thanks for offering.’
‘Whatever you want to do is okay by me, and I’m sorry about Jessica’s accident.’
‘Cara will tell me exactly where it’s at. She’s known for her bluntness, and she’s not at all afraid to break unpalatable news to anybody,’ I muttered dryly.
Zac threw me a knowing look, took a sip of champagne, then slid down in his chair, his face upturned to the sun, his eyes closed.
I glanced around thinking how truly beautiful it was today. The light in the piazza was dazzling, the sky a clear, unblemished blue, with no clouds visible. The ancient buildings appeared to gleam golden in the brilliance of the day.
To think that the basilica was built in the ninth century, as were the other buildings here. There was an ageless quality about them, as well as a certain kind of theatricality … but then that was part of their magic.
My father used to say that Venice lived up to Turner’s paintings of this city and its waterways, and he was right. If anyone had captured this light it was Turner; no artist had ever bettered him, or painted Venice in his way.
Secrets From the Past Page 9