Sea of Lost Love (10 page)

Father Dalgliesh leaned his bicycle back against the wall and went to sit down beside her. He felt she needed to talk and was pleased to have the opportunity to be of use.

“Do you cycle everywhere?” she asked, and he suddenly caught the scent of bluebells grown warm upon her skin. There was something alluring about the smell of spring that made his stomach flip over.

“While the weather is nice, I do,” he replied.

“What about when it rains?”

“I shall get wet or take the car.”

“So you
do
have one?”

“I do.” He smiled diffidently. “But I don't like to drive.”

“Are you afraid?”

“A little nervous, shall we say.”

“When I learn to drive, I think everyone else is going to be a great deal more nervous than I.”

She held the cigarette to her lips and watched him through the smoke as she exhaled. “Does one go to hell if one commits suicide?” she asked.

“The life God gave us is not ours to take away.”

“That's what we're taught. Do you believe it?”

“I do. Life is sacred. It is not ours to dispose of. We have to accept whatever God gives us with gratitude. Only God has the right to take it away.”

“So if Papa has killed himself, is he damned for eternity?”

“He is in hell until God decides to forgive him. We must pray for him.”

“Does God listen?”

“That's why we pray, because He listens.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Look, if you did something wrong, would your father hold it against you forever?”

“Of course not.”

“Then you have answered your own question. God is a forgiving father. I don't, however, believe that one gets away with murder, any less the murder of oneself.”

“I've attended Mass all my life because of Papa. Mama couldn't care less. She's not religious and thinks the whole thing is manufactured to keep simple people on the straight and narrow. I can't say I've ever really thought about God.”

“But you're thinking about Him now.”

“That's because I'm forced to. If Papa is dead, he's in a place where I can't reach him. God rules that place, so I might as well try and speak to Him.”

Father Dalgliesh felt his heart swell. “That's one way of looking at it,” he replied with a tentative smile. “God can be a great comfort in times such as these.”

“I'm still hoping, though,” she said, turning away and flicking ash onto the gravel.

“That's only natural. Until there's proof, there will always be hope.”

“My grandfather used to tell me that dead people become stars.”

“It's a nice idea.”

“I wish he were here how.”

“Your grandfather?”

“Yes. He'd know what to do. He's the sort of man who knows everything.”

“Where is he?”

“In New York.” She took one final drag of the cigarette, the end lighting up like a firefly. “Harry has always been Mama's favorite, after herself, of course. But I'm special to Grandpa.”

“And your father?”

“Papa? Everyone's special to Papa.”

Father Dalgliesh said good-bye to Celestria and watched her walk inside. He was left alone in the dark with nothing but the faint smell of bluebells. A shadowy figure stood watching him from an upstairs window. Pamela wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and shivered. She did not move until the priest had turned the corner and disappeared down the drive. Then she raised her eyes to the sky, wondering whether there was a heaven after all.

 

That night Celestria felt a strong urge to visit little Bouncy in his bed. It was late. Everyone had retired. She felt drained and weepy and strangely angry. She remembered the morning scouring the beach for Bouncy, unaware that the sea had taken her father instead. She crept down the corridor to Bouncy's room, decorated with cream wallpaper on which were depicted pale blue elephants. Bouncy adored elephants; he called them “fanties.” She opened the door as quietly as she could. There, in the pale yellow light of the little candle that burned eucalyptus oil on the dresser, Bouncy lay in his bed, his arms up by his ears, his legs spread in their blue pajamas, the blanket tossed off in his sleep. His eyes were closed, his skin translucent, his full lips sensual in the warm comfort of his dreams. She gently replaced the blanket, putting his legs beneath it one by one. He didn't even stir, but continued to breathe deeply and slowly, as only children do. Suddenly, she felt tears fill her eyes and spill over onto her cheeks. He looked so beautiful and innocent.

She heard a movement and turned. Julia stood in the doorway in her dressing gown. Celestria smiled through her tears. Julia tiptoed over and put an arm around her niece.

“This morning we thought it was Bouncy,” Celestria whispered.

“I'm ashamed to feel grateful, now that God has taken Monty,” replied Julia. “My heart is full of gratitude and sorrow.”

“He's a treasure,” said Celestria. “It's consoling to see him safely sleeping in his bed. He gives me hope. We found Bouncy; perhaps we'll find Papa.” They remained in silent thought for what seemed a long while. Finally, Julia spoke.

“You're not alone, Celestria, darling,” she said. Celestria was too moved to reply.

She allowed herself to be drawn against her aunt and rested her head against her shoulder. They both gazed upon the sleeping child and wept.

P
endrift had talked of nothing else since Mr. Monty's boat had been discovered the previous morning. No one believed Monty had committed suicide. On that they were all agreed. Everyone claimed to know him intimately, for he had been a man happy to pass the time of day with anyone who offered their company. No, the Monty they knew was a man content with his life and only too ready to share that contentment with the rest of the world.

Indeed, Monty was as much a part of the little Cornish town of Pendrift as pasties and clotted cream. He enjoyed reading the papers over a cup of coffee in Maggie Brewick's Tea House, buying cigarettes in the corner shop, and drinking beer in the Snout & Hound. Everyone greeted him warmly, and he knew them all by name—from the secretary in the doctor's surgery to old Talek, who sat on the bench gazing out to sea, day in day out, like a discarded coat, getting shabbier with each rainfall.

He took an interest in the most minute details of their lives: a wife whose husband had strayed, a sick dog, trouble with the plumbing, a child who'd won a prize at school, inflation, government, royalty, the way things were always better in the old days. Even Archie wasn't aware that Mrs. Craddick's son had been hospitalized with polio. Mrs. Craddick ran the post office and wouldn't have presumed to chat with Archie or Penelope, but Monty lingered if there wasn't a queue and although he now came down from London only in the summer, he remembered everything about her family and asked after them all more kindly than her own husband did. His compassion had once reduced her to tears. She had confided in her friends, and he had grown even more in the affections of the community—although perhaps not in those of Mr. Craddick.

Pamela, on the other hand, had never visited the post office, and Celestria only went into town to buy things she didn't need, just for the small pleasure of shopping. It never occurred to her to speak to the locals. They'd stare at her with wonder in their eyes, for her beauty dazzled them. “Good morning, Miss Montague,” they'd say, the men tipping their hats, the women nodding politely—she knew she was a swan among geese. “Regards to your father,” they'd say, and she'd throw them a gracious smile that they'd devour hungrily, but forget them the minute her head was turned. The first family of Pendrift might be respected and admired from a distance, but Monty was one of them.

 

It was Sunday morning. While most of the town were Church of England, some, like the Montagues, were Catholic and attended Mass in the Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary, one of the few original Catholic churches left standing after Henry VIII had brought the majority crashing to the ground. However, this particular Sunday saw a vast increase in the number of attendants, while the Protestant Church of All Saints was virtually empty. The Reverend Woodley scratched his head in bewilderment and wondered where they had all gone.

Celestria, dressed in black, accompanied the rest of the family to Mass. Harry had barely spoken since their father's disappearance. His face was sad, but his eyes were empty. Pamela had remained in bed, demanding that Soames telephone the vet because Poochi was off his food. “He's depressed,” she said. “And I don't blame him. I'm depressed, too.” David walked ahead with the young boys, but there was no point in trying to cheer everyone up. Julia held Bouncy's hand while Nanny walked alongside, noticing that the child's shoelace was coming undone but not wanting to delay the party by bending down to tie it. Elizabeth walked with Archie, using him for support in the place of Monty. She, too, had chosen to wear black. “I'm still in mourning for Ivan,” she explained when Archie arrived to collect her. “I don't want to be mourning Robert, too. He survived the war, he can survive this.” Milton walked with his wife, who, in the great English tradition of grieving, showed no emotion.

Lotty and Melissa walked on either side of Celestria, like a pair of funereal bridesmaids, their discreet black hats lost beside the flamboyant spray of Celestria's black feathers. Lotty had been so consumed with sorrow over the disappearance of her uncle that she had crept out of bed in the middle of the night and written to Francis Browne. Having restrained herself for weeks, she now allowed all the pain and longing to pour out of her heart and onto the page in her small, neat handwriting. Sitting alone in her uncle's study, using the same paper that Monty had used to write his suicide note, she wondered whether Celestria was right that it would be far easier to run off together and elope than to reveal the truth to her parents. In the face of death she felt brave and fearless. Why spend a lifetime with a man she didn't love, just for the sake of being comfortable? Francis might not have money, but he was rich in all the qualities that truly mattered to her. “I have realized,” she wrote, “that life can be snatched away at any moment. I don't want a life of compromise. I want it all, and you are everything.” The letter now smoldered in her handbag, waiting to be posted the following morning.

When the Montague family walked down the aisle, every eye turned to watch them, and people bowed their heads with respect as they passed. Julia squeezed Bouncy's hand, for large crowds of people made him nervous. The little boy reached out for Nanny, who took his other hand and rubbed the soft skin with her thumb. Julia caught eyes with Merlin. He took off his cap and pressed it to his chest, wishing that he could turn the clock back and find her brother-in-law asleep in the boat, instead of that dreadful note in the bottle.

The family took their places in the front two pews. Celestria sat beside her brother and held his hand. He continued to stare ahead as if he hadn't noticed her. It was hard for both of them, for, while there was no body, there remained a glimmer of hope. Yet that glimmer, like a ray of light, was impossible to hold on to.

Celestria's mind began to wander, as it always did in Mass. She understood no Latin and found its monotony soporific. She had come because she knew her father would have liked her to and, while that small hope of his survival remained, she believed God still hadn't made up His mind whether or not to recall him. Perhaps He needed a little persuading, in which case prayer might just do the trick. However, when Father Dalgliesh stood before her, his godly presence enhanced by the splendor of his green vestments, her mind stopped its aimless wandering. The priest looked quite different from the awkward man she had talked to on the doorstep the night before. He had authority and a presence that filled the church. She blushed, suddenly wishing she hadn't asked him such silly questions, as if his celibacy was something to be laughed at.

“Before I begin Mass, I would like to welcome you to church today. I know many of you are here to pay your respects to Robert Montague and his family at this sad and difficult time. I welcome you all and thank you for your support and comfort.” His eyes settled on Celestria, his expression full of compassion. “We ask God that, through prayer, Robert Montague may be delivered safely back to his family and that, through love, we can all unite and give strength to those who need it.”

Celestria noticed Harry's bottom lip begin to tremble, and her own eyes stung with tears. Suddenly it all felt so real. He hadn't come back, and nothing had been heard of him. Although her heart told her it wasn't possible, her reason began to accept the fact that everything pointed to suicide. Everything but her father's nature, which perhaps she hadn't known as well as she thought.

At the end of Mass the congregants spilled out into brazen sunshine that seemed to mock the solemnity of the day. The people of Pendrift paid their respects to Elizabeth, Julia and Archie, Penelope and Milton, smiling sadly at the children, who stood around like animals in a zoo, trying to ignore the assault of curious spectators. Celestria stood apart from the crowd with Lotty and Melissa, who were determined to save their cousin from having to talk to the locals. “As if you haven't been through enough,” said Melissa sharply, watching her mother shaking hands with people she had never seen before.

“That's the penance for being the most important family in town,” said Lotty with a sigh. “Everyone feels they own a part of you.”

“No,” said Celestria, shaking her head so that the feathers of her hat floated up and down as if about to fly off. “It's because Papa was so loved. Everyone here believes they were his intimate friend. They haven't just lost a distant member of the community, but a friend. I barely recognize them, but Papa knew them all by name. And the older ones, like Old Beardy over there,” she pointed to Merlin, who stood, hat in hand, talking to Archie, “I bet he knew Papa when he was a boy.”

Suddenly a middle-aged woman broke away and approached the three girls. She was buxom and attractive, with hair the color of a field mouse drawn into a bun beneath a navy blue hat. Celestria knew she had seen her somewhere before, but she couldn't place her. The woman hesitated a moment and seemed to wilt under Celestria's imperious gaze. Hastily she squared her shoulders, spurred on by the respect she felt for the girl's father. “I'm Mrs. Craddick,” she said in a soft, girlish voice that curled around her vowels like wood smoke. Celestria extended her hand. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your father. He was a good, kind man. The best.” She smiled and lowered her eyes as the apples of her cheeks flushed pink.

“Thank you,” Celestria replied, wishing the woman would go away. Instead, Mrs. Craddick lifted her gaze, now glittering with tears, and continued.

“You see, my little boy's been very ill. Very ill indeed. We thought he might die. But your father, Mr. Montague, found the best doctor and paid for him to be treated. He told me never to tell anyone. Well, he didn't want to embarrass my husband. You see, I don't want his kindness to go unnoticed. It's only right that you and the rest of the family should know what he did for others. He was a selfless man, Miss Montague.”

“How is your son now?” Lotty asked.

“Oh, he's on the mend, thank you, Miss Flint.” She looked at Celestria again. “If it weren't for your father, my Rewan would…” She stopped suddenly, catching her breath. “Well, I won't keep you.” She turned and fled, melting back into the sea of dark suits and hats.

“Did you know about that?” Melissa asked Celestria.

Her cousin shook her head. “No.”

“What a dark horse Uncle Monty was,” said Lotty, impressed.

Celestria narrowed her eyes, recalling the conversation she had overheard between Julia and Monty in the library. “So dark he's invisible,” she added dryly. “I'm beginning to think I don't know my father at all.”

 

When Celestria returned to the Hall, she went straight up to see her mother. Pamela was sitting in bed in a cashmere cardigan and nightdress, trying to feed Poochi a piece of bread and pâté. When she saw her daughter, she raised eyes that were red rimmed and shiny. “He won't eat.”

“He will when he's hungry,” Celestria replied, unbuttoning her coat.

“He's lost his appetite.”

“Haven't we all.”

“I never thought Poochi cared for your father. But he's obviously devastated.”

“Have you sent a telegram to Grandpa?” Celestria took off her hat and began to pick out the pins in her hair in front of the mirror on Pamela's dressing table.

“I don't want to bother him until we know for sure.”

Celestria's shoulders hunched, and she fiddled with one of the pins absentmindedly. “Oh, I think we do know for sure.”

“Until there's a body I refuse to believe it.”

“There might never be a body, Mama. As Aunt Penelope so tactfully put it, he might be inside the belly of a fish.”

“They don't have fish that big off the coast of Cornwall,” Pamela objected. “What does that silly woman know, anyway?” Suddenly she began to cry. “Oh, for goodness' sake, you silly pooch, eat!”

Celestria perched on the edge of the bed and took her mother's hand.

“What are we going to do?” Pamela howled. “I can't go on without Monty. He was everything to me. How could he put me through this? If he was unhappy, he could have told me. We could have worked it out. But to go and kill himself is so unbelievably selfish.”

“We'll just have to make do,” said Celestria, having to be strong for her mother. “Harry will go back to school. We'll return to London. Life will continue as it always has. Papa will no longer be there, that's all.” There was a long silence as Pamela digested her daughter's words. Then suddenly she grabbed Celestria's hand.

“Oh, Celestria. I've lied to you.”

“Lied to me? What about?”

“Your father and I. The night he disappeared. We did have a fight.”

“What about?”

“He's a terrible flirt.”

“Papa?”

“Oh, darling. You're too young to know about such things. You're innocent, naïve.” Celestria thought of Aidan Cooney but felt nothing but an unbearable emptiness inside. Pamela ran a hand down her daughter's cheek. “He loves beautiful women. Of course, I'm used to his flirting and turn a blind eye most of the time. But it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, to watch him turn those honey eyes on someone younger and prettier than me. No one can resist him when he looks at them in that way. It's like he's seeing right through you and into you and knows what you want and what your life is lacking. But the other night, it was the straw that broke the camel's back. We got upstairs, and I flew at him. I told him that he was too old to go around chatting up young girls, that it made him look a fool.” She drew her fingers across her eyes to wipe away the tears. Her nails were long and red and perfectly manicured. “Then I told him I didn't want him to spend so much time traveling. That it wasn't fair to leave me alone so often.”