Sea of Lost Love (37 page)

“Oh,” Celestria replied with a shrug. “Perhaps they weren't for me. I didn't read the note.”

“They'll be for me. I've received so many letters of condolence. People are so kind,” said Pamela, too excited to dwell on something so trivial. But Celestria was staring into her champagne glass. She knew they weren't for her mother. She recalled the scent of lilies that rose out of the city of the dead, and a smile crept across her face.

“I think a London wedding, don't you, darling?” her mother continued blithely.

“London?”

“Well, word has it that Archie's selling Pendrift,” she hissed under her breath.

Celestria was jolted out of her daydream. “Selling Pendrift?”

“I shouldn't say,” Pamela added quickly, wishing she hadn't said anything. Her daughter had suddenly blanched on what should be the happiest of days. “I think the blossom in London is simply stunning in springtime…”

Celestria stood up. “Please excuse me,” she said, clearly flustered. Aidan frowned, Pamela looked sheepish, and the rest of the table looked on puzzled as they watched her leave the dining room.

“I'll go,” said Pamela, getting up. “It's overwhelmed her. Don't worry,” she reassured Aidan. “We'll be back in a minute.” Pamela found Celestria in the hall, waiting for her coat. “You can't go!”

“I'm not marrying Aidan!” Celestria replied. “It's all a dreadful misunderstanding. I'm in love with Hamish.”

“Hamish?”

“Hamish McCloud.”

“Who in the devil's name is he?”

“He's Scottish.”

“I don't even know him!” Pamela clutched her neck as if finding it difficult to breathe.

Celestria tried in vain to suppress a smile. “Well, he's in his late thirties, a widower, walks with a limp, doesn't brush his hair, is a talented artist without a penny to his name, and makes the earth tremble and shake and shift on its axis. He has a vile temper but a raw and passionate heart, and, in spite of my efforts not to, I lost my heart in an instant.”

While Pamela struggled to reply, Aidan strode up to join them. “What's going on?” he asked, watching Celestria shrug on her coat. “Where are you going?”

“You shouldn't have told anyone!” she retorted crossly.

“It was a surprise. I thought you'd be pleased.”

“I can't marry you,” she said, finally managing to look suitably solemn.

“Why not?” Aidan looked distraught.

“Because I don't love you, Aidan. I like you, but like is not enough.”

“I can make you happy,” he said in desperation, taking her in his arms. Mr. Windthorne watched the unfolding drama from behind the reception desk.

“I know you can,” she said, pulling away. “But I want more than that, and so should you.”

“But I love you”

“I'm sorry.”

“Darling, you need to think about this,” interjected Pamela, finding her voice at last. “It's not too late to change your mind. You've lost your father and your grandfather. It's not surprising that you're not yourself. Let's go home and talk it through calmly, where we're not being watched by all the staff.” Mr. Windthorne looked away with a cough, pretending not to notice them.

“There's nothing to talk about. I've made my decision, and, believe me, I've never been of sounder mind. If death teaches you one thing, it's that nothing matters in this world but love. You can't take your wealth with you when you die.” It was then that she was struck with an idea. “Mama, you never told me Uncle Archie was in trouble.”

“It's not our problem.”

“If Papa were alive, he'd never let them sell Pendrift.”

Aidan clenched his hands, furious that they had digressed.

“But he's not alive. Anyway, he had no money; you know that as well as I do,” Pamela snapped.

“But
we
do.”

Her mother narrowed her eyes. “You are now a very wealthy woman. I bet your Harry McCloud will be happy about that!” She grabbed Aidan's wrist. “This young man has the means to look after you, Celestria, irrespective of your grandfather's inheritance. I think your Harry McCloud will find it very humiliating being supported by a woman!”

“Well, that's easy to take care of, isn't it?”

“What do you mean?”

“If I don't have money, we'll be equal. By the way, Mama, he's called
Hamish
McCloud.” She turned to Aidan. “I'm sorry. I really am. But I have to go now.” She hurried off without a backwards glance. Aidan and Pamela watched her go in silence.

 

Celestria arrived at Upper Belgrave Street in a flurry of excitement. Her joy inflated her like a hot-air balloon so that she was barely able to keep her feet on the ground. She called for Godfrey. The old man staggered out, having enjoyed rather too much wine with his lunch. “Godfrey, the note that came with the flowers, where is it?”

“I threw it away, Miss Celestria.”

“Well, get it out. I need to see it.”

Godfrey disappeared, and Celestria paced the hall, unable to remain still. After a few minutes he returned.

Celestria opened the little white envelope. Written on a simple card were the words,
“You are the light behind the door.”
She pressed the card to her lips. “Daphne!” she said with a smile, knowing that the old woman would have arranged this for Hamish. Godfrey stared at her in bewilderment.

“Is there anything else, Miss Celestria?”

“Yes, Godfrey. After the funeral on Saturday I'm going back to Italy. But today, I'm going to Pendrift.”

“Pendrift, Miss Celestria?” Now he was really confused.

“Please tell Mama that I have taken the train and that I will be back in time to travel with her to Scotland.”

“You will be very tired, Miss Celestria,” he said, overwhelmed by her travel plans.

“One doesn't get tired when one is happy, Godfrey. And I am very happy.”

W
hen Celestria appeared at Pendrift Hall, Julia and Archie were in the drawing room having coffee with Elizabeth, who had joined them for dinner. She stood in the doorway with her small suitcase, looking as radiant as if she had just enjoyed a full night's sleep.

“Hello, everyone!” she said, beaming, relishing their surprise.

“Good God, Celestria!” exclaimed Archie, standing up. “Where did you come from?”

“The station,” she said. “I got a cab.”

“It's so late. You should have telephoned,” said Julia, rising to greet her. “This is a lovely surprise. You do look well.”

“Hello, Grandma,” she said, bending down to kiss her. The old woman smiled, and Celestria noticed the change in her immediately.

“When did you get back from Italy?” Julia asked.

“This morning.”

“You must be exhausted,” she said, noticing her niece's eyes shining with unusual brightness.

“Not at all. I slept on the train.”

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” said Archie. It wasn't like Celestria to make an impromptu visit.

“I'd like a drink first. A glass of red wine would be nice,” she said, looking around the room she had lived in every summer but never really noticed. Archie walked over to the drinks table and poured her a glass. “Pendrift Hall is a magical house,” she said.

“It's special, isn't it? There's none other like it,” Archie replied, his eyes full of sadness.

“It's special because of the people who inhabit it,” said Elizabeth firmly, looking on her son and daughter-in-law with pride. “We all imprint ourselves onto it over the years. It's certainly been loved.”

Archie handed Celestria the glass. She took a swig and felt it trickle down into her empty stomach.

“Mama tells me that you are thinking of selling.”

“How does she know?” Archie asked, affronted.

“She probably knows the ghastly Weavels,” said Julia, lighting a cigarette. “Nothing about Pamela would surprise me.”

“It's true,” said Elizabeth stoically. “Pendrift Hall is in trouble; that's all there is to it.” Now she looked more like her old, disgruntled self.

“Well, I'd like to honor my father's promise,” said Celestria. The three of them stared at her.

“What promise?” interjected Elizabeth, glancing at Archie.

“I heard you talking in the little sitting room,” she admitted to Julia, unabashed. “Papa said he would help you out.”

“Ah,” said Julia, looking embarrassed. “Monty was always there.” She raised her eyes to her husband. “Now he's not, and everything falls apart.”

“I am now very rich. I've inherited my grandfather's fortune, along with Mama and Harry. I can't keep my share all to myself; it's more than even
I
could spend in a lifetime, and I certainly won't need it where I'm going!” The wine made her feel deliciously light-headed. “Papa would never have let you sell Pendrift.”

“He most certainly would not,” agreed Elizabeth, clicking her tongue.

“So neither will I.”

Julia blinked, her eyes now shining with tears. “You really want to save our home?” she asked, dazed. “I didn't think you liked it here.”

“It's not just your home, it's
our
home. All my happiest memories are here. I just never knew it.”

“My dear girl,” said Elizabeth. God had indeed performed a miracle. Father Dalgliesh had been right; help had come from the most unexpected place. “I thought you the most selfish of all my grandchildren.”

“Papa thought so, too,” Celestria replied. “And perhaps I still
am
selfish, because this is giving
me
pleasure. You see, I'm in love. He's highly unsuitable, and Mama is furious. But Grandpa would have celebrated it and encouraged me to follow my heart. I haven't changed that much, after all. If I were unselfish, I'd marry Aidan Cooney to make Mama happy. But as it is, I'm going to return to Italy after Grandpa's funeral and make Mama very unhappy indeed.” She shrugged unapologetically.

“Good God, girl!” Archie exclaimed suddenly, turning pink. “Your father would be very proud of you, Celestria.”

“Thank you,” said Elizabeth humbly. “And thank you, God, for giving Celestria a big heart. Now, tell us about your young man? What does he do?”

Perhaps it was the wine, or the fact that Celestria no longer needed approval from anyone, but she told it to them straight, without reserve, and although Archie dropped his coffee cup and stained the carpet, no one was in any position to criticize.

 

The following morning, Celestria awoke late to the sound of Bouncy in the garden below, kicking a ball across the lawn with Purdy. She stood a while at the window, gazing out. Bouncy made her smile, running over the grass on his short legs, laughing with abandon. It gave her pleasure to know that, thanks to her, he would grow up here. Maybe he'd never know how close he'd come to leaving it. She raised her eyes to the sea that glittered innocently in the pale light of morning. Of the family, only she knew that her father hadn't drowned there. Only she knew the extent of his deception. But by saving Pendrift, she was somehow erasing some of his malice, preserving his memory as she would have liked to remember him. No one would be any the wiser. They'd all thank her, assuming that she was simply taking up where he left off, doing what he would have done himself, had his life not been so cruelly cut short.

But
she
knew. Not a day would go by when she wouldn't wonder where he was and what he was doing, and whether his duplicity had brought him happiness. She doubted it was possible to build happiness on foundations that were warped with pain. He had selfishly sought pleasure without considering the hearts he had broken along the way. Well, she wouldn't allow him to hurt her family any more. The knowledge that she was preserving their memory of him gave her the deepest sense of satisfaction.

As she walked across the lawn to the snake path that led down to the sea, she was suddenly hit on the shin by the football. Little Bouncy squealed with laughter. “Thorry,” he said, his lisp as sweet as ever. Purdy came bounding over the grass to catch it.

“You kick very well. I think you're going to be a skillful footballer.” The little boy jogged over to her. “I see you now have Mummy all to yourself,” she said, recalling the time Nanny nearly lost him to the sea.

“Mummy'th my betht friend,” he replied as Purdy ran past, almost knocking him to the ground. Bouncy ran after the dog, trying to catch his Labrador tail.

“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?