The Visconti House (16 page)

“I wonder why the cellar was boarded up,” mused Laura’s father.

“This house is full of such mysteries.” Laura’s mother poured herself another glass of wine. “It is part of its charm.”

Laura was about to say it would not lose its charm if they could solve its mysteries when Harry let out an exclamation and rushed to the oven; he had remembered his mushroom pie. After a lot of commotion in the kitchen, he produced it to great applause and they all followed him as he carried it triumphantly into the dining room. Laura saw Colin’s eyes light up when he glimpsed the table, transformed by candlelight and the wild, luxuriant swaths of ivy.

Leon did not speak much during the meal, but neither did Laura. They both piled their plates with Harry’s delicious concoctions and watched the adults laughing, talking, passing food, and lifting glasses. Laura was relieved to find that Leon’s awkwardness appeared to have vanished. He was almost relaxed, sitting back in his chair, his fingers playing with a
strand of ivy. His eyes were often on his father; Laura noticed how pleased he seemed that his father was joining in the conversation. At one point Colin and Isabella even discovered they had a mutual friend, a musician who was scraping out a living making coffee in a city café. Soon they were all talking about people they knew and what they were doing.

Laura nudged Leon, and they slipped away from the table. She led him to the ballroom, past the lumps of metal and stone, twisted and contorted in the dim light, to her corner at the end where the old sofa was pushed against the wall. They sat at opposite ends of the sofa, Laura curled up with her legs beneath her, Leon sprawled against the cushions.

“Your dad said you won a scholarship,” began Laura almost accusingly.

Leon scowled. “It’s because of the math. Because of that competition. You know those two days I was away? That was when I went for the interview. Dad thinks I should take it, but I don’t want to. What would I do at some stuck-up private school?”

Laura started to say, “Nothing,” but then stopped, changing her mind. She had remembered the expression on his father’s face when he had asked her to talk to Leon. “Maybe you could just try it,” she
suggested. “You wouldn’t have to stay if you didn’t like it.”

“Is that what you would do?”

Laura laced her fingers together, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know. But you’re braver than me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” She stopped twisting her fingers and looked across at him. “You moved to this town, for instance.”

“That wasn’t brave. I had no choice. I couldn’t stay with Dad.”

“Why not?” The words were out before Laura had time to think about them. She held her breath, wondering how Leon would react.

For a moment she was sure he was going to clam up. She saw his jaw clench, and he stared down at the floor. But, slowly, he began speaking. “Dad wasn’t coping too well then. After Mom died. He was drinking too much. That’s why he lost his job and everything.”

Laura thought back to the day Leon arrived at the high school and how miserable he had looked. What must it have been like to lose his mother and then watch his father breaking down? She felt a lump in her throat.

“We didn’t have any money or anywhere to live so
I came to stay with Grandma while Dad was trying to sort himself out.” Leon looked up at Laura. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll never speak to you again.”

“Of course I won’t!”

“It’s all over now. He’s not drinking anymore and he’ll have a job soon — he’s got some interviews. He’s clever, you know, really clever. He could have done anything, only Grandma didn’t have the money for him to continue studying.”

It was all suddenly clear to Laura. “That’s why he wants you to take the scholarship,” she said. She looked at Leon tentatively. “I think it would really help him if you took it.”

Leon fiddled with a tassel on one of the cushions. “I’d have to board at the school,” he said. “I’d hate that.”

“You could come back here during the holidays.”

“My dad will have a home then. I would go there.”

Laura felt desolate but she heard herself saying, “And there will probably be kids like you there, kids interested in math.”

Leon stared at a piece of driftwood propped against the wall. “I suppose I could try it,” he said. “I know it would make Dad really happy.”

“When would you go?”

“Next year.”

Next year.
Laura had a horrible feeling that she was going to cry. “It’ll be fine,” she said, jumping up. “Let’s go and get some dessert.”

Leon followed her out into the hall, his eyes puzzled. They could hear the laughter coming from the dining room and see the candlelight flickering on the walls. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm, sweet pastries drifted out to them.

As they reached the doorway, Leon caught Laura’s arm. “If I did go,” he said, “would you write to me?”

“Sure,” replied Laura.

Leon brushed her hair lightly with his fingers. “It looks good.”

“What?” Laura put up her hand. The ivy wreath was still caught in her hair. Blushing, she pulled it out. “I’d forgotten it was there,” she said. “It was just Isabella playing silly games.”

She turned to go, the ivy trailing from her hand, but Leon was still gripping her elbow. He hesitated before letting go, then said, “I’ve had a great time tonight. Thanks.” Without waiting for a response, he slipped past her into the room.

“Just in time,” Laura heard Hugo boom. “We’ve cut the pear and almond croustade.”

When Laura saw Leon ahead of her the following afternoon, she quickened her step. “I brought the photos to show your grandmother,” she said as soon as she caught up to him. “I thought she’d like to see them.”

“She would,” replied Leon, then added, “Dad said your parents insisted on giving him two bottles of the wine. They’re going to sell them and give us the money.”

“I know. We wouldn’t have found them if it hadn’t been for you. You were the one who read about the cellar. And you insisted we keep looking for it. I would have given up.”

“It was both of us who found the cellar.” Leon kicked a stone into the gutter. “Maybe something good will come from wine for a change.” He paused, then looked away from Laura. “Dad had to go back to the city this morning. Just before he left, I told him I’d go to that school.”

“Oh.” Laura felt her stomach lurch. She swallowed and, trying to keep her voice steady, said, “So you’ll be leaving at the end of the year.”

Leon nodded. “You can’t tell anyone, though. I don’t want everyone knowing.”

“Of course not.”

They were both silent as they walked up the path to Mrs. Murphy’s house. Even though the sun was shining, Laura felt as though a cloud had descended over everything.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Murphy was sitting in a large armchair. She had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and her feet were raised on a low footstool. The television in the corner was switched on but she looked as though she had been dozing. “My rheumatism’s bad today,” she said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “Maybe some proper rain is coming at last.”

Leon dropped a light hand onto her shoulder. “Laura has brought some photos to show you, Grandma,” he said. “The photos we found.”

Her face lit up. “That’s lovely of you, dear,” she said, smiling at Laura. “Fancy you finding them in the cellar like that. Leon, make us a cup of tea, will you, and then we’ll look at them. There’s some fruitcake
in the tin. And you can switch that television off. It’s all rubbish anyway.”

Leon put the kettle on the stove and took a large tin out of the cupboard under the window. “Grandma’s fruitcake is very good,” he said, lifting the cake onto a plate.

“And so it should be,” agreed Mrs. Murphy, “I’ve been making it for most of my life.” She winked at Laura. “It would be a bad thing if I hadn’t got it pretty near to perfect after all that time. My mother used to make these cakes to send to the soldiers during the war, to give them a bit of nourishment.”

Laura bit into the thick slice that Leon had cut and thought about the soldiers who would have received the cakes. Such a strange idea, sending cake through the mail. But the soldiers must have been very grateful, because the cake was delicious. She hoped Mrs. Murphy would give her the recipe someday.

When they had all finished, Mrs. Murphy nodded toward the photos. “I’ll need my glasses,” she said. “They’re on the table in the sun-room, Leon. Laura, pass me that tray, please. All right, I think I’m ready.”

She went through each photograph, pausing for a long time when she came to the one with Mr. Visconti. Watching her, Laura had a fleeting image of
Mrs. Murphy as a little girl, running after Mr. Visconti down the dusty street. She looked at Leon, wondering if he was imagining the same thing. But Leon was watching her, an odd expression on his face.

At last Mrs. Murphy spoke. “What a handsome man. I can only just recall his face. Of course he was so very much older when we used to see him.” She sighed. “How happy they look together — how young and full of hope.”

Laura smiled. She had thought exactly the same thing.

Mrs. Murphy put the photograph down and shook her head. “It’s terrible the way things go wrong between people,” she said. “Well, thank you for bringing them over. I think you should show them to Janet, too. I’m sure she would like to see the pictures of her relative.”

Laura thought of the sharp, unwelcoming woman who had peered at her through the wire screen. She was not so sure; Miss McInnes hadn’t shown any interest in her own family history. She looked across at Leon for an answer.

“I guess we could take them around but she may not let us in,” he said to his grandmother. “She was very unfriendly to Laura.”

“She’ll let you in.” Mrs. Murphy’s eyes glinted. “I’ll tell her to.”

After another slice of cake, Laura followed Leon out through the dark hallway to his small bedroom just behind the hall curtain. She had imagined that it would be like the other rooms in the house, cluttered with an assortment of furniture, but this room had only a bed, a chair, a chest of drawers, and a large wooden bookcase that was full of books.

“This was my father’s room,” said Leon, dropping onto the bed. “Those are his books, most of them.”

Laura ran her hand along them, reading the spines. There was
The Jungle Book, Just So Stories, Biggles,
and a lot of books about chess and mathematics. At the end were some poetry books. “I can picture your father reading these.”

“So can I,” agreed Leon. “I like being in his room.”

Laura could see that. He looked completely relaxed. She remembered how she had shivered when she had looked down the hallway, thinking how awful it would be to have to stay with Mrs. Murphy. How wrong she had been.

She sat down on the chair. “I don’t want to visit Miss McInnes again. I wish we didn’t have to show her the photos.”

“But don’t you see?” replied Leon. “If we show her the photos, she might give us some more information. She might be more willing to help.” Then he grinned at her. “And anyway, she may not be so unfriendly after Grandma has spoken to her.”

“Maybe not,” admitted Laura. She looked down at the little bundle of photographs in her lap. She felt very protective of them. “OK,” she said reluctantly. “I guess we could go after school tomorrow.”

It was much less intimidating walking up Miss McInnes’s tidy garden path with Leon beside her, Laura decided. They rang the egg-timer doorbell and waited.

When Miss McInnes appeared, she still seemed rather tense, but at least this time she opened the wire screen. “Rosie said that you had something to show me.”

It took Laura a moment to realize that she was speaking about Mrs. Murphy. “Yes,” she replied. “It’s something that belonged to Mr. Visconti.”

Miss McInnes eyed the plastic bag Laura had wrapped the photos in and said, “Well, bring it down to the kitchen.”

It was the neatest kitchen Laura had ever seen — and the cleanest. Miss McInnes took an ironed tea towel from a drawer, spread it on the gray laminate table in the middle of the room, and indicated that
Laura could put the parcel on it. Laura felt a sudden rise of desperation. How could she show Miss McInnes the photos? She was so cold and unsympathetic. She would never understand.