The Witches of Cambridge (23 page)

Amandine gives her husband a reassuring nod. “Yes, I suppose so,” she says. “One day.” But she’s never been less sure of anything in her life.

—

Noa is sitting on her aunt Heather’s sofa with a bag of ice on her head, hoping to alleviate the migraine that hasn’t lifted since that last night with Santiago, when she gets the call. The woman says she’s calling from Sotheby’s, and Noa nearly bursts out laughing but remembers Santiago and his spell just in time. When the woman says they’re offering her a position as one of their junior acquisition buyers to start next week, Noa wonders if it really could have been Santiago’s spell that did it, or if, as is more likely, he actually just bribed several people. Either way, she can’t quite believe how lovely he is and how lucky she is.

“You want me to start next week? On Monday?”

“Yes, certainly, if that will suit your schedule, Ms. Sparrow.”

“Of course, absolutely. It’s just…”

“Yes?”

“Well, I’m still…I haven’t completed my studies yet.”

“We understood that you have a first in art history from Magdalene College, Cambridge.”

This is the moment. A crossroads opens up in front of Noa and she stands at the center, knowing which turn she should take but hesitating. It might not be the specific dream of her life, just yet, but it is the opportunity of a lifetime and—if she does well, blessed by Santiago’s particular magic—it’s likely to lead her there. She could have experiences so rare and unique, so beyond the realm of normal possibility, that she would be mad to pass up the chance, however immorally obtained it was. She could go back to her crappy little life, or she could step into this magnificent new one. All she has to do is say one word.

And then, as her own voice hovers on her tongue, she tastes something—sharp and sweet—and swallows it down. And her voice when she speaks now is tinged with cachaça and the trace of a Brazilian accent.

“Yes,” Noa says. “Yes, that’s correct. I do.”

H
OW IS HE
going to tell her? How is he going to tell her that he’s not in love with her, that he never has been? Well, perhaps he’ll omit that last piece of information. Although, since she clearly cast a spell on him, she shouldn’t really be surprised, should she? She’s the one in the wrong, she’s the one who should be sorry, not him. And yet, George simply can’t bring himself to be angry. Perhaps it’s the way Cosima looks at him, with such fresh happiness, optimism, and hope. He can’t let her down; he can’t shatter all her expectations.

At least he’s managed to avoid having sex again, feigning various sore throats and headaches. Although he knows he won’t be able to keep it up for much longer. She’s already getting suspicious. Especially given the fact that he turns down all her offers of herbal cures. He has to tell her. He has to let her down gently, but soon. George remembers something Héloïse once said about ripping off Band-Aids—the faster you do it, the less it hurts. Perhaps George is a coward, but he’s never been able to do it that way. Even though he knows he should, he still ends up taking the corner and pulling it slowly, tearing the little hairs out of his skin. So it is with Band-Aids, so it is with life. But not this time; this time he must be firm. He must.

And, after that, he’ll have to address the small matter of his best friend being in love with him. Oh, God.

—

“You must be very excited.”

Noa nods. “Yes.”

Santiago smiles, wide and bright, his teeth brilliant against his olive skin. Noa feels the flush of desire she always does when he smiles. “I’m glad. I’m glad I could help make one of your dreams come true.”

Noa smiles, soft and small.

“Forgive me, my sweet,” Santiago says, “but you don’t seem quite as delirious with delight as I’d expected.”

Noa shakes her head. “No, of course, I am. I’m sorry, I don’t…I’m just not feeling myself lately. I’m getting headaches and I’m feeling…fuzzy. It’s probably flu.”

Santiago reaches across the table and takes her hand in his. He smiles again and raises one wicked eyebrow. “I can give you something to take care of that.”

Noa smiles. “Oh, you can, can you?”

“Yes, I’ve heard that Brazilian honey and Brazilian kisses can work miracles when it comes to colds and suchlike.” Santiago lifts Noa’s hand and presses her skin softly against his lips.

Noa shivers.

“Feel better?”

Noa nods. “Than I’ve ever felt before.”

“Good.” Santiago grins. “And that’s only a preview of coming attractions. By midnight you’ll be on top of the world, I promise. I’ll make it my personal mission.”

“Well, thank you,” Noa says. “I suppose I’ll be forever in your debt.”

“Oh, really?” Santiago raises his wicked eyebrow even higher. “I like the sound of that.”

Noa gives his cheek a playful pat. “Cheeky bugger. Anyway, I’m already in your debt, aren’t I? So I’d better be careful, or you’ll end up owning my soul.”

Santiago laughs, deep and long. Noa hears the rush of the Amazon River in his voice, the joy of the Rio Carnival, the power of the Atlantic Ocean.

“You must be relieved to be done with all that studying,” he says.

“Well, yes, I…” Noa trails off, wondering why—now that the excited shock of the job offer isn’t quite as startlingly bright—she’s starting to feel something else, something rather…she isn’t quite sure what: as if she’s missing a part of herself she never knew she had. The strange feeling lingers on the edge of her consciousness: a dark shore on a lake of gold.

Santiago leans back in his chair, sliding both delicate hands through his thick black hair. “Analyzing art only entertains your brain and closes your heart to the true beauty. You would have ruined yourself. You would have tainted the sweet innocence of your precious soul.”

Noa looks at Santiago as he speaks, the strength of his sentiments silencing her own thoughts. As he waits for her to reply, Noa finds that her own words hover just beyond her reach and she can only find those that echo his.

“Yes,” she says, “I suppose the experience of art is most…transformational when one doesn’t have an opinion on it. I still experience it, when I see something new…I feel I’m looking at life for the first time and everything is magical.” Noa glances up at him. “It’s how I feel when I look at your paintings.”

Santiago smiles. “Darling girl,” he says, leaning over the table and kissing her. And, with that, everything else is forgotten.

—

Héloïse sits with Theo on the bench in the Botanic Garden she shared with François. When they began their walk earlier that afternoon, wandering in and out of streets as they talked, she had no idea where they’d end up, until her feet walked them to the gates of the gardens. After they crossed the lawns Héloïse showed Theo the little lake with the curtains of willow trees, the river, the path of woodchips, and the hothouses. Occasionally, their hands brushed together and, once or twice, their fingers somehow entwined. When she stopped at the bench, Héloïse sat in the middle, so Theo could only sit close to her.

“This was mine and Frankie’s bench.”

Theo smiled. “Then I’m honored to be here.”

Héloïse nods. They sit in silence for a while, watching the ducks floating past on the pond, dipping their heads into the water and turning themselves upside down, tail feathers pointing to the sky.

“How did your husband die?” Theo speaks slowly, each word a tentative step. “You don’t have to tell me, of course, I just…”

Héloïse is silent, gazing out at the ducks as if she hadn’t heard him at all.

“Maggie died of cancer. She had a double mastectomy, nearly ten years ago. She was in remission for almost five years. Then it spread. She died twelve weeks after we found out…”

“Oh, you poor, dear thing.” Héloïse turns to Theo. “It must have been hell.”

“It was.”

“Frankie died instantly,” Héloïse says softly. “One moment he was here, the next he was not. I often thought, which would be worse, to lose someone quickly or slowly. But how can I know?”

“I hope we’ll never have the chance to compare, to know both ways and decide for ourselves.”

“Yes,” Héloïse says, “of course.”

“Tell me your happiest time,” Theo says, “the happiest moment you shared.”

“Amandine’s birth,” says Héloïse instantly. Then she pauses. “Well, actually, it was a moment of great joy, certainly, but it was also many hours of great pain. And, when she was finally born, I remember I wept with relief. I confess all that agony took some shine from the joy, at least at first.”

“Yes, I imagine it might. Maggie was in labor with Ben for nearly two days.” Theo smiles. “That’s why we stopped at one.”

Héloïse drops her voice to a whisper. “We tried to have another. We couldn’t. I had five miscarriages before Frankie persuaded me to let go, to stop trying.”

Theo rests his hand on her arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to tell me…?”

Héloïse shakes her head. “No, not yet. Later. Let’s talk of something else.”

“Okay. Of course,” Theo says, quickly racking his mind for another—distinctly different—topic. “Do you miss teaching?”

“Yes.” Héloïse stops, surprised by her answer. The books she’d missed, certainly; she hadn’t realized she’d missed the teaching too.

“Do you think you might go back?”

“I…I never thought about it before. But yes, perhaps I’d like to do that. One day. I don’t know…”

“I bet your students loved you. I bet you’re a wonderful teacher.”

Héloïse smiles. “How do you know?”

Theo smiles again. “Intuition. Magic. Some things you just know.”

Héloïse gives him a sideways glance. For a moment she wonders if, somehow, he does know, if he possibly shares her gift. But, if he did, then wouldn’t she realize it? It’s strange, and Héloïse can’t explain it, that although she kept her own gifts a secret from François for all the years of their life together, she can—for this moment, at least—imagine telling Theo. Why? Then, with a twist of guilt, her heart constricts and Héloïse throws the idea into the little pond to be eaten by the ducks.

“So, you’ve brought me to François’s bench,” Theo is saying while Héloïse is still shaking off her guilt. “Will you let me return the honor?”

She looks up at him.
“Pardon?”

“I’d like to take you to mine and Maggie’s favorite place. If you’d like to come?”

“
Bien sûr
.” Héloïse smiles. “I’d be honored.”

—

Cosima and George stroll along King’s Parade. They pass the art galleries and boutique shops: collections of pretty dresses, sparkling jewelery, gourmet chocolates. The sun is setting behind King’s College, casting a shadow of spires and turrets across the pavement. As Cosima chats about a particular pretty dress she wants to buy, George remembers one Christmas when, at Kat’s suggestion, the book group met above King’s College chapel to listen to the choir singing Christmas carols. It was snowing. The four of them sat around a tiny floating fire, cradling cups of hot chocolate, watching the snowflakes fall above them and listening to the beautiful music rise up below them. It was—and still is, despite all his recent adventures—one of the happiest nights of George’s life. The memory of it injects him with a little shot of courage.

“I’ve got to tell you something,” George says. “I need to—”

“Yes, absolutely,” Cosima says, excitement dripping from her words. “But can I tell my news first? I’ve been wanting all day to tell you. I’ve just been waiting for the right time, but maybe that’s now.”

“Oh, okay, sure,” he says, happy to postpone the agony of rejection a few moments longer. “What is it?”

Cosima stops walking. She turns to him and smiles, her face lit up, radiant. And George knows: before she speaks aloud the fact that will change his life forever, he already knows.

—

Noa stands outside Amandine’s office door. She could be a coward about this, she could just send a letter to the administrator, informing the university of her intentions, and leave it at that. Then, when she didn’t turn up to her tutorial on Tuesday, Amandine would make a few calls and find out what happened. But, despite the fact that she can feel her heart getting harder, Noa can’t quite bring herself to do this. Amandine was kind to her, she offered her forgiveness and friendship, and Noa, even though memories of her past are starting to get a little hazy, still holds a soft spot for her teacher.

“Come in!”

Noa pushes open the door and steps inside Amandine’s office. The first thing she notices is that
The Kiss
has been hung back on the wall. For a moment she wishes she could still see people’s secrets. She’d like to know what’s happening if, as she suspects, things are getting better in Amandine’s marriage.

“Oh,” Amandine says, as she sees Noa. “I thought we didn’t have a tutorial till Tuesday.”

“We don’t,” Noa says. “We didn’t. I’ve come to tell you…” For a second Noa hesitates. Even though she’s already done it, even though she’s taken the left turn and walked too far to see the crossroads now, telling her teacher feels so final, so irreversible.

“What?” Amandine sits up. “Are you okay?”

“I…I…” Her hands are shaking, her palms are sweaty, her head is throbbing. But, just as Noa is about to shake her head, to confess to her teacher that she isn’t okay, not at all, she tastes cachaça on her tongue. Noa licks her lips, fear and indecision instantly evaporating. She feels Santiago’s breath on her cheek, his voice in her head.