The Witches of Cambridge (24 page)

“I’m good, I’m great.” Noa smiles. “Actually, I’ve come to tell you I’m leaving.”

Amandine frowns. “You’re leaving? What do you mean?”

“I’ve been offered a job. As an acquisitions assistant at Sotheby’s. I start on Monday.”

Amandine smiles. “I’m sorry? I don’t understand. Is this a joke?”

Noa licks her lips again. Suddenly, she’s never felt so powerful, so determined. “No, I’m serious.”

“But that’s…it’s not possible. You haven’t even got your degree yet. How did this happen?”

Again, Noa hears his voice in her head. She speaks the words he whispers. “My uncle’s best friend is head of acquisitions there,” Noa says with a nonchalant shrug. “I guess nepotism isn’t so bad when it’s in your favor.”

Amandine raises her eyebrows. “Yes, I suppose so. But to just give you a position like that…? Won’t you do an internship first? Perhaps during the summer, while you finish your degree?”

Noa shakes her head. “I did one last summer.” Her lie is effortless, easy. She feels Santiago’s presence so strongly she almost turns to look for him. “I’ve got enough experience for them and for me. I don’t need any more and I don’t need to finish my degree. I was doing a degree to get a job like this and, even then, I never thought I’d get
this
job. So I’m not going to give up the chance now.”

Amandine considers. “I see what you’re saying, but it seems an awful shame. I mean, I thought you were studying art history because you loved it, because you wanted to learn, not simply to get a job afterward.”

For a second Santiago’s grip loosens as Amandine’s words momentarily eclipse his in Noa’s head. She frowns, confused.

“Well, yes, I did,” Noa admits, her own words rising up at last, “but I don’t really…I don’t love studying so much anymore. I want to get out there and start living. I’m bored with reading books all the time. I want some real life experience, I—”

“Yes, I understand that,” Amandine interrupts, scared that she’s about to lose one of her best students, and her favorite. “But can’t you just wait a year? What’s a year, after all?”

For a moment it seems as if Noa hesitates again. And then the spirit that infused her as she walked into the room overtakes her again. Noa shakes her head and stands so straight she seems to gain ten inches.

“No. I’m sorry. I can’t,” she says. “My mind’s made up.”

H
ÉLOÏSE SITS IN
the car next to Theo. They’ve been driving for nearly an hour and, not being much of a driver herself, Héloïse has completely lost track of her internal navigation.

“Where are we going?”

Theo smiles. “That’s the seven hundred and fifty-third time you’ve asked me that and my answer is still the same: it’s a secret. I’ll tell you when we get there.”

“I hope I’ll know by then, unless you’re taking me to another world.”

“Sort of, well, a perfect world, at least.” Theo turns the car left along yet another tiny country lane edged with squat walls made of stone and canopied with oak and chestnut trees.

“Even better.”

When they reach the end of the road Theo turns left again and stops at the edge of a field.

“The sea!” Héloïse cries.

“Southwold beach,” Theo says. “Our favorite beach. We came here every weekend during the summer when Ben was little.”

He opens the car door and Héloïse opens her door too. Together they walk along the path across the field and toward the sea. The air is nearly warm, but not quite warm enough for Héloïse to slip her cardigan off her shoulders. When they reach the beach, Héloïse slides off her high heels and carries them. As her toes sink into the sand, she remembers the soft, wet dirt of the Botanic Garden and smiles.

Theo reaches the edge of the sea first. He stops on the hard, wet sand as the water laps at his feet. He reaches out his hand to Héloïse, beckoning her forward, and she comes, stopping when they stand side by side, but she doesn’t take his hand.

“I just remembered another time,” she says. “With François, on a beach. Not this beach. I don’t recall which. Perhaps in France. We were sitting on deckchairs. Amandine was four or five, sitting at our feet building tunnels in the sand and filling them up with seawater. François had packed a picnic and he gave me a—
quel est le mot?
—thermos of hot coffee. He kissed my hand as I took it and I remember thinking: This is it. It doesn’t get any better than this. Happiness. Joy. All the way up and through. I felt so grateful, so suddenly, I started to cry.” Héloïse smiles. “François didn’t understand. I had to reassure him that everything was okay, more than okay. Perfect.”

Theo reaches for Héloïse’s hand, but stops and drops his by his side again. “I had so many perfect moments on this beach,” he says. “I…I couldn’t come here for years after Maggie died. The first time I did all those moments came crashing down on me and I sobbed and sobbed.” He smiles. “This old German couple found me and helped me back to the car. We sat together as the sun set. They couldn’t speak a word of English and had no idea what was going on.”

“That’s so sweet,” Héloïse says.

“Yes, I was very touched. It was a big turning point for me.”

“Oh?”

Theo grins. “Yep, that’s when I started trying to save the world.”

“In the Atlantic Ocean?”

Theo laughs. “Well, yes, that and other things.”

“What things?”

Theo ponders. “I plant trees, pick up litter, protest against crazy government laws…I sign petitions, support charities, anything I can, really, to help heal this beautiful, messed-up, neglected planet.”

“
C’est magnifique
,” Héloïse says. “You are one of these wonderful people who is so good and makes the rest of us feel guilty.”

“Oh, I hope not,” Theo says, glancing at Héloïse’s hand, his fingers twitching. “I hope I inspire people to help too; it would be a great shame if I did the opposite.”

“
Alors
, no, that’s not what I mean, not at all. I think it’s wonderful what you do; this is the sort of thing that gives meaning to life.”

“Well, the way I see it, if everyone did a little thing every day for the world, it’d be enough to sustain it.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Héloïse says.

“No, nor did I,” Theo says, “until I did. Most people don’t, they just hope someone else will take care of everything. I suppose governments should, but they don’t.”

“
C’est vrai
.”

Theo nods. “It’s crazy that people think, because they don’t own the wider world—the highways, forests, and fields—because it doesn’t belong to them that they don’t need to take care of it. So they take care of their own little patch and leave the rest to rot.” Theo smiles. “Sorry, I started to rant, I didn’t mean to, I just get a bit passionate about this sort of thing.”

“
Non
, don’t apologize,” Héloïse says. “Passion,
c’est fantastique
, always.”

“Thank you,” Theo says. “Well, okay, then. So, now we’ve been back to both our pasts, how about we—well, how about you let me take you out to dinner?”

Héloïse takes his hand across the sand and in front of the sea. Theo squeezes her hand and smiles a special, secret smile.

“
Oui
.” She smiles. “Thank you. I would love that.”

—

Noa passes her probationary period at Sotheby’s in a breathless blur. Although she really has no idea what she’s doing, she makes it through with lots of nodding and smiling and saying yes to everything asked of her. All the while, even though Noa knows she should be having the time of her life, she can’t shake her migraine, or the feeling that something is very, very wrong. Noa finds a shared flat in South Kensington, again courtesy of Santiago, who was thrilled to hear of her turn in fortune and refused to confirm his greater involvement in obtaining Noa’s position. “Magic luck” was all he said.

He visits her at his friend’s flat on Friday nights and they all go out drinking in various clubs. One night Santiago brings his extremely beautiful cousin, Claudia, and the three of them go out to dance (
foró
) and drink (cachaça).

“How are you loving your new job?” Santiago asks, yelling over the drumming that reverberates through the walls and Noa’s chest.

“Yes,” she shrieks instead. “It’s…incredible! I still can’t believe—thank you.”

“
Nâo problemo
,” Santiago says. “Didn’t I tell you, it’s so much better to live with art, to see it, touch it, smell and taste it, instead of merely studying it?”

Noa nods vigorously. “I can’t believe, yesterday I was helping to catalog a Renoir and a Rothko. And on Monday a
Monet
sold for one hundred and seven million dollars. And I touched it an hour before it sold. Unbelievable.”

Claudia slips her hand onto Santiago’s thigh. Noa watches, wishing once more that she could see any secrets between them. She never thought she’d miss her curse, and she doesn’t, not really, but it certainly had proved useful sometimes. Now she’s just like everyone else, left to guess at what’s going on, always at risk of being betrayed or shocked by something.

“It all sounds so glamorous,” Claudia says. “So sexy.”

Noa’s eyes widen. “I suppose so, I…”

“One day you must sell Santiago’s paintings,” she continues. “I’m sure they will sell for a fortune.”

Santiago laughs. “In time,
minha linda
, in time. Let’s give little Noa a few months to get settled in before we discuss any of that.”

Noa glances from one to the other, sensing something between them, a code woven in between their words that she can’t see or understand. She doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing.

“I’m bored with talking, let’s move, come on.” Claudia stands and holds out her hands. “You too, little Noa.”

With great effort of will, Noa shakes her head. “You go, I’ll sit this one out.” She wants to collect her thoughts. For, although the months have been a magnificent, majestic, magical whirlwind, she’s also felt a little adrift and alone, unmoored in a world that doesn’t quite make sense. It doesn’t help that her compass (albeit a cursed compass) was taken away before she set sail. Noa has to remind herself that if she still had the truth-telling Tourette syndrome, she’d never be able to live this new life.

“No?” Claudia laughs. “Don’t think, just dance. Now!”

Noa looks up at this extremely beautiful woman who, with her enormous eyes, long black hair, and imposing—intimidating—gaze, reminds Noa of Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra. She certainly can’t say no to her.

“Okay,” she says and stands to be pulled onto the dance floor by both of them.

The air is thick with heat and sweat, the music so loud it blows all the thoughts out of Noa’s head, the drumming beating through her body, the floor sticky with splashed drinks. Santiago pulls Noa and Claudia close to him, twisting his hips, pressing his chest to their chests, snaking his shoulders to the beat of the drums.

Noa wakes up the next morning alone in the flat, wondering why, since she’d barely touched any alcohol last night, her head feels so heavy, her brain so fuzzy, her vision is so blurry, and she can’t remember anything that happened at all.

—

After three months of supervised visits, and with his agreement to fund Sylvia’s private education at Cheltenham Ladies’ College next September, Eliot is at last permitted a private meeting with his daughter, without her mother. He brings Amandine along for moral support, although she suggests it’d be better if she waits elsewhere in order to give father and daughter some time alone together.

“Okay,” Eliot says, “but don’t go far, so you can come quickly if anything goes wrong.”

“All right,” Amandine says, laughing, “you find a nice café and I’ll find another one around the corner, okay?”

“Or you could just sit at the other side of the café.”

“I can’t, sweetie, I didn’t bring my dark glasses and newspaper to hide behind, sorry.”

“Shut up.” Eliot smiles. “I’m just scared, that’s all.”

“I thought things were going well?”

“Better than that total disaster in Cambridge does not mean well; it just means it wasn’t a complete disaster.”

“It’ll take time.” Amandine takes her husband’s hand. “She’s had nearly fifteen years without you, fifteen years with that mad lunatic of a mother—sorry—but it’s no surprise that Sylvia’s a little…highly strung.”

Eliot sighs. “I wish, I just hope we can have a positive influence on her, that we can help her to be happier, you know?”

“I’m sure we can,” Amandine says, though in truth being a role model to her husband’s daughter, who still hates her as much as she ever did, is not something Amandine either believes she can do or is sure she wants to.

“Okay, we’re here.”

They stand together outside Tina’s front door.

“Are you going to knock?”

Eliot shakes his head. “I’m just waiting to see if they can feel my presence first.”

“Chicken,” Amandine says, knocking.

The door opens immediately. Sylvia stares back at them from across the threshold. She clutches the door so it’s still half-closed.

“You came,” she says.

“Of course we did.”

Sylvia narrows her eyes at Amandine. “She’s not coming too, is she?”