Pamela arrived back in town to find the house filled with red roses. “Goodness me, people are so kind,” she said, dropping her suitcase on the hall floor.
Celestria didn’t have the heart to tell her that they were all from Aidan and all for her. She didn’t tell her that she was engaged, either. She’d wait until she had come back from Italy. Right now, she was unable to think of anything but solving the mystery of her father’s death.
Godfrey, the butler, had returned from his summer break to the dreadful news of his master’s suicide. A wiry man with silver hair and a nose like a beak, he had worked for Mr. Montague almost as long as Mrs. Waynebridge had. With the formality that came with years of loyal servitude, he offered his condolences to Mrs. Pamela in a few short sentences, his expression as grave as an undertaker’s, placed a silver tray laden with letters on the hall table, and proceeded to carry her suitcase upstairs. When he reached her bedroom, he remained a while in the doorway that led into Mr. Monty’s dressing room. The air still contained his scent embedded in the upholstery, where it would now begin to fade. Like a lost dog he lingered there for a long time, not knowing what to do.
“It feels so empty without your father,” said Pamela to her daughter, sensing a coldness in the rooms that hadn’t been there before. Harry strode past her and dragged his suitcase up the stairs. Cornwall had been the scene of unhappiness, but also a much needed distraction. Now he was home, the house echoed with the dreadful loss. The rooms seemed larger, the ceilings taller, the air unfamiliar, and his father’s memory a ghostly presence everywhere he looked. He sat on his bed and let the sense of desolation wash over him like a gigantic wave. He was now the man of the house, but inside he felt like a little boy, barely able to keep afloat.
Pamela had scarcely had time to catch her breath when the doorbell rang. It rang persistently, as if the caller was in a terrible hurry. “Where’s Godfrey?” she snapped, raising her eyes from the pile of letters she was shuffling through.
“He’s upstairs,” Celestria replied.
Pamela huffed. “Can’t he hear the bell?”
“I’ll get it.” Celestria rolled her eyes; the door was only a few paces away.
“Tell Waynie to take Poochi into the kitchen. He could do with a little something.” Pamela wandered off, distracted by the handwriting on one of the envelopes.
Celestria opened the door to find Lotty on the doorstep in a cloud of Chanel No 5. “Good Lord!” Celestria exclaimed, pulling her cousin inside. “What are you dolled up for?” She took in the red lipstick and coiffed hair.
“I need to talk to you,” Lotty hissed, her eyes darting across the hall like those of a hunted animal.
“What’s happened?”
“Where’s Aunt Pamela?”
Celestria turned around. “She was here a minute ago.”
“Tell her I’m here, just so she knows.”
“Oh, I get it. You’re off somewhere else. Mama, it’s only Lotty!”
She heard her mother shout back from the sitting room. “Don’t forget Poochi, and your grandfather is coming at six.”
“Let’s go upstairs,” Celestria suggested.
“No, I can’t stay. I’m meeting Francis.”
“So, you want me to cover for you?” said Celestria with a smile. “You’ve made your decision, then? Are you going to elope?”
Lotty looked flustered. “I’m not sure. I mean, I don’t know. I need to talk to him.”
“I don’t think talking will get you anywhere. That kind of talking just gives me a headache. Besides, you’ve had the whole summer to think about it. If my father’s death has taught me anything, it’s that a girl needs to be looked after, if not by her father, then by her husband. I wouldn’t recommend being poor to anyone. It was ghastly. Fortunately, I have a rich grandfather.”
Lotty found her cousin’s melodrama grating. She had no experience of poverty, on any level.
Celestria lowered her voice and grew serious. “I never want to go there again, Lotty, and I wouldn’t want you to.”
Lotty changed the subject. “Melissa and Rafferty are getting serious, by the way. They’re very in love. I thought you’d like to know.” Her voice sounded flat.
Celestria looked mildly concerned for a moment. “Oh,” she replied tartly. “Just as well, considering how she compromised herself at the dance.”
“What do you mean?”
“He ravaged her like an animal.”
“Did he?”
“Of course. You could see it in her eyes. One simply can’t behave like that with a man and not marry him. One can so easily get a bad reputation. London is a small town.” Lotty looked confused. “Anyway, he’s undoubtedly rich and handsome; he’ll make the perfect husband. It’s not all about love, you know.”
“I think it is,” Lotty replied in a small voice. “I think love is more important than money. Life is short…” Her voice trailed off. If Monty’s death had taught her anything, it was that nothing but love had any worth at all.
“You’re a hopeless romantic. No, one should have a cool head when deciding one’s future. There’s time later on for the hothead to take precedence. Marry Eddie, Lotty, but love Francis. It’s very easy. That way you get the best of both worlds.”
Lotty looked offended. She straightened up, nostrils flaring. “And you, Celestria. What are you going to do about your future?”
Celestria turned away. “Marry for comfort, like I told you. I might even grow to love him. If not, I’ll love someone else, discreetly. Nothing wrong with that. Papa used to say the eleventh commandment is ‘Never get caught.’ Well, he’s right about that, and I don’t intend to.”
“Well, you and I are very different, Celestria. Please cover for me. You will, won’t you?”
“Of course I will.” She opened the door. The street outside was bathed in sunshine, the little communal garden a froth of green on the point of turning. She remembered her forthcoming trip to Italy and felt her heart swell with excitement. In that state of happiness it was easy to be generous. “Whatever you decide, Lotty. I’ll always stand by you.”
“Thank you, Cousin. I hope your trip to Italy is a success.”
“Don’t worry, I’m already on the scent.”
“You will write to me, won’t you?”
“If you write back and tell me what you decide. You can always join me in Puglia if it all gets too much. I can’t imagine Aunt Penelope taking to Francis.”
They embraced warmly, and Celestria watched her cousin hurry off down the street towards Belgrave Square. We are very different, you and I, she thought smugly as Lotty turned the corner. I will never give up my comfortable life for love.
Pamela began to unpack. All her clothes had been washed and ironed, so she had only the simple task of putting things away. She dared not venture into Monty’s dressing room. The sight of the empty room would give her another migraine. Usually she’d be unpacking for him, too, which she’d always found a bore. Now she longed for his socks and shirts to put away. It was while she unpacked that she discovered that the star brooch she had worn for Archie’s birthday party, the one that Monty had given her, was missing. At first she thought nothing of it, figuring it had probably dropped to the bottom of the case. But when she pulled out the last few items, it wasn’t there.
“Celestria!” she shouted out to the landing. “Have you seen my brooch?” Celestria wandered into the room.
“No.”
“I can’t have left it in Pendrift.”
“Did you have it after the dance?”
“I remember very little about what happened after the dance. It’s the shock.”
“It’s only a brooch,” Celestria consoled her.
“No,” retorted Pamela sharply. “It was much more than that.”
That evening Richard W. Bancroft II arrived at number 13 Upper Belgrave Street. His chauffeur remained outside in the red Bentley, waiting for an opportunity to smoke a quick cigarette beside the gates of St. Peter’s Church, next door to the house. Godfrey opened the door and showed Mr. Bancroft into the sitting room, where his daughter and grandchildren were waiting for him. Celestria was the first to embrace him, and he patted her affectionately on the back, planting a kiss on her forehead. Harry didn’t know his grandfather as well as his sister did and felt awkward, unsure whether to kiss him or shake his hand now that he was the man of the house. But Richard Bancroft was not a man of indecision. He scooped the boy into his arms and kissed him, too. Harry blushed, but it was the first physical contact he had had with another man since his father died and he liked it.
“You’ve grown into a fine young man,” said Richard. He rested his gaze on his grandson for a long moment, admiring his intelligent face and pitying the dreadful loss that was reflected in his clear gray eyes. “I bet your father was very proud of you. He had a right to be.”
Harry was unable to reply. He felt the tears sting his eyes but was able to restrain his emotions by stiffening his jaw and shedding none.
Pamela, Poochi under her arm like a handbag, took her father’s hand in hers and kissed his ruddy cheek. “Hello, Pa,” she said. In spite of their difference she was grateful he had come.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry for you all.” He sat down. Godfrey poured Pamela a glass of sherry from the drinks table that stood behind the sofa, where golden liquids glittered in crystal decanters beneath a large potted jasmine. “Pour me a whiskey, Godfrey. Straight, no ice.” The butler did as he asked and brought the glass over on a silver tray.
“Would Sir like anything else?”
“Not for the moment, Godfrey. Why don’t you take a break?” He took a swig and watched the butler leave the room, closing the door softly behind him. When he was sure that they were completely alone, he lowered his voice and spoke solemnly.
“This is a dreadful business, but I want you all to know that even though I am unable to bring Monty back, I can at least support you financially so that life can continue as it always has. When do you go back to school, Harry?”
“On the ninth,” Harry replied, feeling a great sense of relief that his grandfather was assuming control of things.
“I’ll telephone your housemaster this evening. You’re the head of the family now, son. It’s a heavy duty on the shoulders of one so young, but it could just be the making of you. Death comes to us all eventually, and your father gave you the best years of his life. You know the Jesuit saying? ‘Give me the boy until he turns seven and I’ll give you the man.’ Those seven years are the most important. They’re the foundation blocks from which you will build your future, and yours, my boy, are very strong. You’re thirteen now, a young man. This can only make you stronger. You understand?” Harry looked doubtful. His grandfather chuckled. “You will.”
He pulled a fat white envelope out of the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to Celestria. “This is the itinerary for you and Mrs. Waynebridge. You leave on Thursday. Rita will come over tomorrow morning to go through it all with you. Fred will drive you to the airport. The arrangements have been made to the last detail. I didn’t think your mother would like me to leave anything to chance.”
Celestria felt a frisson of excitement. “Thank you, Grandpa!” she exclaimed, thrilled that only she and her grandfather knew the real reason for her trip.
It had not escaped Richard’s notice that Pamela had so far said little. She was sitting on the club fender, her white fingers stroking her dog, listening to everything he said, her face taut with discomfort. “Now, why don’t you both leave your mother and me to discuss the boring stuff,” he said, draining his glass. Celestria and Harry left the room.
“Thank God we’re not going to be poor,” said Celestria to her brother as they climbed the stairs. Harry clicked his tongue. His confidence had returned with the wave that had swept in his grandfather.
“You and Mama are ridiculous sometimes,” he replied. “We were never going to be poor.”
Richard Bancroft studied his daughter. He knew her so well, even though in the last twenty years he had slowly lost her. “What’s eating you, girl?” he said. “I can only read so much from your silence. Have I done something to offend you?”
Pamela’s cheeks stung pink, and she swallowed. “I feel so wretched,” she said in a soft voice, lowering her eyes. “I haven’t asked you for a dime in twenty years!”
“You might be married, Pam, but I’m still your father.”
“Monty stole everything from me.”
“He knew I’d look after you.”
“He didn’t think of the shame he’d bring on us.”
“There’s no shame, Pam. Those who love you sympathize.”
“There are plenty who don’t, believe me.” She laughed bitterly.
“If he was in a mess, I doubt he thought of anything but escape. He must have been at rock bottom to kill himself.”
“It was so unlike him.”
“We’re not all black and white.”
She raised her eyes and looked at him steadily. Suddenly the question that had been lurking in a far recess of her mind for over twenty years rolled to the front. She had never dared ask it, fearing his answer. Now that her husband was dead, it no longer mattered. It would, however, shed light on a great many things. “Did you see beneath the surface?”
Richard nodded slowly. He had always been good at looking into the hearts of people where lay their intentions, ambitions, and desires. Monty was no exception. “I never liked him,” he replied, shaking his head.
“I thought as much,” Pamela said, feeling the wall between them dissolve in the light of honesty. “Why?”
“I never trusted him.”
“When everyone else did? Why were you different?”
“Because you meant more to me than you did to everyone else. You’re my only daughter, Pam. He wasn’t good enough for you.”
“Did Mama like him?”
“She couldn’t see beyond his charm and good looks. When you and your mother get something into your heads, there’s nothing that can stop you. I let you go. It was the only thing I could do. I hoped I’d be there to pick up the pieces.”
“You couldn’t have foreseen that it would end this way.”
“Of course not. Right now, I can’t even put my finger on why I never trusted him. Maybe because he was too good to be true. There were no cracks. Everyone has cracks, even me, and I’m pretty perfect.” They both laughed. The tears spilled over Pamela’s cheeks and dropped off her chin onto her pale yellow cashmere sweater.
“You are pretty perfect, Pa. I’m sad that we’ve drifted apart over the years. It must have been hard for you to have seen me with Monty, when you sensed faults in his character.”
“You’re pigheaded, Pam, like me. I couldn’t blame you for marrying the man you had set your heart on. I’d have done the same, no matter what my father might have thought. No one can tell me what to do. I admire that quality in you.”
“I feel so betrayed, because I loved him.”
“But you’re not alone. Come and sit next to your pa.”
Pamela snuggled up against her father and breathed in the scent of her childhood. It was the smell of home, no matter where she was. “What am I going to do?” she asked. “Harry’s at boarding school. Celestria’s off to Italy. I’m all alone.”
“Celestria and Harry need you.”
“What about my needs?”
He kissed the top of her head and chuckled at her selfishness. “You don’t change, do you, Pam? You’re young and beautiful. When you’re ready, you might fall in love again.”
“I don’t think my heart could take it.”
“Oh, I think your heart is full of secret compartments you’ve never even looked into.”
Pamela sat up suddenly and stared at him. “Do you believe in God, Pa?”
He shrugged. “Of course I do. There’s got to be some greater power than me.”
“I mean, really. Do you really believe?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why don’t I?”
“Perhaps you haven’t found Him yet.”
“You sound like Father Dalgliesh.”
“Father Dalgliesh is obviously a very wise man!”
“I don’t want to believe that after all this struggling, there’s nothing. I want to believe we all go somewhere. That Monty is somewhere.”
“If you’re good, you’ll go to heaven no matter what you believe.” He sounded as if he were talking to a child.
“But that’s the problem, Pa. I’m not at all good.”
He looked at her with affection. “It’s never too late to start.”
“But it’s so awfully difficult.”
“Not if you try. I started this morning, and it’s not as difficult as I imagined it to be.”
She laughed, both irritated and amused. “You’re teasing me!”
“I don’t know the answers, Pam. Even your Father Dalgliesh doesn’t know. You have to find out for yourself and have your own belief that comes from here.” He placed his hand on his heart. “Not from what other people tell you.”
“You are good, Pa! You’ve rescued us.” He hadn’t seen his daughter look at him with such fondness in twenty years. He felt his old heart give a little flutter, like a phoenix rising from the ashes.
“It’s a start,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve got sixty years of not being good to make up for. How else do you think I built my empire? You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.”
Mrs. Waynebridge packed her bag. She didn’t have many clothes, being a woman of simple tastes and means. The thought of flying terrified the life out of her, even though Celestria had assured her they’d be flying first class. They still had to be in the air, whichever class they traveled in, and those machines didn’t look right in the sky. “It’s against nature. If God had wanted us to fly, He would have given us wings,” she had complained. However, she had to admit that a large part of her was excited by the idea of adventure. If she could overcome her nervousness, she might actually enjoy herself. She had watched two magpies alight on her small terrace that morning…one for sorrow, two for joy…That had been very encouraging.
She was a widow and life was lonely, set into a comfortable but not very exhilarating routine. She wasn’t sure about the Italians, but Italy was famously beautiful. She folded her cardigan and placed it over her Sunday dress. It was the end of summer, Celestria had said, but the evenings could be cold. She wasn’t expected to take her apron. She stood up and stared down at her small suitcase. The sight of it made her tremble. It meant leaving home. Leaving England. Setting off for somewhere unfamiliar. She carried the case downstairs and put it in the little entrance hall, where it would remain until Mr. Bancroft’s chauffeur came to pick her up on Thursday morning. She went into the sitting room and perched on a chair with her hands neatly folded on her lap, feeling a mixture of excitement and sickness. She was relieved she couldn’t see the case. It was getting dark outside. She looked at her watch. It was eight-thirty. She was too nervous to eat or even to heat up some soup. Sliding her eyes over the furniture in the small Fulham house, she suddenly felt quite lost, as if everything that belonged to her was drifting off on an unseen tide. Would it all be here when she got back?
Celestria didn’t pack. She knew Waynie would help her the following day. Instead, she lay in a hot bubble bath, feeling a sense of serenity wash over her with the bluebell-scented water. She had told Aidan that she was tired. The truth was that she was tired of hanging around waiting to go to Italy. Aidan had suggested a flick, but she didn’t feel like necking in the back row. She’d retire to bed early and get her beauty sleep. She needed all her energy if she was going to find the person responsible for turning her world upside down.
The sun set and the sky grew dark above London. The same sky grew dark above Puglia, but the stars were much brighter there, and the moon, full and round like a ball of mozzarella, was not obscured by the clouds that gathered over England, but shone phosphorescent over the Aegean Sea, turning it a milky green.
There, on Italy’s heel beneath that all-knowing moon, a small flame was kept alight in the fragrant city of the dead that stood over the track from the Convento di Santa Maria del Mare. It was quiet, but for a light breeze that rustled through the pine trees, casting dancing shadows across the grassy square and paving stones that led through the rows of silent crypts. The scent of lilies filled the air, and the little candles cast flickering gold shadows across the stone walls where the spirits of the dead rested in peace. Except for one spirit, who was not allowed to rest. The man knelt before her tomb and wept. By the sheer force of his grief he kept her little flame alive. However much she tried to move on, she could not.