Only that morning, Ricky Lennard had called Sofia to ask her to visit his office after New Year’s. He said the cover for the poetry anthology was ready, and he couldn’t wait to show her. He had chosen five of her poems for the book. Sofia had shared her news with everyone.
Danny’s friends came soon enough, and their presence made all the difference. Annika, Sylvia and Sue connected with the guys, who all seemed very interesting chaps, not to mention very presentable. Even Annika, who didn’t hold much admiration for the local boys, seemed taken with one of the lads in particular. He was a strong swimmer and had broad shoulders. She seemed smitten as they made conversation alone at some point, talking about their favourite beach holidays around Europe.
Sue and Sylvia danced with the other two boys so it turned out to be a great idea to invite the lads. It meant that Sofia and Danny could dance together, pretending they were alone in the midst of a sea of people, without thinking they’re neglecting their friends.
***
The music stopped just before midnight when nearly all the lights went out. The club lights lit up again, this time in a spectacular way at the coming of 1989, just as couples kissed and swayed to the music.
And now, the night was drawing to a close. One of Danny’s mates had just bought the last round. Everyone was exhausted from the dancing, their throats burning from the constant shouting as to be heard above the blaring music. Sofia and Danny were on the dance floor, swaying to a slow song. It was, Every Time You Go Away by Paul Young. Danny leaned closer and nibbled Sofia’s ear, then left a tender kiss on her neck before moving back to stare into her eyes, his expression sombre.
Sofia opened her eyes to meet Danny’s, the moment causing an arrow of sweet heat to course down her spine.
“Don’t you just love Paul Young’s voice?”
“Yes, it’s so soulful . . .” said Sofia, giving a dreamy smile in the semi-darkness.
“You should know . . . Being a poet, no less.”
“Stop it.” Sofia slapped Danny’s arm playfully. “You’re making me blush with all this praise.”
“You deserve it, my love . . .”
Sofia noticed the last words and felt herself fuse with him through the connection in their eyes. He’s never said ‘my love’ before. Ever.
As if guessing her thoughts, Danny gave a chuckle and leaned in for another kiss. When their lips parted and as the soft music played on, he said, “You do know that I’ll never go away, don’t you?”
“Yes . . . And neither will I.”
“Good. Because I have something to ask you.”
“Yes?”
“Please promise you won’t be angry at me . . .”
Sofia tilted her head. “Why would I be angry?”
“I’ve made a booking at a B&B on Regency Square for us tonight. You love the West Pier so much, I thought it was the perfect spot.”
Sofia noticed he seemed very nervous. “A B&B?” She knew what he was asking. A mixture of emotions ignited inside her, but none of them was anger.
Danny saw her eyes alight with a warm fire, and he gave a sigh, taking heart. “Oh Sofia, would you be mine tonight? I love you so much.”
“Oh, Danny! I love you too . . . More than you could ever imagine.”
Danny held her against him and kissed her again, this time his hands travelling up and down her torso in a way that sent tingles darting in all directions, all over Sofia’s body. When she gazed into his eyes again, her look was deep, searching his soul.
Danny gave a cunning grin, one that reminded her of their time together in Vassilaki. “No matter how much you love me, I bet I love you more, missy!”
Sofia let out a thunderous laugh that was lost in the booming noise. “No, I love you more. I insist.”
“Sofia, you do realise this is our first fight that actually feels good?”
“And no doubt, one of many fights to come, but as long as you love me, that’s all right with me.”
“Make it forever then . . .” he said, before his lips drank from hers again, their hearts on fire, their bodies aching to become one.
Chapter 40
Two days later, Sofia decided to visit Ricky Lennard early in the morning. She couldn’t wait to see the book cover. As she hopped off the bus and strode along the street to the office of Rocking Horse Publishing, she felt elated as if she were gliding over the pavement. In her mind, she played over and over again what had happened in the B&B two nights earlier. Danny was wonderful, gentle, seeing that it was her first time, and he humoured her when she asked him to look away so she could undress before hiding under the covers.
They made love tenderly over and over again until sunrise, and in between, they slept for short intervals, holding each other tight. In his arms she felt a bliss and a pleasure she’d never known possible. The very thought of their bodies fused as one in the fervour of their passion that night was enough to make her cheeks flush as she walked, despite the chilling winter wind that howled around her and the early morning frost that covered the ground.
The same, familiar employee answered the door and gave Sofia a polite greeting. Moments later, she was sitting in Ricky Lennard’s office, her face glowing with anticipation.
“I must say,” said Ricky, his expression jovial, “When I phoned the other day, I half-expected to hear you’d gone to Greece for the holidays.”
“Oh, my family asked me of course, but I had a lot of studying to do during my time off and didn’t need the distractions.” Sofia chuckled. The truth was she couldn’t break away from Brighton with everything concerning Danny up in the air. Now, everything had fallen into place, and she was already dreaming of taking him to Greece with her that summer.
Ricky Lennard returned from his tall drawer cabinet in the corner, holding a book in his hands. It was the anthology, its cover made from quality glossy paper, simply stunning.
When he placed the book in Sofia’s hands across the desk, it seemed perfect to her. Its spine was not even broken. In her hands it felt like a newborn baby; innocent and unblemished. She gazed at it with wide eyes, lost for words.
The cover featured her drawing of the West Pier, but it was enhanced with colours. The Lady stood by the railing outside the Concert Hall, a forlorn apparition between stormy skies and a turbulent sea. Sofia had drawn it in the only way she could ever imagine her: standing amidst a desolate setting that only mirrored the tempest in her own soul.
“Oh, Mr Lennard, it’s fantastic! Thank you so much!” she piped up, still staring at the cover.
Ricky gave a frantic wave. “Go on, open it! It has your poetry inside, remember?”
Sofia couldn’t believe the quality of the volume. The thick cream paper felt velvety to the touch, the font and the quality of the print impeccable.
Ricky noticed she was overwhelmed and came out from behind his desk to pat her gently on the shoulder.
“Thank you so much,” she repeated, her voice heavy with emotion, as she looked up to meet his eyes.
“Congratulations, Sofia. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m so glad you fell in front of my wheels that morning!” He threw his head back and gave a belly laugh that reverberated loudly around his spacious office.
“Thank you for this opportunity, Mr Lennard. I never expected my drawing or my poems that I wrote as a hobby to ever be in print! I’m so honoured.”
Ricky Lennard returned to his seat and gave a dismissive wave. “Please, call me Ricky. And I did nothing for you that you didn’t deserve. By God, I swear, you’re one treasured finding. I should be thanking you!” He paused giving her a look that was intense, in a way that made Sofia feel uncomfortable. It felt like the strange stares her uncle Yiannis sometimes gave her.
“Well, I’m still grateful,” she said looking away, wondering if perhaps he was flirting with her, and she cringed at the very thought.
“You know, Sofia, you have two big fans already. I refer to my mother and me.”
Sofia turned to fa
ce him, frowning. “Your mother?”
“Yes. She loves poetry. She devours it. I showed her your poems and she helped me decide which ones to use for the anthology. She was astounded to hear English is not your first language. I wonder, would you be interested to visit her with me one day? She said she wanted to meet you in person and express her admiration.”
Sofia was taken aback but was delighted to hear all that. It sounded wonderful that his mother, a total stranger, had read her poems and loved them. “Of course, it would be a pleasure.”
“She is a bit under the weather at the moment, so if you don’t mind, I’ll wait till she feels a bit better, and I’ll give you a ring then.”
“Nothing too serious, I hope?”
“Old age, my dear Sofia, nothing more than that! The elderly are no different than infants in so many ways. For one, they seem to catch every damn bug that goes around!”
***
A week later, Sofia met Ricky outside his office, and he drove her to his mother’s house. It was near the town centre, in a quiet street by a beautiful park. When she got out of the vehicle, Sofia relished breathing in the crisp air that carried the fragrances of rosemary and sage. It had rained earlier and the earth was damp, the scent musty in her nostrils.
Ricky led Sofia to the front gate of a quaint little house. He opened the gate and motioned to her to go in first in a gentlemanly gesture that impressed her. Walking down the concrete path, Sofia marvelled at the front garden. Herbs and flowers had sprouted from the fragrant earth. By the front door, that was painted a stark red colour, she noticed a scatter of terracotta fairies and dwarves standing on the grass. It all looked so quaint she couldn’t help but gasp and let out tiny noises of delight.
Ricky put a key in the lock and let her in. Sofia stood at the doorway and peered at the few details in the tiny hall before her. A seascape and an old family portrait hung from the walls. On a low table, two angels with open wings beside an antique oil lamp returned to her a mute gaze. Sofia was about to turn to Ricky with an agreeable smile and ask where his mother was, when a peculiar sensation coursed through her spine, a shiver making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
She felt fuzzy, as if she’d just entered a dream world, and then, inexplicable tears escaped from her eyes to roll down her face. She wiped them with the back of her hand, mystified, and met Ricky’s gaze. He was staring back at her, aghast, but didn’t comment. Instead, with a flourish, he beckoned her to follow him down the corridor.
Sofia’s ears filled with the pleasant sound of birdsong as she entered the living room, still puzzled by her peculiar experience just moments ago. The room was bathed in sunlight. An elderly lady sat on the sofa, reading. She heard Ricky’s jovial greeting and looked up from the open pages, peering above her glasses at her visitors. She gave a benign smile and stood. She was all dressed in black, but the shawl around her shoulders was brown, breaking the bleak monotony of her attire. Her hair was snow-white and pulled up in a bun.
When she extended a gnarly hand to beckon them to approach, Sofia found herself bursting to get to know her better. She felt a familiarity towards her; one she couldn’t explain any more than that shiver and the tears that had rendered her speechless at the front door moments ago.
“Sofia, meet my mother, Mrs Lennard. Mother, this is Sofia! See? I brought her, just like you asked.”
“How do you do?” said Mrs Lennard in a formal fashion that was so old style it filled Sofia with delight. “How do you do?” she repeated in the same way as she shook the old lady’s hand, bowing her head with reverence.
As soon as the two women sat on the sofa, Ricky excused himself and left the room, announcing tea was on its way. Mrs Lennard took a few moments to stare at Sofia, looking astounded. It caused Sofia to feel uneasy again. What is it with these two? Why do they keep looking at me like I’ve descended from Mars?
Much to Sofia’s relief, Mrs Lennard soon broke into a smile and started to make conversation, complimenting Sofia for her poems. She said she loved her style and that it was reminiscent of the poems of an old friend, but as to who that was, she didn’t offer any information. By the time Ricky returned from the kitchen with three mugs of brew, Sofia was feeling uneasy again. Mrs Lennard kept mentioning that old friend of hers, whoever that was, and now she was also saying that Sofia looked exactly like her.
To change the subject that had started to irritate her, Sofia produced her notebook from her tote bag, offering it to the old lady. “Ricky said you liked my poems. I have a few more here, if you’re interested to read them. I’d love to hear your honest opinion. I could leave it with you and pick it up another day, if you like.”
“Yes, thank you, I’d love to borrow it for a couple of days!” Mrs Lennard took the notebook from Sofia with excitement and started to leaf through. She read bits here and there and marvelled at the drawings that Sofia had made on some of the pages. She was still issuing compliments about Sofia’s drawings when, all at once, she gave a gasp and brought a hand to her mouth. Her eyes were pinned on a loose page and didn’t look away even when Ricky and Sofia asked her what the matter was. Finally, she unglued her eyes from the page, her brows knitted.
“Young lady, may I ask, when did you write this poem?” With one arthritic finger, she pointed at one of the poems Sofia had recorded from her dreams. It was “Loving you Forever” – the first one The Lady had given Sofia back in Vassilaki, the summer she met Danny. Sofia had torn out all of The Lady’s poems from the notebook, but this page had somehow slipped through her scrutiny. She had planned to give Mrs Lennard only her own poetry to read.
“It’s . . . This one’s not mine.”
“I know it’s not yours,” said Mrs Lennard, sparks igniting in her red-rimmed eyes. “But if it’s not yours, then whose is it?”
Sofia shrugged, then chewed her lips as she tried to think. What am I going to say? “I . . . It was written by a friend of mine.”
Mrs Lennard narrowed her eyes into thin slits. “A friend? What’s her name?”
Sofia pressed her lips together, unnerved. For God’s sake! I don’t have to tell this woman anything! She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t know her.”
“Oh, I beg to differ, young lady . . .”
“Mother!” interrupted Ricky, causing Mrs Lennard to stop and give a long sigh. “I’m sorry,” she said to Sofia, “I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just . . . It’s just that . . .” She paused to gaze deep into Sofia’s eyes, causing the girl to feel so uncomfortable it crossed her mind to forget all about niceties and leave the house as fast as she could.
Instead of finishing her sentence, Mrs Lennard hung her head and began to cry inconsolably. Ricky rushed to her side to soothe her while Sofia watched, aghast.
When she stopped crying, Mrs Lennard felt very embarrassed, and Sofia, out of respect for her years, went out of her way to assure her that whatever it was that had caused her upset, was all right with her, and she didn’t mind at all. Without a word, Mrs Lennard stood, took Sofia by the hand and led her to the far corner of the room. Sofia hadn’t noticed before, but the two adjoining walls on that corner were full of mounted pictures, mostly black & white ones. Sofia guessed these were photographs from the old woman’s past, and she welcomed the opportunity to look at them.
“I am so sorry about before,” said Mrs Lennard as Sofia leaned in to take a closer look, “But perhaps if you look at these photographs, you’ll understand.” Sofia gave a frown, mystified as to what the woman meant, then let her eyes wander from frame to frame, looking at snapshots from old parties and days on the beach, in gardens and even on the West Pier, much to her delight. All of a sudden, a particular photograph of two young girls in swimsuits caused her to gasp despite herself. “Oh my God!”
“Do you see anything familiar, Sofia?” said Mrs Lennard.
Sofia’s head started to spin. How is this possible? “This . . . This girl looks just like me . . .” Sofia pointed at one of th
e girls in the picture, her voice a mere whisper.
“One of these girls is me, and the other, the one you’ve pointed at, is Laura Mayfield. I am not surprised you said she looks like you, Sofia. Because that’s the first thing I noticed about you, the moment you walked in.”
“Laura Mayfield, you say? But that’s The Lady of the Pier, isn’t it?”
Mrs Lennard gave a knowing smile.
“What do you know about The Lady of the Pier?” intervened Ricky who stood behind them.
Sofia shrugged. “I heard about her . . . and . . .” She was dying to tell the truth; that The Lady visited her dreams, that she could see her on the Pier, hoping to find out more about her, but she was unsure. What if they think I’m out of my mind?
“And what?” asked Mrs Lennard.
“Nothing . . .” She shook her head. “An elderly man who used to be her chauffeur spoke to me about her. I met him on the promenade one evening. He told me her name.”
Mrs Lennard raised her brows. “You met James?”
Sofia’s eyes turned huge. “You know him?”
“Do I know him?” Mrs Lennard scoffed. “He’s a dear friend of mine. I phoned him earlier today. He’s in an old people’s home now, and he’s loving it there.”
Sofia gave an easy smile, relaxing. “That’s good to know. I was wondering how he’s doing.”
“So you met James by chance? How odd!” Mrs Lennard exchanged a meaningful glance with her son.
“Yes. But only this once. Actually, he tried to get me in contact with a lady called Maggie, as I wanted to find out more about Laura Mayfield, but I lost the number he gave me.”
Ricky gave a titter. “He gave you a number for a woman called Maggie?”
“Yes. He said she was friends with Laura Mayfield. But why is that funny?”
The Storm Page 21
