Last Voyage of the Valentina

by Santa Montefiore

  Fitz tooted the horn. The house rose up before them imperious and still, the curve in the roof betraying a secret smile, for it had watched for centuries the ups and downs of the lives within it with quiet amusement. As they drew up, the door opened and Thomas stood there at the top of the steps. Alba was struck immediately by the change in his demeanor. He stood straight with his shoulders back, his head high, his delight at the sight of them unreserved and true. Alba’s legs felt weak. She opened the door and climbed out shakily. Her father was no longer in the doorframe but striding toward her with his arms outstretched. Gone were the shadows that lurked about his eyes and the tension that had vibrated in the air between them. He kissed her affectionately and a lump in her throat prevented her from speaking. “What a tremendous surprise!” he said, shaking Fitz’s hand. “This is wonderful news, dear boy. Wonderful. Come on in and I’ll open a bottle of champagne.”

  They followed him through the hall to the drawing room, where the air was warm and scented with cinnamon. The fire roared in the grate. “Where’s Margo?” Alba asked, noticing the lack of dogs.

  “Out in the garden. I’ll give her a yell.” Thomas strode into the hall. Cook emerged from the kitchen.

  “Is that Alba?” she asked, keeping her sentence short in case the word “murder” slipped out by mistake.

  “Yes, isn’t it a lovely surprise!” he exclaimed, walking on through the house.

  “I must get on and make some scones,” she muttered, not daring to disturb the young couple in the drawing room.

  Alba perched on the club fender and looked at Fitz. “Have you noticed too?”

  He nodded. “Has he had a face-lift?”

  Alba giggled. “He’s certainly got a spring in his step. Could my letter really have made such a difference?”

  “I’m sure it has. The truth about your mother has obviously tormented him for years. Now you know about it, he must feel liberated.”

  “And he’s pleased I’m marrying you!” She rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Only until he realizes I’m not one of the distinguished Davenports.”

  “Oh, he’s too delighted to care!”

  At that moment the scurrying of little paws could be heard scratching across the hall floor. Alba lifted her head off Fitz’s shoulder and stood up. The dogs trotted in followed by Margo and Thomas, Margo dressed in brown trousers and a tweed jacket over a cashmere beige sweater. Her cheeks were ruddy and weathered and her nose red. When she saw Alba’s short hair she flinched. “Darling girl, what a lovely surprise. You look gorgeous. You really do.” She studied her stepdaughter with ill-concealed amazement. “How different you look. It suits you. It really does, doesn’t it, darling? You look lovely!” She pressed her cold face against Alba’s before hurriedly pulling away. “I’m so sorry,” she said, clasping her cheeks. “I must be freezing. I won’t kiss you, Fitz, because I’m so cold. I’ve been doing things in the garden. There’s so much to do. Many congratulations! Will you have a summer wedding?” Alba and Fitz sat down. “Goodness, look at the ring. Isn’t it lovely. Is it a family ring?”

  “It belonged to my grandmother,” Fitz replied.

  “It looks beautiful, Alba, especially on your lovely brown hands. Goodness, don’t you look well.”

  Thomas stared at his daughter. He had noticed the change in her face but hadn’t immediately understood why. Now he saw that she had cut her hair. She looked smaller without it, more fragile and certainly less like her mother. He wanted to thank her for the letter but felt the moment was inappropriate. Instead he poured her a glass of champagne. She lifted her eyes and held his for a moment. To her bewilderment she was reminded of Falco and the silent understanding that had passed between them. He had looked at her like that too, as if they were partners in crime, set apart from everyone else by their conspiracy. But before she could dwell on it there was a rustle at the door.

  “Am I missing a party? I hate to miss a party.” Lavender, bent and frail, was in the doorway, leaning heavily on a walking stick, her watery eyes scanning the room for the visitor.

  30

  “A h, Alba,” said Lavender, spotting her granddaughter. “When’s the wedding? I love a good wedding.” She hobbled over in spite of Margo’s attempts to direct her to the leather reading chair. Alba was surprised her grandmother recognized her with short hair. She had never recognized her before. “It’s about time we had a wedding at Beechfield.”

  “Thank you, Grandma,” said Alba, kissing her face where her skin was soft and diaphanous like the skin on a mushroom. “I’m amazed you recognize me!”

  Lavender was put out. “Of course I recognize you. Good God, I really would be over the hill if I failed to recognize my own granddaughter. I like the hair, by the way. Suits you.”

  “Thank you.” She looked at her father, who shrugged back at her, as bewildered as she. Margo attempted to help her to the chair but Lavender shrugged her off with a huff.

  “Now, Alba. You come with me. I have something for you.” Alba pulled a face at Fitz.

  “Don’t be long,” said Margo, looking disappointed. “We have so much to talk about. You will stay, won’t you? I’ll show Fitz to his room.”

  Alba followed her grandmother up the stairs. She knew better than to help her, even though the old woman climbed with difficulty. They walked down a long corridor; Lavender’s suite of rooms was around a corner at the very end. The door was small—Alba had to bend down but once inside, it opened into a large square sitting room with tall ceilings and sash windows and a big, open fireplace which smoldered cheerfully. Next door was her bathroom and bedroom. “Sit down, won’t you,” she said. “When I lived here this was a rather cold guest room. We rarely used it. However, now I spend most of my time in here, I can appreciate the magnificent views of the gardens. I especially love the frost in winter and the end of the day in summertime. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” Alba flopped into an armchair beside the fire. “Do put another log on, dear. I don’t want you catching a chill. Not before your wedding.” She disappeared into her bedroom. Alba looked about her. The room was decorated in pretty pale greens and yellows. It was light and smelled of roses. On the surfaces were little knickknacks: imitation Fabergé eggs, Halcyon Days pots, china birds, and photographs in silver frames.

  Lavender returned with a red box. It was flat and square and the gold motif that decorated it was faded. Alba knew instantly that it contained a piece of jewelry. “I wore this on my wedding day and my mother on hers. I want you to wear it when you and Fitz marry. I think you’ll find it suitable.”

  “How generous, Grandma,” she said, excitedly. “I’m sure it’ll be perfect.”

  “Things of such quality never date, you see,” said Lavender. Alba pressed the little gold button and lifted the lid. Inside shone a three-tier pearl choker.

  “It’s beautiful,” she gasped.

  “It’s valuable too, but the monetary value is nothing compared to the sentimental value. My wedding day was the happiest of my life and I know my mother’s brought her great joy. I like Fitz. He’s kind and there’s a lot to be said for that these days. When you’re as old as I am one realizes that kindness is the most admirable quality a person can have.”

  “I will wear it with pride, Grandma.”

  “And your daughter will wear it too and hers after her. It’s a family tradition. Not an Arbuckle one. It runs along the female line, otherwise I would have given it to Margo when she married Thomas. No, I kept it for you. You’re the eldest girl and it’s yours by right.”

  Alba tried it on, standing in front of the gilt mirror that hung above the fireplace. She ran her fingers over the pearls. “I love it,” she enthused, turning to show her grandmother.

  “They’re very soft against the skin. I think they’re most flattering. You have a lovely long neck, you see that’s important to carry them off. You must have inherited that from me. The rest of you is entirely your mother, though. Arbuckles are fair.” Alba sat d
own and placed the pearls back in the box.

  “Did my father ever talk to you about my mother?” she asked.

  “A terrible business it was,” Lavender said, shaking her head. “I admit my short-term memory isn’t good, but I remember the day he came back from Italy, carrying that small baby in his arms, as if it were yesterday.”

  “I grew up thinking he had married my mother,” said Alba, wondering how much her grandmother knew. She needn’t have worried, however, for Lavender knew it all.

  “I thought the war had broken Tommy,” she said. Alba noticed the name. The tender sound of it. Her face softened in the orange glow of the fire and she suddenly looked younger. “But Valentina broke him. The murder was one thing, a terrible, brutal thing to do to a woman, but I think had she survived, the woman he loved had already died, there in that car in her diamonds and furs. The shock of it cut him to the quick. She might just as well have scooped out his insides with a spoon!” She paused for a moment.

  “How did he meet Margo?”

  “It was raining the day your father returned. He had wired us in advance but of course we knew nothing of what had happened to Valentina. We didn’t expect a small baby. He arrived on the steps, the raindrops bouncing off his hat, with you in his arms, wrapped in a dreadfully inadequate blanket. I took you and we sat by the fire. You were very tiny and vulnerable. You didn’t look a bit like Tommy, except for your eyes. I loved you then as if you were my own. We talked long into the night, your grandfather, Tommy, and I. He told us everything. He showed us the picture he had drawn. She was a beautiful girl, Valentina. The secretive look in that barely perceptible smile. Tommy didn’t see it, neither did Hubert, but I did. I wouldn’t have trusted her as far as I could throw her, but I wasn’t there to warn him. Men are so gullible when faced with such beauty. We resolved then not to tell anyone that the marriage had never happened, for your sake. There’s a nasty word for children born out of wedlock and we didn’t want you to live with the shame of it. Things were different in those days. Tommy bought the bloody boat he had served on, the MTB, can’t remember the number. He spent a small fortune converting it into a houseboat. He would spend the weeks in London working, coming down at the weekend to be with you.” Lavender’s face glowed with pride. “I had you to myself and I looked after you as if you were mine.”

  “So the Valentina was his MTB?” said Alba in amazement.

  “He was obsessed with it. I felt I had lost him too. But I had you.” She turned to Alba and her eyes glistened with tears. “You were my baby. Then Margo came along.”

  “How did they meet?” she asked again.

  Lavender took a breath. “Tommy was invited hunting in Gloucestershire and she was part of the house party. I don’t think he fell in love. She was capable, funny, down to earth, and genuine. He wanted to get married. He wanted a mother for you.” Her face grew taut. “She made a good wife too. Tommy was hopeless. He couldn’t even wash his own shirt. The houseboat was a mess. I went once but never again. He led a decadent life. Had more than his fair share of girlfriends. He knew he needed to settle down. Margo swept into his life and put it in order. She was terrific with you, I give her that. They moved into the Dower House and started their own family. At first she brought you over to see me every day. You almost lived here at Beechfield as a little girl and we were very, very close.” She smiled again. “You used to like playing hunt the thimble. You’d play it for hours and I read those Alison Uttley Grey Rabbit books over and over again. You adored Hare. ‘A saw to saw things,’ do you remember? No, I don’t suppose you remember much of that time. You were little. But you loved me. Then Caroline came along and Miranda, then Henry, and little by little, you were swallowed up into Margo’s family. You weren’t mine any longer.”

  “But Grandma, you never recognized me!” said Alba.

  Lavender tutted loudly. “Of course I recognized you, dear. I was only riling Margo. I never meant to hurt you in the process. I was just bitter that I was pushed aside when you were like a daughter to me. The daughter I never had. Forgive me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, Grandma,” said Alba, reaching out to touch her. “I haven’t exactly been the easiest person to be around, either. I’ve been horrid to Margo too.”

  “So have I,” said Lavender guiltily. “But she’s been a good mother to you and she was good to Tommy. She picked him up and put him together. Took on his child and nursed his heart. She even put up with that silly boat he refused to get rid of. She’s a strong woman, Alba. She’s had to put up with a lot.”

  “I wondered why that picture was under the bed,” she murmured. “It all makes sense now. No wonder Margo never visited me there. She hates the boat for good reason.”

  “Well, you won’t want to live there now you’re marrying Fitz.”

  “I want to live in the country,” she said.

  Lavender’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you can live in the Dower House. It’s only rented out.”

  “That’s a brilliant idea!”

  “After Hubert died, I was very happy there.”

  “I’d like to spend time with Daddy. I’ve been horrid to him too.”

  “Well, he’s had a hard time. That, combined with the fact that you looked so like your mother. There was no escaping her. Then, as you grew older, he was always debating whether or not to tell you. It was a terrible burden.”

  “I wrote him a letter from Italy when I found out,” she said brightly.

  “And it’s done him the world of good. He can finally put it all behind him and so must you. You’re about to marry Fitz and start a family of your own now.”

  “Thank you for the necklace. I’ll treasure it,” she said and got up to kiss her grandmother fondly.

  “You’re a good girl, Alba,” said Lavender, patting her arm. “You’ve finally grown up. About time too!”

  When Alba and Lavender returned to the drawing room, Fitz was drinking champagne with Thomas and Margo. “Look what Grandma has given me,” said Alba, rushing up to her father and opening the box.

  “Ah, the pearl necklace, how nice,” he said. “You’ll make a beautiful bride in those.”

  “How lovely,” enthused Margo, standing over them. “How jolly generous of you, Lavender.”

  “We’ve had a nice chat,” said Alba, sitting beside Fitz. “I had never been up to her rooms before.”

  “Not as comfortable as the Dower House, I’m afraid,” said Margo. “But at least here we’re all together.”

  “Lavender suggested that we have the Dower House once we’re married,” Alba volunteered. “What do you think, Daddy?”

  Thomas looked pleased. “I think it’s a tremendous idea. We lived there when we were first married.”

  “Thank you, Thomas,” said Fitz, a little uneasily. “We’ll think about it.” Alba frowned at him. “Well, darling, remember I work in London.” Alba felt deflated. She didn’t want to live in London.

  Later, in his bedroom, she broached the subject again. “Can’t you commute?” she said, lying on the bed while he changed for dinner.

  Fitz sighed. “I’m not sure that it’s feasible.”

  “Think how much Sprout would love it here. All this land to run about on. We could perhaps buy him a friend.”

  He buttoned up his shirt. “I thought you loved the city.”

  “I used to. I’ve grown disenchanted by it.”

  “That’s only because you’ve been living in Incantellaria for five months. You’ll snap out of it. You’ll be trawling the shops on Bond Street again before you can blink.”

  “I want a quieter life now,” she said, remembering the trattoria with a stab of regret. “I miss it.”

  “Say we compromise,” he suggested. “We could have the Dower House at weekends.”

  “What am I supposed to do all week?”

  “Paint.”

  “In London?”

  “You can convert my spare room into a studio.”

  “I need the countryside to insp
ire me,” she said, nearly choking on the thought of those lemon groves, the old lookout point, the wide expanse of sea, and of Cosima, her curls bouncing about her shoulders, twirling around in her new dresses.

  “Darling, you’ve only just come back. Give yourself time to adjust.” He kissed her. “I love you. I want you to be happy. If you want to be here, then we’ll work something out.”

  After dinner, during which they had discussed the wedding in great detail, Thomas asked Alba into the study. “There’s something I want you to have,” he said, exchanging a glance with his wife.

  “I’ll be there shortly. I just need something from my room,” she replied, running off into the hall. Thomas went into the study and took the portrait of his father down from the wall.

  He reached into the safe and grabbed the scroll that lay right at the very back. He no longer felt the pull of Valentina’s presence, that invisible demand to be remembered. He opened it to look at her once again. This time he felt detached; for the first time, her face seemed that of a stranger to him. At last he could relegate her to the past and leave her there.

  Alba stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. She saw the scroll in his hand and looked at him questioningly. “I think you should have this,” he said, handing it to her. “I don’t want it anymore.”

  “She was beautiful, wasn’t she? But very human,” she said, watching her father pour himself a whiskey and sit down in the worn leather chair he always sat in after dinner. He leaned over and opened the humidor, chose a cigar, and began slowly to cut it.

  “So, how was Incantellaria?”

  “Probably the same as when you were there. It’s one of those places that will never change.”

  “You said in your letter that Immacolata is still going strong. I’ll be damned. She was old when I knew her.”

  “She’s very small and wizened, like a nut. But she loves me like a daughter. When I first arrived she never smiled. Then later, when I convinced her to get rid of those morbid shrines, she wore colors again and a rather beautiful smile.”