Remembrance

by Danielle Steel

  “I want you to know two things, Vanessa. One, that I love you, and two, that you're not crazy. You've been through a horrendous experience and it may take you time to sort it out. But I'll be here if you want me. In a year, in a day. I've never met anyone like you. So when you work it out, just call.”

  Her eyes filled with tears and she nodded, but then she turned away as he closed the door. And after he had left, she had never been as lonely in her life. She wanted him desperately, emotionally, physically, mentally, in every way she could think of. But every time she thought of making love to him, she thought of Vasili standing over the body of her mother, and she couldn't bear it. It was as though, if she let anyone that close to her, he would do the same thing to her.

  “Is that normal?” she finally asked Linda one day in her office. Linda had gone back to work full-time in the fall, and it was now late September.

  “Yes.”

  “How the hell do I get over it?”

  “Time. And your good mind. You have to remind yourself over and over again that John is not Vasili, and just because Vasili did something doesn't mean that John will do it to you. Vasili is not all men. He is one man. And you are not your mother. I never knew her, but I suspect that you are very different. You're a whole other person, with a totally different life. You just have to say that to yourself over and over, and eventually it will start to take.” She smiled gently at Vanessa. It had been a difficult few months for the girl and it showed. But she was growing from her efforts to wrestle with the problems.

  “You know, I've been thinking of going away for a while.”

  “I think that's a great idea. Anyplace special?”

  Vanessa looked at her for a long moment, and then said it. “Greece.”

  Linda nodded slowly. “Want to tell me why, or do I have to guess?”

  Vanessa took a deep breath, almost afraid to say it, but she had to. “Ever since the baby's birth I have this overwhelming urge to find Charlie.”

  “I understand.” Linda's voice was soft.

  “It's a little crazy really, I know she's not a baby anymore, but she's my sister. My mother and father are gone, and other than Uncle Teddy, she's all I have left of the past. I have to find her. And at the same time I'm so damn scared. Maybe I won't have the guts to see her, after all. Maybe I'll just go to Europe and float around.”

  “It might do you good.” And then, hesitantly, “Any news from John?”

  Vanessa shook her head. “I told him not to call me, and he won't.”

  “You could call him.”

  “I'm not ready.” And then with a sad shrug, “Maybe I never will be.”

  “I doubt that. Maybe he's just not the right one.”

  But Vanessa shook her head again. “That's not true. If there were someone,” she said very softly, “I would want it to be with him. He's the kind of man I'd like to spend the rest of my life with. We have a lot in common. I've never … I've never been able to talk to anyone the way I talk to him.”

  “That's how I feel about Teddy. It's a very important thing. Maybe after you get back from Europe …”

  Vanessa shrugged again, looking noncommittal. “Maybe.”

  She thought about the trip for another week after that and then she made the reservations. She was leaving on the first of October, and the night before she left she called John and told him where she was going. He asked her the same questions Linda had, and she told him the same things.

  “I want to go to Greece but I don't know what I'll do. I've decided to start out by making kind of a pilgrimage in honor of my mother. Maybe then I'll be able to let go.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.” He had been so happy to hear from her, and he wished he could see her before she left, but he knew that she would not agree. It was almost as though she were afraid to see him, afraid of what he represented, and of how much he cared for her. She had told him once at the end that she had nothing to give him, that she thought that she had given herself to people who no longer existed, and she had no way of finding her way back. “Where are you starting out?” He brought the conversation back to the trip after a moment.

  “Venice. I know she lived there with her grandmother for a while. I don't know where. But I'd like to see it. Everyone says it's a beautiful town, especially in October.”

  He nodded at his end. “It is.”

  “After that, Rome. I want to see the palazzo, wander around a little to some of the places Teddy says my father talked about. And then—” She hesitated. “I'll see. Maybe Greece.”

  “Vanessa.” He said it almost urgently. “Go.”

  “To Greece?” She sounded surprised.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that's where you'll find the missing piece. You gave yourself to Charlie and they took her away, you have to go back there to find her or to find you. I have the feeling that you won't be happy until you do.”

  “You may be right. I'll see.”

  “Will you let me know how you are?” For a moment he sounded worried.

  “I'll be okay. What about you?”

  “I'm all right. I miss you though. A lot.” The damn thing was that she missed him too.

  “John …”She wanted to tell him that she loved him, because she did. But there seemed to be so little she could offer him. He was a man who deserved so much more than she had to give. And then she decided to say it anyway. “I love you.”

  “I love you too. Promise me that you'll go to Athens.” She laughed nervously into the phone. “I mean it.”

  “All right, I promise.”

  “Good.”

  She hung up then, and the next morning she took the plane to Paris, where she changed flights at Orly Airport, and then flew on to Venice, where the pilgrimage began.

  54

  Vanessa spent two days in Venice and loved it. It was the most beautiful city she had ever seen, and she walked for hours, getting lost in the maze of crooked little streets, wandering over narrow bridges, sitting in gondolas, looking at the Lido or the assorted palaces. She wished that she had known which one her mother had lived in as a child but they were all so lovely that it didn't matter. She was enchanted with her stay and wished that she had seen it with John.

  After that she went to Rome, and was a little overwhelmed when she saw the Palazzo Tibaldo. The few times she'd seen the Fullerton house in New York she had been struck by how grand it was, but it was nothing like this. To her the palazzo looked immense.

  It had been taken over in recent years by the ambassador of Japan, and there were Japanese soldiers standing outside it when Vanessa went to have a look. She wished that she could walk in the gardens, but she knew that she couldn't. She remembered her mother talking of Marcella, who had died many years before. For the rest of her stay in Rome she wandered around the many piazzas, the Piazza Navona, Piazza di Spagna, sat on the Spanish Steps with the other tourists, went to the Trevi Fountain, sat in a café on the Via Véneto and drank wine. All in all she was having a wonderful vacation, but after four days in Rome she began to get anxious about why she had come. The first two laps of her pilgrimage were almost over. There had been plenty to see and she had taken lots of photographs, but she knew only too well that that wasn't why she was there. On the fifth morning of her stay in Rome she lay in bed and remembered her conversations with Linda, and suddenly her promise to John rang in her ears. She knew as she lay in her bed at the hotel that morning that she had no choice. She had embarked on a journey on which her life rested, and now she had to take the next step. She picked up the phone, asked for the concierge, and booked a seat on the next flight to Athens. The flight was scheduled to leave at two o'clock that afternoon.

  She reached the airport in good time, checked her bag, and boarded the aircraft, and an hour later she arrived at Hellinikon Airport in Athens, looking wide-eyed and feeling desperately afraid. She could no longer remember why she had thought this part of the trip so important. She was terrified of wha
t she would find there, of how she would feel, and she didn't really understand why she had come. When she reached the hotel in Athens, she felt weak from her anxieties, and she went to her room with trembling knees and set down her bags. And then, as though she couldn't wait a moment longer, she went to the telephone book, and holding it close to her, she sat on the bed. But she couldn't read the Greek letters in it, so, as though she were trapped in a dream, she went downstairs to the front desk and asked them to look it up for her. She wasn't going to call them. She just wanted the phone number and the address—”in case.” The man at the desk looked it up for her quickly. Andreas Arbus lived on a street in a quiet residential section, the man at the desk explained. He gave her the address and the phone number and told her it wasn't very far away. Somehow that made it all worse when Vanessa went back to her room, and ten minutes later she had to escape. It was almost unbearable knowing that perhaps now she was very close. She hailed a cab and explained to him in English that she wanted to see a little bit of Athens. She paid him handsomely in drachma, and after an hour's tour they stopped at a café and shared a carafe of wine.

  The weather was absolutely gorgeous, the skies were blue, and the buildings looked brilliantly white, and Vanessa sat staring into her glass of wine, wishing that she hadn't come. It was as though she were trying to delay the inevitable every moment, and as she walked back into her hotel room, she knew with a feeling of panic that it was time. Like a woman condemned to a death sentence she walked to the phone with dragging feet, picked up the receiver, and dialed the number she'd been given by the man at the desk.

  A woman answered and Vanessa felt her heart go into triphammer action. The woman on the other end spoke no English at all, and all Vanessa could do was ask for Andreas. A moment later there was a man's voice on the phone.

  “Andreas Arbus?” Vanessa sounded desperately nervous and he answered her in Greek. “No … I'm sorry, I don't understand.… Do you speak English?”

  “Yes.” Even with the one word, he had a charming accent, but she still couldn't imagine what he looked like. “Who is this?”

  “I—” She was terrified now and she didn't want to tell him. What if he hung up on her? What if her sister was dead? She forced the crazy thoughts from her mind. “I've come from the States and I'd like to see you.”

  He sounded intrigued. “Who are you?” There was laughter in his voice, perhaps he thought it was a joke, and she realized then how absurd it was to expect him to meet her if she wouldn't tell him her name. She took a deep breath and almost choked on a sob.

  “My name is … Vanessa Fullerton.” It came out in a rush. “You may not know who I am, but my mother was married to your brother and—” She couldn't go on, as tears clogged her throat.

  “Vanessa?” The voice was gentle. “Are you here? In Athens?” He sounded stunned, and she wondered if he would be angry. Perhaps he didn't want her around. God only knew what they had told Charlotte. “Where are you?”

  She gave him the name of the hotel. “The man at the desk says it's pretty close to where you live.”

  “It certainly is. But I am astonished to hear from you. Why have you come?” He sounded gentle and as though he genuinely cared.

  “I—I don't really know, Mr. Arbus. I—I think I just had to. It's a long story. I … perhaps … we …”

  “Would you like to get together?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I would. Would that be all right?”

  “Of course, my dear. Are you busy now?”

  “No. No, I'm not.”

  “I'll be there in half an hour. Is that all right with you?”

  “Thank you. That would be fine.” Well, she had done it, she told herself after she hung up. She had called him. And she had no idea at all what to expect now. Surely he would come alone. He would not bring Charlotte with him. But at least she would see him, and maybe she would get some answers from him. The only trouble was that she was not yet sure of the questions, but perhaps when she would see him, she would know.

  She waited nervously in her room, tapping her foot and waiting. She had combed her hair, washed her face, she was wearing gray slacks and a cashmere sweater, brown Gucci shoes and, as always, there was a camera over her arm, and she nervously took it with her when at last she went downstairs. She stood rooted to one spot in the lobby, watching people come in, and then realized that she hadn't told him what she looked like, and she had no idea what to expect of him.

  She stood there for another ten minutes, wondering if perhaps he were already there, and then, as she watched the door, she saw him. She had no recollection of him at all, yet when she saw him, she knew it was he. He was well built, and very elegant, he was wearing a dark blue suit that looked as though it had been made in London or Paris, and he had an interestingly chiseled face and salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes as he looked around were quick and intelligent, and his face was heavily lined, she noticed. He looked like an interesting man, and as he inquired at the desk and then came toward her, she felt a magnetism in his eyes that surprised her. He was an odd combination, she could see. In some ways he looked very young, and at the same time in a certain way he looked quite old. He was in fact fifty-eight years old, but he didn't look it. He had kept his body youthful, and he looked no more than forty-eight or so. He came toward her slowly, as though afraid to approach, and the dark eyes were smiling gently.

  “Vanessa?” The voice rang a distant bell. “I'm Andreas.” He held out a hand and she walked toward him. There was something in his eyes that made her trust him.

  “Hello.” She smiled and he watched her. Her face was not very different than it had been sixteen years before.

  “Do you remember me at all?” He stood before her, looking down at her gently and she shook her head, but then she smiled.

  “But I've had a bit of a problem with that.”

  “Oh?” He looked at her with concern and then indicated the bar. “Shall we go in there? Perhaps we can find a quiet corner.” Vanessa nodded and fell into step beside him. It was odd, there was something so virile about him that one felt more of a woman at his side. Vanessa felt it as she walked along beside him, and he glanced at her, smiling at the beautiful hair. “You've grown up to be a beautiful woman, Vanessa.” He found a table and they settled down. “But I always knew you would.” He looked at her quietly then. “Do you want to tell me why you're here?”

  She sighed again. “I really don't know why I'm here. I just knew that I had to come here.” He said not a word about Charlotte. He only nodded. And then suddenly she felt compelled to tell him the story of how she had repressed it all and remembered it only recently at the birth of Teddy's baby. She had to fight not to cry as she told him, and it seemed absurd to be telling this totally strange man. After all, he was the brother of the man who had killed her mother, and yet she couldn't bring herself to hate him, and she realized when she finished her story that he was holding her hand. He patted it then and released it, looking deeply into her eyes.

  “You had forgotten completely about Charlotte?” It was hard to believe.

  “Completely.” Vanessa nodded. “It all came back to me at once.” He shook his head as though feeling her pain.

  “How terrible for you.”

  And then Vanessa couldn't help asking the question. “Does she know about me?”

  He smiled. “Yes. She knows all about you.” He sighed then. “All that I knew to tell her. Your uncle didn't wish any contact, and the American court had discouraged it. Of course.” He looked troubled. “I can understand … it was a terrible time.” This time there were tears in his eyes. “Vanessa, my brother was a very strange, very sick man.” Vanessa said nothing. Part of her didn't want to hear about him, and another part of her did. It was all part of why she had come. “He was not really evil, but so wrong in his pursuits, his ideas. It was as though he had taken a bad turn in his youth.” He sighed again. “We never really got along. And he was always in trouble … women … drugs … terrible things. H
is wife before your mother committed suicide.” He stopped abruptly, looking at Vanessa, afraid to go on. “And then of course there was the tragedy that happened in the States.”

  “Does Charlotte know?” It was odd asking this stranger questions, and yet she knew that she could, that she had to.

  He looked at her quietly. “That her father killed her mother?” He said it so bluntly that Vanessa was shocked. “Yes, she knows. She knows the good about him, and she knows the bad. And she knows everything I knew to tell her about your mother. I wanted her to know it all. She has the right. She has the right to try to understand in her own way. I think she accepts it. It is horrible, and it hurts her, but she never knew either one of them. To her they are only people in a story.” He said it sadly. “It is not as if someone told her that I had killed someone. That would be different, that would tear her apart, but Vasili … your mother … they are only names to her.” He spoke very softly.

  Vanessa looked at him and nodded. “Did she have a woman to bring her up?”

  He shook his head. “My wife passed away when Charlotte was two. She doesn't remember her. She had my daughters, who are like big sisters to her, and she has had me.” Something sad crossed his face then, but Vanessa couldn't read it. “And you? Did your uncle marry when you were young?” He was looking at her so intently, as though to drink in her face, as though to see something that Vanessa herself didn't know was there. It seemed strange to her at first but she got used to it after a few minutes. There was something extraordinarily compelling about the man.

  “No, my uncle only married last year. We were alone while I was growing up.”

  “Did you mind?” He seemed curious and she shrugged, thinking over her answers.

  “I don't think so. Teddy was like a mother and father rolled into one. I missed my mother, but that was different.”

  He spoke very gently. “I think that Charlotte has always been very curious about you. She talked often as a child of her American sister, she used to play games with you, using her imagination, once she wrote you a letter. I still have it somewhere. I used to wonder if you would come back.”