Secrets From the Past

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

I had been wrong to refuse Harry, who had actually spoken the truth when he had said I was the only person who could help Zac, because I was accustomed to wars, knew what it did to those who lived in the middle of them on a regular basis.

  Zac’s family couldn’t help; no one could except another veteran of wars … another photojournalist.

  And that was me.

  And so I went.

  I put aside my qualms and fears, packed my carry-on bag and took a night flight to Italy on Wednesday afternoon. Alitalia at 5.30 p.m. out of JFK, with a stopover in Rome the following morning. I would be arriving in Venice at 11.25 a.m. European time.

  I glanced at my watch, which I had changed to local time before dozing off during the night. It was exactly five minutes to eleven. Another thirty minutes of flying and I would be there.

  My plane would touch down at Marco Polo Airport, where Geoff Barnes would be waiting for me. He would tell me as much as he could, as much as he knew, and then I would be on my own.

  Harry had reassured me that Geoff would stay on for a few days if needs be, and if I thought it was absolutely necessary. Once I knew I could manage alone, Geoff would hightail it back to Pakistan.

  I was relieved he did not have to go to the badlands of Helmand Province in Afghanistan in Zac’s stead. No one should have to be there any more; it was an intolerable place. The Taliban was everywhere, intent on slaughter.

  I had told Harry that if Geoff did stay in Venice for longer than a couple of days, he would have to move out of the bolthole and into the Bauer Hotel. The bolthole was too small, especially since I would be dealing with Zac … a Zac in great distress. Harry had agreed with me that this was the only way to go.

  The bolthole. I knew it well, had stayed there a number of times with my father and Harry, and with my parents. And also with Zac on numerous occasions. It was a medium-sized apartment that Tommy and Harry had found in 1982.

  They had rented it for several years from Louisa Pignatelli, the woman who owned the small building located just behind the Piazza San Marco, and who lived on the floor below.

  Global had bought the apartment from her in 1987, because it was such a useful ‘stop-off’ place for photographers constantly on the move.

  Venice was the perfect city, the key city, because it was so strategically placed, right in the middle of a cluster of European countries and a stone’s throw away from the Balkans just across the Adriatic Sea. It was in a direct flight path to Istanbul, countries of the Middle East, and Africa. Venice was considered to be the best link between East and West by those who circulated in and around this area of the world.

  The bolthole served as a welcome resting place for all of the Global guys, who often wanted to touch down after gruelling months in a war. They needed to recuperate, did not always have time to get to home base before taking off on another assignment.

  Although it was not large, the apartment was comfortable. There were three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a galley kitchen and a large living room. After they had bought the apartment, my father and Harry had been smart, had furnished it simply, but with comfortable sofas and chairs, a table and chairs for meals, and, of course, television sets, which were always on for continuing world news.

  When there was no one from Global staying at the apartment, Claudia, Louisa’s daughter, had it thoroughly cleaned and made sure all the bed linen went to the laundry. She diligently watched over the place with an eagle eye, and took care of it in general.

  I had spoken to Geoff the day before my flight, and he had assured me he would be outside customs waiting for me. I knew Geoff well and he was reliable. I’d had to depend on him in the past and he’d never let me down yet. I trusted him to tell me the truth, and I knew he would level with me about Zac.

  The night before, as I had settled down in my plane seat after dinner, I’d tried to fall asleep without success. My mind had kept zeroing in on Zac.

  I had first met him when he had come to work for my father and Harry at Global. I was nineteen and he was twenty-six, and I didn’t like him at all.

  He was bumptious, conceited and full of himself, or so I thought. Certainly that day he had been strutting around the New York office, showing off because he’d just won some award. This was in the spring of 2000. We didn’t meet again until later that summer, when he came to stay at the house in Nice, much to my dismay.

  However, I had been pleasantly surprised. He’d been a different person altogether: warm, disarming, very friendly, and extremely funny. He had a great sense of humour, and poked fun at himself in a most self-deprecating way that kept me laughing.

  He stayed with us for several days and in that time I fell head over heels in love with him and he with me. It was a mutual meeting of the minds; we were on the same wavelength, although we did not link up with each other for some time.

  It became serious in 2004. I was twenty-three, Zac was thirty, seven years older than me and much more experienced in every way.

  It was a passionate affair, and romantic. It was also a bumpy ride at times. But we made it together for almost six years. Our break-up had been at the edge of violence – verbal violence, at least. Zac had a temper. A nasty temper. It had alarmed me, frightened me. I knew he was the love of my life and yet I was certain it would never work. I hadn’t spoken to him for almost a year.

  Now I was on my way to help make him well again, if I could. I sensed I had quite a task ahead of me. And I wasn’t sure I would succeed.

  NINE

  I passed through passport control and customs very quickly, and as I went out of the restricted area I spotted Geoff immediately. He was a Californian, tall and lanky, with a tan and streaky blond hair. Because of his height he was easily visible amongst the small group of people who were waiting for other passengers in the arrivals hall.

  Waving to him, I moved forward, dragging my carry-on bag, and within a few seconds we were greeting each other with a warm hug.

  ‘Hi, Serena, I’m glad you’re here,’ he said as he took my case, rolling it along next to him, guiding me towards the exit. ‘Did you have a good flight? Get some sleep?’

  ‘I only dozed,’ I murmured, and looked up at him worriedly. ‘How is he, Geoff? How is Zac really?’

  ‘Not good, honey, but maybe not as bad as you’re probably imagining. No wounds, but he’s done in, exhausted, fucked out, to be truthful. Not suicidal though, and I told Harry that. But listen, kid, he is very depressed – so silent. He hardly says a word.’

  Geoff paused, threw me an odd look before continuing in a worried tone, ‘I don’t think he has the strength to speak. That might sound weird, but he won’t eat, he doesn’t sleep. He’s badly in need of your care, I know that. And he did ask Harry to get you to come here.’

  Geoff’s words troubled me. I swallowed. My mouth was dry. Finally, I managed to say, ‘Do you think he should be in a hospital?’

  ‘I sure as hell do, but you won’t get him to agree. I couldn’t. Neither could Harry when he spoke to him on the phone. I guess you’ll just have to get him on his feet and back to health in the bolthole. Because he won’t move from there. I gotta tell you, that’s a given.’

  ‘I understand,’ I answered, but I was filled with dismay. I cleared my throat. ‘He can be very stubborn. How do you get somebody to eat? To drink—’ I cut myself off as a thought struck me, and I looked up at Geoff, asked swiftly, ‘He’s not dehydrated, is he?’

  ‘I don’t think so, he has been sipping from the bottles of water I’ve given him.’ Geoff shrugged. ‘You can only make a proper judgement when you see him.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed, more alarmed than ever and telling myself not to panic. Yet I did feel a sense of anxiety, even a hint of fear.

  Geoff and I walked out of the arrivals building, and he led me towards the private water-taxi stands. ‘That’s ours,’ he said, and indicated one of the motorboats. ‘I came over on it, had the guy wait. He’ll take us to the Piazza San Marco.’

  I simply nodded, glance
d around.

  It was a grey day, the sky murky, laden with bloated clouds, and there was a hint of rain in the air. But then March and April were the rainy months in Venice.

  I was glad to be off the plane and breathing fresh air, and it was fresh, much cooler than I had expected. I loved Venice, had come here often with my parents and sisters, and we had always had the best times.

  Still, I didn’t have that sense of excitement I usually had when I arrived in this ancient, beautiful city of light and water. And I knew at once this was because of my mission, the task ahead of me.

  For a moment, I wished I hadn’t come, and then immediately chided myself for being so apprehensive and cowardly. I could handle this, I could get Zac better; there was no doubt in my mind about that.

  Well, there was just a little bit of doubt, but I was now going to stamp on it, grind it under my foot. I was going to be positive and determined, just like Jessica was when she had a challenge to meet.

  The owner of the water taxi held out his hand, guided me onto the boat. I forced a smile, thanked him as he helped me down the steps and into the large cabin. A moment later Geoff was ducking his head, coming inside after me, taking the seat opposite.

  The driver began to back out, edging his way into open water, manoeuvring the boat skilfully, as all of these Venetians seemed able to do. Staring at Geoff, I asked, ‘What about the food situation at the bolthole? Did you manage to go out and buy anything?’

  He gave me a look that verged on the scornful, and exclaimed, ‘This ain’t my first rodeo, lady. What do you take me for, a greenhorn?’

  Geoff laughed as he said this with a mock cowboy twang, and I laughed with him.

  ‘No, it ain’t your first rodeo, I know that, pal, but I figured you’d been a tad busy since you got here,’ I retorted.

  ‘I have stocked up. Claudia stayed with Zac, had coffee with him the day after we arrived, and I went out to the market, picked up lots of items, per Harry’s instructions.’

  ‘What did you buy?’ I asked.

  ‘Pastas, canned stuff, lots of fresh fruits and vegetables, the kind of things you like to make soup with, again per Harry’s advice. And Claudia did the rounds for me early this morning, bought fresh bread, cheese, butter, milk, oh and two chickens and chicken bouillon for your soup.’

  ‘My famous chicken in the pot,’ I muttered almost to myself, and then remembered how much Zac liked it. I focused on Geoff again, and added, ‘Thanks for doing the shopping, I’m grateful.’

  ‘My pleasure. I also want you to know that I’ve booked myself into the Bauer Hotel, moved my junk over there already. You must be alone with Zac. You’ll succeed much better without me hovering over the two of you. And if there’s any sort of emergency, I can be there real quick, and there’s also Claudia downstairs.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Oh, okay, that’s fine.’ But was it, I wondered?

  ‘Don’t sound so concerned, Serena, you’ll see, he’ll respond to you better than he has to me.’ He leaned forward, turned his intelligent grey eyes on me. ‘It’s you he wants with him, you he depends on, you he needs.’

  I made no response, just gazed at him.

  Geoff exclaimed, ‘Hey, I’m not copping out, don’t think that! I really believe it’s better that I’m out of the way. He’s still in love with you, take my word for it, and once you’re there, he’ll become calm.’

  ‘Isn’t he calm?’ I asked anxiously, envisioning a rampant Zac, angry and upset, the way he’d been when we’d broken up eleven months ago. ‘Is he agitated? Excited? What state is he in?’

  ‘None of those you’ve mentioned. He’s … well, sort of nervous, moves around a lot, doesn’t seem able to sit still for long. Goes from one room to the next. But he’s not yelling and shouting, nothing like that. I told you, he doesn’t speak much. He’s very closed in. Remote, very distant, as if he’s in another world.’

  Oh God, I thought, perhaps he’s in catatonic shock. Some kind of shock, anyway. Why wasn’t he talking to Geoff? They’d been through a lot together, they were war buddies, veterans of battle on the front line. Which is why Harry sent him to get Zac out. What was I going to do for him? How could I bring him back? Get him to be more normal? And how would I get him to eat and sleep?

  Geoff must have read something in my expression, and he reached out, put his hand on my knee, and said in a low, reassuring voice, ‘You’ll be fine, honey, stop chewing it over. Zac needs you, and you’ll succeed where nobody else could.’

  ‘I hope so,’ I sighed, shaking my head. ‘I’ll give it a try.’

  ‘Your very best bloody try,’ Geoff asserted and squeezed my hand.

  The water taxi dropped us off at the jetty near the Piazza San Marco, and we walked across the piazza slowly and in silence.

  We were both lost in our own thoughts. I was recalling the times I had come here in the past, such happy times with my family, or with Zac, the two of us alone. Often I had been here in the height of the summer when the piazza was jammed with tourists from all over the world. But this was not the tourist season and it was less crowded on this chilly morning.

  There were some people moving ahead of us, heading for the shops on the Frezzeria or Florian and Quadri cafés. Other tourists were sitting at the small tables in the square, watching the passers-by and the pigeons fluttering around or gazing at the magnificent Basilica di San Marco, marvelling at its beauty and whiling away the morning until lunchtime.

  Geoff and I headed for a far corner of the piazza and the narrow cobbled street where the bolthole was located. Unexpectedly, Geoff came to a standstill and turned to me, taking hold of my arm. ‘Listen,’ he exclaimed, ‘I forgot to tell you one thing. I must warn—’

  ‘About what?’ I asked, cutting across him.

  ‘Zac and television. He has all the sets on at the same time on different networks. And he’s watching them constantly.’ He grimaced. ‘He’s watching one or the other, night and day, and he gets furious if you try to turn one off. So don’t do it. Humour him, okay?’

  I nodded. ‘What’s he watching?’ I asked, and knew the answer before Geoff spoke.

  ‘War coverage, of course. General news. But mostly war coverage. He’s addicted to war, Serena.’

  ‘I know that,’ I said. My voice was a whisper.

  We reached the building and went up to the third floor in the small, rather narrow elevator. When we got to the door of the bolthole I stood staring at it. Geoff was staring at me. Waiting.

  Finally I said, ‘Okay.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’m okay. Let’s go in.’

  TEN

  Noise from the various television sets bounced off the walls of the apartment, but when Zac saw me standing in the doorway he immediately turned off the one in the living room and got up out of the chair. The other TVs in the bedrooms continued to drone on, but they were at least muted to a certain degree, creating only background noise.

  I put my handbag on the table, shrugged out of my pea jacket, draped it around a chair back, walked towards Zac. He had remained standing near the TV, had not moved, and his eyes were riveted on me.

  To say I was shocked by his appearance was an understatement. I was appalled. He had lost a great deal of weight, which somehow made him look taller, and his face was gaunt. I could see that quite clearly even though he had a lot of stubble, had obviously not shaved for days on end. His brown hair had lost its lustre, looked grey and strangely dusty, and there was an air of exhaustion about him. He appeared diminished; even his green eyes were dulled, had lost their sparkle, and his mouth was pinched.

  As I walked forward he came towards me, and a moment later my arms went around him. I held him close. He was so thin I could feel his bones through his shirt, and my heart ached for him, for his suffering. A split second later I experienced such a rush of love and tenderness I was startled at myself.

  War had taken its horrendous toll on him, and I knew I must make him better, bring him back to life, to what he had been before. Wh
ether there would be a future for us I did not know, nor did it matter at this moment. What I wanted was to get him well, no matter what. That was my aim, and my reason for being here.

  Releasing him, I took a step away, turning my head. His clothes were dirty and they smelled. And so did he. Taking several deep breaths, I said, ‘Harry sent me.’

  ‘I asked him to,’ Zac replied. ‘Thank God you came.’

  A few seconds earlier, out of the corner of my eye, I had noticed Geoff rolling my suitcase into one of the bedrooms, and now he reappeared, came to join us in the middle of the room.

  ‘How about coffee?’ he asked genially, looking from me to Zac. ‘I could use it.’

  We both nodded, and I said, ‘With milk and sweetener, please, Geoff.’

  ‘Coming right up,’ he answered, and walked off into the kitchen.

  Taking hold of Zac’s hand, I led him to the big overstuffed sofa, and we sat down. I couldn’t quite make out the expression on his face … I didn’t know if it was one of longing, weariness or pain, and then almost immediately his face crumpled. He started to cry. He brought his hands to his face as he wept.

  After a moment he took control of himself again, and wiped the tears away with his fingertips, shook his head, looking regretful.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break down, Pidge,’ he muttered, using Jessica’s nickname for me, the only other person allowed to do so.

  ‘It’s all right, it’s all right.’ Moving closer, I put my arms around him, wanting to console him, but instantly drew back, again almost gagging. One thing was certain: I had to get him out of these filthy clothes and into a shower as soon as possible.

  Now my eyes roamed around the room. His cameras were on the table, his flak jacket laid on a chair, his holdall on the floor nearby. He was all set and ready to roll, to hightail it back to another war, wherever the hell it was, I thought dismally. He’d even go back to Afghanistan, the most hellish place on earth. The smell of cordite, blood and sweat, exploding roadside bombs, Marines being killed relentlessly. A foul battleground.