Sea of Lost Love Read online

  “Take a seat,” she said, draping herself over the upholstered chair that was placed in front of the empty grate. “Did your father send you?” Before Celestria could reply, the countess staggered to her feet and leaned on the mantelpiece cluttered with porcelain figurines. “Or was it your mother?” She cackled meanly.

  “He is dead,” Celestria replied, trying to fathom the relationship between this unlikely woman and her father. She was certain that they had not been lovers. Her father would never have sunk so low. The countess swung around, her pale eyes full of blame.

  “Dead?” Her mouth hung open. She seemed not to have the strength to pull it shut. “No, that is not true. You deceive me.”

  “It is true,” Celestria replied, opening her bag to find her own cigarettes. The sooner she got outside, the better. She placed a cigarette between her lips and flicked her lighter. “He died in a boating accident in Cornwall last week,” she added, blowing the smoke into the foul-smelling air.

  The countess’s eyes rolled about in their sockets as she tried to remember. “I spoke to him last week,” she retorted. “He was very much alive.”

  “Clearly you spoke to him before he died.” She didn’t look capable of recalling what she had done that morning, let alone the week before.

  The countess’s face opened into a triumphant smile. “You cannot stop me from seeing him, you know. Love is made all the sweeter when it is forbidden.”

  Celestria sighed with impatience. God, she thought wearily, another woman besotted with Papa. “I’m not interested in how you feel about my father. In fact, I simply couldn’t care less. The fact is, Countess Valonya, I’m not the one preventing you from seeing him. He committed suicide, if you really want to know. He rejected us all.”

  Countess Valonya was silent for a while. She stared into the half distance, isolated by her own tormented thoughts. Celestria took a moment to plan her next move. While the countess sat entranced, she smoked quietly on the sofa, watching her. In repose, her face melted and fell, as if the clay was still wet. Her full lips sagged, pulling her chin with them. Celestria noticed the dark roots of her hair beginning to grow through, making the blond look even brassier. She seemed to wilt and grow smaller. Finally, she turned and stared at Celestria with shiny eyes. “You come to tell me that?” she hissed. “That he is dead? Is that why you have come?”

  “Yes,” Celestria said. “And to track down the money that you have been sending to Italy for him.” At the mention of money, the countess’s shoulders stiffened.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She now looked suspicious, as if this were a trap and Mr. Montague was testing her loyalty.

  “Why hide it? Weren’t you my father’s secretary?”

  The countess was affronted. “Secretary?” She forced a laugh. “You think that I, Countess Valonya, was a mere secretary?” Now it was Celestria’s turn to be confused.

  “You had weekly meetings with the bank,” she said, trying to hold her ground.

  “Yes, I worked with your father. I was never a secretary. I was vital for him. None of it would have come off had it not been for me. Looks can be deceptive; surely you know that? For a well-bred young woman, you are very rude.”

  “What was your business?” Papa hasn’t had a job for two years, she thought to herself, more bewildered than ever.

  “If your father never discussed business with you, it is not my place to enlighten you. If he sent money abroad, it was for good reason. If you hope to get that money back, then…” She shrugged. “God help you, it is not my duty to.”

  The countess stood up. She swayed a little on her feet and steadied herself by holding the mantelpiece again. She threw her cigarette butt into the grate and weaved her way over to the dining table where, with trembling hands, she picked up the gin bottle and put it to her lips.

  “I rarely drink,” she said aggressively, taking a gulp. “I loved Monty. It is a love you could not possibly understand, being so young and spoiled. If you had lived through what I have lived through, with death always one step behind, then you would understand that love is the only thing you take with you when you die.” She took another swig and swallowed loudly.

  Celestria recoiled. She hated that sound more than any other. It reminded her of Aunt Penelope, who couldn’t eat or drink without slurping like a pig.

  “I would do anything for your father.” Her head nodded like a puppet. She steadied herself by grabbing the back of a chair. “Anything. But you wouldn’t know. I wager that you didn’t even know your father. As for your mother, ha! Monty was a stranger to her. I knew him better than all of you. Do you understand? All of you!” She had begun to slur her words. Celestria watched, transfixed, as she made her way to the stairs, holding her side and wincing in pain. “If death takes me, too, we shall be united in heaven.” She put her foot on the first step, faltered, and fell with a thud.

  Celestria remained frozen for a moment, not knowing what to do. The countess was slumped on the floor in a position that looked exceedingly uncomfortable, not to mention undignified. She knew she should telephone for help, but her head was surprisingly cool. She walked over and felt the woman’s pulse. She was alive, but unconscious. Instead of doing the right thing for the countess, Celestria did the right thing for herself: she started searching the house, and this time she knew what she was looking for.

  She began upstairs. She didn’t know how long she had before the woman came round, so she worked swiftly. On opening the bathroom door she was appalled to find a dead squirrel in the lavatory. The window was wide open. Ignoring the squirrel, Celestria took a gulp of air. She couldn’t understand how somebody could live like this, but even more baffling was how her father could have been associated with such a woman.

  There was nothing in the bedroom, except a bottle of morphine hidden beneath a chamber pot in the bedside cabinet. That was obviously the motive for her sudden attempt at climbing the stairs. Celestria hurried downstairs and began to rifle through a pile of papers on top of an upright piano. She glanced at the countess, who twitched a couple of times. Her face was now deathly pale. Celestria sensed that she was slipping away. Torn between compassion and ambition, she hurriedly sifted through the papers, hoping the countess would hold on at least until she had found what she was looking for.

  “I’ll telephone for an ambulance in a moment, I promise,” she said, knowing the countess couldn’t hear her.

  Finally, she seized upon a pile of counterfoils addressed to none other than F.G.B. Salazar in Puglia, southern Italy. Puglia—that rang a clear bell. She recalled the strange letter from Freddie. She lived in Puglia. There were also medical bills from addresses in Harley Street. Most were for morphine, some for medications whose names meant nothing to Celestria, all paid for by Salazar. There were also money transfers from the same place. What on earth was the connection between her father, Salazar, the countess, and Freddie?

  She folded the papers and slipped them into her handbag. The countess was completely still. Celestria picked up the telephone and dialed 999. After giving the necessary details, a guess at the address, and a false name for herself, she left without checking whether the woman was alive or dead.

  At seven o’clock the doorbell rang. Celestria had just had time to bathe and change, but barely to reflect on the day’s findings. The bills and other papers were still in her handbag, to be examined later when she had time to think about them and their consequences. She spared no thought for the tragic countess, whose murky role in her father’s life was yet to be fully uncovered. As she pressed her cheek to Aidan’s and inhaled the scent of shaving cream that lingered on his skin, she allowed herself to settle into the present moment with some relief. “It’s so good to see you, Aidan,” she said as he kissed her.

  “I’ve missed you, darling,” he replied, and her stomach flipped as his voice in her ear reminded her of their delicious encounter in the conservatory. If anyone was capable of helping her to forget the hideousness of the
last week, it was Aidan.

  “I’ve booked a charming little place on Pimlico Green,” he said. “It’s cozy and quiet. I didn’t think you’d welcome a noisy place bustling with people.”

  “I couldn’t possibly bump into anyone I know tonight,” she said, taking his arm and allowing him to lead her down the steps to his car. “I’m not ready.”

  “Of course you’re not, darling. I’m so pleased you’re here, where I can look after you. I hated to think of you being holed up in ruddy Cornwall, for God’s sake.” As they reached Aidan’s shiny green Austin Healey, he opened the door for her, allowing his eyes to run lazily up and down her body with admiration. “I don’t think I’ve told you how beautiful you look tonight.” His voice was deep and earnest. Celestria smiled at him gratefully. For the first time in her life she felt unsure, as if her father had taken her self-esteem to the bottom of the sea.

  The restaurant was indeed cozy. Tables were set up in the little square, alongside a flower shop that was still open. The scent of lily and rose fused into the balmy London air, giving the city a foreign feel. “This could be Paris,” said Aidan merrily as the waiter pulled out Celestria’s chair.

  “There’s even a red rose on the table,” Celestria added, picking it out of its little glass vase and sniffing it. “Shame, it’s one of the nonsmelling variety.” Aidan put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands. His blue-green eyes twinkled as he gazed at her fondly.

  “I’d like to take you to Paris,” he said.

  She smiled and tilted her head to one side. “Perhaps I’ll let you,” she replied.

  “After a couple of glasses of wine, ‘perhaps’ might become ‘yes,’” he said, flicking his fingers in the air to call the waiter. “A bottle of Sancerre,” he instructed, without having looked at the wine list. Once the waiter had disappeared into the restaurant, Aidan took Celestria’s hand and held it across the table. “We don’t have to talk about your father if you’d rather not.”

  “I’ve done nothing but talk about him for days. My head aches with it all.”

  “I can imagine. It’s the not knowing that’s the worst. They still haven’t found him, have they?”

  “And they won’t. Not now.”

  “I liked your father enormously. He was the sort of fellow one simply couldn’t dislike.”

  “That’s why this whole thing seems so surreal. Papa would never have taken his own life. I think he was murdered.”

  Aidan’s eyes grew large. “Murdered?” he repeated. “By whom?”

  Celestria shook her head. “I don’t know. But I’m beginning to learn a lot about my father that I didn’t know.” Celestria shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it at this stage. I’m not sure what to make of it all yet.”

  “Then let’s drink and talk about other things,” he suggested. “How about I enlighten you on the misfortunes of others?”

  Celestria grinned and withdrew her hand. “That sounds like an interesting distraction.”

  “Oh, the secret lives of our fellow Londoners. One simply wouldn’t believe it, were it not for my extremely reliable sources.” The waiter poured a small amount of Sancerre into Aidan’s glass. He swirled it about, took a sniff and then a gulp. “Perfect,” he said. “This is just the ticket!”

  Aidan told Celestria all the scandal he knew, then made up the rest. They threw their heads back and laughed, and Celestria forgot all about her father and the dreaded message in the bottle. She drank the wine, which was so light she barely noticed the quantity she consumed until her head became so dizzy and her spirits so buoyant that she no longer cared.

  Aidan was handsome in a smooth, glossy way, with sandy hair and sleepy eyes the color of Cornish rock pools. He was tall, with broad, manly shoulders and muscular legs that had powered up and down the rugby pitch in his Eton days. Adored by his mother, Mary-Rose, he had been indulged by women all his life. He knew how to endear himself to ladies of any age and was deemed the perfect son-in-law by his friends. Celestria found his confidence exciting. He had a way of looking at her that made her stomach lurch, as if he was making love to her with his eyes. She remembered his touch, the wickedness of it, and reached out for his hand and held it. “Tonight is just what I needed, Aidan,” she said, and her voice sounded husky and far away.

  “It’s only just beginning,” he replied, squeezing her hand. “Look, it’s not even dark yet. You can’t go home until the night is over.” His eyes grew heavy. They rested on her lips that parted with the thought of what was still to come. “I won’t let you,” he added in a low voice. Celestria found herself blushing at the inevitability of their encounter and lowered her eyes beneath the weight of his stare. “I’m going to take you home with me. I don’t think it’s right that you should be alone at the moment.”

  “Then you’ll have to have me for a week,” she laughed, toying with his fingers across the table. “Mama doesn’t come back until next Tuesday.”

  “Then I’ll have you for a week. I’ll have you for two, or for the rest of…” He hesitated, his expression suddenly serious. “I’ll have you for as long as you let me,” he said, smiling away the sentence he failed to finish.

  He paid the bill and drove the short distance to his flat in Chelsea. The sun had sunk below the buildings, turning the sky a misty shade of pink. It was warm, the air sticky and humid, no breeze. The streets were quiet but for flurries of fat pigeons that dropped out of the sky to peck at pieces of food that had been tossed onto the pavements. People were still away on holiday, the schools still on their summer break. London was ghostly. No parties, no dinners, no grand lunches at the Ritz to distract her from having to think too hard about life. Celestria looked out of the window and wondered whether things would ever return to the way they were. Then a terrible thought entered her head: did she want them to? Suddenly a vision rose up in her mind: parties, engagement, marriage, children, more parties, a never-ending cycle of frivolity. She shook it away with an impending sense of disillusionment. It must be the wine, she mused, feeling the air rake warm fingers through her hair as Aidan drove into Cadogan Square. I obviously didn’t have enough!

  Aidan’s flat was large, with tall ceilings and elegant French doors that led onto a balcony overlooking the square. Celestria stood in the diminishing light and stared out into the dusk. “It’s a beautiful night,” she said, as the pink hue paled to gray. Aidan stood behind her and put his arms around her.

  “It’s nothing compared to you,” he whispered, planting a kiss on her neck. She turned, her eyes suddenly filled with sadness.

  “Kiss me, Aidan. Kiss me so that I don’t have to think about anything else but you.”

  Aidan took her face in his hands and lowered his lips. She closed her eyes and savored the taste of him, all other thoughts expelled at last. His kiss was soft and tender, his breath warm on her skin. His arms wrapped around her and drew her close so that she no longer felt insecure. Aware that they were on the balcony in full view of anyone who happened to be walking down the road, Aidan led her inside. There, on the brown velvet sofa, they lay entwined, and she didn’t protest at all when his hand traveled beneath her dress and caressed the skin above her stockings. She didn’t even spare a thought for Rafferty because with Aidan it felt familiar. Besides, she needed him. She didn’t want to think about her father or delve too deeply into her own feelings of loss and abandonment. She wanted to lose herself in Aidan and soak up the love he was only too willing to give her.

  “I want to make love to you,” he murmured. “Let’s get married, Celestria, darling. Let me take care of you.” His voice was insistent. “Say that you’ll be mine forever.”

  “Oh, yes, Aidan,” she replied, hoarse with desire, allowing fate to carry her along like a empty shell on the tide. She seemed to have forgotten about her father, the missing thousands, and Countess Valonya. Nothing mattered anymore but Aidan and his wide and generous arms. He’ll look after me, she thought drunkenly as he stood naked before her.
And I’ll never be alone again.

  14

  Celestria awoke with a throbbing headache at about two in the morning. It took her a while to work out where she was. The room was unfamiliar, the sofa strange, her state of undress a little worrying. Then she recognized Aidan, sleeping contentedly in the half-light that shone in from the street. He was lying beside her, his face nestled into the curve of her neck. She stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together the events of the evening before. They had made love. That, she remembered without any trouble. For a start, she felt uncomfortable between her legs. She couldn’t remember whether she had liked it or not, which was a shame given that it was her first time. She recalled having gotten carried away during the preliminaries. Aidan was rather gifted at those. She would have smiled at the recollection had her head not hurt so. No doubt it had been wonderful at the time. However, she now felt rather shoddy. As she struggled to get up without waking her lover, she remembered he had said something about marriage. She couldn’t recall having responded.

  She managed to find her clothes, carelessly strewn around the drawing room. Her knickers were under the sofa, one shoe in the corridor. She dressed hastily and tiptoed out of the room without a backwards glance. That’s two people I’ve left unconscious in the last twenty-four hours, she thought to herself. But this time it’s I who feel used.

  She walked towards Pont Street. The road ahead was empty but for the odd taxi that sped past, its yellow light shining in the dark. She hailed one without any difficulty. Conscious of the disheveled way she looked, she didn’t attempt to make small talk with the cabbie. Instead, she stared out of the window feeling empty inside. Making love was meant to be something sacred and special. A union between two people who love and cherish each other. Not a drunken night on the sofa and a hazy recollection the morning after.