Secrets From the Past (12 page)

‘It’s one way for him to make up with his ex-wife,’ Zac muttered, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. ‘He’s keen to do that, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. He’s constantly told me that Martha couldn’t take it when he was covering wars. But he says they still care for each other; that she might give the idea of a reconciliation a chance … if he’s running the London bureau for us, and has no dangerous assignments.’

Zac nodded. We strolled on. He seemed deep in thought, and remained silent until we reached the shop Claudia had recommended. It was in a narrow street, and within seconds Zac was inside speaking rapidly in perfect Italian to the man whose name he had been given.
Luigi
. An old friend of Claudia’s, who would make a good price, she had assured Zac. It looked to me as if the two of them were already hitting it off.

I left Zac and Luigi to their deal-making and wandered around the store, not really interested in any of this complicated equipment.

In fact my mind was elsewhere. I was worried about Jessica. Last night Cara had phoned to tell me Jess had fallen at the auction house that afternoon, had taken a bad tumble down a short flight of steps. Apparently nothing appeared to be broken, but Jess was going to have more X-rays this afternoon at a clinic in Nice.

Another reason for Cara’s call had been to find out when I would be arriving in Nice. Dad had died on 22 April last year, and I’d promised my sisters I would be there with them on the first anniversary of his death. To celebrate his life, and to remember him proudly and lovingly.

Our mother’s birthday had been in May, and I’d planned to be with them anyway that month. Ever since her death, four years ago, we usually celebrated her on the day she had been born.

When I told Cara I wanted to bring Zac along, she had agreed that this was fine. Yet she hadn’t been able to resist saying, ‘I’m glad he’s feeling better, but just remember, Serena, a leopard doesn’t change its spots.’

I had laughed, then jokingly told her she shouldn’t take our grandmother’s old sayings too seriously. She had joined in my laughter, and then said she really would like Zac to join us to honour Dad. ‘Because they cared so much about each other,’ she had added, before hanging up.

I didn’t want to let my sisters down, and I wanted to go. Later today I would break the news to Zac that we would soon have to leave the bolthole and go to Nice. I had already been in Venice for over two weeks. How quickly the time had passed.

Glancing across the shop, I noticed how animated Zac was in his discussion with Luigi. I also realized he looked so much better physically.

He had put on weight, mainly because I had played on his love of his mother’s Italian food, and what better place to find it than here in Venice? He had been sleeping better, and his face was less gaunt. That tautness had left him, just evaporated.

Oddly enough, after the night of the flashback he had had fewer nightmares and bad dreams, and seemed more tranquil. Certainly I had not witnessed any anxiety, agitation, or panic attacks.

It struck me now that he was well enough to travel, and my sisters would certainly be able to help, should he show any signs of PTSD. After all, they had grown up with a war photographer for a father, and Tommy had suffered bouts of it from time to time. Zac kept saying he didn’t have it, but how did we know it was so? He hadn’t seen a doctor.

There were other reasons why I wanted to go to Nice. The bolthole was a wonderful convenience, a useful place to have. However, it really only worked for a few days, a week at the most. It was confining, which was why I had made Zac come out with me every day, to do things, go to other parts of Venice like Murano, the Lido, and Giudecca.

We even went sightseeing again, although we had done that long ago. We ate at small restaurants and cafés, where I encouraged him to indulge in the food he had been brought up on.

I believed that when we got to Nice I could get Zac involved with the picture book my father had never finished, as well as his photographic archive. I felt they would give Zac an interest, be a distraction for him.

And lastly, I missed my sisters. I longed to spend time with them in the place I had always loved, my mother’s house in the hills above Nice, Jardin des Fleurs.

‘Let’s go to Florian’s for lunch,’ Zac said as we eventually bade farewell to Luigi and finally left his shop.

‘I’d love it,’ I answered. Zac was obviously well pleased with the deal he had made for the new flatscreen TV, which would be delivered and installed tomorrow.

‘Why not today?’ I asked as we walked down the street.

‘Because it’s such a nice day, and I want to be out doing things,’ Zac answered. ‘I’ve been feeling so much better, and today I really have some of my energy back.’

He took hold of my arm and went on, ‘You’ve done me good. Been good for me, Pidge, and so has Venice. It’s a relaxing place, non-aggressive, ancient, comforting.’ He smiled at me, leaned closer, kissed my cheek. ‘I feel great, and you look good, Serena. Very beautiful.’

My heart sank. Suddenly I was acutely aware of him, conscious of his close proximity. I had to admit that off and on I’d worried about my attraction to him. There had always been something different about Zac North, something unique in him that made my head spin.

As we sat down at one of Florian’s outdoor tables, I cautioned myself to be wary of him. On my guard. I mustn’t fall into his arms again. If I did I would be lost. Irretrievably lost.

‘Shall we have a glass of champagne?’ he asked. ‘To celebrate.’

‘Celebrate what?’ I asked, puzzled, frowning at him.

‘Anything you want,’ he replied. ‘The great deal I got on the TV set, Geoff’s sudden return, dinner at Harry’s Bar, my improved health, both mentally and physically.’

He took hold of my hand and smiled at me. ‘Or we can celebrate being here together again, at one of our favourite places, enjoying the beautiful spring weather.’

I felt a sense of dismay trickle through me. I recognized the flirtatiousness in his eyes, the warmth of the smile still playing around his mouth, that irresistible charm floating to the surface of his being. Grasping this opportunity, I said, ‘Or we could celebrate our upcoming trip.’

Obviously I had startled him. Zac gaped at me. ‘Upcoming trip? Where are we going? Not New York, I hope.’

I shook my head. ‘No, we’re going to Nice. At least, I have to go there. I thought you might come with me. Cara and Jessica would like that, and we can celebrate Dad’s life together. On the first anniversary of his death.’

He looked chagrined. ‘I was the one who caused you to miss the plane from Kabul that day. Are you sure you want me to come?’

‘Yes, I do,’ I responded in my most reassuring voice. ‘Cara reminded me how much you and Dad meant to each other, and in certain ways you were like a son to him.’

‘Oh no, no, no! That’s not me. That’s you, Serena!’ he exclaimed. ‘And you’re very well aware of this.’

I ignored his comment. ‘Let’s have champagne to celebrate being alive, and being good friends again.’ As I spoke I slipped my hand out of his, rummaged around in my bag for my cell phone, found it, put it in my jacket pocket.

Zac beckoned to a waiter, ordered two glasses of pink champagne, and then said, ‘Those are great reasons to celebrate, and I’m glad we’ve made up.’

I didn’t immediately answer, wondering where this was leading, filled with apprehension. Did he think that my saying we were good friends meant our relationship was back in place?

A variety of emotions assailed me for a few seconds … fear, anxiety and worry, which I tried to push aside. If any of these feelings showed in my face, Zac did not appear to notice.

He sat back in the chair, at ease, and, much to my amazement, he seemed to be like his old self. Did my presence mean so much? Had I really helped the healing to begin? I had no answers, and I decided to relax, to let things take their course.

When the champagne arrived we toasted each other, clinked glasses and chatted, and after a short while Zac requested the menu. We ordered a selection of the small tea sandwiches and fancy pastries, because we weren’t very hungry, and a pot of English breakfast tea with slices of lemon.

Once the waiter disappeared, I turned to Zac and said quietly, ‘I haven’t had a chance to tell you this, Zac, but Jessica fell yesterday afternoon. In the auction house. Nothing seems to be broken, but she’s getting more X-rays done this afternoon. Cara said I shouldn’t worry, but I do.’

I took my cell out of my pocket and put it on the table. ‘I’d like to have this here, if you don’t mind, I don’t want to miss Cara’s call.’

‘No, I don’t mind, and hey, I wish you’d told me before. Why is Jess having X-rays? Didn’t they take them yesterday?’

‘Yes, they did. But she’s not felt quite right since the fall.’

‘Understandable. It’s probably just shock, but listen, do you want to leave tomorrow? Fly to Nice? I’m okay with that, Pidge, if you do. I’ll come with you.’

‘That’s a thought, and thanks for offering.’

‘Whatever you want to do is okay by me, and I’m sorry about Jessica’s accident.’

‘Cara will tell me exactly where it’s at. She’s known for her bluntness, and she’s not at all afraid to break unpalatable news to anybody,’ I muttered dryly.

Zac threw me a knowing look, took a sip of champagne, then slid down in his chair, his face upturned to the sun, his eyes closed.

I glanced around thinking how truly beautiful it was today. The light in the piazza was dazzling, the sky a clear, unblemished blue, with no clouds visible. The ancient buildings appeared to gleam golden in the brilliance of the day.

To think that the basilica was built in the ninth century, as were the other buildings here. There was an ageless quality about them, as well as a certain kind of theatricality … but then that was part of their magic.

My father used to say that Venice lived up to Turner’s paintings of this city and its waterways, and he was right. If anyone had captured this light it was Turner; no artist had ever bettered him, or painted Venice in his way.

I drifted with my thoughts, lost for a short while in the past … I remembered how once my mother’s picture hat had blown away, floated across the piazza, carried by a sudden gust of wind.

We’d been sitting somewhere near here, enjoying our ice creams, and the hat had just whirled and swirled away. Our mother had half risen in her chair, then swiftly sat down again, having realized she would be recognized at once if she ran after her hat.

It had been Cara and I who had raced across the piazza, chasing it, finally catching it. We’d waved it in the air, laughing as we ran back to her, looking triumphant, I recall now.

Following Zac’s example, I closed my eyes, and turned my face to the sun. Behind my lids I could suddenly see my mother’s face as she had looked that day, dressed in pale pink and white, her light blonde hair a golden halo around her exquisite face, her blue eyes the colour of the sky.

I had loved my mother so much; we had all loved her. And she had loved us in return. It was that particular summer we had moved out of the bolthole and into the Gritti Hotel, because my mother decided we needed much more space. Especially for her luggage. We were all growing irritable, and had agreed with her at once. I now remembered it had been 1992, and I had been eleven years old … so long ago …

It was during lunch that my cell phone began to buzz. I seized it at once. ‘Serena here.’

‘It’s Cara, darling. All is well. Thankfully, no broken bones. Jessica’s fine, and she wants to speak to you.’

‘Hi, Pidge,’ Jessica said a moment later, sounding perfectly normal.

‘Hello, Jess, are you really all right?’ I asked worriedly.

‘I am.
Honestly
. I think what happened is that I was in shock after the fall. It … well, it sort of surprised me, the way I went down. It jolted me, actually. But I haven’t broken anything, I promise. Cara says you’ll be here in a day or two, or thereabouts.’

‘About the twentieth, if not before,’ I responded. ‘And thanks for calling, Jess. I must admit I was concerned, worried about you.’

She began to laugh, then said through her laughter, ‘Remember what Mom used to call you?’

‘Many things,’ I said, laughing with her. ‘Which name are you referring to?’

‘Not a name really, but she did often say that you were a professional worrier. But she was joking, of course.’

‘No, she wasn’t,’ I shot back. ‘She was serious. She used to say I was so good at it I was like a professional.’

A loud burst of Jessica’s laughter echoed down the phone, and I was laughing too as I hung up.

A
s we walked down the Calle Vallaresso toward Harry’s Bar at the far end near the Grand Canal, Zac suddenly grabbed my hand, swung me to face him. He stood staring at me without saying a word.

‘What is it?’ I asked, frowning, because he looked so serious.

He didn’t answer me, just pulled me forward into his arms and held me close to him. After a moment, he released me, and said in a low voice, ‘I’m always so happy when I’m with you, Serena. I wonder why that is?’

Surprised by this question, I raised a brow, then said, ‘Is it because we are extremely compatible? When we’re not having a big row?’

‘I guess that’s it. Compatibility.’ A wry expression struck his mouth briefly, and was instantly gone. ‘We don’t have many rows,’ he protested, scowling at me.

When I didn’t say anything, he asserted, ‘You know we don’t.’

‘Perhaps not. But when we do have one, it’s very tempestuous, wouldn’t you say?’ There was a smile on my face when I said this, a hint of amusement in my voice.

He immediately picked up on my tone, and laughed, looked relieved.

I took his hand in mine, and we went on walking down the street. He fell into step with me, and said, ‘We’d better not go there right now, discuss our disastrous rows. Why spoil this tranquil mood?’

‘I agree. Let’s forget about our quarrels of the past, and move on, Zac. Let’s have a nice evening with Geoff, and give him a great send-off.’