Secrets From the Past (25 page)

My sisters were in a good mood and both appeared to be happy. And so was I. Now that I had finished sorting the last photographs for the Venice book, I would soon be returning to New York.

Zac’s mother was continuing to improve, and he was in good shape. He called me twice a day and sounded great, almost like his old self. Zac loved his family, felt a sense of responsibility to them; being in their midst and taking charge had undoubtedly distracted him.

Harry had said the same to me only last night, had remarked that Zac was so focused on his mother’s health and his father’s wellbeing, he didn’t have time for his PTSD. But I knew Zac was missing me and wanted me to go to New York as soon as possible. And that was my aim.

As for Jessica and Cara, they were both following their hearts, and were engrossed in their romantic liaisons with Allen and Geoff respectively.

This genuinely pleased me. I was now fairly certain Jess and Allen were going to end up together on a permanent basis. I wasn’t sure about Cara and Geoff, although I knew how genuine and sincere Geoff was. I would have to wait and see what transpired between them.

Halfway through the meal, Jessica suddenly brought up the subject of the jewellery auction, when she said, ‘I’d like us to go through Mom’s safe tomorrow, so that we can decide what to sell.’

‘I thought we were selling everything,’ Cara exclaimed.

‘All of the important pieces, yes,’ Jessica responded. ‘But there are some smaller things, items that are less valuable. I thought perhaps we should each choose some of those things for ourselves, as keepsakes, for sentimental reasons.’

‘Whatever you want,’ Cara replied, and I nodded in agreement, then asked, ‘When are you thinking of having the auction, Jess?’

‘Next spring. You see, it—’

‘Why so far off?’ Cara cut in, frowning at her twin.

‘Because of the Elizabeth Taylor Auction. Christie’s is holding that in New York this coming December, and right now part of the very extensive Elizabeth Taylor Collection is touring the world. I believe it’s not possible for me to compete with that kind of ballyhoo.’

‘I agree,’ I said.

Jessica continued, ‘There are hundreds and hundreds of lots of jewellery, paintings, clothes and accessories in Taylor’s Collection. It’s immense. This aside, our mother’s jewellery has to be photographed, properly evaluated and documented, and I have to create a catalogue. There’s a lot more to an auction than you can imagine.’

‘You know your business better than we do,’ I said. ‘I trust your judgement, and I’m sure you feel the same way, Cara, don’t you?’ I fixed my gaze on my other sister.

‘You’re right, Serena, Jess is the boss.’ Settling back in the chair, she told her twin, ‘Whatever you do is okay with me.’ This was said in a soft voice, and she reached for her champagne and lifted it to Jess, then took a sip.

My eyes were still on Cara, and I realized she looked particularly beautiful. She wore her long black hair loose tonight. It framed her face, which seemed more delicate than ever, like a finely sculpted piece of alabaster. Her skin glowed and her black eyes were bright with life. She seemed happier than she had for years, and there was a tranquillity about her.

‘Are you going to marry Geoff?’ I blurted out before I could stop myself. Jessica was sitting next to me, and immediately squeezed my knee under the table in warning, but did not utter a word.

Cara laughed out loud. This took me totally by surprise, because she was always so serious, even glum at times. Cara rarely ever laughed, and especially like this – so joyously, freely, uninhibitedly.

I sat staring at her, dumbfounded, not knowing what to say.

Finally, Cara spoke. ‘He hasn’t asked me, Serena. You see, I’ve yet to meet his little daughter, Chloe. I know her reaction to me and mine to her is extremely important to Geoff. So I’m biding my time. Anyway, I don’t want to rush into anything, we need to know each other a little longer. However, I’ll be honest, I would consider it. We’ve discovered we’re extremely compatible.’ She paused, looked at me and then at Jessica, and added, ‘In bed and out of it.’

Jessica broke into her pealing laughter, grabbing her twin’s hand and squeezing it. ‘I’m so happy for you! And incidentally, that makes two of us – being compatible with our boyfriends, I mean.’

‘Three of us,’ I announced, laughing with my sisters, loving them both so much. They had always been part of me and would be for as long as we lived. They were as loyal and devoted to me as I was to them … that was the way our mother had raised us.

O
n Monday morning, Cara and I went to Nice to see Jessica’s doctor and have our bone density tests. On Tuesday we sorted through Mom’s safe and made an inventory of the important jewels. Later that same day we went through her three wardrobes of
haute-couture
clothes, and did the same, listing everything.

Jessica said she would have the fashion expert at the auction house inspect the clothes, so that the best could be selected. They all looked fabulous to me, and I said so.

It was Wednesday afternoon that I stumbled across a selection of additional Venice photographs, and they made me catch my breath in surprise. And not exactly in a good way.

I was tidying up Dad’s studio, putting everything back in the filing cabinet, when I noticed a blue folder on the bottom of the lower drawer.

Picking it up, I took it over to the desk, opened it and looked at the photographs inside. The first few were of a young woman, scantily clad in a short greenish-grey filmy chiffon dress, dancing in a huge room.

I realized the room was in a Venetian palazzo, because of the interior architecture, the Venetian chandeliers, and the few antiques scattered around.

The photos showed the young woman in motion, her arms held out, floating around her, or above her head. Her body movements were graceful, her long legs shapely. It seemed to me she must be dancing to actual music, so convincing was she. The pictures were all lovely, especially those in colour.

The young woman had long straight brown hair, but I could not properly see her face. It was obscured either by her hair, or her arms, or blurred because of her constant movement around the room.

As I continued to go through the blue folder, I saw to my surprise how the photographs began to change.

In several, the young woman had draped herself on a chaise longue, her legs parted in a suggestive way, or she had put them high up on the back of the chaise, the filmy dress falling away, and revealingly so.

It instantly struck me that there was something erotic about these particular photographs, and because Dad had taken them they were beginning to trouble me. Why had he taken them? What was his involvement with her? This was not his style. The pictures were somewhat intimate, and I knew it was this that made me feel uneasy, uncomfortable.

I turned one over and it had my father’s typical caption on the back: a narrow strip of white paper, taped down at each end, and as usual the caption was typed. It read: Val in perpetual motion. The others read: Val impatient; Val in flight.

I frowned to myself and continued to peer at this young woman, face obscured, whom my father had photographed so assiduously. Fifteen shots so far. Quite a lot for Tommy Stone.

There were three left in the blue folder, and when I looked down at them I recoiled in shock. The woman’s face was finally revealed. It startled me because it looked so familiar, and then I realized it was my own face that was staring back at me.

This woman called Val was sitting on the chaise, the dress artfully draped, and she was staring straight into the camera. And we bore a strong resemblance to each other. No wonder she seemed familiar. There were two more shots and they made me gasp out loud.

In the first, the young woman was naked, her belly huge. She lay stretched out on the chaise, her hands covering her crotch, and she was very pregnant.

In the second shot she was also naked, standing in profile, again showing her huge belly. Her face was turned to the camera, and she was smiling. It was a curious smile. Self-satisfied, perhaps?

One frame tells it all
, I thought, remembering that favourite phrase of my father’s. It was one he had used often.

Who was she? Who was this mysterious Val?

I turned the two photographs over. The caption for the reclining nude shot read: Val waiting for Serena. The second said: Val and Serena.

SERENA.
My name.

Why was my name on these photographs?

Who was this woman?

I began to shake uncontrollably. The implication on the caption was obvious. This woman was pregnant with me. And since she had been photographed by my father, it was apparent she was his lover. She was expecting his child, wasn’t she?

One frame tells it all
, Dad would say. This one told quite a story, didn’t it?

I closed my eyes, unable to accept the mere idea that this woman had been carrying me. I was Elizabeth Vasson Stone’s daughter. I knew I was. I had been her precious darling, the longed-for baby. Her treasure. I was
hers
. I was not the reason for this other woman’s big belly.

Why had my father taken these photographs? What did this woman mean to him? And who the hell was she?

I pushed all of the photographs back into the blue folder, and sat back in the chair. I was still feeling shaky, unsettled, and a bit sick, as if I was about to throw up.

My mind raced. All kinds of dire thoughts were tumbling around in my head. I endeavoured to make sense of the pictures, to no avail.

I knew suddenly what I must do. I grabbed the folder, left the studio and ran up the garden path.

Jessica was working in her office next to the library. She had to see these pictures that so alarmed me, and so did Cara.

Jessica was at her desk in the little office when I burst in unexpectedly. She glanced up swiftly in surprise.

‘I’ve found something horrendous!’ I gasped as I rushed across to her desk.

Jessica was gaping at me, obviously startled. ‘Whatever is it, Pidge darling? Why are you so upset?’

‘It’s these photographs Dad took!’ I cried somewhat shrilly, and dropped the folder on the desk in front of her.

I hovered, watching her face, as she went through the pictures. Finally, she looked at me. I saw that she was as stunned as I had been. Her face was as white as bleached bone, her dark eyes bleak.

‘Where did you find this folder?’ she asked shakily, her expression stricken. Her gaze did not leave my face.

I explained how I’d just come across it, and then said, ‘Look at the captions, Jess.’

She did as I asked, and her face became even paler. She then studied the last two shots of the pregnant woman, shaking her head in obvious disbelief.

‘Why would Dad take pictures like that?’ I asked, staring at her. ‘And who is that woman? Do you know?’

She nodded. ‘It’s Mom’s cousin. Val.’

I frowned. ‘Did you know her?’

‘Of course. We all knew her. She is Aunt Dora’s daughter, Granny’s niece. Her name is Valentina Clifford, and she used to visit us occasionally when we were little.’

‘And did I know her?’

‘Not very well, you were just a toddler. I think the last time she came to see us here was when I was eleven, so you must have been three.’

I swallowed hard, asked hoarsely, ‘What happened to her?
Eventually
?’ I sat down on the chair near Jessica’s desk. ‘I can’t remember her at all, so she must have stopped coming,’ I muttered.

Jessica leaned back in her chair, biting her lip. She was obviously wracking her brains, and her expression had turned thoughtful. ‘I’m not sure why she didn’t come again,’ she said at last. ‘I have a faint remembrance that she went off to cover some war or other, and she was injured, but—’

‘Was she a war photographer?’ I cried, interrupting her, more alarmed than ever.

‘Yes. She worked at Global Images. With Dad.’

So they had been buddies. I felt as if a lump of lead had settled in my stomach. ‘Did she die? Or what?’

‘She might well be dead by now,’ Jessica answered. ‘However, I do know she didn’t die from her injury. And now that I think about it, I believe she was in some sort of car crash in the war she was covering. She didn’t take a bullet or anything like that. I think she was in a jeep that overturned.’

‘When did Mom and Dad last hear from her?’ I probed. ‘Or see her? Can’t you remember?’

‘I can’t, Pidge. But she didn’t come to visit us after the accident. Cara and I were away at boarding school in England, and honestly I can’t recall seeing her again. Anyway, don’t you have any memories of her?’

‘None at all.’ I stood up, walked over to the big bay window, looked out at the garden. A replica of Mom’s Bel Air garden. My throat tightened. I swallowed hard, turned and sat down on the sofa. I was flooded with anxiety.

Jessica was focused on me, and she said in a gentle voice, ‘The photographs don’t mean anything, Pidge, truly they don’t. Let’s just destroy them and forget all about them.’

‘The captions mean something,’ I said, fighting back tears. ‘My name is on two of the captions, Jess.’

‘That means nothing!’ Jessica exclaimed heatedly, her voice rising. ‘Those photographs were obviously taken in Venice, which was once called La Serenissima, which immediately leads to the name Serena. It’s not necessarily a reference to
you
; many women are called after Venice. Besides which, there’s no date on the pictures. They could have been taken ten years ago, or whenever.’

I sat silently, not answering. I knew Jessica loved me, wanted to make me feel better, and her solution was to destroy the pictures and dismiss this incident as one of no consequence. But I couldn’t do that. I was troubled by the images. And my name in the two captions. Before I could stop myself I burst into tears.

Within seconds Jessica was putting her arms around me, holding me close, endeavouring to soothe me. I began to sob, and eventually, when I had calmed down a bit, I whispered, ‘I don’t want to be that woman’s daughter. I want to be Mom’s daughter, Jess. I’ve always been so proud to be part of her, to be
her
daughter. I loved her so much, still love her. I won’t be able to bear it if Mom’s not my mother. And what do those pictures say about Dad? And their great love affair? If the pictures are true? If he slept with that woman?’