Secrets From the Past (34 page)

When he remained totally silent, I said softly, ‘But maybe I should have told you.’

‘Yes, maybe you should have,’ he said in that hard, icy voice.

I stood staring at him, gripping the towel around me.

He turned on his heels and left the bedroom. For a split second I wanted to run after him, call for him to come back, but I didn’t. I knew him well enough to understand that I had to let him cool off.

He would be better in a few hours, of that I was quite certain.

I finished cleaning the bathroom, washed the towels and my nightgown, had a shower, washed my hair and dried it. Then I put on a clean nightgown and went to bed.

After watching television for half an hour, I turned it off. But I lay awake for a long time, cursing myself under my breath for being so silly; stupid for not having told him I was pregnant when we were in New York.

I woke up in the middle of the night, and reached out, feeling for Zac. But he wasn’t there. I sat up immediately, glanced around the room, and got out of bed. My legs felt weak, and I was a little woozy. And still slightly nauseous, which didn’t surprise me. I’d just been through an ordeal.

Zac was not in the bathroom. Nor was he in the sitting room. For a moment I had expected to see him sleeping on the divan. When I glanced at my watch I saw that it was four in the morning.

Where the hell was Zac?

Y
usuf Aronson got me off the front line and out of Libya. It was a swift, smooth and highly professional operation that impressed me.

As usual, Yusuf was calm, efficient, discreet and kind, and I was very grateful to him. He had proved to be the good friend I had always believed he was, had asked no questions, just agreed to get me out immediately, once I’d told him I wanted to go. ASAP – as soon as possible – to quote Tommy Stone …

Now, here I was, sitting on a private jet, a Cessna Mustang, and fastening my seatbelt. Moments later, as we soared up into the air, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was free. Free of Libya. Free of war. Free of Zac.

Although I was sad, and filled with guilt, and also blamed myself for the miscarriage, I thought Zac’s behaviour had been reprehensible. He had shouted and screamed at me, losing control, letting his temper flare. He had also displayed the signs of violence that had so alarmed me in the past.

The scene he made when he found me cleaning the bathroom was reminiscent of his angry performance after Dad’s funeral in Nice last year. I still found it hard to believe that he had taken hold of my shoulders and shaken me so hard last night, when he knew I had just been through a difficult physical and emotional ordeal.

The plane levelled off. We floated through the clouds and I stared out of the window. The bright blue sky was filled with sunlight, and I hoped I would feel better soon, less tense.

In exactly two hours from now I would be landing at Marco Polo Airport in Venice. I would head straight for the bolthole, where I would try to recoup my strength and collect myself.

When I felt well enough, I would go to Nice. I wanted to be with Jessica and Cara at Jardin des Fleurs, needed to be with my caring sisters, surrounded by their love.

I was aware that I loved Zac; I supposed I always would. And I cared about him, worried about him, as well. Strong feelings didn’t stop just like that. However, I was no longer sure that our relationship would work, or that we had a future together.

I had told Harry in New York that I wasn’t sure that I could trust him again, after he had broken his promise not to go back to a war zone. And I wondered about that now. Hadn’t I been stupid, agreeing to go with him to Libya? But there had been another reason: Valentina Clifford. I had been stupid about her, too. There wasn’t anything I needed to hear from her … I knew exactly who I was.

I had long been aware that Zac had a short fuse. However, I had forgotten how impatient and juvenile he could be when it came to a problem between the two of us. When he’d learned about my miscarriage last night he had flown into a rage, shown no concern for my wellbeing; nor had he even wanted to discuss the matter further. Instead he had turned on his heels and stalked out of the suite in an angry huff.

Several years ago, Cara, my lovely sister who was often the bearer of bad news, had told me to beware, that Zac was self-involved and selfish. It was ‘all about Zac’ was the succinct way she put it. I think I’d always known this, deep down. Of course, like most people I could also be self-absorbed. Yet I did not lose my temper or my control, and I always endeavoured to see other people’s point of view. I liked to give them the benefit of the doubt, and I prided myself on my sense of fair play.

I sighed under my breath, filled with regret. I should have told him I was pregnant before we left for Tripoli. I realized that now. But he had so desperately wanted to be on the front line, with me by his side, I hadn’t had the heart to disappoint him. We had been apart for a year, and I was truly happy that we had reconciled. And so was he. There was no question in my mind that he had been looking forward to a future together, as had I.

Well, he was the one who had stridden out without a backward glance, filled with anger and indignation, I thought. Still, I had allowed him to go, believing he would cool down, that we would talk it through later. But he hadn’t come back by four o’clock, and this had worried me.

At five in the morning I had been even more anxious about him. I had gone to the sitting room to see if he was sleeping on the divan, but found Yusuf instead. He was sitting at the desk, using his laptop; he had looked up when I had appeared, and greeted me affectionately.

I had asked him if he knew where Zac was, and he had quickly explained that he had put Zac to bed in the room that Ahmed and Jamal shared on another floor. ‘Because he was very drunk, really out of it,’ Yusuf had continued. ‘I thought this was the best thing to do. You weren’t feeling well when we’d gone off to the CNN party. Also later, after he’d been to see if you were okay, he came back to the party in a rage. He told me you and he had had a nasty quarrel. He was still seething about it.’

It was while Yusuf was telling me all this that I began to shake inside; tears welled. I understood I must leave at once. I no longer wanted to be in Libya covering a war. It was all too much for me now. Nor did I wish to share a suite with Zac, considering the angry mood he was in, and the way he had behaved towards me. My emotions were flaring. I tried to get a hold of myself, not wanting to break down in front of Yusuf.

Once Yusuf knew how anxious I was to leave, he had made everything happen with great speed. He had chartered the private plane from the company that Global used in Europe. This had been flown in to Tripoli, without delay, with a turnaround time of four hours. I had been dressed, packed and out of the Rixos Hotel before Zac had even woken up.

On the drive to the airport, Yusuf had been the soul of discretion, and we had talked about other things; Zac was not mentioned at all. I held myself in check; my heart ached. I called Claudia in Venice and told her I would be arriving at the bolthole later on, and I spoke to Harry in New York, once we got to the airport.

It was six o’clock in the morning there, but he was an early riser and answered the phone immediately. I filled him in; said that I still wasn’t feeling great after my bout with food poisoning, and thought it wiser that I left the war zone.

He agreed at once, and was pleased Yusuf had chartered a plane. I told him Zac was staying on to continue covering the revolution, then handed the BlackBerry to Yusuf.

They talked for a few seconds about the situation in general in Tripoli, and then Yusuf clicked off and gave the BlackBerry back to me.

‘Harry didn’t say it, but you’ve just made his day, Serena. He’s delighted you’re putting distance between yourself and the war.’

‘You’d better believe it,’ I said, smiling at my old friend.

I tried to take a nap, but I found that to be impossible. I was far too agitated inside, pent up, not calm at all. Just the opposite. I’d have liked to shout and jump up and down, have a real tantrum. Release the anger inside. I wished I had a copper frying pan. I wanted to bash something hard, over and over again. The windows? That wasn’t possible, of course. The plane would crash.

I began to realize that my rage with Zac was surfacing. Until now I had played it cool. Suddenly I wanted to let it all out. He had been so wrong. I had wanted – no, needed – his comfort, not his criticism.

I began to shake inside once more. He’d hurt me, hurt my feelings. I sat back in the seat and closed my eyes. I felt the tears pricking behind my lids. I struggled not to cry. If truth be known, I was angry with myself. I had hurt myself, so it was a double hurt. And all because I had gone to Libya. I should not have been so hellbent on pleasing Zac. I should have given more thought to myself, to the baby. The tears started, trickled down my face. I felt my sense of despair … I’d lost my baby.

Yusuf had thought of everything, and once the Cessna Mustang landed at Marco Polo Airport and I had been through passport control, I was met by a young woman who often worked for him. He had told me to expect her, to look for her in arrivals. She was a travel agent, and carried a large white card with the name Pidge written on it in black letters.

I smiled inwardly as I greeted her. We shook hands, and, calling me Miss Pidge, she led me outside to a water taxi she had waiting for us. Her name was Lucrezia and she insisted on riding into Venice with me, explaining that Yusuf had instructed her to take me right to my front door.

There was no point arguing, because she was adamant, so I settled back in the speedboat and chatted to her as we headed towards La Serenissima. It was a typical August day, sunny and hot under a blameless blue sky, and I enjoyed the ride and the familiar sights. In a way, it was like coming home.

Once we arrived at the Piazza San Marco, I was glad Lucrezia was with me. It was tourist time again, and on this Sunday afternoon, the piazza was full of people from all over the world, milling around. She insisted on pulling my roller suitcase, and I carried my camera bag, with my shoulder bag filled with all my credentials and money slung over my shoulder and across my chest, for safety.

Yusuf had been right. Lucrezia had made my life easier, and I thanked her profusely once we were finally standing outside the bolthole door. She left with a cheery goodbye and a smile, and I unlocked the door of the apartment and went inside, bracing myself.

I had expected the bolthole to be full of the aura of Zac and me after our last visit en route to Libya. But this was not so. It was redolent of Dad and Harry and Mom, and me and my sisters, when I was a child. Memories of the past assailed me, welcomed me, comforted me; all the visits we had made here rushed back …

Closing the door behind me, I stood for a moment looking around. The living room was fragrant with the scent of fresh roses, and I noticed the big bowl of them on the coffee table, pink and white and in full bloom. And mingling in with their perfume was the citrus smell of Jo Malone’s grapefruit-and-rosemary room cologne, which I loved.

On the dining table stood a large plate of fresh fruit, and all this was due to Claudia’s thoughtfulness, her kindness. I knew that the fridge would have all the right food in it; she always stocked up when she knew someone from Global was coming to stay, whether it was me or Harry, or some other photographers exiting a war.

The apartment was so familiar and welcoming, I relaxed. And I felt it embracing me – or, rather, it was the memories of long ago that were taking over, putting their arms around me. I had toyed with the idea of staying at the Bauer Palazzo when I realized I had to get out of Tripoli. Now I was glad I hadn’t booked a room there. This was the only place to be because it was ours.

Wheeling my suitcase into my parents’ former bedroom, I sat down on one of the beds, took out my BlackBerry and dialled Harry at Global in New York.

When he answered his cell phone, I said, ‘Harry, it’s me, and I’m here. In the bolthole, and I’m fine. Everything is fine.’

‘Thank God you’re out of the war zone!’ he exclaimed, sounding happier than he had for weeks. ‘I worried so much about your safety, even though I had Yusuf and his lads surrounding you.’

‘He’s the best, but then you know that,’ I answered.

‘I do indeed, but how are you feeling, Serena? Do you think you ought to go and see a doctor? The earlier bout of food poisoning might not have been that at all. You could have picked up some sort of parasite.’

‘I don’t think so, Harry. Zac and Yusuf were hit with it, too, and as far as I’m concerned, I do believe a lot of stress and tension fed into it and didn’t help me. My stomach feels pretty much settled down today, honestly. I’m okay.’

‘You know best – just take care of yourself, relax and enjoy Venice. I’ll talk to you later.’

‘I’ll be right here,’ I answered. ‘And thanks, Harry, for pulling me out.’

‘Now you know very well that was all Yusuf’s doing,’ he said in a cheerful voice. I sensed his relief that I was on safe ground. I was relieved myself.

After we had hung up, I called Jessica in Nice to tell her I was out of Tripoli and in Venice, but her answer service kicked in. So I left a message, and began to unpack and put everything away. I didn’t have any plans for the next few days. I just wanted to rest, calm myself, and take stock of my life. I thought of Zac and my throat tightened. Don’t go there, I warned myself, and jumped up, left the bedroom.

I noticed a note on the coffee table next to the roses. Claudia had welcomed me, and suggested we have coffee tomorrow. I would do that. I wanted to see her, and also to thank her for all she had done to spruce up the bolthole, and for the flowers and food. And settle my bill with her for the food.

In the kitchen, I made a mug of lemon tea and a ham-and-cheese sandwich, and sat at the small table eating it. I happened to glance up, noticed the copper frying pan hanging on the wall opposite me, along with some other copper items.