Secrets From the Past (6 page)

‘Harry, please tell me. Tell me what’s wrong.’

He took hold of my hand, which was resting on the table, clasped it and gave me a penetrating look. ‘When you told me you wanted to write a biography about Tommy, do you remember what else you said?’

‘I said I wanted to write it because I needed to honour my father. Is that what you mean?’

‘Yeah I do. Now I want you to do something else to honour your father.’

‘What?’

‘Let me explain something first. Years ago your father came and got me out of Bosnia. He’d left before me, because Elizabeth was sick and she needed him. I’d stayed on, and then I just wouldn’t leave, even though I should have. He came and took me out … 
forced
me to come out before—’

‘You want me to get somebody out of a war zone, a danger zone,’ I interrupted, my voice rising slightly. I stared at him intently, felt a chill running right through me as it suddenly hit me where this was leading. ‘You want me to go and get Zac. This is about Zac North, isn’t it, Harry?’ Before he even responded I knew it was.

He took a deep breath, squeezed my hand tighter. ‘It is. But I don’t need you to get him out of Afghanistan. He’s out—’

‘If he’s out, then he’s safe,’ I cut in again.

Harry nodded in agreement. ‘But he’s in very bad shape, Serena. On his last legs, strained, exhausted, anxiety-ridden. I sent Geoff Barnes in from Pakistan to get him out, and he did manage it. But Geoff says Zac’s in a deep depression; not well, in need of care. He thinks Zac is at an emotional low. As he put it, Zac’s a dead man walking.’

‘Where is Zac now?’ As the words left my mouth, I knew exactly where he was. I exclaimed, ‘He’s in the bolthole, isn’t he?’

Harry nodded, his eyes still clouded with worry.

I blew out air, shook my head. ‘I can’t go. I don’t want to go. Besides which, he’ll bang the door in my face the moment he sees me. We haven’t spoken for eleven months.’

‘He won’t do that, Serena. I promise you. It was Zac who asked for you. He said there was no one else who could do it, who could help him.’

‘He’s got a family on Long Island, Harry. And you know that. Parents, a sister, a brother.’

‘They can’t help him … he needs someone who’s been there, who knows about war, who’s suffered through it, lived through the sheer hell of it, seen the death, the blood, the devastation …’ His voice trailed off, and he sighed.

‘I can’t go. I just can’t,’ I said, my voice tearful, wobbling. ‘That row we had in Nice after Dad’s funeral was horrendous. He was so very violent, verbally. Angry. I’m sorry, Harry, but I still blame him. It was Zac’s fault we missed the plane from Kabul. And all because he wanted to get a few last pictures.’

‘I’m sorry, too, honey, I shouldn’t have even asked you to do it. That was very stupid on my part. You don’t need this right now.’ He took hold of my hand again. ‘I’ll think of something, talk it through with Geoff Barnes, come up with a solution.’

I nodded, bit my lip. ‘Let me think about it,’ I murmured against my better judgement. ‘Let me sleep on it.’

Harry was silent for a moment, staring at me. Then he said in a low voice, ‘No, honey, I don’t want you to go. It was wrong of me to suggest it, to load this responsibility on you. It’s my problem, and I’ll solve it.’

Much later that evening, back at the apartment, I discovered I couldn’t sleep. Nor could I think straight. I was far too agitated and distressed about Zac, and about myself and my reaction to Harry’s request.

Zachary North needed me and I’d said I wouldn’t go and help him. And yet he was the only man I’d ever been in love with. Even though he had broken my heart.

I was aware, deep within myself, that Harry really did want me to go to Zac’s aid, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked in the first place. He had changed his mind when he had seen my reaction and my reluctance.

My father would certainly want me to go, I knew that without a doubt … because of the camaraderie, the dependency and the loyalty that war photographers shared. They were always there for each other. But I couldn’t go because I was afraid of Zac, the effect he had on me.

I was afraid of my own emotions. But I should go. I would go.

There is nothing new except for what is forgotten.

Attributed to Mademoiselle Bertin, milliner
to Marie Antoinette

Only I discern

Infinite passion, and the pain

Of finite hearts that yearn.

Robert Browning, ‘Two in the Campagna’

There is nothing new except for what is forgotten.

Attributed to Mademoiselle Bertin, milliner
to Marie Antoinette

Only I discern

Infinite passion, and the pain

Of finite hearts that yearn.

Robert Browning, ‘Two in the Campagna’

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.

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, glanced 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.