The Storm Sister (The Seven Sisters #2) (38 page)

‘With all your new friends, I suppose,’ he said flatly.

‘Yes, such as Frøken Olsdatter and the children at the theatre,’ she answered quickly, continuing to wash the plate but secretly wishing he would go.

Lars hovered uncertainly for a few seconds and she could feel his eyes upon her. ‘It has been a long day for everyone,’ he said finally. ‘I must take my leave . . . But first,
Anna, I must ask you a question as I know you must return to Christiania tomorrow. And I wish you to answer it honestly. For both our sakes.’

Anna could hear the serious undercurrent in his voice. Her stomach flipped over. ‘Of course, Lars.’

‘Do you . . . do you still wish to marry me? Given what has changed and will continue to change for you, I swear I will understand if you do not.’

‘I . . .’ she bent her head over the plates, screwed her eyes closed and wished this moment could go away. ‘I think so.’

‘And yet I think you do not. Anna, please, it is better for both of us to know where we stand. I can only wait longer for you if there is hope. I cannot help but feel you have been
uncomfortable about our proposed union from the start.’

‘But what about Mor and Far and the land you have sold to them?’

Lars let out a heavy sigh. ‘Anna, you have just told me everything I needed to know. I will take my leave now, but I will write to tell you how we must organise things. You need say
nothing to your parents. I will take care of it all.’ He reached down and drew one of her hands out of the water. Raising it to his lips, he kissed it. ‘Goodbye, Anna, and God bless
you.’

She watched him walk away into the darkness, realising that her betrothal to Lars Trulssen seemed to have ended before it had even begun.

August 2007

It was past lunchtime when I looked up from my laptop screen and the striped wallpaper beyond danced blurrily before slowly coming back into focus. Even though I had absolutely
no idea how I fitted into a story that had taken place over one hundred and thirty years ago, what I’d read so far had fascinated me. At the Conservatoire in Geneva, I’d learnt about
the lives of many composers and studied their masterpieces, but this book brought the era so vividly to life. And I was fascinated by the fact that Jens Halvorsen had been the flautist who had
played those first iconic four bars at the premiere of one of my favourite pieces of music.

I thought of Pa’s letter to me then, and wondered whether he had simply wanted me to read the story of how
Peer Gynt
came to be in order to encourage a rebirth of my love for
music. As if he’d known I might need it . . .

And yes, playing at Theo’s memorial service
had
comforted me. Even the time it had taken practising the piece had been a few welcome hours of release from thinking about him. And
since then, I’d taken my flute out and played for pleasure. Or, more accurately, to salve the pain.

The question was whether this connection went deeper and a blood tie existed between Anna and Jens, and me. Stretching like a fragile silk thread across one hundred and thirty years . . .

Could Pa Salt have known either Jens or Anna when he was much younger?
I pondered. As Pa had been in his eighties when he’d died, I supposed there was a possibility, depending on
when Jens and Anna had died themselves. Which, irritatingly, were facts I did not currently have at my disposal.

My ruminations were interrupted by the piercing trill of the house telephone. Knowing that Celia’s ancient answering machine was broken and that the phone would therefore ring incessantly,
I left the bedroom and ran downstairs to the hall to answer it.

‘Hello?’

‘Uh, hi, is Celia at home?’

‘Not at present, no,’ I answered, recognising the male voice with its American accent. ‘This is Ally. Can I take a message?’

‘Well, hello there, Ally. It’s Peter here, Theo’s dad. How’re you doing?’

‘I’m okay,’ I answered automatically. ‘Celia should be back around supper time tonight.’

‘Too late for me, unfortunately. I was just calling to let her know I’m leaving this evening to fly back to the States. Felt I should speak to her before I did.’

‘Well, I’ll tell her you called, Peter.’

‘Thanks.’ There was a pause on the line. ‘Ally, are you busy right now?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Then can we meet before I leave for the airport? I’m staying at the Dorchester; I could buy you afternoon tea. It’s only a fifteen-minute cab ride from Celia’s
house.’

‘I . . .’

‘Please?’

‘Okay,’ I agreed reluctantly.

‘Shall we say three in the Promenade? I have to leave for Heathrow at four.’

‘See you then, Peter,’ I said as I put the receiver down and wondered what on earth I had with me to wear to take tea at the Dorchester hotel.

When I walked into the hotel an hour later, I felt strangely guilty, as if I was betraying Celia. But Pa Salt had always brought me up never to judge anyone on hearsay. And Peter was
Theo’s father, so I had to give him a chance.

‘Hi there, young lady,’ he called, waving to me from a table in the opulent marble-pillared room that led off the lobby. He rose to greet me as I walked over and he shook my hand
with a warm, firm grip. ‘Please, sit down. I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so as we’re tight for time, I took the liberty of ordering the full works.’

He gestured to the low table, which held china platters of precision-cut finger sandwiches and a tiered cake stand filled with delicate French pastries and scones, accompanied by little bowls of
jam and clotted cream. ‘There’s gallons of tea too, of course. Wow, the English love their tea!’

‘Thank you,’ I said, not feeling remotely hungry as I took a seat on the banquette opposite him. An immaculate white-gloved waiter immediately stepped forward to pour me a cup of
tea, and as he did so, I studied Theo’s father properly. He had dark eyes, pale skin that was hardly lined with age – given that he was probably in his early sixties – and a
muscular frame beneath his casual but expensively tailored navy-blue blazer. I could see that he dyed his hair from the unnaturally matt-brown colour and I’d just decided Theo didn’t
resemble his father at all when Peter smiled at me. The lopsided set of his mouth was so like his son’s, it made me catch my breath.

‘So, Ally, how’s it all going?’ he asked me as the waiter glided away. ‘Are you coping?’

‘I have good moments and bad, I suppose. How about you?’

‘If you want the truth, Ally, I’m not coping well at all. This has really knocked me sideways. I keep remembering Theo as a baby and what a cute little kid he was. It’s just
not the right order of things to have a child die before you, you know?’

‘I do,’ I sympathised, curious about this man who had been so negatively described by Celia and Theo. I could see he was trying to hold it together, but I felt his pain. It shone out
of him, like a palpable presence.

‘How’s Celia dealing with it?’ he asked.

‘The same as all of us – with terrible difficulty. She’s been wonderfully kind to me.’

‘Maybe it’s been therapeutic to have someone else to care for. I wish I did.’

‘I should tell you,’ I said as I took a smoked salmon sandwich and nibbled at it, ‘that Celia told me she would have invited you to come and sit with her at the front of the
church if she’d known you were there.’

‘Really?’ Peter’s expression brightened a little. ‘That’s real good to know, Ally. Maybe I should have let her know I was coming, but I knew how grief-stricken
she’d be and I didn’t want to upset her further. You might already have guessed that I’m not exactly top of her Christmas card list.’

‘Perhaps she finds it hard to forgive you for . . . you know . . . what you did to her.’

‘Well now, young lady, as I said to you that day after the memorial service, there’s always another side to a story, but we won’t go there just now. And yes, I take an
extra-large share of the blame, by the way. Between you and me, I still love Celia,’ Peter sighed. ‘I love her so goddam much, it’s a physical pain. I know I let her down and did
bad stuff, but we were married young, and in retrospect, I should have sowed my wild oats before and not during the marriage. Celia . . . well,’ Peter said with a shrug, ‘she was a real
“lady” in that way, if you get my drift. We were simply opposites in that department. Anyway, I’ve sure learnt my lesson.’

‘Yes,’ I said, not wanting to pursue that line of explanation any further. ‘Actually, I think she still loves you too.’

‘Really?’ Peter raised a suspicious eyebrow. ‘Now that sure wasn’t what I was expecting to hear from you.’

‘No, probably not, but it’s just in her eyes when she talks about you, even when she’s saying something negative. Your son said to me once that there was a very thin line
between love and hate.’

‘Trust him to point it out – that’s the kind of sussed, emotionally intelligent young man he was. I wish I had half of his understanding of human nature,’ Peter sighed.
‘He certainly didn’t get it from me.’

I realised that I’d probably waded in far too deep, but as I was already up to my neck, I decided I might as well go with it. ‘You know, I think Theo would have loved the thought of
his parents meeting and maybe reconciling the past. If that was the only good thing to come out of this tragedy, at least it would be something.’

Peter stared at me as I sipped my tea. ‘I think I can totally understand why my boy loved you so much. You’re special, Ally. Although, however good your intentions are, I don’t
believe in miracles any more.’

‘I do. Yes, I do,’ I repeated. ‘Even if Theo and I only had a few weeks together, he changed my life. It
is
a miracle that we met and fitted together so perfectly, and
I know that even with all the pain, he’s made me a better person.’ It was my turn to tear up, and Peter reached across the table and patted my hand.

‘Well, Ally, I sure do admire you. Trying to find the positive out of a negative. A long time ago, that’s how I used to be.’

‘Surely you can be like that again?’

‘I think it all got knocked out of me during the divorce. Anyway, tell me about your plans for the future. Did my son leave you provided for?’

‘Yes, he did. He actually changed his will before the race. I have his Sunseeker and an old barn on Anafi, near your lovely house. To be honest, even though I loved Theo to bits, I’m
not sure I can see myself going to “Somewhere”, as we called Anafi, and fighting the Greek authorities to build the house of his dreams.’

‘He left you that crazy goat barn?’ Peter threw back his head and laughed. ‘Just for the record, I offered to buy Theo his own place on numerous occasions, but he always flat
out refused.’

‘Pride,’ I said with a shrug.

‘Or stupidity,’ Peter countered. ‘My boy was a sportsman pursuing his passion. I understood he needed help financially, but he’d never take it. I’ll bet you
haven’t bought your own home either, Ally. How can any young person earning even an average wage do that these days?’

‘No, I haven’t, although I do have the goat barn now,’ I said with a smile.

‘Well now, firstly I want to tell you that any time you want to go to my house on the island, you’re more than welcome. Celia knows she can use it anytime too, but she refuses to go.
Apparently it’s to do with something I said to her when we were there together way back when. Don’t ask what, because I can’t remember. And let me tell you, Ally, if you ever need
help with the local planning authorities, I’m your man. I’ve invested so much money in that island, I should be made mayor! Do you have the deeds of ownership yet?’

‘Not yet, but apparently, once the estate’s gone through probate, they’ll be sent to me.’

‘Well, anything you need, young lady, you just consider me there for you. It’s the least I can do: to take care of the girl my boy loved.’

‘Thanks.’ We both sat in silence for a while, missing him.

‘So,’ Peter said eventually, ‘you still haven’t told me what your future plans are.’

‘That’s because I’m not sure of them.’

‘Theo said you were a damn fine sailor, about to train in the Swiss Olympic squad.’

‘I’ve pulled out. Don’t ask me to explain, please Peter, but I simply can’t do it.’

‘No explanations necessary. And if you’ll excuse me for the obvious metaphor, it seems you have another string to your bow. You’re a fine musician, Ally. I was very moved by
your flute playing at the memorial service.’

‘That’s very kind of you to say, Peter. But really, I was so rusty. I haven’t played properly for years.’

‘Well, it sure didn’t sound like it to me. If I had a skill like yours, I’d treasure it. Does it run in the family?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe. My father died only a few weeks ago—’

‘Ally!’ Peter looked aghast. ‘My God! How have you coped, losing both men in your life?’

‘To be honest, I don’t know.’ I gulped, feeling a rush of emotion. I was okay as long as no one offered me sympathy. ‘Anyway, the point is that I was adopted, along with
my five sisters. And my father’s parting gift to me was to give me clues to my past. And from what little I know so far, it may turn out that music
is
in my genes.’