Sea of Lost Love (5 page)

As Celestria made to return to the table her eyes caught sight of a most attractive man. She remained frozen to the carpet for a moment, careful not to let her jaw drop like Melissa's had a tendency to do. He didn't see her. He was too busy talking to Dan Wilmotte, whose debonair looks now faded by comparison. They were both laughing, throwing their heads back in the insouciant manner of men who have no cares. There was something about the squareness of his jawline that she found very attractive. His lips were twisted into a lopsided grin, his nose was irregular, and his dark brown hair, rather long and flopping over his forehead, suggested a delicious arrogance. His charisma reached her from the other end of the room like a lighthouse signal to a ship, indicating land yet warning of danger. She was immediately transfixed by it, promising as it did a whole heap of trouble. A warm feeling of excitement curled up her spine like a hot snake.

“Celestria!” She turned to see her furious grandmother, now accompanied by a couple of elderly men, holding out her dropping cigarette with indignation. “My granddaughter is unbearably dizzy,” she said, her lips pursed. Celestria held the glass dish beneath the older woman's cigarette so she could flick ash into it, then placed it on the table. By the slack-jawed appreciation of the two elderly men, she could tell they weren't at all bothered by a little dizziness. Much to their disappointment, she didn't wait to be introduced, but turned on her heel in search of the handsome stranger.

She might have guessed that
he
would find
her.
They all did, one way or another.

“Celestria!” Dan exclaimed, embracing her like an old friend. Had Celestria not set eyes on his handsome companion, she would have welcomed his eagerness. However, she patted his shoulder as he kissed her cheek, not wanting to humiliate him. “Let me introduce you to Rafferty,” he said. Rafferty took her hand and raised it to his lips, not withdrawing his eyes even for a moment. Celestria was enchanted.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Rafferty,” she replied, looking up at him from under her lashes in a manner that was most certain to ensnare him and exaggerating the slight twang in her accent.

“You're American,” he said in surprise, releasing her hand.

“Mama's American; I'm English.” She relished the exoticism of her two cultures.

“I'm Irish, from Cork. It's my first visit to Cornwall.”

“He's staying with us,” said Dan, beaming with pleasure.

“Dan, darling, will you get me a glass of champagne?” Celestria suggested, touching his arm with a gloved hand. Dan responded with zeal, turning on his polished black shoes and weaving his way through the crowd to the table Julia had set up as a bar.

Rafferty grinned at the transparency of her ploy. Celestria was too shameless to blush. “Do you live here?” he asked. “Stunning place.”

“It's the family home. We all descend on Uncle Archie for most of August. The rest of the year I live in London, in Belgravia. I imagine you've been to London?”

He laughed incredulously. “You must think me very parochial!”

“Are you? One can't always tell.”

“I'm at Oxford studying law. I spend a great deal of time in London.”

“Staying with the Wilmottes?”

“They're old family friends.”

His eyes strayed a moment and lingered lazily on her breasts. “You're very beautiful,” he murmured, suddenly serious. She noticed his eyes were an unusual shade of green, like lichen.

“Thank you, Rafferty.”

“I suppose you get told that all the time.”

“A girl never tires of compliments.”

“You don't blush, which suggests you've received far too many.”

“Would you like me to blush?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because then I'd feel in with a chance.”

She laughed, uncertain whether or not he was teasing. He gazed at her steadily. She held her ground and gazed right back, trying to ascertain what lurked behind the lichen while that hot snake curled up her spine again. Then Dan returned with a glass of champagne and the moment was lost.

She hoped she'd be placed next to Rafferty at dinner. They continued to talk, the three of them, light and frivolous chat on top of a hidden undercurrent of desire that ran between Rafferty and Celestria. His eyes lingered on hers longer than was normal, and once or twice his fingers touched the skin on her forearm, causing her belly to turn over with excitement. She remembered the delicious sensation of Aidan Cooney's fingers, and her belly tumbled again, all on its own.

 

Father Dalgliesh watched her from the other side of the tent. Surrounded by elderly ladies who were delighted to have the opportunity to talk to the handsome new priest, he was unable to restrain his eyes from drifting over the heads of the guests to where Celestria was speaking to two young men. Her beauty was breathtaking. The voices around him blended into a distant buzz, like a swarm of mosquitoes, as he reassured himself that his attraction to her was only human, a temptation sent by God to test him, thus rendering his resistance all the more commendable. I am a priest, he told himself. But I am also a man. The devil may tempt me, but I will not yield. “I told my grandson that it was no good going to Mass once in a while, one has to fulfill one's Sunday obligation. It cleanses the soul. I just don't understand the young of today.”

“Indeed,” Father Dalgliesh replied vaguely. The others were quick to agree, competing with one another to add their own stories. But Father Dalgliesh did nothing to untangle them. His mind was elsewhere, and the seed in his heart had begun to grow.

Suddenly the tent was struck by a violent gust of wind. The sides flapped, straining the cords that tied them down, and a sound like falling pebbles rattled on the roof. All eyes turned upward as the downpour threatened to break through the canvas and drench them all. Julia dragged furiously on her cigarette, masking her nervousness behind a wide and carefree smile. Pamela was clearly relishing the drama, holding forth in the center of a group of admirers, pulling her mink stole tighter around her shoulders to keep warm. “I hope the tent doesn't slip down the garden into the sea,” Celestria said.

“If it continues, we shan't be able to drive home,” said Dan happily. “We'll all have to stay the night.”

“Oh, what fun!” Celestria exclaimed, longing for the party to continue into the following morning.

“Let's drink to the storm, then,” Rafferty suggested. “That it continues all night with thunder and lightning, too. It'll be like the Blitz all over again.” Not that any of them had much memory of the war. He fixed her with those moss-green eyes, and the corners of his mouth twisted into a mischievous grin. She raised her glass.

“To the storm,” she replied, smiling flirtatiously. “And to new friends. It's always nice to meet new people.”

Her eyes lifted and caught those of Father Dalgliesh, staring at her intently from behind his spectacles. She raised her glass at him and smiled. He flushed with embarrassment at having been caught watching her and raised his glass of lime cordial with an awkward nod. Quickly he turned back to his ladies, endeavoring to join together the fragmented pieces of conversation in order to respond convincingly.

 

To Celestria's irritation, Julia had seated her next to Dan, not Rafferty, but she forgave her because Dan had introduced her to the mysterious Irishman. On her other side sat Humphrey, now puce in the face with alcohol and excitement. Her heart sank. Judging by the breadth of his smile he was clearly triumphant with his placement.

“Ah, Celestria,” he gushed, planting his hand on her bottom. “The lovely Celestria!” He wriggled his hand and let out a theatrical groan. “What do you do to me, you naughty girl.”

She placed the object of his desire on the chair and covered her knees with a napkin. She was about to respond with rudeness when her attention was drawn to the next-door table, where Rafferty was sitting next to Melissa, trying to catch her eye. While Melissa radiated joy, Rafferty gave Celestria a look of desperation, to which she responded by raising her eyes to heaven. There was no doubt about it, Rafferty and she had an understanding and were united already by their unfortunate placements. It is clear that he would have preferred to sit next to me, she thought happily and threw him a coy smile. He grinned back, using only one side of his mouth. Her stomach flipped again. Oh, how delicious it was to be in love.

F
ather Dalgliesh was ill at ease with people. In front of his congregation he sparkled. He commandeered the nave, recited Latin as if it were his first language, and filled everyone with enthusiasm to go out more virtuous than they came in. That was why the bishop had appointed him to this parish and the two neighboring ones, despite his relative youth and inexperience. In his professional capacity he had charisma: he inspired people, stimulated them, poured oil on the rusty chinks in their faith. But when it came to everyday conversation, relating to the mundane toils of his congregants, he felt he was sitting behind a pane of glass, unable to reach them. This made him nervous. Yet he recognized the challenge before him, and, as he sat between Penelope Flint and a lively woman in her late sixties, he knew the only way to improve his social skills was to practice. He watched Celestria take her seat at a table on the other side of the tent and felt his heart deflate with disappointment. How he wished he were sitting next to her. Suddenly, he caught sight of his feet. His stomach lurched in horror as he noticed one red sock and one green. He quickly pushed them under the table, thus concealing them from Penelope's incisive gaze. It was shameful to be so distracted as to forget to dress properly.

 

“Your grandmother is right, Celestria. You're asking for trouble in a dress like that. But, as you said yourself, you like trouble. You like it a lot, don't you, my dear?”

“I don't know what you're talking about, Humphrey. Really, the champagne has gone to your head,” she replied. She felt the old man's hand squeezing her knee.

“You don't fool me,” he whispered.

“Why would I want to fool you, Humphrey?”

“Because you look like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. But you've been a naughty girl, haven't you?”

“Now you're boring me,” she said wearily. His hand remained firmly on her knee.

“I can smell naughtiness on a girl, you see. I have the smelling power of a dog. You like a little hanky-panky, don't you? But then, it runs in the family. Your grandmother liked a little hanky-panky, too, when she was young. She wasn't as beautiful as you, but she was sexy. I was her cousin, so no hanky-panky for me. But you, you…” She could feel his hot breath on her cheek. “You like the pleasures of the flesh, don't you, Celestria? You're a sensual woman, I can tell.” His hand wandered up her thigh. “You like the feel of a man's hand on you, don't you? You tease.”

“Where are your manners, Humphrey? Have you forgotten yourself?” she asked in a loud voice. She noticed she had attracted the attention of a few other guests, among them her cousin David. “What will my grandmother say when I tell her you've had your hand on my thigh?” The hand was hastily removed and placed on the table.

“Is everything all right, Celestria?” David asked from across the table. He was grinning, but she could tell from his eyes that he was genuinely concerned.

“Only a little fun, right, my dear?” Humphrey chortled.

“For you, perhaps,” Celestria replied sharply. Once again she caught Rafferty staring at her. She hoped he had seen the errant hand. It was always a good thing to stir a man's sense of gallantry. There lurked in most men a little of the knight in shining armor. She pulled a despairing face. Once again she raised her eyes to heaven, then turned to talk to Dan, satisfied that as soon as the dinner was over, she would be in Rafferty's arms, being swung around the dance floor.

 

Celestria usually dreaded the speeches, preferring to talk to the men on either side of her. But that night she couldn't have welcomed them more. While Dan was a delight, Humphrey certainly was not. Drunk and lecherous, his hand straying from the table to squeeze her thigh an inch or so higher at every venture, he was determined to take advantage of the rare opportunity of having her captive for the entire length of dinner. She knew if she told her grandmother she'd only blame the dress. She could hear her voice very clearly: “My dear, if you had worn something a little more discreet, Humphrey wouldn't have been tempted.” As her uncle took the microphone, Humphrey's hand crawled once again to her thigh. That was enough. She couldn't tolerate it a second longer. While Archie tested the microphone by tapping it with his finger, she fled into the drawing room that led off the hall. She could feel Rafferty's velvet eyes upon her and hoped he would follow.

It was quiet in the drawing room, except for the rattling sound of rain behind the curtains. A few waiters bustled through with trays of coffee and china cups, muttering “Good evening, miss,” as they passed. She heaved as deep a breath as the corset of her dress allowed and wandered into the hall. It was clear that Rafferty wasn't going to come. She was disappointed, but understood that his departure from the table would be considered disrespectful to her uncle, not to mention ungallant to the ladies on either side of him. One of whom was her cousin Melissa.

Celestria folded her arms and stuck out her bottom lip, swinging her hips from side to side to see the skirt of her dress dance. “Psssst!” came from the landing above. Harry, Wilfrid, Sam, and little Bouncy crouched at the top of the stairs, peeping through the banisters.

“Look at you!” she exclaimed in delight. She had never seen a more adorable group of pink faces. They were dressed in their pajamas, their hair brushed with neat partings by Nanny.

“W-w-w-w-we're thpying,” exclaimed Bouncy in a loud voice, his stammer more pronounced due to tiredness. She doubted he had ever stayed up so late.

“Shouldn't you be in bed, Bouncy?” she replied, climbing the stairs to join them.

“It's too noisy to sleep,” complained Wilfrid earnestly. “The tent is right below our window.”

“We want to watch the party!” said Harry.

“W-w-w-w-we're thpying,” repeated Bouncy, his large brown eyes wide with excitement.

“Does Nanny know you're here?”

“She's not
my
nanny,” Harry corrected.

“Nor ours! She's Bouncy's,” agreed Sam.

“Can you hear the rain?” said Wilfrid. “It's very loud.”

“Will it thunder?” Sam asked.

“I'm sure it will, and lightning, too. You're not afraid of thunder and lightning, are you, Bouncy?” The little boy looked anxious. “Do you know what thunder is?” He put his finger in his mouth and nodded slowly. “It's angry clouds having a jolly good fight. That's all. Nothing to be frightened of.”

“I bet the rain will drown our traps,” said Harry despondently.

“It'll drown all the rats if you're lucky,” Celestria replied. “Then you can take them to Cyril and he'll reward you handsomely.”

“Is the party fun?” asked Harry, a little enviously.

“Great fun. But this is the boring bit when Uncle Archie and Papa give speeches. Much more fun up here, I can promise you.” She ran her fingers through Bouncy's thick hair. “As for you, young man, I think you should go to bed. It's very late. What will Nanny say if she finds you?”

“Thee w-w-w-won't find me, because I-I-I-I-I'll hide,” he said with a naughty grin. Celestria smiled back. It was impossible not to smile at everything Bouncy said. She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his rosy cheek.

“You run off now, darling. Good night.” She skipped down the stairs, holding up the skirt of her dress so it billowed about her legs like a parachute.

 

She waited on the sofa in the drawing room like a patient lioness for her lion, half listening to the drone of speeches as first Archie and then her father settled into their strides and clearly grew to relish the sound of their own voices amplified above the roar of the rain. She threw herself back against the cushions and dreamed of dancing with Rafferty.

Soames peered over. “Are you all right, Miss Celestria?”

“Just a severe case of boredom, Soames. Nothing a little music and dancing won't cure.”

When at last the speeches were over, she hastened to the bathroom to check her appearance before embarking on a night of romance with her handsome new admirer.

Her hopes were dashed, however, by her cousin Melissa, whom she found in front of the mirror in a state of extreme excitement. “I'm in love!” she breathed, staring at her flushed face in the glass. Celestria noticed the slack jaw and reminded herself never to allow hers to fall so.

“With Rafferty?” she asked. It was too tiresome to have to feign ignorance.

“Do you know him?” she replied, surprised.

“I met him before dinner. He's a friend of Dan's.”

Her face brightened. “You like Dan, don't you? Lotty said you did.”

“Not really,” Celestria replied breezily. “He's very sweet, but not my type, after all.”

“Well, Rafferty has promised me the first dance,” she said hurriedly.

“Perhaps he'll promise me the second,” Celestria replied, and her cousin's face showed her mortification. She knew as well as anyone there simply wasn't any point competing with Celestria.

“Oh, I can hear the music,” Melissa exclaimed, her voice almost a wail, and left the room in a flurry.

 

“What's she crying about?” asked Pamela, rustling in to powder her nose and apply lipstick. “It must be a man. It's always a man!”

“She's in love with Rafferty.”

“Who?” her mother asked.

“He's Irish and more handsome than you can imagine. Dan Wilmotte brought him.”

“He's clearly not on her level of the food chain.” Pamela placed her little bag on the marble and pulled out her gold powder compact.

“He's a lion,” Celestria replied proudly.

Pamela dusted her nose. “Now I understand the tears. Poor Missy, she shouldn't aim so high; she'll only get bruised when she falls. I suppose you like him.”

“He's been making eyes at me all evening.”

“How presumptuous of him.”

“I've been encouraging him, Mama.”

“Is that wise? You know nothing about him.”

“He's gorgeous and charming.”

Her mother sighed and replaced the little powder puff in its case, closing it with a snap. “That doesn't mean he's got the qualities that make him worthy of you.”

“If you mean money, I don't know.”

“I'm not entirely shallow, darling. I mean, is he kind? Loyal? Has he got integrity? Does he respect you? Or is he just after a little tumble in the flower beds?”

“Really, Mama. He's not like that at all. At least, I don't think he is.” She recalled Humphrey's hot hand on her thigh and decided to tell her mother.

“Humphrey! How ghastly!” Pamela replied, suitably appalled. “He's a dirty old man. You see, Celestria, men are all the same. They all want a little flesh. You just have to decide whether or not you want to give it to them.”

“Not Papa!”

“Yes, Papa. That's why I have to keep myself looking beautiful—so I don't lose him to some lovely young thing.”

Celestria was horrified. She had never heard her mother talk about her father like that. “I'd hate to think of Papa being as fresh as Humphrey.”

“Of course he's nothing like Humphrey. Good Lord, no! Your father's far too well mannered and decent. He'd never flirt so coarsely with a girl his daughter's age, though your father does like to flirt.” Celestria noticed an edge of bitterness in her mother's voice. She swayed a little in front of the mirror, tidying her hair with her hand. She was tipsy. Celestria was startled; it was so unlike her mother. “Your father gave me this when he made his first fortune,” she said, tracing her hand across the diamond brooch that was pinned to her dress. “He said he had to find stars big enough to outshine the stars in my eyes. So typical of Monty.” She laughed, the brittleness now softened by the warmth of her memories. “I told him even my father couldn't have chosen better, and he was so proud. I know he felt the pressure of marrying an heiress. He wanted to make his own money, to stand on his own two feet. He accepted nothing from my father, only me! Well, he made money all on his own. My father's very proud of him, though he's never told him so. Men! They're not very good at being sentimental.” Celestria watched the two interwoven stars glitter in the yellow light. That was how she saw her parents, interwoven with glitter. “Wouldn't life be wonderful if one could freeze it before one falls off the peak and sinks onto a less satisfactory plateau?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it's not a bed of roses, even with your father. Marriage has to be worked at, and work of any sort doesn't suit me.” She took a tissue and dabbed the corner of her eye with a trembling hand. In a small voice she added, “I'll give it a try. Your father's worth the effort, don't you agree? I just wish he was around more. He's growing into a stranger.”

“He just works too hard. Perhaps if you talked to him—”

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”