Secrets From the Past (30 page)

‘I’ve no doubt about that, honey. So come on, let’s go to lunch. It’s not often that I get that pleasure.’

I don’t suppose I will ever forget the date: 14 July 2011. Because that’s when I knew for sure that Valentina Clifford, Mom’s first cousin, was alive. Not only alive, but alive and kicking and still working as a war photographer.

Always an early riser, I was up at six o’clock the next morning and drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen. And looking at the
New York Times
. On page 6A of the International Pages a photograph of a group of women caught my eye. Actually, it was the face of Marie Colvin that drew my attention. There was no missing her with her famous eye-patch.

And then I noticed the woman standing next to her. It was Valentina Clifford, according to the caption. The two women were part of a group of war correspondents and war photographers, six of them altogether. They had just arrived in Tripoli to cover the fighting between the armed civilians and soldiers – the uprisings all over the country.

Startled, even shocked, I dropped the paper on the floor and sat back in my chair, endeavouring to calm myself. It was then that I realized my heart was thudding and I felt slightly sick.

After a few minutes, I reached down and picked up the paper. Turning again to A6, I studied the photograph intently. To be truthful, it wasn’t a very good shot; it was rather hazy in fact. And if Marie Colvin’s face, and her eye-patch, weren’t so well known, I might have missed it altogether.

The famous war correspondent for the London
Sunday Times
was an international star, much admired. Marie was American-born and had been brought up on Long Island. Zac was probably her greatest admirer. He had always called her ‘the brave and brilliant Marie’, and I think that was the way the whole world thought of her. Certainly I did.

I folded the A section of the newspaper, picked up my mug and took both to my little office overlooking the East River. I sat down on the sofa and sipped the coffee, my mind racing. I sat there for a long time, wondering what to do.

The game had changed, hadn’t it? Now there was another player in it.

‘
I
want to talk to you about Libya,’ I said to Zac a little later that morning, after we’d had breakfast together.

Immediately his eyes brightened, and he beamed at me. ‘So you’ve made a decision, you are coming with me,’ he exclaimed, reaching across the kitchen table, grasping my hand. ‘I knew you would in the end.’

‘Well, I haven’t actually said I’m coming,’ I murmured, staring hard at him. ‘I just said I wanted to talk to you about Libya.’

He was surprised at my comment, and he sat back in his chair, looking at me intently. ‘Okay, go ahead. I’m listening.’

When I remained silent, he smiled at me, in an encouraging way, I thought.

I said, ‘First of all, I want to remind you that you made a promise to me. You said you would never go back to the front line. But that is exactly what you want to do. Have you forgotten that promise, Zac?’

‘No, of course I haven’t,’ he said, eyeing me warily. ‘And going to Tripoli is not going to the front line. It’s—’

‘Stop right there!’ I said in a tough voice. ‘You’re splitting hairs. You don’t want to admit that you’ve broken a promise, and so you fudge everything. By claiming that the events unfolding in Libya are civilians rioting, fighting the soldiers, that it’s just an uprising. And maybe you’re right. But it’s still effectively a front line, because it’s dangerous, and we could as easily get killed there as we could in Helmand Province. Why won’t you admit that? Certainly we know it’s a bloody awful battleground, and that people are dying.’

His face changed, became more serious, and he said quietly, ‘Okay, you’re right. It’s really bad, from what I’ve been seeing on television, but in all honesty, Pidge, I don’t think of it as a front line.’

‘Then you’d better start, if you want me to go with you. I’m not going if we can’t be brutally honest with each other. Tell each other the truth at all times.’

He knew I was angry, and that I had a very strong will, and so he was smart enough to simply nod, and he did so swiftly and vehemently.

I said, ‘I will go with you, Zac, on certain conditions.’

‘Okay fine, anything you want, just tell me.’ He sounded eager.

‘This has to be the last time we put ourselves in danger. If you ever want to do this again – go to a front line – it’s over between us. I don’t even want you to promise me. I just want you to truly know that I mean what I say.’ I leaned forward. ‘Tell me you understand, Zac.’

‘I do. And I know you mean every word. Okay, it’s a deal. This is our last time.’ I knew he was sincere, and I noticed the apprehension in his eyes. ‘I love you, Serena, very much. I don’t want to lose you. We must be together always,’ he said, and I was sure he meant it.

‘We will be, as long as you stick to this deal.’ I smiled at him. ‘And I love you, too.’

‘Thank God. You said conditions. What are the others?’

‘I want you to help me find this woman, when we’re in Tripoli,’ I replied, handing him the
New York Times
, folded to the International Pages on A6.

He looked at it and then at me. ‘Do you mean Marie?’ He was frowning. ‘I thought you’d met her.’

‘I did, a long time ago, with you and Dad. But I’m referring to the woman standing next to her. Valentina Clifford.’

He glanced at the newspaper again and shook his head. ‘But I don’t know her. Who is she?’

‘She is Mom’s first cousin, and we, meaning my sisters and I, lost touch with her. We didn’t know whether she was still alive. And neither did Harry. She’s a war photographer. Anyway, there she is this morning, staring out at us from a newspaper.’

‘Okay fine, but why do you want to meet up with her? I guess that’s a stupid question. Because she’s long-lost family, right?’

‘Yes, that’s one reason.’

‘You mean there are others?’ he asked, baffled.

‘Yes. I need to clear something up with her.’

‘What? Is it to do with your family?’

‘Yes, and with me.’ I paused for a moment, and then I got up, went to one of the kitchen drawers and took out the blue folder from Dad’s studio in Nice, where I had put it an hour ago. I then told him the story about finding it, and showed him the pictures and the captions on the back of them, explained that Harry had been at the dancing shoot.

He scowled when he saw the photographs of a very pregnant Val, and immediately read the captions. He looked up at me, and exclaimed, ‘Why is your name in the captions? Are you the Serena referred to? Another stupid question, since your mother was Elizabeth.’ There was a moment’s pause. He gazed at me, opened his mouth to make a remark, and then closed it, obviously changing his mind.

I said, ‘Yes, Mom was my mother. I have my birth certificate in the safe. And my sisters confirm everything. But there’s just something strangely odd about these pictures, Zac, and now that I know she’s alive, I want to talk to her.’

‘I can’t say I blame you. However, you just said Harry was with Tommy the day he took the dancing photos. What did Harry tell you about the pregnant shots?’

I grimaced. ‘I didn’t tell him about them, nor did I show them to him. Whatever he knows, if there’s anything to know, he would never reveal. He’ll take any Stone family secrets to the grave. And you must know that, after all these years.’

‘Yeah, I guess you’re right, Pidge. And I must admit, they are odd captions. But oh boy, was Tommy before his time! I’ve never forgotten those photographs of Demi Moore, a very pregnant Demi, in
Vanity Fair
, and so Tommy was very daring, wasn’t he, and so much earlier.’

I nodded. ‘So you agree to help me meet up with Valentina Clifford, do you, Zac?’

‘Sure I will, Pidge, no problem. And she won’t be hard to find. You know as well as I do that journos hang out together.’ He took hold of my hand, and looked into my eyes, his own questioning. ‘But what are you going to ask her?’

‘Who Serena was, or is. The Serena referred to in the captions.’

A look of sudden comprehension flitted across his face. ‘Surely you know it can’t possibly be you?’

‘I do know that, but I still want to ask the question. I want to solve the mystery. Not knowing bothers me.’

Later that same morning I went to Global Images on Sixth Avenue. After putting my things in my office, I took the blue folder out of my bag, and went to Harry’s office next door.

I knocked on the door, opened it and put my head inside the room. ‘Can I come in?’ I did so before he had even responded.

‘Of course,’ he said, rising, coming over to hug me. Then he indicated the sofa. ‘Let’s sit over there.’ Once we were seated, he went on, ‘I guess you saw the photograph of Val Clifford in the
Times
this morning. So now we know she is alive, after all.’

‘And still working. For a French photo news agency. According to the paper.’ Not wanting to waste any time, I held out the blue folder. ‘Take a look at these pictures, will you, please? Not the dancing ones, you know all about those. But the two others, showing a pregnant woman.’

Harry appeared to be taken aback as I handed the folder to him, and even more surprised when he saw the photos. He studied them, then turned them over, read the captions.

I had known this man for my entire life, and I realized at once that he had never seen them before. He looked shocked.

He shook his head, silent for a moment or two, and there was no question in my mind that he was flabbergasted.

After a few seconds he said, ‘I wasn’t present when Tommy took these, Serena. As a matter of fact they must have been taken some months later. Because when Tommy and I shot these dancing pictures for Jacques Pelliter, Val’s boyfriend, she wasn’t pregnant. Well, let me amend that. She might have been, but it certainly didn’t show.’

‘I understand, but why is the name Serena on the back of those two pictures, Harry? What do you think?’

‘I have no idea, and that’s the truth. But it’s certainly not a reference to you, honey.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Oh come on, Serena, don’t be ridiculous! Elizabeth was your mother, and you know that as well as I do. Take a look at your birth certificate, which will tell you everything. I was there when you were born at Jardin des Fleurs, and so were the twins. Your sisters will confirm this.’

‘Oh they have, and they’re a bit puzzled too.’

‘It’s not a reference to you,’ he insisted, and sat back against the cushions, looking troubled.

We sat there for a few minutes, enfolded in silence, lost in our own thoughts. Finally I spoke. ‘Harry, listen to me, I’ve decided to go to Tripoli with Zac.’ I announced this in a calm but firm voice.

He turned to me at once, astonishment flashing across his lean, handsome face. ‘For God’s sake why? It’s far too dangerous. The battle is heating up, people are dying in droves and the press are not immune. From what Yusuf Aronson tells me, the press are actually targeted by some elements there. I won’t let you go, Serena. I can’t take that chance, not with your life.’

I looked into those bright blue eyes. ‘Please listen to me, let me explain. I have to go, because of Zac. He’s hellbent on covering Tripoli, and if I stay behind it will be the end of our relationship. Really the end. He will see it as wilful desertion on my part. A betrayal.’ I took a deep breath. ‘God knows, I’m sure you and Tommy experienced the same rush of adrenaline, the compulsion, the overwhelming need to be in the middle of the action, wherever it was. Reporting to the world what you were seeing, telling the world the truth, taking those pictures that didn’t lie.’

‘Yes,’ was all he said, and he shook his head, his expression dismayed, his blue eyes suddenly moist. He blinked several times, and expelled his breath. He said slowly, ‘Will it really kill your relationship with him if you don’t go, Serena? Are you absolutely sure about that?’

‘I’m positive. Besides, I need to have his back.’

Harry groaned, helplessly shaking his head once more. ‘And he must certainly have yours. I have to see Zac later today or tomorrow, especially since you’re both determined to have this assignment, and obviously want to leave immediately. There’s paperwork, other things to do. However, I also want to make sure he understands he’s got to have your back at all times.’

‘He’s always known that.’ I studied him for a second. ‘So, are you agreeing we can go?’

‘Do I have an alternative?’

‘You could still say no.’

There was a short pause before he said slowly, in a cautious voice, ‘This desire on your part to cover Tripoli doesn’t have anything to do with Val Clifford, does it?’

‘Don’t be silly, it’s all about Zac. I love him, and I want it to work. And listen, it will be our last trip to the front. I’ve explained this to Zac, and he’s agreed. We’ll give up war coverage after Libya.’

‘I think that would be most wise.’ Harry stood up, strode over to his desk. I followed and sat down in the chair opposite him.

He said, ‘I’ve some conditions, and you must meet them, Serena. Otherwise I won’t sanction this assignment, not for you.’

I nodded.

Harry said, ‘I’m putting Yusuf Aronson on your case. He’ll never leave your side. Understand? Never. Not under any circumstances. He’ll be your shadow.
Understood?
’

‘Yes. Yusuf will be with me twenty-four hours a day. Whether Zac likes it or not.’

‘Correct. And you’ll check in with me every day – twice a day, if I deem it necessary. And you’ll listen to Yusuf. Do as he says, especially if he thinks there’s danger. Okay?’

‘Yes, Harry, and you know I admire Yusuf, trust his judgement. No problems about that. And there’ll be no problems with Zac.’

‘There’d better not be. He’s got to understand that Yusuf is there to protect you. Got it?’

‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘And thank you. Thanks for letting us go.’

‘Reluctantly,’ he said.

I was fully aware how worried Harry was about letting us fly out to Libya. He obviously knew so much more than we did about the situation out there. Television coverage told you only so much. Being on the ground, amidst the chaos and destruction, was an entirely different matter.