Secrets From the Past (36 page)

‘I am too, honey,’ he said, still holding me close.

Finally I stepped away, and looked at him questioningly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming when we spoke on the phone yesterday?’

‘I wanted to surprise you, Serena.’

‘Well, you sure have. You’re so busy, why did you come?’ I frowned. ‘Are you still angry with me?’

‘I was never angry with you. Only sorry for you, sorry you’d gone to the front. I came to make sure you were all right, emotionally and physically. But let’s go inside, it’s grilling hot out here.’

‘
August Is a Wicked Month
,’ I murmured, quoting the title of a favourite book.

‘I, too, have read Edna O’Brien.’

Once we got into the bolthole, Harry let out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God for air conditioning. Whatever did people do without it?’ As he spoke he went into the kitchen, took a bottle of water out of the fridge, and returned to the living room.

‘Thank you for coming, Harry, I really appreciate it,’ I said.

‘I felt I should be with you at this sad time, Serena, I knew how upset you were. You’re all I have, you know, and I love you very much.’

‘I feel the same. You’ve been there for me in times of trouble, I don’t know what I’d do without you.’ I felt my eyes growing moist, and I blinked back the incipient, and unexpected, tears. I was very touched that he had come all this way because he cared. His presence was comforting.

‘Has Zac called you?’ he asked, after a few swigs from the bottle of water, his bright blue eyes fastened on my face.

‘No, he hasn’t. I suppose he guessed I was in the bolthole, right?’

‘He did assume it, naturally, and I wasn’t going to lie. I confirmed it. He said he was staying there, in Tripoli, that he didn’t want to come out yet, wanted to be at the front, in the action.’

I nodded but did not respond.

‘I’m really sorry you quarrelled,’ Harry said quietly, his expression sympathetic. ‘I thought everything was on an even keel with him, and you’d done a lot to help him in every way, got him better.’

I ignored this remark. ‘So he never mentioned that I’d had a miscarriage?’ I said, giving Harry a penetrating look.

‘No, he didn’t, but you know he’s discreet, plays everything close to the vest. Listen, let’s not sit here chatting. I want to take you out to lunch, enjoy the few days I’m here with you. But I’m going to take a shower first, okay?’

‘Very okay. I’ll go and change into something else. I’m sick of my all-black front-line uniform. Where do you want to go? The Bauer Palazzo terrace?’

‘Why not? It’s nice on the Grand Canal, and there’s always a bit of a breeze. Ten minutes?’

I nodded, went into my bedroom, where I searched through the big closet. I soon found a white cotton dress I’d bought several years ago and forgotten, and quickly changed into it. Then I remembered I had red sandals and a red bag, and I found these immediately.

I brushed my hair, put on mascara and red lipstick, and sprayed myself with Ma Griffe. I threw a few things in the handbag, picked up my dark glasses and went to tell Harry I was ready, all set to go.

It was two o’clock by the time we arrived at the Bauer Palazzo Hotel, and the terrace restaurant was busy. There was only a small table left, close to the canal, and we took it at once. A little later, when we sat sipping our Bellinis and relaxing, I told Harry how impressed I’d been by Yusuf and the speedy way he got me out to safety.

‘That’s the way he is,’ Harry answered. ‘He has enough self-confidence to do what he’s certain will work, and chartering the private plane was mandatory. He didn’t even ask me if he could, he just did it, because it was the only way to go. He had no option. He’d never have been able to get you on a commercial flight. All the airlines are overbooked.’

‘I know, because of the world press descending on Libya, and leaving.’ I shook my head. ‘And a lot of the correspondents are very famous. But then you know that.’ I picked up the menu, scanned it. ‘What shall we have for lunch?’

‘I’m going to start with tomato salad and then the branzino. The fish is always good here,’ Harry said.

‘I’ll have exactly the same.’

Once Harry had ordered, I said, ‘I’m glad Geoff Barnes is doing so well. He seems to love running the London bureau, doesn’t he?’

‘He’s found his niche in life, and his girl,’ Harry remarked. He threw me a pointed look and added, ‘He’s a much happier guy, thanks to Cara.’

‘And so is Cara – happier, I mean, according to Jess. We’re both glad their relationship is working. He’s an authentic guy, and trustworthy.’

‘I’ll tell you something else, Serena. I think Geoff has come to understand that there would never have been a reconciliation with his ex-wife. It just wasn’t in the cards.’

‘I’m quite sure my sister made him understand that,’ I volunteered.

‘I bet she did.’ Sitting back in the chair, giving me a long look, Harry suddenly asked, ‘Why didn’t you tell Zac you were pregnant before you went to Libya? Because you wanted to go yourself?’

I shook my head, and murmured, ‘I’m not sure. And anyway, I didn’t think I was in any danger. Also, I didn’t want to disappoint Zac.’

‘So you thought he’d want you to stay in New York had he known you were pregnant? And that I would too?’

‘I guess so … well, he might have. And so would you.’

Harry sipped his drink, looking thoughtful. After a moment, he asked, ‘Is Val Clifford one of the reasons you wanted to go to Libya? You knew she was already there. After all, you’d seen the picture of her in the
Times
.’

I realized I was trapped. It would be hard for me to wriggle out of this one – I had to tell him the truth. He knew me far too well. I said, ‘Partially. I did want to meet Val Clifford, to talk to her.’

Harry peered at me. ‘But why?’

‘Those pictures of her pregnant really puzzled me, Harry, and the captions were … 
lethal
. Yes, that’s the word – to me they were peculiar. Why was my name on them?’

‘I don’t know, and I never will, and neither will you. But surely you knew enough about yourself, from your sisters, and me. What could Val have told you?’

‘That’s the point, I don’t know.’

He nodded. ‘That makes two of us.’

I didn’t reply, and he let it go. We went on talking about other things, and we enjoyed our lunch, and being together. We needed each other; we were each other’s link to Dad and Mom and the past. I was aware that this comforted Harry. It also comforted me.

When we got back to the bolthole, Harry excused himself and went to have a nap. Before doing so, he suggested I make a reservation for that evening at Harry’s Bar. ‘But not before nine thirty,’ he muttered as he disappeared into his bedroom.

Once I had phoned the restaurant and booked a table, I got undressed, put on a cotton robe and lay down on the bed. The drinks at lunch had made me feel sleepy, and I decided a rest would do me good.

I didn’t fall asleep at once. I kept thinking about the future. My future. Without Zac. He obviously hadn’t said much about me to Harry, because Harry would have told me if he had. I was aware Zac blamed me for the miscarriage, and perhaps he wouldn’t be able to get over that. I just didn’t know. The future looked gloomy. I had Dad’s biography to finish. After that, what? What was I going to do for the rest of my life?

I decided to get dressed up for dinner. Like Dad, Harry loved to have an attractive woman on his arm, and so I selected one of my nicest outfits. It was a white gazar jacket, very light and floaty, which I wore over a slender red dress. The red sandals and handbag went well with it, and I added Cara’s fake pearl necklace and earrings, which she’d left behind in a drawer last year.

When I went out into the living room, all set to go to the restaurant, I noticed that Harry had spruced himself up too. He was in a fresh white shirt, open at the collar, black slacks and black penny loafers.

When he saw me, he exclaimed, ‘Well, don’t you look beautiful, Serena!’ Then he grinned. ‘And am I glad you ditched your all-black uniform!’

He was standing at the table, pouring white wine into two glasses, and continued, ‘I thought we might have a drink here before we go to dinner.’

‘Why not?’ I sat down in one of the chairs, and accepted the glass of wine from him.

He clicked his glass to mine, and took the other chair. After several sips, he said, ‘I want to talk to you about Val. She was in touch with me some months ago, Serena.’

His words made me sit up straighter in the chair. He had my entire attention. I stared at him, flabbergasted.

‘I told you the truth when I said Val Clifford had dropped off my radar screen years ago. However, she wrote to me four months ago.’

‘Why was she suddenly in touch? What was it all about?’ I asked, my voice rising.

‘She was an old friend who wanted a small favour from me.’

‘What kind of favour?’ I asked, riddled with curiosity, and still taken aback.

‘First I’d like to explain something about those years just before you were born. And about your father.’

‘Tell me,’ I said.

And he did.

‘F
or a couple of years before you were born, your father was going through a very bad time, Serena. I tried to help him, but it was hard,’ Harry said. ‘No one could help him really.’

‘Why? What was wrong?’ I spoke quietly, wanting to know everything. His announcement that Val Clifford had been in touch had surprised and startled me. Now I was composed and eager to learn more.

Harry sipped his drink, then continued. ‘It was a difficult period: the years 1978 and 1979 were rough on him, and so was the beginning of 1980. We’d been a lot on the various front lines, and also in El Salvador, covering the war there. And your mother hadn’t been well. He worried about her a lot; he loved her so much. One time, when we got out of El Salvador for a few weeks, I thought he was going to have a breakdown, he was at his wits’ end. Exhausted, on his last legs, and suffering from PTSD – but I only realized that later. I was, too, as it happens. He was also wracked with worry about Elizabeth. The osteoporosis had debilitated her more than ever. You know yourself how much she suffered at different times.’

‘I do, and having osteoporosis can be very confining. I know when I was little she had to stay in bed a lot.’

‘In 1980, around November, your father was truly down in the dumps, depressed, worried about your mother. He had a bad case of the blues. So, once we were off the front line, I talked him into spending a short period of time in Venice, at the bolthole, having a bit of R and R.’ Harry paused, took a gulp of white wine, then added, ‘Before going home to Nice.’

‘I know what you’re going to say,’ I murmured. ‘He got involved with Val Clifford.’ I sat staring at him, nursing my glass of wine.

Harry stared back at me, and then he said carefully, ‘Briefly. Very briefly. So, can I continue?’ His eyes were questioning.

I nodded, and held myself still in the chair. I felt slightly queasy.

Harry went on, ‘Tommy and I took the dancing pictures of Val for her boyfriend, Jacques Pelliter, at that particular time. Val had known Tommy ever since his marriage to Elizabeth. After all, she was her first cousin. Val was a talented, gifted photographer, actually, and we gave her a job at Global. She loved the front line, the danger, the excitement of being in the middle of the action. She revelled in it, loved being one of the guys in combat boots and camouflage. She worked for us for a few years, but she hadn’t been in El Salvador with us because she’d had bronchitis at the time. Anyway, I was very aware that she had a crush on Tommy. He ignored it. But that November, in 1980, in Venice, he succumbed. She was attractive, charming, shared his interests and adored him. And he was at a really low ebb.’

‘I understand, I’m not going to judge him, Harry,’ I said, needing him to continue, and wanting to encourage him.

He nodded. ‘Tommy worshipped your mother. He only had eyes for her. It
was
that grand love affair. Always was. But he didn’t have a sex life with her, because of her osteoporosis. He was handsome, charming, virile. He was only thirty-nine, Serena. He was also the most daring and fearless war photographer in the world. Famous, a celebrity, much admired. Women threw themselves at him. And so—’

‘He slept with Val,’ I said softly, interrupting the flow of his story.

‘Yes, he did,’ Harry answered, his voice as low as mine had been.

‘You said the word
briefly
, before. Was it a one-night stand?’ I asked.

‘More like a two-week stand. And then it was over. He couldn’t continue it, he told me, because of his love for Elizabeth. He was riddled with guilt, contrite. He’d never strayed before, and it troubled him that he had been unfaithful with Val.’

‘But she was pregnant with me. Am I right?’

‘She was, yes.’

There was a long silence.

Finally I broke it when I said, ‘So Val Clifford was my mother.’

‘She gave birth to you, Serena. Elizabeth was your mother,’ Harry corrected me. ‘From the day you were born.’

‘So Val wasn’t actually a surrogate?’ I gave him a piercing look.

‘Not really, not in the sense you mean.’

‘Didn’t Val want me?’ I asked.

‘Of course she did, but she had a problem. Remember this was thirty years ago, and she was afraid of being a single mother. Single mothers weren’t that common in those days. And were even disapproved of. Basically, she thought she couldn’t cut it. Also, she didn’t know how she could have you and continue her work. War photography was her great passion. She realized she would find it hard to give that up. In general she was nervous, insecure, worried, doubted her ability to bring up a child properly.’

‘Did she want to abort me, Harry?’

‘Absolutely not! And your father didn’t either. They’d both seen too much death and destruction as war photographers. They wouldn’t take a life, so there was never any discussion about an abortion. The mere idea was abhorrent to them.’

‘So what happened ultimately?’ I sat back, anxious to know the rest.