Last Voyage of the Valentina(122)

“Thank you, Grandma,” said Alba, kissing her face where her skin was soft and diaphanous like the skin on a mushroom. “I’m amazed you recognize me!”

Lavender was put out. “Of course I recognize you. Good God, I really would be over the hill if I failed to recognize my own granddaughter. I like the hair, by the way. Suits you.”

“Thank you.” She looked at her father, who shrugged back at her, as bewildered as she. Margo attempted to help her to the chair but Lavender shrugged her off with a huff.

“Now, Alba. You come with me. I have something for you.” Alba pulled a face at Fitz.

“Don’t be long,” said Margo, looking disappointed. “We have so much to talk about. You will stay, won’t you? I’ll show Fitz to his room.”

Alba followed her grandmother up the stairs. She knew better than to help her, even though the old woman climbed with difficulty. They walked down a long corridor; Lavender’s suite of rooms was around a corner at the very end. The door was small—Alba had to bend down but once inside, it opened into a large square sitting room with tall ceilings and sash windows and a big, open fireplace which smoldered cheerfully. Next door was her bathroom and bedroom. “Sit down, won’t you,” she said. “When I lived here this was a rather cold guest room. We rarely used it. However, now I spend most of my time in here, I can appreciate the magnificent views of the gardens. I especially love the frost in winter and the end of the day in summertime. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” Alba flopped into an armchair beside the fire. “Do put another log on, dear. I don’t want you catching a chill. Not before your wedding.” She disappeared into her bedroom. Alba looked about her. The room was decorated in pretty pale greens and yellows. It was light and smelled of roses. On the surfaces were little knickknacks: imitation Fabergé eggs, Halcyon Days pots, china birds, and photographs in silver frames.

Lavender returned with a red box. It was flat and square and the gold motif that decorated it was faded. Alba knew instantly that it contained a piece of jewelry. “I wore this on my wedding day and my mother on hers. I want you to wear it when you and Fitz marry. I think you’ll find it suitable.”

“How generous, Grandma,” she said, excitedly. “I’m sure it’ll be perfect.”

“Things of such quality never date, you see,” said Lavender. Alba pressed the little gold button and lifted the lid. Inside shone a three-tier pearl choker.

“It’s beautiful,” she gasped.

“It’s valuable too, but the monetary value is nothing compared to the sentimental value. My wedding day was the happiest of my life and I know my mother’s brought her great joy. I like Fitz. He’s kind and there’s a lot to be said for that these days. When you’re as old as I am one realizes that kindness is the most admirable quality a person can have.”

“I will wear it with pride, Grandma.”

“And your daughter will wear it too and hers after her. It’s a family tradition. Not an Arbuckle one. It runs along the female line, otherwise I would have given it to Margo when she married Thomas. No, I kept it for you. You’re the eldest girl and it’s yours by right.”

Alba tried it on, standing in front of the gilt mirror that hung above the fireplace. She ran her fingers over the pearls. “I love it,” she enthused, turning to show her grandmother.

“They’re very soft against the skin. I think they’re most flattering. You have a lovely long neck, you see that’s important to carry them off. You must have inherited that from me. The rest of you is entirely your mother, though. Arbuckles are fair.” Alba sat down and placed the pearls back in the box.

“Did my father ever talk to you about my mother?” she asked.

“A terrible business it was,” Lavender said, shaking her head. “I admit my short-term memory isn’t good, but I remember the day he came back from Italy, carrying that small baby in his arms, as if it were yesterday.”

“I grew up thinking he had married my mother,” said Alba, wondering how much her grandmother knew. She needn’t have worried, however, for Lavender knew it all.

“I thought the war had broken Tommy,” she said. Alba noticed the name. The tender sound of it. Her face softened in the orange glow of the fire and she suddenly looked younger. “But Valentina broke him. The murder was one thing, a terrible, brutal thing to do to a woman, but I think had she survived, the woman he loved had already died, there in that car in her diamonds and furs. The shock of it cut him to the quick. She might just as well have scooped out his insides with a spoon!” She paused for a moment.