Last Voyage of the Valentina(28)

Thomas nodded knowingly and chuckled. “Like her mother,” he said and it was as if Fitz was no longer there. “She was mysterious too. That’s what I first noticed about her, her mystery.” He poured himself another port. It was clear that he was drunk. Fitz felt a momentary stab of guilt. It wasn’t fair to pry into the man’s past, to take advantage of his vulnerability. But Thomas continued. It was as if he needed to talk about it. As if the drink had facilitated a deep and aching desire.

“Every time I look at Alba I see Valentina.” His mouth twitched and his face sagged and turned gray. “Valentina,” he repeated. “The mere mention of her name still has the power to debilitate me. After all these years. Why now the scent of figs? My mother isn’t mad, you know. I smelled it too. Sweet and warm and fruity. Figs. Yes, Alba is her mother’s daughter. I try to protect her…” He raised his eyes, now watery with tears. “She was legendary. For miles around everyone knew her name. Her beauty had spread much further than that small bay of sorcery. Valentina Fiorelli, la bella donna d’Incantellaria. Strange little cove, Incantellaria. Incanto means “charm,” you know. It was charmed, bewitched, like someone had cast some sort of spell. We all felt it, but mine was the only heart that suffered. Oh, that it had been otherwise…War does funny things to people. That sense of transience, of opportunity, of suspended reality, it gripped me too. I had always been reckless but Valentina made me forget myself entirely. I was a different man, Fitz.”

“Time doesn’t heal pain, Thomas. It only makes it easier to live with.”

“One would hope. There are things that will haunt me for as long as I live. Dark things, Fitz. I can’t expect you to understand.” He puffed a moment on his cigar before continuing. “A man is the sum of his experience, you see. I can’t shake off the war. It plagues the subconscious mind. I dream about it.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I hadn’t dreamed of Valentina for years. Then the other night…it’s that picture, you see. I dreamed about her and it was as if she were alive.”

“You still have Alba,” said Fitz.

“Alba,” Thomas said with a sigh. “Alba, Alba, Alba…You’ll look after Alba, won’t you? One mustn’t live in the past.”

“I’ll look after her,” said Fitz, longing for the chance.

“She’s not an easy girl. She’s lost, you see. Always has been.” His eyes began to close. He willed them open, fighting sleep. “You’re a good man, Fitz. I thoroughly approve of you. Don’t know about this Hamilton-Home or Harbald-Hume…” He cleared his throat. “But I’m sure about you, Fitz.”

“I think I’ll go to bed, if you don’t mind,” said Fitz tactfully, pushing himself to his feet.

“Please. Don’t let me keep you up.”

“Good night, Thomas.”

“Good night, m’boy. Pleasant dreams.”

Fitz returned to the drawing room to find the women had gone to bed and the lights had been switched off. He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece: the silver hands shone in the moonlight that spilled in through the windows. It was one in the morning. He hadn’t noticed the time. It had gone so fast. He was sorry that he had lost precious moments with Alba. However, he had accomplished his mission. He now knew where Valentina came from. It wouldn’t be hard to find Incantellaria on a map. With a little tenacity he could very easily find out the rest.

He went outside to check on Sprout. The sky was black, studded with stars and a bright, phosphorescent moon. When he opened the trunk Sprout raised his ears and wagged his tail, but he was too tired to lift his head. Fitz patted him fondly. “Good dog,” he said softly, in the voice he reserved for his old friend. “If only you knew what it was like to lose your heart, then you could give me a few words of advice. But you don’t, do you, Sprout?” Sprout let out a loud and contented sigh. Fitz covered him with a warm blanket and, with a long and affectionate look, closed the trunk.

He walked slowly up the stairs, his heart growing heavier with each step. Soon the weekend would be over and Alba would no longer need him.

He made his way down the corridor. He would have liked to have knocked on Alba’s door. To tell her what he had discovered. But he didn’t know which room was hers and the house was so big, he couldn’t begin to guess. He opened the door to his room and turned on the light. Alba stirred in the bed. “Turn it off,” she murmured without opening her eyes.

“Alba,” Fitz gasped, switching it off. His initial thought was that he had blundered into her room by mistake. Perhaps he was as drunk as her father. “I’m so sorry!”