“He went to visit his mother yesterday evening,” said Jake. “Maybe he’s not back yet.”
“Then I must call him straightaway.” And she strode off into the kitchen.
Grey invited Dante over to the hotel to discuss business in the library. Jake returned to his duties, pleased to leave the stifling atmosphere of the little sitting room. Clementine and Rafa were left alone.
“So, are you still going to leave today?” she asked, thrusting her hands into her trouser pockets.
“How can I?”
“Well, you’ve found what you were looking for.”
“I’ve found more than I was looking for.” He gazed at her in that intense way of his. She averted her eyes, not wanting to hope and be disappointed. “Clementine, I found you.”
“But you didn’t want me.”
“I always wanted you. I wanted you so much it ached.” He took her in his arms. “I couldn’t expect you to love me when I was hiding my identity from you. I couldn’t risk hurting you.”
“But you did all the same.”
He traced his fingers down her face. “I’m sorry, mi amor. I never wanted to hurt the woman I love.”
“So what do we do now?” She lifted her chin defiantly.
“I suggest we enjoy the rest of the summer here. I want to spend time with Marina and share her memories. Then I will take you on a long trip around South America.”
“That’s presumptuous.”
“We will start in Argentina, then go across to Chile on horseback, up to Brazil and Mexico and Peru.” He bent his head and softly kissed her neck.
“That’s going to take a while. What will Mr. Atwood say?”
“You’re not going to work there anymore.” He placed his lips on her jawline.
“I’m not?”
“No, because you are made for better things than that.” He moved his mouth up to her cheekbone and lightly brushed her skin.
“What things might they be?” she asked weakly.
“I don’t know, but we’ll discover them together. That will be the fun of it.” Before she could say another word he pulled her against him and pressed his lips to hers. As he kissed her, all the disappointment and longing that had built up over the last weeks evaporated like summer mist.
Marina telephoned Sun Valley Nursing Home and asked for Mrs. Dovecote. There was a lengthy scuffle, the mumbling of voices, then the receptionist returned on the line to tell her there was no one of that name in the home.
“But there must be some mistake. Perhaps she’s registered under another name. Her son, Harvey Dovecote, goes to visit her regularly. Recently, he’s been going several times a week.”
“I’m sorry, there’s no one by that name, and everyone who visits has to sign in. There hasn’t been anyone by that name. I’d remember a name like Harvey Dovecote.”
Marina put down the telephone, perplexed. She thought of his nephew’s beautiful Jaguar, and her heart began to pound. He had started mentioning his nephew only recently. Wouldn’t he have mentioned him before? And if he wasn’t going to visit his mother, where was he going? If his mother wasn’t at Sun Valley, what else was he lying about? Did he have a mother at all? He was past seventy himself.
Suddenly, she had the most terrible vision. Hot with anxiety, she hurried over to her office and rummaged around in her drawer for the key to Harvey’s shed. She wasn’t sure whether she had one, having not been in it for years. However, it lay there among all the other keys, tagged and labeled. She clutched it tightly, hoping her fears were unfounded. Perhaps Harvey had a plausible explanation. However, the vision refused to go away. Without a word to anyone she stole down the garden to Harvey’s little shed, nestled at the back of the vegetable garden in the shadow of a giant horse chestnut. With a trembling hand she slotted the key into the lock and turned it.
The door whined grudgingly as the contents of Harvey’s secret life were brought into the light. She gasped in astonishment. There, in neat piles among the baler twine and Agritape were jewelry, paintings, and silver, pilfered from the grand houses he had robbed. On the shelf nailed to the wall was a neat pile of books by E. W. Hornung about Raffles, the Amateur Cracksman.
Hurriedly, she closed the door and locked it, her heart thumping frantically in her chest. No one must know about this, she thought to herself, feeling sick. At least, not until I’ve spoken to Harvey. She slipped the key into her pocket and made her way back up to the house.
Maria Carmela heard the telephone ring and knew instinctively that it was her son, Rafa. She hurried into the kitchen and picked it up. “Hola.”