Harry was standing next to my mother, and we were on either side of him. I peered at Harry, a sudden rush of affection swamping me. He was smiling hugely, as proud of Jessica as we were. Whatever would I do without him? He had been my mainstay since my father’s death, the person who was there for me anytime, night or day, constant, caring and full of wisdom.
I sat up straighter on the sofa, asking myself where Jessica’s husband Roger was? There were no pictures of him in this album.
Then everything came back to me. He hadn’t been there that night because he’d been in London. His absence had infuriated everyone.
Poor Roger. My memories of him were pleasant. He was a nice man, kindly. I filled with pity for him as I realized he hadn’t stood a chance in that family of ours, now that I thought about the situation in hindsight.
Roger Galloway, an Irishman of considerable charm and good looks, somehow ‘got lost in the shuffle’, as Cara had once put it.
He was an artist, but worked as a set designer at theatres in Dublin and London, and was frequently away. I know Dad had liked Roger, yet he had genuinely believed the marriage was ill-fated.
‘They’re poles apart,’ Dad had once muttered to me, looking decidedly glum, even troubled. My mother had overheard this comment, had frowned, glanced at me worriedly. But she had not said a word. However, at the time I believed that she felt the same way as Dad. They thought alike.
Whatever the reason for the split, Jessica had kept it to herself. She had said very little to me, and Cara was also kept in the dark. I was positive our mother knew the full story, although she never revealed anything to either of us. My mother was very good at keeping other people’s secrets; loyal, discreet. ‘I keep my mouth shut,’ she once told me. ‘I’ve no desire to cause trouble or play God.’
One day Roger disappeared forever. Just like that he was gone, and Jessica moved back into the house in Nice to live with us, having left their rented apartment for good. Eventually, they were divorced. Amicably. At least, that was what I heard through the family grapevine.
The whole family loved the old manor up in the hills above the city, with its white, ivy-clad walls and dark green shutters, terraces, orange groves and beautiful gardens, hence its name: Jardin des Fleurs.
My mother had bought the house in 1972, when she was thirty-three, just a few months after she had married my father. It became her favourite place to live over the years, and I had long accepted that it was the one place she was truly happy and at ease. It was also near the international airport in Nice, convenient when she had to fly off to work.
Finally closing the album, I placed it on the coffee table and stretched out on the sofa, closing my eyes.
I remember once asking my mother, when I was about seven or eight, if she liked being a movie star. I’ll never forget the intense, perplexed look she gave me. ‘I’ve been a movie star all my life,’ she had murmured, frowning. ‘What else would I do?’ I had no answer for her; I was only a kid.
By the same token, a few years later, I was foolish enough to wonder out loud if she minded being so very famous. Once again she threw me a puzzled stare. ‘I’ve been famous for as long as I can remember. Fame doesn’t bother me,’ she had answered.
What she had said on both occasions was true. She had first become famous when she was fourteen months old. Born in London in May of 1939, she was a beautiful baby with a marvellous gurgling smile, silky blonde curls and those unique turquoise-blue eyes.
Her photograph was on the label of a new baby food being introduced, and very soon my mother was the most famous baby in England. Every pregnant woman hoped her child would be a girl, and as beautiful as Elizabeth. Very soon the new brand of baby food was as famous as the child herself. And it still was.
By the time she was five, she was a successful model for children’s clothes; in 1948, after the end of the Second World War, Elizabeth was in her first movie. When it was released in 1949, it was a big hit. Everybody had gone to see it because of her. She was ten years old, and the new child star.
Several films followed, once again big hits, and then Kenneth and Alice Vasson packed their bags, and took their talented and beautiful child to Hollywood, where they believed she should be, and where they were certain she belonged.
The Vassons went to stay with my grandmother’s twin sister, Dora, who had married her GI Joe boyfriend, Jim Clifford, after the war. Dora and Jim lived in Los Angeles, which was Jim’s hometown, and where he was connected. He was a young lawyer working in a well-established show-business law firm. Jim, intelligent, street smart and savvy, had a keen eye and saw endless possibilities and opportunities for his wife’s niece, whom he fully intended to represent.
The Vassons had jumped at the chance to go to America. They had agreed to stay for three years at least, but in fact they never left.
At fifteen, my mother appeared in her first Hollywood movie. A star was born overnight, and that star never looked back. Not for a single second.
The sound of the front door banging made me sit up with a start. Pushing myself to my feet, I rushed down the corridor to greet my favourite sister.
FIVE
My sister Jessica had always been very special to me since my childhood. Even when she was teasing me or being bossy, I never felt angry, nor did I ever bear a grudge, because I knew there was no malice in her.
I once asked my mother why everyone seemed to love Jessica so much, and my mother answered that Jessica was a good person, that people instantly perceived this, knowing she had a heart of gold.
Since I was quite little at the time, I immediately had an image of a gold heart, similar to my mother’s locket, and for ages I was certain my sister had one just like it embedded in her chest.
Later, when I was grown up and earning a living, the first present I bought Jessica was a gold locket, which she still treasured. If I was with her, and if she happened to be wearing it, we exchanged a knowing smile.
Although Jessica looked like my father, had his dark hair and eyes, it was from our mother that she inherited certain qualities: her grace, her loving manner and optimistic nature. Jessica had an aura of happiness surrounding her; I didn’t know anyone as upbeat as Jess. She always seemed to be in a good mood, holding the belief that tomorrow would be far better than today.
When I hurried into the hallway, Jessica was hanging up her long camel overcoat and a red wool scarf in the closet, and she swung around when she heard my footsteps.
Immediately, she took hold of me and hugged me close. ‘Hi, darling, it’s good to be here. I’ve missed you.’
My spirits lifted as usual. ‘And I’ve missed you too, Jess. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to Boston?’
‘Only because I didn’t want you to be disappointed if I couldn’t make it to New York,’ she answered, and beamed her dazzling smile at me. ‘As it turned out, things went quickly, and here I am for the weekend.’ Grabbing the handle of her suitcase, she rolled it behind her, walking towards her room.
The moment she entered she began to chuckle. ‘I see you cleaned up after me – thanks for that, Pidge. What a mess I left behind in November. So sorry about that.’
I laughed with her. ‘I understood. Your mind was focused on your problems in Nice.’
I sat down on a chair and watched my sister as she unpacked her carry-on bag, hanging up a black trouser suit, two white silk shirts and a black sweater. As usual, she travelled light, the way our father had trained us. Although it worked with us, he was never able to make the slightest impression on our mother, who considered six suitcases to be the minimum for a weekend.
‘I missed a call from Cara earlier today. Apparently she found some of Dad’s pictures, and some of Mom she was really taken with, that I might want to use in my book,’ I confided.
‘Yes, they are great,’ Jessica said without turning around, placing underwear and small items in a chest of drawers. ‘We’ve been looking at Dad’s collections in his studio, and there’s a treas
ure trove there. We’ve left everything the way it is, since you’re the best judge, Serena. We want you to review everything.’
‘I will when I come to Nice.’
Straightening, Jessica turned around. ‘For Dad’s memorial dinner on April twenty-second, I know that. But can’t you come before then?’
I detected something in her voice, a flicker of concern behind her eyes, and wondered if everything was all right. Had Cara become depressed again? She had been very low since her fiancé had died. I was about to voice this thought, and changed my mind. I said, ‘I’ll get there as soon as I can, Jess, I promise.’
‘How’s the book coming along?’ she asked, closing the drawer.
‘I’m pleased with most of it. There’s just one chapter that needs work,’ I answered, and rose. ‘I’m going to make coffee. Do you want something to eat? Are you hungry?’
‘Not really, but I’d love some coffee, Pidge.’ She threw me a smile before going back to the carry-on and the last of her unpacking. ‘I’ll meet you in Mom’s den in a few minutes.’
‘Okay.’ I didn’t bother to correct her. She still referred to it as our mother’s den, sometimes even called it Mom’s sitting room, and it had been both. It was now my office, but even I associated it totally with our mother. It was the room in the apartment where I spent the most time.
‘I’d forgotten all about this album!’ my sister exclaimed ten minutes later, when I walked into my office carrying the tray holding coffee and cups and saucers.
‘Leaf through it, Jessica, it’s great! I can’t believe the way we all look,’ I answered, and placed the tray on the coffee table. Glancing at her, I added, ‘Even Dad was impressed with us that night of your gala. He took great pictures.’
Jessica was already turning the pages, staring at all the photographs and laughing out loud at times, exclaiming about some of the images of herself and Cara and me.
I poured coffee for us both and sat down in a chair opposite her. ‘That’s a lovely picture story Dad did, the way he took shots of you at every stage of the remodelling of the auction house. And you look great. We all do. Especially Mom.’
‘That’s true. Why were you interested in this particular album?’ she asked, finally closing the album, putting it back on the coffee table.
‘I was actually searching for the 1999 one,’ I explained. ‘Because I want to know what we were all doing then. You see, I need more information for that one chapter that needs rewriting. Do you remember anything much about that year?’
Jessica took the cup of coffee I was offering, and sat back on the sofa. ‘I certainly do. Aside from it being my first year in business, I got a divorce from Roger. Cara finished building her second large greenhouse. Dad was off in Kosovo – somewhere in the Balkans, anyway, covering a war. And you and Mom were not too happy with each other.’
Her last statement startled me and I sat up straighter, stared at her. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ I shook my head. ‘Mom and I weren’t quarrelling.’
‘That’s true, you weren’t, but she wasn’t too happy with you, Serena. Have you forgotten how angry she was with you?’
I was speechless for a moment, but my mind raced. After a long moment, I said, ‘Mom was never angry with me, ever, Jess. You must be mixing me up with Cara.’
‘No, I’m not. Mom was definitely angry with you in 1999. I know because I witnessed it. Do you want me to tell you about it?’
I could only nod.
SIX
Jessica’s announcement had taken me aback. I was certain she was mistaken, filled with disbelief as I sat waiting for her to explain her statement more fully.
After quietly scrutinizing me for a few seconds, she said softly, ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, Pidge.’
‘I know that, Jess. I’m not upset.’
‘But, darling, you look … stricken.’
‘Do I?’ I frowned. ‘Well, I’m not, I’m floored, because I have no recollection of this incident. I don’t remember Mom being angry with me, nor was I with her. Not ever. It was Cara she had disagreements with, or have you forgotten that?’
‘No, I haven’t, and you’re absolutely right. Mom and Cara often did have little upsets from time to time. But I honestly think you’ve simply forgotten the incident because—’
‘I’ve a very good memory. And you know that,’ I cut in. ‘A photographic memory, Dad called it.’
‘Perhaps you haven’t forgotten. Maybe you’ve blocked it out instead. Because you didn’t – don’t – want to remember something as distressing as a quarrel with our mother.’
She held me with her eyes, and I knew she wasn’t being difficult or arbitrary, only wished to help me. She had always been kind, loving – in a way much more than Cara had; Cara was extremely self-involved. Unless there was a crisis. Then Cara was the best at coping.
After a moment, somewhat reluctantly, I murmured, ‘Maybe you’re right. I must have blocked it out. And we’re going back a long time. To 1999.’
Jessica now said in that same kind, warm voice, ‘You know, you were very special to Mom and Dad, Serena, and being born eight years after us, you were a much-wanted baby. And therefore you were Mom’s little princess, a bit pampered and cosseted by her. And as you grew older, Dad treated you like the son he’d never had … that was a unique relationship.’
This was said without any rancour or jealousy. I knew she was just being truthful, matter of fact.
‘More like a pal,’ I remarked, ‘and I was a bit of a tomboy. But Mom cosseted all of us, Jess, not only me. That was her nature, she was devoted to Dad, you and Cara. And to Granny and Aunt Dora. That was the way she was, she was like …’ My voice trailed off, and I shook my head, at a loss.
Finally I explained, ‘I know this might sound odd, because Mom was so beautiful, but she was like an earth mother. That was the wonderful quality she had, the way she gave her love. She was the most giving person I’ve ever known.’
‘I agree with you,’ Jessica answered, and leaned forward. ‘We’ve been lucky, having had such great parents, Pidge. I’m very aware you had a tranquil relationship with our mother. But I also do know a situation developed between you and Mom that day.’
I remained silent, angry with myself for not being able to remember this incident. I felt like a fool. Maybe my sister was right, I’d blocked it out, obviously because I couldn’t bear to have anything mar my memories of my relationship with Mom. We had been so close. ‘Two peas in a pod,’ Dad used to call us.
As if reading my mind, Jessica said, ‘I’d like to tell you about that particular day, so that you understand. I don’t want your happy memories of Mom to be overshadowed. So can I?’
‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Go ahead.’
Jessica did not speak, sat staring at me. It struck me that there was a flicker of apprehension in her eyes.
‘Go on, tell me, Jess. If you recall an incident between Mom and me, then obviously it happened. I know you wouldn’t make something up, you silly thing!’
‘Of course I wouldn’t!’ she exclaimed, horrified at the thought. ‘I’ve always told you the truth, and Cara too. Although sometimes, in the past, she hasn’t been honest with us, has she?’
‘She’s never lied, but she has omitted to tell us things. But she doesn’t do that now. Or does she?’
‘No, she doesn’t. Quite the opposite,’ Jessica responded and laughed. She took a deep breath, and began. ‘The incident took place at the end of September in 1999, the year you’re so curious about. We’d spent most of the year in Nice, with Dad and Harry coming and going from battle zones. Do you remember that?’
‘Yes, I do. Granny and Aunt Dora were travelling in Europe, and came for a visit. Dad and Harry went to Kosovo. The war had finally ended in June. They went back at the beginning of September to photograph the aftermath of the war. You were in the middle of your divorce. Cara was building her orchid business, finishing the second large greenhouse. And I was photographing her
activities for Dad, doing a picture story. Like the one he’d shot of you the year before.’
‘You know a lot,’ my sister exclaimed, sounding pleased. ‘Anything else?’
‘I did speak to Dad on the phone, and it was a Saturday, I just remembered. I told him the shoot with Cara was going well. And that’s about it. Oh, wait, there was one other thing. I did say that I wanted to come with him and Harry the next time they covered a war.’
Jessica nodded. ‘That was it. Your comment to Dad. You hung up, and Mom asked you what you’d meant about covering a war. You told her that you had definitely made your mind up to become a war photographer, and wanted to work with Dad and Harry. To be on the front lines with them. She sort of went crazy, and she was really angry. She said she wouldn’t permit it. That she had worried about Dad’s safety all of their married life; that she wasn’t going to go through hell again, worrying about her youngest daughter getting killed.’
I had paid attention to every word Jessica had just uttered, and I really did not recall this outburst. Finally, I said, ‘I just don’t remember that conversation.’
Jessica picked up her cup, didn’t say anything for a while.
I poured myself more coffee, and glanced out of the window. The sky was beginning to darken over the East River. It looked as if it would be a beautiful night … a cold clear sky which undoubtedly would be filled with stars.
At last Jessica broke the silence. She said, ‘What did you do for the rest of that Saturday, Serena?’ She stared at me intently.
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know, probably went on taking pictures of Cara doing her stuff with the orchids.’
‘I can fill you in,’ Jess offered. ‘I was with you and Mom that morning, on the terrace. Dad rang from Kosovo. I spoke to him, passed the phone to Mom, and she gave it to you, after she’d finished speaking with him. I was working on my notes, for a catalogue I was preparing, when all of a sudden holy hell broke loose. Mom was becoming rather agitated for her. You burst into tears and fled.’ Jessica paused. ‘Don’t you have any recollection of this?’