The Storm Sister (The Seven Sisters #2) (39 page)

‘I see.’ He looked at me, his dark eyes full of empathy. ‘Are you going to find out more?’

‘I’m not sure just yet. I certainly wasn’t intending to when Theo was around. I was looking forward to the future.’

‘Of course you were. You got anything at all planned for the next few weeks?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘Well then, there’s your answer: go follow the clues you’ve been given. I sure would. And I think Theo would want you to. Now’ – he looked at his watch –
‘I’m sad I have to leave you, but I’m going to miss my flight if I don’t. The bill’s paid, so please stay here and finish up if you want. And I’ll say it again:
if you ever need anything, Ally, you just let me know.’

He rose and so did I. And then spontaneously, he enveloped me in his arms and gave me a tight hug. ‘Ally, I wish we had more time to talk, but I’m glad to know you all the same.
Today has been the only positive thing to take out of what’s happened, and I thank you for that. And remember, someone once told me that life only throws at you what it feels you can deal
with. And you are one seriously amazing young woman.’ He handed me a card. ‘Keep in touch.’

‘I will,’ I promised.

He gave me a sad wave and walked briskly from the table.

I sat back down, looking at the sumptuous spread in front of me and half-heartedly reached for a scone, unable to bear the thought of the food going to waste. I too wished we’d had longer
to talk. Whatever Celia had said to me about her ex-husband, and whatever he might have done to her, I liked him. For all his reputed wealth and bad behaviour, there was something intrinsically
vulnerable about him.

When I arrived home, I found Celia in her bedroom, packing a suitcase.

‘Did you have a nice afternoon?’ she asked me.

‘Yes, thank you. I met Peter for afternoon tea. He rang here to speak to you after you left this morning and got me instead.’

‘Well, I am surprised he called. Normally when he’s in the UK, he doesn’t.’

‘Normally, he hasn’t lost a son. He sends his love, anyway.’

‘Good. Now then, Ally,’ she said over-brightly, ‘as you know, I’m off at the crack of dawn tomorrow. You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you want to;
you’ll just need to put the burglar alarm on and post the keys through the front door when you decide to leave. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to come with me? It’s
beautiful in Tuscany at this time of the year. And Cora is not only my oldest friend, but also Theo’s godmother.’

‘Thank you so much for asking, but I think it’s time to go out and find myself a life.’

‘Well, just remember it’s early days. I divorced Peter twenty years ago, and I still don’t seem to have found myself one.’ She shrugged sadly. ‘Anyway, stay here
for as long as you want.’

‘Thank you. By the way, I went shopping on the way home and I’d like to cook tonight to say thank you. It’s nothing fancy, just pasta, but it’ll hopefully put you in the
mood for Italy.’

‘How sweet of you, Ally dear. That will be lovely.’

We sat out on the terrace for our last supper together. I had little appetite, and as I did my best to eat a few forkfuls, I noted that the drooping heads of Celia’s roses were draining of
colour, the edges of the petals brown and crisp. Even the air smelt different: heavier, with an earthy hint of the autumn to come. While we ate, we both slipped into our own thoughts, as we
realised we were losing our bubble of mutual comfort and had to face the world again.

‘I just wanted to say thank you for being here, Ally. I really don’t know what I’d have done without you,’ Celia said as we carried our empty plates into the kitchen.

‘Or me without you,’ I said, as Celia started to wash up and I picked up a tea towel to dry.

‘I also want you to know that any time you’re in London, you’re to think of this house as your home, Ally.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I hate to mention it, but I’ll be collecting Theo’s ashes when I get back from Italy. We’ll need to make a date to go to Lymington and scatter them together.’

‘Yes,’ I gulped, ‘of course.’

‘I’m going to miss you, Ally. I really feel you’re the daughter I never had. Now,’ she added gruffly, ‘I’d better get to bed. My taxi’s arriving at four
thirty and I’m certainly not expecting you to be up to see me off. So I’ll say goodbye. But keep in touch, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will.’

I slept restlessly that night, the blank pages of my imminent future haunting my dreams. Up until now, I’d always known exactly where I was going and what I was doing. The sense of
emptiness and lethargy I currently felt was new to me.

‘Maybe this is what depression feels like,’ I muttered as I hauled myself out of bed the next morning and, feeling slightly nauseous, forced myself to take a shower. As I towelled my
hair dry, I typed ‘Jens Halvorsen’ into a search engine. Irritatingly, the few mentions of him were written in Norwegian, so I went to the site of an online book retailer, idly browsing
for any books in English or French that might contain a mention of him.

And then I found it.

I scrolled down to find the brief synopsis.

I ordered the book immediately, although I saw that they were quoting a minimum of two weeks for delivery from the States. Then I had a brainwave, and, pulling Peter’s
card from my wallet, I wrote him an email, thanking him for afternoon tea. Then explained I needed to get hold of a book that was only available in America and could he possibly hunt it down for
me? I didn’t feel too guilty asking him; I was sure he had endless minions at his beck and call who could go in search of it.

Then I typed in
Peer Gynt
, and scrolling down through the various references, I came across the Ibsen Museum in Oslo – or Christiania, as Anna and Jens had known it – and
its curator, Erik Edvardsen. He was apparently a world-renowned expert on Henrik Ibsen and perhaps he’d be willing to help me if I emailed him.

I was itching to continue my research and also to read what I had left of the book translation, but I reluctantly closed my laptop when I realised I was due in Battersea to see Star for lunch in
half an hour.

I hailed a cab outside the house, and as we crossed the River Thames over an ornate and pretty pink bridge, I decided I was falling a little in love with London. There was something
intrinsically elegant about it – stately almost – with none of the frenetic energy of New York or the blandness of Geneva. Like everything in England, it seemed to have full confidence
in its own history and uniqueness.

The cab stopped in front of what had obviously once been a warehouse. Sitting on the riverside, it and its neighbours would have provided easy access for the barges to bring in their loads of
tea, silks and spices in days gone by. I paid the driver and rang the bell beside the number Star had given me. The door opened with an electronic buzz and her voice told me to take the lift to the
third floor. I did so, and found Star waiting for me at the front door.

‘Hello, darling, how are you?’ she asked as we embraced each other.

‘Oh, coping,’ I lied as she led me into a cavernous white living space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Thames.

‘Wow!’ I said as I walked over to admire the view. ‘This place is fantastic!’

‘CeCe chose it,’ said Star with a shrug. ‘It’s got room for her to work, and the light is good too.’

I looked around, noting the open-plan layout, the minimalist furniture dotted around on the blond-wood floorboards and the sleek spiral staircase that presumably led up to the bedrooms. It
wasn’t what I would have personally chosen as it was anything but cosy, but it was certainly impressive.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ Star asked. ‘We have wine of all colours, and, of course, beer.’

‘Whatever you’re having, Star,’ I said, following her over to the kitchen area, which was kitted out in ultra-modern stainless steel and frosted glass. She opened one door of
the huge double refrigerator and seemed to hesitate.

‘White wine?’ I suggested.

‘Yes, good idea.’

I observed my younger sister as she took down two glasses from a cabinet and opened the wine, thinking again how Star never seemed to express an opinion of her own or make a decision. Maia and I
had discussed endlessly whether it was Star’s natural personality to defer to others, or the result of CeCe’s dominant role in their relationship.

‘That smells good,’ I said, pointing to a pot bubbling away on the industrial-sized hob. I could also see something cooking in the glass-fronted oven.

‘I’m using you as a guinea pig, Ally. I’m trying out a new recipe and it’s almost ready.’

‘Great. Cheers, as they say here in England.’

‘Yes, cheers.’

We both took a sip of our wine, but I put mine down on the countertop, as for some reason it had immediately turned acidic in my stomach. As I watched her stirring the contents of the pot, I
reflected how very young Star looked, with her mist of white-blonde hair falling to her shoulders, and her long fringe that often fell into her enormous pale blue eyes, shielding them and their
expressions like a protective curtain. I found it difficult to remember that Star was a grown woman of twenty-seven.

‘So, how are you settling down in London Town?’ I asked her.

‘Well, I think. I like it here.’

‘And how’s the cookery course going?’

‘I’ve finished that. It was fine.’

‘So do you think you might pursue a career in cooking?’ I ploughed on, hoping to elicit a more elaborate response.

‘I don’t think it’s for me.’

‘I see. Any idea what you might do next?’

‘I don’t know.’

Silence reigned then, as it often did in conversations with Star. Eventually she continued. ‘So how are you really, Ally? It’s all so awful for you, coming so soon after Pa’s
death.’

‘I’m not sure how I am, to be honest. It’s changed everything. My future was all mapped out and now suddenly it’s gone. I’ve told the manager of the Swiss national
squad I won’t be taking part in the Olympic trials. I really couldn’t face that just now. People have told me I’m wrong, and I feel guilty for not having the strength to continue,
but it just doesn’t seem right. What do you think?’

Star brushed back her fringe from her eyes and regarded me warily. ‘I think that you must do exactly as you feel, Ally. But sometimes that’s very difficult, isn’t
it?’

‘Yes, it is. I don’t want to let anyone down.’

‘Exactly.’ Star gave a small sigh as she turned her gaze towards the floor-length windows, then back to the hob as she began to serve the contents of the pot onto two plates.
‘Shall we eat outside?’

‘Why not?’

I turned my attention towards the river and to the terrace that ran the length of the windows and wondered rather meanly what on earth this place had cost to rent. It was hardly the typical
apartment of a penniless art student and her apparently directionless sister. CeCe had obviously managed to cajole Georg Hoffman into releasing some funds the morning she and Star had visited him
in Geneva.

We ferried the food out to the table, which stood against the backdrop of a myriad of sweet-smelling plants overflowing from giant pots along the edge of the terrace. ‘These are beautiful.
What is that?’ I pointed to one, containing a riotous mass of orange, white and pink flowers.

‘It’s
Sparaxis tricolor
. More commonly called “wand-flower”, but I don’t think it really likes the breeze from the river. It really belongs in a sheltered
corner of an English country garden.’

‘Did you plant them?’ I asked as I took a mouthful of the noodle seafood dish Star had prepared for the main course.

‘Yes. I like plants. I always have. I used to help Pa Salt in his garden at Atlantis.’

‘Did you? I had no idea. My goodness, this is delicious, Star,’ I complimented her, even though I really wasn’t hungry. ‘I’m discovering all sorts of hidden talents
you have today. My cooking is basic at best and I can’t even grow cress in a pot, let alone all this.’ I gesticulated to the abundance surrounding us on the terrace.

Again, there was a pregnant pause, but I refrained from filling the silence.

‘Recently, I’ve been thinking about what talent actually is. I mean, are things that come easily to you a gift?’ Star said tentatively. ‘For example, did you really have
to try to play the flute so beautifully?’

‘No, I suppose I didn’t. Not initially, anyway. But then, to get better, I had to practise endlessly. I don’t think simply having a talent for something can compensate for
sheer hard work. I mean, look at the great composers: it’s not enough to hear the tunes in your head; you have to learn how to put them down in writing and how to orchestrate a piece. That
takes years of practice and learning your craft. I’m sure there are millions of us who have a natural ability at something, but unless we harness that ability and dedicate ourselves to it, we
can never reach our full potential.’

Star nodded slowly. ‘Have you finished, Ally?’ she asked, looking across the table at my barely touched plate.

‘I have. Sorry, Star. It was gorgeous, really, but I’m afraid I haven’t had much of an appetite recently.’

After that, we chatted about our sisters and what they’d been up to. Star told me about CeCe and how her ‘installations’ were keeping her busy. I commented on Maia’s
surprise move to Rio, and how wonderful it was for her that at last she’d found happiness.

‘This has really cheered me up. And it’s so great to see you, Star,’ I said with a smile.

‘And you. Where will you go now, do you think?’