The Storm Sister (The Seven Sisters #2) (8 page)

Mulling over the possible locations of the coordinates, I walked back to the terrace with the others. We were all muted, trying to take in what our legacy from our father meant. As Ma poured us
each a flute of champagne, I wondered how much of this evening’s activities she had already known about, but her face was impassive.

Georg raised his glass in a toast. ‘Please join me in celebrating your father’s remarkable life. I can only tell you that this was the funeral he wished for: all his girls gathered
together at Atlantis, the home he was honoured to share with you for all these years.’

‘To Pa Salt,’ we said together, raising our glasses.

As we sipped our champagne in silent thought, I reflected on what we had seen and I desperately wanted some answers. ‘So, when do we get these letters?’ I asked.

‘I’ll go and get them now.’ Georg stood up and left the table.

‘Well, this has to be the most bizarre wake I’ve ever attended,’ said CeCe.

‘Can I have some more champagne?’ I asked Ma, as questions flew around the table and Tiggy began to weep quietly.

‘Well, I just wish he was here to explain in person,’ Tiggy whispered.

‘But he isn’t, darling,’ I said, rallying as I felt the atmosphere sinking into gloom and despondency. ‘And somehow I feel this is fitting. He made it as easy as
possible. And now we must take strength from each other.’

All my sisters nodded in sad agreement, even Electra, and I clasped Tiggy’s hand as Georg returned and placed six large vellum envelopes on the table. I glanced at them and saw all our
names written in Pa’s distinctive handwriting on the front of them.

‘These letters were lodged with me approximately six weeks ago,’ said Georg. ‘In the event of your father’s death, I was instructed to hand one to each of you.’

‘So, are we meant to open them now, or later, when we’re alone?’ I asked him.

‘Your father made no stipulation on this point,’ Georg replied. ‘All he said was that you should open them whenever each of you is ready and feels comfortable to do
so.’

As I looked at my sisters, I knew that we were probably all thinking that we’d prefer to read our letters in private.

‘So, my job is now done,’ Georg said with a nod. He gave us each his card, telling us he was there for us. ‘But I’m sure that, knowing your father, he will have
anticipated already what it is that you might all need. So, now it is time for me to leave you. Once again, girls, my condolences to you.’

I appreciated how difficult it must have been for him to pass on Pa’s mysterious legacy to us and I was glad when Maia thanked him for us all.

‘Goodbye. You know where I am if you need me.’ With a sombre smile, and saying he’d let himself out, he left the terrace.

Ma rose from the table too. ‘I think we could all do with something to eat. I’ll tell Claudia to bring supper out here,’ she said and disappeared inside the house.

The thought of eating had not crossed my mind all day. I was still focussed on the letters and the armillary sphere. ‘Maia, do you think you could go back to the armillary sphere and
translate the quotations on it?’ I asked her.

‘Of course,’ she said, as Marina and Claudia returned with plates and cutlery. ‘After supper, I will.’

Electra eyed the plates and stood up to leave. ‘I hope you guys don’t mind, but I’m not hungry.’

As Electra left, CeCe turned to Star. ‘Are you hungry?’

Star was tightly clasping her envelope in her hand. ‘I think we should eat something,’ she murmured quietly.

It was the sensible thing to do, and when it arrived, the five of us attempted to force down the home-made pizza slices and salad. Then slowly, one by one, my sisters all left to be alone, until
only Maia and I remained.

‘Do you mind, Maia, if I go to bed too? I feel completely exhausted.’

‘Of course not,’ she answered. ‘You were the last one to hear and you’re still getting over the shock.’

‘Yes, I think I am,’ I agreed, standing up and kissing her gently on the cheek. ‘Goodnight, darling Maia.’

‘Goodnight.’

I felt guilty for leaving her at the table all alone, but just like the rest of my sisters, I needed some time to myself. And the letter I held was burning through my fingertips. Wondering where
I could go to find solitude and peace, I decided that my childhood bedroom would give me the most comfort right now, so I climbed up the two flights of stairs.

All of our rooms were on the top floor of the house, and when Maia and I were little we had sometimes played at being princesses in a tower. My bedroom was bright and simply decorated, with its
plain magnolia walls and blue and white checked curtains. Tiggy had once said it looked rather like an old-fashioned cabin on a boat. The round mirror was framed by a lifebelt with the words
‘SS Ally’ stencilled onto it – a Christmas present from Star and CeCe years ago.

As I sat down on my bed and looked at my envelope, I wondered whether my other sisters were opening theirs eagerly, or whether they were filled with trepidation at what they might contain. Mine
had a slight bulge that shifted as I picked it up and held it. Out of all the sisters I’d always been the most eager to open Christmas or birthday presents, and as I studied the envelope, I
felt the same with this. I tore it open and as I pulled out a thick sheet of paper, I jumped in surprise as something small and solid dropped out onto the duvet. With a start I realised it was a
little brown frog.

After peering at it closely for a moment and then feeling foolish for thinking that it could possibly be a living creature, I picked up the little model. Its back was dappled with yellow and it
had sweet, expressive eyes. I ran my fingers over its surface as it sat snugly in the palm of my hand, completely perplexed as to why Pa Salt had included it in my letter. As far as I could
remember, frogs had never been of special importance to either of us. Perhaps it was one of Pa Salt’s little jokes and the letter would explain it.

Picking it up, I unfolded the paper and began to read.

Atlantis

Lake Geneva

Switzerland

Just as Pa had guessed, I had to read the letter twice, having raced through it the first time. And I knew I would read it a hundred times more in the days and years to
come.

I lay back on my bed, the little frog in my hand, still none the wiser as to what relevance it held for me and thinking about what Pa had said in his letter. I then decided I wanted to talk to
Theo about it, thinking he’d help me to make sense of it. Instinctively, I reached into my bag for my phone to see if he had messaged me, but then remembered I had left it in the kitchen to
charge when I’d arrived home that morning.

I walked quietly along the landing, not wishing to disturb my sisters. I saw that Electra’s door was ajar, and peered around it carefully in case she was asleep. Her back was towards me
and she was sitting on the edge of her bed, taking a drink out of a bottle. At first, I thought it must be water, but as she took another slug, I realised it was vodka. I watched as she screwed the
top back on, then pushed the bottle under her bed.

Withdrawing from the door before she saw me, I tiptoed along the landing and down the first flight of stairs, unsettled by what I’d just seen. Out of all of us, Electra was by far the most
obsessed with her health, and it surprised me that she was drinking spirits at this time of night. But then, perhaps the usual rules didn’t apply to any of us at this sad, difficult
moment.

On instinct, I paused on the middle landing and headed towards Pa’s first-floor suite of rooms, suddenly desperate to feel him close to me.

I tentatively pushed the door open and tears sprang to my eyes as I stared at the high single bed on which my father had apparently drawn his last breath. The room was so very different to the
rest of the house – utilitarian and sparse, with its bare polished floorboards and the wooden-framed bed, a battered mahogany nightstand beside it. On top of it sat Pa’s alarm clock. I
remembered coming in here once when I was very young and being fascinated by it. Pa had let me press the switch up and down, up and down, to stop and start the alarm bell. I’d giggled in
delight each time it rang.

‘I must wind it every day or it stops ticking,’ he’d told me, doing just that.

The alarm clock wasn’t ticking now.

I walked across the room and sat down on the bed. The sheets were uncreased and pristine, but still the tips of my fingers reached out and stroked the starched white cotton of the pillow where
his head had last rested.

I wondered where his old Omega Seamaster watch could be and what had happened to the rest of what undertakers would call his ‘personal effects’. I could still picture the watch on
his wrist, with its simple, elegant gold dial and the leather strap that had bad chafing on the fourth hole. I’d once bought him a replacement strap for Christmas and he’d promised
he’d use it when the old one finally broke, but it never had.

My sisters and I often pondered the fact that Pa could have bought any timepiece he’d wanted or chosen designer labels to cover his body, yet it seemed to all of us that he’d worn
the same set of clothes – when he wasn’t sailing at least – ever since we could remember. His old tweed jacket had always been teamed with a perfectly laundered snowy-white shirt,
discreet gold initialled cufflinks at the wrist, and dark trousers with militarily precise creases down the front. His feet had invariably been clad in brown brogues with gleaming toecaps. In fact,
I thought, as I glanced around his bedroom and my eyes fell on the small mahogany wardrobe and chest of drawers – the only other pieces of furniture in the room – Pa’s personal
needs had always bordered on the frugal.

I looked at the framed photograph of him and us girls aboard the
Titan
that stood atop the chest of drawers. Even though he’d been in his seventies when the picture was taken, it
was plain to see he had the physique of a much younger man. Tall and deeply tanned, his attractive weathered features were creased into a broad smile as he lounged against the railings of the
yacht, surrounded by his daughters. And then my gaze strayed to the only picture hanging on the wall, which sat directly opposite the narrow bed.

I stood up and went to study it. It was a charcoal sketch of a very pretty young woman, who I guessed must be in her early twenties. As I looked more closely, I saw that her expression held
sadness in it. The features were striking, but almost too large for her narrow, heart-shaped face. Her huge eyes were in proportion to her full lips, and I could see a dimple on each side of her
mouth. She had an abundance of thick, curly hair that fell to beyond her shoulders. There was a signature at the bottom of it, but I couldn’t make out the letters.

‘Who are you?’ I asked her. ‘And who was my father . . . ?’

With a sigh, I returned to Pa’s bed, lay down and curled myself up into a small ball. Tears dribbled out of my eyes, soaking the pillow that still smelt of his clean, lemony scent.

‘I’m here, darling Pa,’ I murmured, ‘but where are you?’