Treasured Lies (13 page)

Nearing the doorway, Archer smelt the now familiar aroma of stone-ground bread baking. His mouth watered at the thought and hunger pains snapped at his stomach like rabid dogs. He hoped she also served some of their freshly harvested honey he'd sampled last time he was here.

‘Mmmm, smells good.' Once again Rosalina was reading his mind. It was a gift of hers, one that had him shaking his head in amazement on many occasions.

They reached the back door which led into the kitchen. It was an insignificant entrance in comparison to the grand foyer at the front. Rosalina stepped up the three wooden steps and Archer took the opportunity to cup her well-toned butt cheeks. Although she flicked her hand at him, he imagined she was smiling as much as he was right now.

He stepped into the room, and when his eyes adjusted to the dimmed kitchen lights he spotted Mother Maria at the bench. Knife in hand, she looked the picture of a master chef, ready to carve her decadent creation. He'd seen this look on Rosalina many, many times. It was like watching an artist reveal their masterpiece for the very first time. Or so he imagined.

‘Oh, how lovely to see you.' Mother Maria acted surprised by their arrival and Archer went along with her little game.

After Rosalina finished her embrace and moved aside, Archer stepped up for his turn.

‘We couldn't go without saying goodbye.' He offered his hand to her outstretched palms and she clasped it within hers. Her skin felt cold in his grasp and he remembered her once telling him she had circulation problems.

‘It's only goodbye … for now,' she said.

When he looked into her hooded smoky-grey eyes, he realised she knew the real truth. If he had his way, he didn't think he'd ever return. He couldn't bear to voice it though, so he embellished. ‘Of course we'll be back. This place is in my bones now.' And that was the truth. When he first saw this ancient building high up on the bluff, it was like the whitewashed walls were clutching him into their embrace. It was a bizarre experience. Thankfully he'd acted on that impulse or he would never have found his mother again. Not that he'd been looking for her. He'd believed she'd died decades ago. It occurred to him that he had no idea where his mother was. She had come with them up the hill, but he hadn't seen her since they started carting the boxes from the shed to the truck. ‘Have you seen Mum?'

Mother Maria lowered her eyes. ‘I think you'll find her out by your father's grave. She knows she may never be back.'

Archer stepped back and leant on the wooden benchtop. ‘Oh. Right.' He hadn't thought of that. Since his mother arrived at this nunnery she'd spent most of her life sitting by his father's grave and simply looking out to sea. The sad, grieving world she'd slipped into had a very strong hold on her and so far, Archer hadn't been able to ease her pain the slightest. Taking her away from here was a good idea at the time, but now, at the thought of her sitting at the top of the hill, next to the grave of her long lost love, he wondered if she was capable of ever recovering.

‘I've never seen her so happy.'

Archer's confusion resulted in a frown.

‘Your mother is positively glowing. She even spoke a few words to me. Whatever you and Rosalina have been doing has changed her life.'

He wasn't prepared for that response. Maybe she was improving after all. He caught a glimpse of Rosalina, she was the one radiating now. She was the momentum behind making changes to his mother's life, she had the patience of a saint. Rosalina missed her family, especially her grandmother who she talked about all the time. He knew how much she wanted to go home. And they would … once they found all the treasure. Maybe, in the meantime, having his mother live on
Evangeline
was actually good for both of them.

‘Have you time for some bread?' Mother Maria's eyes twinkled. ‘I have that honey you like.'

Archer moved to the other side of the table. ‘I'd travel half the world to eat your homemade bread with that honey.'

‘Then maybe this could be the start of a tradition.'

He nodded his head. ‘I think that could be arranged.'

Archer pulled out a chair for Rosalina and she sat down. He sat beside her and placed his hand on her knee. Rosalina didn't seem to notice. Her eyes followed Mother Maria's every move. Rosalina was a fabulous chef herself, having learnt her skills with some of the best chefs in Italy. But she always said that her love and passion for cooking came from her grandmother. Rosalina could make even the simplest ingredients taste like heaven.

Mother Maria reached up and unhooked a bread board from a bracket dangling from the rafters. Archer scanned all the pots, pans and other cooking equipment hanging from the exposed beams. He followed the line of the timber to where it passed through the wall, which was made of solid stone. Based on the history lesson Alessandro had given him, every one of these stones would've been chosen with painstaking scrutiny and hand laid with meticulous care.

Archer found it interesting to have Alessandro around, even though he was Rosalina's ex. He was both brilliant and comically unworldly at the same time. His perpetual focus was on history and architecture, which made it hard for Archer to believe this trip was the professor's first journey from his homeland. Where Rosalina couldn't wait to travel once she'd graduated from university, Alessandro had stayed right at home in Florence. He was practically dribbling over the ancient buildings and precious artefacts they'd explored already. Add Ginger to the mix and the Italian professor was probably having the trip of his lifetime. Alessandro and Ginger were a strange mix, but Archer wasn't complaining; in fact, he'd do anything to encourage that relationship. Keeping the professor's fixation off Rosalina was a good thing. While he was confident Rosalina wasn't interested, he wasn't so sure about Alessandro. He'd caught him gazing at Rosalina many times.

When Mother Maria opened the cast iron oven door, Archer noticed the flames blazing away at the back of the dome. He hadn't seen many wood-fired ovens and wondered if this was the reason the bread tasted so damn good. His mouth salivated at the enticing smell.

Plumes of steam erupted from the bread as Mother Maria cut thick slices. She layered them onto a wooden paddle, added the jar of honey and then placed it onto the table, right in front of Archer. His belly beckoned the food with a grumble.

‘Eat.'

‘If you insist.' Archer reached for the first slice on top, smothered the honey dipper in the liquid gold and drizzled it over his bread.

He couldn't decide if it was because he was starving, or because it was amazing; either way the first bite was bloody delicious. In contrast, Rosalina tore tiny chunks from the bread and savoured every little morsel. No doubt she was analysing why the bread was so tasty and why the honey matched it perfectly.

‘Shall we have some wine?' Mother Maria had already tugged a porcelain jug from somewhere and was poised with a chunky wine glass in hand. If Jimmy wasn't waiting at the truck, and Archer didn't have all those boxes to cart over to the yacht, and if he didn't feel so grubby, he would've jumped at the chance to sip wine in this ancient stone-lined kitchen. But it wasn't to be. Not now anyway.

‘Mother Maria, you're a tease. Sadly we can't stay this time. But next time we're here, I promise we'll stay for a feast. Especially if you make this bread.'

‘Oh, that would be wonderful,' Rosalina said.

Mother Maria sat opposite and grinned, showing off her chipped front tooth. ‘Let me know when you're coming back, and I'll put on a feast you will never forget.'

Rosalina turned to him. Her blue irises drilled into him, begging him to agree.

‘If you promise to teach Rosalina how to make this—,' he waggled his half eaten slice of bread, ‘—then I promise to bring her back.'

Rosalina slapped him on the thigh. ‘Don't be so bossy.'

‘It's a deal.' Mother Maria clapped her hands together.

After Archer had taken his fill of the bread, he said goodbye and hugged Mother Maria to his chest. His head was telling him he wouldn't be back, but his heart was begging for it to be otherwise. When he released her it took all his might not to wipe the tear from her cheek. He turned, ducked his head to pass through the low arch of the back door and went in search of his mother.

As Mother Maria had suggested, he found her sitting at his father's grave. She sat on the grass, leaning on one hand with her feet tucked up beneath her. The blazing sun in the distance, low on the horizon, was fireball red and presented her as a silhouette. The way she sat, frozen in the moment, made her look as much like a tombstone as the other twenty or so around her. Archer shook his head, trying to cast the wretched thought away as he walked up behind her.

‘Hey, Mum.'

Helen turned to him and a brilliant smile lit up her face. But just as quickly it vanished, replaced instead with a twisted look of distress.

‘What is it, Mum?' Archer slid down to her side and reached for her hand.

She almost strangled his fingers. ‘It's you, Arch.' She closed her eyes and breathed in deep. When she opened her eyes again she stared out over the ocean. ‘Every time I look at you I see Wade and my heart leaps to my throat. But then … then reality kicks in and I relive his death again. Over and over.'

‘Oh, Mum, I'm so sorry.'

She shook her head and turned to him. ‘It's not your fault.' She huffed out a breath. ‘It's me. I can't let go.' She balled her fist. ‘But I know I'm getting better. Seeing you and Rosalina together reminds me of what Wade and I had. It's beautiful, Archer.' She turned back to the sunset. ‘Beautiful.'

Archer sucked through his teeth. He couldn't even begin to imagine what his mother was going through. How could anyone move on after what happened? But just having this conversation with her was proof she was improving. ‘You are getting better, Mum. I know it.'

‘I know it too.' She unfurled her hand and sighed. ‘One day Wade will just be a memory. But right now, he's still with me.'

‘Dad will always be in our hearts and minds, Mum, and one day you'll remember him with a smile on your face.'

‘I hope so, Arch … because at the moment, it hurts so much.'

He tugged her to his chest and as she trembled in his embrace he breathed deeply.

It was a long time before he spoke again. ‘Are you ready to go now, Mum?'

She simply nodded and he helped her to stand up. Although Rosalina had set her mind on feeding his mother at every opportunity since she moved aboard
Evangeline
, she was still deathly thin. He put his arm around her waist and as they stepped from the grave, Archer said his own silent goodbyes to his father.

Chapter 16

The speed with which night descended caught Nox by surprise. One minute he was watching the sun slip into the horizon and the next minute he was staring at a blanket of stars scattered across the inky black sky. He snapped out of the depression that had him rooted to the spot and pushed to stand up. A flickering light in the distance caught his eye. With one hand on the concrete core, he reached up onto his toes. There it was again. He stared at the spot, desperate to see it once more and when the beam flashed around for the third time, he realised what it was. Another lighthouse. But this one was working.

The flashing light was barely a twinkle in the distance and blocks of dread built in his stomach at the realisation it was a long way away. He inched higher, searching for other signs of civilisation. A loud crack shattered the silence. His breath died in his throat as he froze.

Next second, he fell from the sky.

Nox screamed as he tumbled with blocks of concrete to the floor below. He clawed at the walls, desperate for anything to stop his fall. Something did. A rod of metal reinforcing pierced through the centre of his hand, nailing him to the wall like Jesus to the cross. He slammed face first into the craggy wall, smashing his nose so hard sparks blazed across his eyes.

Nox howled as the full weight of his body dangled from the rod though his right hand. Desperately he sought purchase on the wall with his left hand and feet. His right foot touched the edge of one of the small windowsills. With relief, he grabbed a toehold. The pressure off his pierced hand was only a brief reprieve.

For several heartbeats Nox dangled there, completely stunned. Something dribbled down his wrist and although he was certain it would be blood, he was too petrified to look up at it. His mouth faced the wall and with each ragged breath he tasted damp concrete.

He agonised over the sheer helplessness of yet another life-threatening situation. How much more did he have to suffer? Surely he had been through enough. Finally, he glanced up at his speared hand, and even against the blackness of the star-dappled sky he could see the metal rod protruding from his right hand like a giant nail. Nox willed his fingers to move and to his relief, they did. The bar pointed at the heavens as if mocking his faith. Nox began to laugh at the irony. Here he was, a Church of St Apostoli Brother, crucified like Jesus before the heavens. If this wasn't a sign, then what was?

Soon the razor blades of pain radiating from his hand convinced him he had to move. With his left hand he searched the wall, and quickly found another window up to his left side. If he could get his feet to it, he'd be able to lift his hand free from the rod. But to get his feet there he had to dangle his full weight from his pinned hand first.

A plan slowly formed in his mind. But what he had to do sent his heart into overdrive. Nox sucked in a deep breath and forced rage-fuelled emotion into his already exhausted legs. When he was ready, he didn't hesitate. Nox dropped his foot off the small ledge, clenched his jaw against the explosion of pain, then he kicked off the lower window and swung in a pendulum until his other foot reached the second, higher windowsill. He missed and screamed with both agony and determination to do it again.