Lose Yourself (The Desires Unlocked Trilogy Part Two) (9 page)

‘Do you think that’s true, Antonella?’ Valentina leans forward, and Antonella drops her arms and looks at her forlornly.

‘I don’t know. I never heard that before.’ She looks troubled. ‘I’ve never got on with my stepfather, but then I don’t think he would have actually stood in the way of my father seeing us.’

‘Well, there are two sides to every story,’ Valentina says evenly. She has met Antonella’s stepfather and she dislikes him intensely. He is always ogling her.

Antonella shakes herself as if she is waking herself up. She helps herself to more coffee and nibbles on the end of a piece of cold toast. ‘So, why did your father leave, Valentina? Why have you never seen him in all these years?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve no idea.’ Valentina hastily brings the subject back to Antonella’s father. ‘At least you’ve visited your father in Argentina. You know him now.’

‘Yeah, but he may as well be a stranger.’

Valentina leans forward again. She has a sudden urge to confide in Antonella, despite the fact she is notoriously indiscreet. ‘I found something out recently,’ she says, pausing before continuing. ‘My father lives in London.’

Antonella’s jaw drops open. ‘
Mamma mia
! That’s very exciting. Are you going to see him?’

‘I don’t know . . . I mean, like you say, we’re strangers. Is there any point?’

‘Come on; this is you. Remember Theo used to call you “Intrepid Valentina”?’

Valentina winces at the mention of Theo’s nickname for her.

‘Of course you are going to go and see your father. Where does he live?’

‘Near the Finchley Road. That’s North London, isn’t it?’ She takes a breath and she can taste the bitterness of her anger. Antonella is right; why should she be bashful? She is a grown woman, nearly thirty years old. She deserves some answers now.

‘You’re right, Toni. I want to know why he never visited, nor wrote, nor took any interest in my life at all. I don’t understand it.’

Antonella reaches forward and grips her hand. It seems that her hangover has made her more maudlin than usual, for Valentina can see tears sprouting in her friend’s eyes. ‘I think our fathers are men who are able to compartmentalise their lives,’ Antonella says. ‘And I guess we, as their daughters, were boxed up and put away on the forgotten-about shelf.’

‘Do you really believe that our fathers never thought about us? At all?’

‘Yes, I do. How else could they live with it? We are fatherless women, Valentina.’ Antonella pulls her hand away and wipes her eyes. To Valentina’s surprise, her friend’s face breaks into a big smile. ‘And, you know what? That’s OK, because there is nothing – and I mean
nothing
– worse than a Daddy’s girl.’

Valentina nods in agreement. It is one of the few things that irritate her about her old schoolfriend, Gaby: the way she demands things from her father; and her Daddy always comes running to rescue her if she is short of money, or needs something done in her flat. Valentina and Antonella are the same: they have to put up their own shelves.

Antonella’s smile fades and she groans.

‘Are you OK?’ Valentina asks.

Her friend stands up, holding her head as if it is a delicate object. ‘I’m sorry, Valentina, I’m really suffering here. I have to go back to bed. I’m just not able to go shopping today. Do you mind going out without me?’ She laughs lamely. ‘Besides, you can go to that fusty old museum if I’m out of action. I just know you’re dying to.’

Valentina sits in the café in the old Tate Gallery. She has already spent the morning trailing around the British Museum, trying to study the mummies in the Egyptian rooms, but she has been impossibly distracted by the events of the previous evening. Several times, she took out her phone and thought about ringing Theo. But what should she say? In the end, much to her delight, she didn’t need to call him, for he called her. Was she free for a quick coffee? Any chance she was near the Tate Britain, down on Millbank? She didn’t even consider being coy, and immediately agreed to meet him, racing across London from Russell Square to Green Park on the Piccadilly line, and then changing to the Victoria line to take her down to Pimlico. She is only in London for a few days and she is not going to turn down any opportunity to see Theo again. Besides, she tries to convince herself that maybe they could become friends. Could she be happy with just that?

Valentina orders Earl Grey tea and scones. She slathers raspberry jam on to her scone and takes a tiny bite out of it. She is hungry and yet she is so nervous that eating is hard. She glances at her watch again. He is five minutes late. She feels guilty every time she thinks of Anita, yet she is only meeting Theo for a chat. Isn’t she? It is broad daylight, after all.

‘Valentina?’

She jumps up, bumping the little table and knocking her teacup over, so that her scone is covered in milky tea. How did he manage to creep up on her like that?

‘Don’t worry,’ Theo says, smiling at her, the expression in his eyes so warming that her legs begin to buckle. ‘I’ll get you another one.’

When he returns with their drinks, he takes the chair opposite her at the tiny café table. She can feel his knees knocking against hers. She focuses on his forget-me-not blue shirt. She dare not trust herself to look into his eyes again. Not yet.

‘So, how are you?’ Theo asks.

‘Good,’ she mumbles, suddenly unable to find the right words to express herself. She has to speak openly this afternoon. She can’t let him walk away today thinking that she doesn’t care about him, and yet the words have dried up in her throat.

‘And life in Milan? I hear you’re still hanging out with Leonardo; having fun?’

She looks up at him, the torture in her eyes silences his teasing.

‘Valentina?’ he asks gently.

‘Yes?’ She leans forward and she can smell his Bulgari. Its aroma fills her with nostalgia. She is glad that he hasn’t changed his cologne. He might have a new woman but he still smells the same.

‘Did you know about my involvement with Anita Chappell before you came to London?’ He looks surprisingly serious. ‘Is that why you decided to exhibit at the Lexington?’ he asks her, studying her face carefully.

‘I had no idea about you and her!’ she tells him, feeling a little annoyed at his implication. One thing she is not is a stalker. ‘I was just as shocked to see you there, in the gallery.’

He looks thoughtful for a moment, picks up his teaspoon and helps himself to sugar, slowly stirring it into his cup. ‘It seems to be the most incredible coincidence,’ he comments. ‘Seeing you again has really thrown me.’

His words are so direct and honest. Her heart does a little leap of hope. She struggles to remain composed. After all, hadn’t the idea of London been to reinvent herself? To move on from Theo? And yet, as soon as Leonardo gave it to her, she had stored Theo’s number in her phone. She really can’t say what her intentions had been once she got to London. She never expected to actually run into him, and so soon. All she does know is how she feels, right now in this moment.

‘I’ve missed you, Theo,’ Valentina tells him.

He looks at her and beneath his smile she can see his hurt. He rouses himself, leaning down and opening his briefcase. ‘The reason I called you is because I have something you might be interested in,’ he tells her, hastily steering them away from her admission.

‘Oh,’ she says, a little disappointed that he wasn’t ringing her purely to see her and for no other reason.

‘I recently came across an old dance movie from the late forties. Anita has a stack of old burlesque acts and modern dances on film.’

Valentina tenses at the mention of her rival’s name.

‘Your grandmother’s maiden name was Maria Brzezinska, wasn’t it? And she was a dancer, right?’

‘Well, the name is right. But I don’t think she was a dancer.’

‘But she could have been?’

‘I suppose, though my mother never mentioned it to me. I don’t think she had any kind of creative career – just stayed at home and looked after the family.’

‘Did you know your grandmother?’

‘No; she died before I was born, in a plane crash.’

Theo hands Valentina a DVD. Their hands brush and she can feel the hairs on the back of her neck tingling in reaction to his touch.

‘You have to look at this, Valentina. It’s amazing for its time. A contemporary ballet, choreographed by Kurt Jooss, called
Pandora
. I believe it’s your maternal grandmother dancing the role of Psyche. It was filmed in London in nineteen forty-eight.’

Valentina shakes her head. ‘Oh, it can’t be her, Theo. She never left Italy her whole life, apart from when they got on the plane to the States . . . and never came home. Really tragic.’

Valentina wonders how losing her parents in such a dramatic way affected her mother. Tina Rosselli rarely mentions them, and never talks about their deaths.

‘But it says her name on the credits at the beginning of the film,’ Theo insists. ‘And, Valentina, when I watched it . . . Well, I know it’s in black and white and very old, but I could still see a family resemblance. I think it really could be your grandmother.’

‘It just seems like too much of a coincidence: first, the two of us meeting like that yesterday, and then this film. It’s as if we are connected . . .’ Valentina ventures.

‘Maybe fate is conspiring to bring us together?’

Hope begins to bud again within her heart at his words.

‘Do you really think so?’

Theo laughs, and she can’t help but feel a little crushed by his reaction.

‘I don’t believe in fate, Valentina.’ He leans back in his chair and surveys her. ‘It’s not so strange about the dance film. There were hardly any modern ballets filmed at that time in London. Anita has an extensive collection of old dance movies, so, if your grandmother was a dancer and was filmed in nineteen forty-eight, it is highly likely Anita would have it in her collection.’

Valentina slips the DVD into her bag, looking away from him. She feels exposed and unsure of herself in his presence.

‘Thank you for this,’ she says. ‘For ringing me up and giving it to me.’ The formality of their conversation sounds strange to her. ‘I’ll check it out; maybe you’re right; although I find it odd that my mother never told me her own mother was a dancer.’

‘I’m glad I could give it to you in person,’ Theo says, his voice softer, kinder now.

Neither of them speaks for a moment. Their teacups are empty and yet Valentina doesn’t want to say goodbye – not yet.

‘So what are you doing in London?’ she asks him. ‘Are you still chasing lost art?’

She remembers Theo’s revelation to her in Venice of the promise he had made to his Dutch grandfather to fulfill the dying man’s lifelong quest. With unerring dedication Theo had attempted to track down all the valuable paintings that his grandfather, en employee of Albert Goldstein’s gallery in Amsterdam, had lost to the Nazis during World War Two, and return them to their rightful owners.

Theo shakes his head; a strand of dark hair falls across his forehead and she struggles not to lean forward and brush it away.

‘I’m nearly done with all of that,’ he explains. ‘Well, just one more picture to return and that’s it, thank God; Glen is driving me mad. Remember him? The rather nasty art thief you came across in Venice.’

‘I don’t think I could ever forget him,’ she says, thinking of Theo’s sinister rival.

‘I’m sorry he frightened you, Valentina,’ Theo says, softly.

‘You should be careful of him.’ Every time Valentina thinks of that awful man, Glen, she feels sick. There was something about him that terrified her. And she is not a woman who is easily scared.

‘He’s no real threat, just very irritating,’ Theo replies confidently. ‘Soon enough I’ll be out of his hair and he can get on with persuading little old ladies and men to part with massive sums of money in return for bringing back their art from the stolen Nazi hoard.’

‘So, what’s the last painting you have to return?’

‘Actually, it’s in your genre: an erotic drawing by the French artist, André Masson. It’s in a private collection here in London.’

‘And I suppose Glen is after the same picture?’

It is easier for Valentina to talk to Theo about the missing pictures. They are on neutral territory, one that doesn’t involve their emotions.

‘Yes, of course he is. It originally belonged to an Italian Jew, Guilio Borghetti. He managed to survive the war, although he is dead now. It is his son who is looking for it, and Glen, of course, has promised he will return it to him for the princely sum of 450,000 euros. Not as much as the Metsu, but still a large amount of money for such a small drawing.’

‘And it is definitely one of the pictures that were part of Albert Goldstein’s collection? Could you not just let Glen get it back and leave it be?’

‘Absolutely, it is one of those pictures. And you know I made a promise to return every single one of them,’ Theo says with determination.

‘I know,’ she nods, impetuously reaching out for his hand. She clasps it in hers for a moment, feeling the warmth of him pass into her body, right up to her heart.

‘The Masson is such an obscure work and has changed hands so many times that it has taken me years to track it down. Borghetti left the drawing with poor old Albert Goldstein for safe keeping and, subsequently, with my grandfather, in Amsterdam, when Goldstein fled the Nazis during the war. Well, of course, you know what happened next. My grandfather was persuaded to part with all that art by the Hermann Göring Division.’

‘So where is it now?’ Valentina asks. ‘Maybe we can join forces and I can help you get it back.’

Theo looks surprised by her offer. ‘I would have liked that, really . . .’ He hesitates, looks uncomfortable. ‘But I can’t involve you now. I’ve already got my plan in action and I’m sort of close to getting it back. It’s a rather delicate matter.’

‘Right . . . Sure . . .’ Valentina looks down at the table, moving her hand away from his, unable to conceal her disappointment. For a second, she had forgotten their circumstances. They are not together anymore. Theo has a new girlfriend. She has to stop thinking about him.