What Casanova Told Me (23 page)

She unfolded Kitty’s letter reverently.

Her hand still holding the letter, she sank heavily down on her bed and stretched out on its uncomfortable mattress. She wanted to be good to Luce and make amends for the problems she had caused Kitty in the last months of their lives together. Lord knows, she was doing her best, but the girl wasn’t having it.

That night, Luce dreamt about her mother. In the dream, her pale-haired mother stood at the top of the Aereopagos, holding up silvery hands in benediction to the masses of her followers streaming down the moonlit hillside of the Acropolis. Then her mother floated off towards the horizon, twinkling with a cold, rare light. As the dream faded, Luce felt a heavy sensation between her breasts, as if her heart had turned into a stone.

The heavy weight shifted and began to emit sharp little whining noises. She opened her eyes slowly. The cat was sitting on her chest, gazing down at her, one paw lifted to prod her back to life. He looked different in the moonlight filtering in from the light well, and she realized her antibiotics had cleared up his left eye so he actually resembled a Siamese now. Sleepily, she spooned out the rest of his can and watched him toss back his food in large gulps as if he were choking. Satisfied, he climbed back onto the bed and watched Luce, who had started up her iBook. She opened her saved e-mails, looking for her mother’s message about Crete.

Kitty’s tone was more conciliatory than she remembered.

There it was: the generous offer that Luce had refused. When Lee had asked her to come to Crete, she had told herself
that this time she would honour her mother and accept. She needed to go, too—not just because she wanted to pay an overdue homage but to see for herself the mountain road near the town of Zaros where her mother had died. She had read all the news reports about her mother’s car losing control after swerving to avoid a truck carrying a load of tiles; it was an accident, she knew that, although there’d been hushed talk at her mother’s funeral about Constantine Skedi, the young Albanian who drove the car and died with her mother. He was reputed to have a juvenile record for breaking and entering, but Lee had told her that Constantine was her mother’s friend.

It was foolish to imagine she could have stopped the accident from happening. Still, if she had been with her mother during her last autumn in Crete, if she had gone when Kitty had wanted to go, maybe her mother wouldn’t have died.

As a child, she had liked looking after her mother, and it was her special task, her mother told her, to run the house. But after the frightening rise in terrorist incidents, when Kitty was off travelling with Lee, her urge to protect her mother had grown until it sometimes felt uncontrollable, a huge, leaping yearning that reached out to Kitty like an anxious hand. Wanting, she thought sadly, to keep her peripatetic mother close and safe. She had been too proud to tell Kitty how she felt.

If only the trip was going smoothly, but travelling with Lee was difficult. Lee didn’t want to go back to Zaros—claiming there was no time was only an excuse—and Lee seemed to think she should chaperon her as if she was a girl and not a woman who was almost thirty. Well, she
would
go to Zaros. She would see with her own eyes where the car carrying her fearless, magnificent mother had vanished from the earth. Just let Lee try and stop her.

She extracted her small cloth bag from her travel pack and removed its contents: her mother’s compact of golden powder and tube of lipstick called Brazilian Samba. Sitting on the bed, with slow, upward strokes like the ones Kitty had used in front of the mirror, she rubbed her face with the sweet-smelling sponge, trying to brush a layer of her mother’s skin cells onto her cheeks. When her face was thoroughly dusted with golden powder, she applied the dark brown lipstick, drawing it slightly above the tip of her upper lip, the way her mother liked to wear it.

Then she lay down on the bed beside the cat who pressed himself against her thigh and begun his rattling purr.

“I’m glad you’re here, Venus. Or are you Aphrodite?”

The cat purred more loudly, as if he wanted to reassure her. Meanwhile, outside her hotel, life in the streets of Athens seemed felled by the same ominous melancholy. The Athenians had gone home from their bars and tavernas. It was long after midnight. The light show at the Acropolis was over and the old landmark stood in shadows under the dark void of the sky. What was it Asked For Adams had said about losing her father? That life is as absolute as death.

The next morning, Luce phoned and found Theodore Stavridis at home. She was surprised at her nerve, and told herself that she was calling to ask him about his friend who translated old Turkish. His voice sounded gruff but friendly, and Luce was glad he had answered instead of his mother. She suggested they meet for lunch. He named a place but she could tell from the change in his tone that he didn’t want to see her. She asked if something was wrong and he didn’t answer. She heard him inhale deeply and realized he was smoking.

“Luce?”

“Yes, Theodore.”

“I am—I am a man who likes men. Can you hear me, Luce?”

“Yes, I heard you.”

“Neh
, it is hard because I like women very much. But as friends.”

“I understand. I’m going to hang up now.”

“No, Luce, wait! My friend, the translator, Ender Mecid—he is coming to Athens and wants to see your old Turkish writing.”

“I’ll talk to you another time. Goodbye.”

She hung up. So the oracle had given her the right answer about Theodore after all, she thought despondently. She had used the pendulum because it was associated with her mother but she accepted its advice only when it told her what she wanted to hear—she had not been credulous enough to take its bad forecasts seriously. She supposed this was sane. She didn’t believe in mystical divination, or any other godly power in the universe. She was just aesthetically delighted and soothed by the kit’s lyrical advice, its pretty tasselled bag and fan-shaped chart. And if Lee was right about her mother keeping her empirical views, perhaps Kitty’s interest in the kit had been mostly aesthetic too.

She stuffed the pendulum back in her knapsack, taking out her iBook. Mulling over the trip to Crete, she realized she still hadn’t decided what she wanted to say at her mother’s tribute. It was only a few days away and it was impossible to find the right words. She opened the file labelled “Kitty’s Memorial” and reread her notes:

These were her true feelings about her mother, but she could never admit how she felt to Kitty’s friends, especially not Lee.

That evening, Luce took a cab to the British consulate to hear Lee give her lecture on Minoan Crete. When she arrived, Christine and Julian were in the foyer talking to an older, dark-skinned woman and a plump girl with a shaved head. Next to the girl stood a woman whose body resembled one of the rotund goddesses Luce used to see on her mother’s tables and desks. The girl, who looked as if she could be the plump woman’s daughter, was carrying a copy of her mother’s
An Archaeologist Looks at Prehistory.

“Luce! We’re over here!” Christine waved.

Luce walked over. The women gathered around her as if they wanted to touch her clothes.

“You’re her daughter, aren’t you?” the girl with the shaved head asked. “Christine told us who you were.”

“She’s Kitty’s daughter all right. I can see it in her eyes and chin.” The plump woman smiled. “I’m Jan, and this is my daughter, Toby. Kitty and I met in high school. We got reacquainted on one of Christine’s tours.”

“I didn’t know that,” Luce said.

Keeping her eyes lowered, she followed Jan and Toby into the consulate and found a seat at the back of its library. British and Greek flags hung limply from a wall in the airless room. The people waiting to hear Lee were a mix of her mother’s friends and English expats there to attend the monthly lecture.

In the front row, applause broke out as Lee walked to the front and sat down heavily at a table strewn with microphones, her Borsalino tilted at a combative angle.

Julian Harmon stepped up to the podium. “It’s good to see so many familiar faces,” he said into the microphone, “because tonight I am honoured to introduce my old friend Dr. Lee Pronski, who will talk to us about Dr. Kitty Adams and her views of Minoan Crete.”

At the mention of Dr. Adams, a few rowdy cheers broke out. Julian motioned for silence, smiling approvingly.

“Will everyone quieten down, please? The daughter of Dr. Adams is here with us tonight, and we’re very proud to welcome her into our midst. Are you there, Luce? Will you stand up and say a few words?”

Luce rose to her feet. The applause was loud and she saw people all around her swivelling in their seats, craning their necks to see Kitty’s daughter. She stared blankly across the room at Julian. Then she turned and ran out of the consulate.