13
It seems now that not only am I stuck with a clutter of animals—well, that is, two and a bird—but also a young and miserable runaway because in my heart I cannot get myself to ask her to leave, tell her to go find a hotel room, to get on with her life and not wallow in the sentiment of a terrible marriage to an oaf who treated her like dirt, and what’s more, who stole all her money. Even if it was only two thousand, it was two thou more than she has right now, you can bet on that. Plus her jewels, which I hope were not old family stuff, inherited, and probably now destined for the pawn shop, never to be seen again. You can always buy new ones when you get the money back—earn it or whatever, the way Jerusha had, until her world fell completely apart much like young Verity, who had better quit her moaning, or else.
Oh God, how can I be so unkind? Is there anything more painful than a broken heart? Not when you are going through it, I remember that now.
“My dear,” I said in my kindly old aunt voice. (I mean she is so young and I am, though I hate to admit it, now “in my forties,” but this is the role I seem to have been cast in at the moment.) “My dear, you have to trust me.”
“Why?” She gave me a long, weepy, upward look from reddened eyes. “I mean, why do I have to trust you? I trusted him and look what happened.”
“Yes, well, of course, he is a man. It’s different between us women.”
She stared at me. The sobbing stopped. At least I had silenced her.
We were sitting in the car, a newly rented Fiat, in place of the dead Maserati, and she was staring at the Villa Romantica like it was Dracula’s castle and I was maybe the vampire himself.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” I managed to keep the snarl from my voice, but not the impatience. “This is my house, usually called a villa here in the South of France. I inherited it and now it’s my home. My new home,” I added, with a pang of longing for my small just-sold London flat where I had been happy enough, if lonely, for a few years.
“Who gave it to you?” she demanded, suspicion written all over her tear-mottled, though pretty face.
“Who the hell cares, it’s where you’ll spend the night, if you’re lucky and behave yourself better. If not, I promise I’ll pack you off back to that husband who stole all your money and dumped you.”
“I didn’t have much to be dumped for.” She looked wistfully at me. “I’m ashamed to be dumped for only a couple of thousand, I mean he could have done better than that, couldn’t he?”
Filled with sudden pity, I flung an arm around her shoulders and hugged her closer. “Listen, girl, men can behave like bastards sometimes, but that doesn’t mean all of them are. Nor does it have anything in the least bit to do with you, or who you are. He was just a scoundrel, a shameless cheat and men like him usually get what they deserve in the end. I’m only sorry you won’t be there to give him a good punch in the nose.”
“I won’t?”
Sounding as firm as I could and as though I believed what I said, I answered, “Of course not. He’ll try it again with some other woman and she’ll punch him where it hurts and probably see that he ends up in jail.”
“Ohh,” she began to wail again, tears streaming.
“What now?” I was exasperated. What the fuck was I doing in this situation anyway?
“I’ll be married to a jailbird,” she sobbed. “Me. A jailbird’s wife.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll divorce him. Trust me, I’ll see to that, in fact I’ll get onto it right away. Shouldn’t be surprised if we got it annulled, under the circumstances.”
To my surprise, she cheered up immediately and began to look around and take in her whereabouts.
“But how lovely this is.” She wiped off her sunglasses, which had become misted with tears, and stuck them back up on top of her head. Apparently this was where she usually wore them, unlike the rest of us who use them to protect our eyes from the sun. Youth, I decided from my forties’ vantage point, was not too smart.
The cat made a sudden appearance, leaping into the car and onto my lap with a howl of delight. It’s so nice, if sometimes noisy, to be loved by a Siamese. She gave me her usual head-butt and I kissed her ears and Verity leaned over to touch her.
“So soft,” she said admiringly. “So beautiful.”
And then the canary flew up onto the cat’s head and perched there, tilting back its own tiny head and singing with pure joy. And the dog, not to be outdone in the greetings department, scrabbled its claws on the car door, no doubt scratching the paint, but who the hell cares when love is involved. These were mine, my loves, they shared my life, they gave me a life.
“How I envy you,” young Verity said. All tears were gone and she was shaking her long golden hair loose and smiling and petting the dog. Then she really looked at the villa and said, “This is Jerusha’s place.”