“Francesca thought so. She always tried to please him, to be the person he wanted her to be—perfectly dressed, well-mannered, discreet. She was doomed to fail, though. Her personality made her unguarded, opinionated. And she lacked something that Felix was looking for. It’s hard to identify it exactly—I think Felix wants a woman to be a work of art, like a perfect painting . . . and your sister is definitely the closest he’s come to finding that. She’s extraordinarily beautiful. She’s kinda . . . Venus rising . . .”
“We’re the normal people, you and me—the civilians. They’re from some other world.” I realize that we’re talking about Felix as though he’s an interesting character in a book, that we are being superficial, not truly exploring the sinister side of his psyche, and I want to ask—“But is he physically dangerous? Did he harm Francesca? Is that the real reason that they split up?” But there’s something so good-natured and affable about Lucas that I find it hard to ask outright whether his brother is an abusive monster. I just hint at it, saying, “If Francesca were with us now, what would she say about Felix?”
“She’d say he broke her heart . . . that he made her unhappy, and she’s found it difficult to move on.” He picks up his salad and starts eating again. I’m not going to get anything stronger from him, and I take a different line: “Do you ever see her?”
“No, sadly. She’s an impressive woman. Very intelligent. I liked her.”
“Is she still in this country? Working here?”
“I think so. She’s a correspondent at an American paper, in the London bureau. She’s often traveling, though. She’s covered Libya and Syria. . . .”
I store the information, thinking that the time will come when I need to track her down, to find out the truth.
Lucas wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and says, “And now you can tell me about Tilda. And, if we’re going to quiz each other about our siblings, I may as well follow your probing style—what’s her relationship history like?”
I’m taken aback. It hadn’t occurred to me that he might have doubts about Tilda, and hearing my own words sent back to me gives me a little shock, they sound antagonistic. “I’m sorry! I’ve been rude. . . .”
“No need to apologize. It’s fair enough. I mean—marriage is huge. Of course we want to know . . .”
“Well, Tilda has had lots of boyfriends, but they come and go. I never even met them . . . Nothing like Felix. He’s the first she’s really included in her life—and it’s amazing to see her behavior with him, the way she’s fallen into the adoring-wife role. I haven’t seen her so in love since she had this huge crush when she was a teenager, on a boy called Liam Brookes. . . . In fact, I know she’s kept in touch with Liam over the years and I always expected her to get back with him. But now that she’s with Felix I can see that he’s the one. He’s her future; Liam’s her past.”
I fold my arms in front of me, on the counter, let my head fall down into them and close my eyes. Out of the blue I’m overwhelmed—by the contrast between the violent undertone of Tilda’s confessions on the memory stick and the blandness of the account I’m giving Lucas. Deep down I know I’m suppressing my worries about Felix and am blindly hoping for the best.
Lucas’s hand touches my arm. “Hey . . . What’s the matter?”
I pull myself upright, recognizing pity in his voice and realizing that he thinks I’m jealous of Tilda! “Oh, it’s nothing. As you say—marriage is huge.”
“Yes. And that’s why I need to ask you—all those boyfriends of your sister’s—why did she fail to commit? Does she run away at the first sign of trouble? Or was she always in love with this Liam guy?”
“I don’t think so, Lucas. I think it’s more that she wanted someone other than Liam, but she’s very picky. Maybe she has been waiting all her life for Felix. She needs his strength. . . .”
“Well. I guess we should let Tilda and Felix live their lives—they’re well matched and I’ve never seen Felix this committed to a girl. He loves her.”
I think, So you were sent by Felix after all, as part of his campaign to win me over.
He stands up and stretches his chest. “Now . . . show me your architecture books.”
? ? ?
At home later I google Francesca and Libya and Syria, and find out that her name is Francesca Moroni. She writes about British and European politics, and covers conflict and war sometimes. I think of the old days when Tilda used to talk about going with Liam when he joined Médicins Sans Frontières. I know now that she wouldn’t have been brave enough, that she would never have had Francesca Moroni’s guts.
I click Google images, and find a page full of photos of a young woman with a mass of brown wavy hair that, when she’s working in war zones, is pulled back into a messy ponytail, and at award ceremonies is allowed to fall around her face, flamboyantly. Her features are dramatic—big brown eyes, full lips—and her figure is large, but in my view, she’s a beauty. Nothing about her suggests Lucas’s image of “poor Francesca.” One picture of a social event shows her in a red sparkly evening dress, in animated conversation with a man I recognize as the foreign secretary. Another, clipped from a TV news report, shows her in a flak jacket standing on a dusty dirt road, notebook in her hand while, behind her, three slouchy men in hoods are holding guns. When Lucas said “poor Francesca” was nonetheless impressive, I hadn’t grasped what he meant.
But I can see that, as he suggested, there’s nothing discreet about her—that to fit into Felix’s concept of the perfect woman she would have had to change herself. It seems strange to me that such a strong character would have attempted to do that. If she did, it’s further evidence of Felix’s power. I can’t help it—I open my laptop and go to the dossier, and I write about Francesca Moroni. I wish she were here, that I could talk to her right now, reassure myself that it’s okay for Tilda to marry Felix. If only I could just go to Curzon Street and argue it out with Tilda—but she won’t allow that. She’d defend Felix, and cut me out of her life. I write also: I’d like to check the memory stick to see if Tilda has added anything to her letter. But I can’t. She’ll be at the flat until the wedding, and will know if I take it. I’ll have to wait until she’s away on honeymoon.
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