The Storm Sister Read online

  Georg raised his glass in a toast. ‘Please join me in celebrating your father’s remarkable life. I can only tell you that this was the funeral he wished for: all his girls gathered together at Atlantis, the home he was honoured to share with you for all these years.’

  ‘To Pa Salt,’ we said together, raising our glasses.

  As we sipped our champagne in silent thought, I reflected on what we had seen and I desperately wanted some answers. ‘So, when do we get these letters?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll go and get them now.’ Georg stood up and left the table.

  ‘Well, this has to be the most bizarre wake I’ve ever attended,’ said CeCe.

  ‘Can I have some more champagne?’ I asked Ma, as questions flew around the table and Tiggy began to weep quietly.

  ‘Well, I just wish he was here to explain in person,’ Tiggy whispered.

  ‘But he isn’t, darling,’ I said, rallying as I felt the atmosphere sinking into gloom and despondency. ‘And somehow I feel this is fitting. He made it as easy as possible. And now we must take strength from each other.’

  All my sisters nodded in sad agreement, even Electra, and I clasped Tiggy’s hand as Georg returned and placed six large vellum envelopes on the table. I glanced at them and saw all our names written in Pa’s distinctive handwriting on the front of them.

  ‘These letters were lodged with me approximately six weeks ago,’ said Georg. ‘In the event of your father’s death, I was instructed to hand one to each of you.’

  ‘So, are we meant to open them now, or later, when we’re alone?’ I asked him.

  ‘Your father made no stipulation on this point,’ Georg replied. ‘All he said was that you should open them whenever each of you is ready and feels comfortable to do so.’

  As I looked at my sisters, I knew that we were probably all thinking that we’d prefer to read our letters in private.

  ‘So, my job is now done,’ Georg said with a nod. He gave us each his card, telling us he was there for us. ‘But I’m sure that, knowing your father, he will have anticipated already what it is that you might all need. So, now it is time for me to leave you. Once again, girls, my condolences to you.’

  I appreciated how difficult it must have been for him to pass on Pa’s mysterious legacy to us and I was glad when Maia thanked him for us all.

  ‘Goodbye. You know where I am if you need me.’ With a sombre smile, and saying he’d let himself out, he left the terrace.

  Ma rose from the table too. ‘I think we could all do with something to eat. I’ll tell Claudia to bring supper out here,’ she said and disappeared inside the house.

  The thought of eating had not crossed my mind all day. I was still focussed on the letters and the armillary sphere. ‘Maia, do you think you could go back to the armillary sphere and translate the quotations on it?’ I asked her.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, as Marina and Claudia returned with plates and cutlery. ‘After supper, I will.’

  Electra eyed the plates and stood up to leave. ‘I hope you guys don’t mind, but I’m not hungry.’

  As Electra left, CeCe turned to Star. ‘Are you hungry?’

  Star was tightly clasping her envelope in her hand. ‘I think we should eat something,’ she murmured quietly.

  It was the sensible thing to do, and when it arrived, the five of us attempted to force down the home-made pizza slices and salad. Then slowly, one by one, my sisters all left to be alone, until only Maia and I remained.

  ‘Do you mind, Maia, if I go to bed too? I feel completely exhausted.’

  ‘Of course not,’ she answered. ‘You were the last one to hear and you’re still getting over the shock.’

  ‘Yes, I think I am,’ I agreed, standing up and kissing her gently on the cheek. ‘Goodnight, darling Maia.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  I felt guilty for leaving her at the table all alone, but just like the rest of my sisters, I needed some time to myself. And the letter I held was burning through my fingertips. Wondering where I could go to find solitude and peace, I decided that my childhood bedroom would give me the most comfort right now, so I climbed up the two flights of stairs.

  All of our rooms were on the top floor of the house, and when Maia and I were little we had sometimes played at being princesses in a tower. My bedroom was bright and simply decorated, with its plain magnolia walls and blue and white checked curtains. Tiggy had once said it looked rather like an old-fashioned cabin on a boat. The round mirror was framed by a lifebelt with the words ‘SS Ally’ stencilled onto it – a Christmas present from Star and CeCe years ago.

  As I sat down on my bed and looked at my envelope, I wondered whether my other sisters were opening theirs eagerly, or whether they were filled with trepidation at what they might contain. Mine had a slight bulge that shifted as I picked it up and held it. Out of all the sisters I’d always been the most eager to open Christmas or birthday presents, and as I studied the envelope, I felt the same with this. I tore it open and as I pulled out a thick sheet of paper, I jumped in surprise as something small and solid dropped out onto the duvet. With a start I realised it was a little brown frog.

  After peering at it closely for a moment and then feeling foolish for thinking that it could possibly be a living creature, I picked up the little model. Its back was dappled with yellow and it had sweet, expressive eyes. I ran my fingers over its surface as it sat snugly in the palm of my hand, completely perplexed as to why Pa Salt had included it in my letter. As far as I could remember, frogs had never been of special importance to either of us. Perhaps it was one of Pa Salt’s little jokes and the letter would explain it.

  Picking it up, I unfolded the paper and began to read.

  Atlantis

  Lake Geneva

  Switzerland

  My dearest Ally,

  As I start to write this letter, I can imagine you – my beautiful, vibrant second daughter – racing through the words eagerly to reach the end. And then having to read it slowly all over again.

  Anyway, by now you will know I am no longer with you and I’m sure the shock will have been great for each and every one of you girls. I also know that, as the optimist among your sisters, the one whose positivity and zest for life has lit up mine, you will grieve for my loss, but then, as you always have done, pick yourself up and move on. Just as you should.

  Perhaps, out of all my daughters, you are the child who is most like me. And I can only say how proud I’ve always been of you, and that I hope and pray that even though I’m no longer there to watch over you, you will continue to live your life as you have done so far. Fear is the most powerful enemy human beings face, and your lack of it is the greatest gift that God has bestowed on you. Don’t lose it, even now in your grief, dearest Ally, will you?

  The reason I’m writing to you, apart from to say an official goodbye, is that I decided some time ago that it was only right for me to leave all of you girls a clue as to your original heritage. When I say this, I don’t mean that I wish you to drop everything immediately, but one never knows exactly what will happen in the future. And when you might need or wish to find out.

  You will already have seen the armillary sphere and the coordinates engraved on it. These indicate a location which will help you to begin your journey. There is also a book on the shelf in my study by a man long dead named Jens Halvorsen. It will tell you many things, and perhaps help you decide if you wish to explore your origins further. And if you do, you’re resourceful enough to find out how.

  My darling girl, you were born with many gifts – almost too many, I’ve sometimes thought. And having too much of anything can be as difficult as having too little. I also fear that due to my delight in our shared passion for the sea, I may have blown you off course when there was another route just as easily available to you. You were such a talented musician and I adored listening to you play the flute. If I have, forgive me, but know that some of those days we spent out on the lake together remain the happiest I’ve ev
er spent. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

  Enclosed with this letter is one of my most precious possessions. Even if you do not decide to discover your past, treasure it and perhaps one day, hand it down to your own children.

  Dearest Ally, I am reassured that even after the blow you’ve taken as you read this, your tenacity and positivity will allow you to be whatever and with whomever you wish. Don’t waste a second of your life, will you?

  I’ll be watching over you.

  Your loving father,

  Pa Salt x

  Just as Pa had guessed, I had to read the letter twice, having raced through it the first time. And I knew I would read it a hundred times more in the days and years to come.

  I lay back on my bed, the little frog in my hand, still none the wiser as to what relevance it held for me and thinking about what Pa had said in his letter. I then decided I wanted to talk to Theo about it, thinking he’d help me to make sense of it. Instinctively, I reached into my bag for my phone to see if he had messaged me, but then remembered I had left it in the kitchen to charge when I’d arrived home that morning.

  I walked quietly along the landing, not wishing to disturb my sisters. I saw that Electra’s door was ajar, and peered around it carefully in case she was asleep. Her back was towards me and she was sitting on the edge of her bed, taking a drink out of a bottle. At first, I thought it must be water, but as she took another slug, I realised it was vodka. I watched as she screwed the top back on, then pushed the bottle under her bed.

  Withdrawing from the door before she saw me, I tiptoed along the landing and down the first flight of stairs, unsettled by what I’d just seen. Out of all of us, Electra was by far the most obsessed with her health, and it surprised me that she was drinking spirits at this time of night. But then, perhaps the usual rules didn’t apply to any of us at this sad, difficult moment.

  On instinct, I paused on the middle landing and headed towards Pa’s first-floor suite of rooms, suddenly desperate to feel him close to me.

  I tentatively pushed the door open and tears sprang to my eyes as I stared at the high single bed on which my father had apparently drawn his last breath. The room was so very different to the rest of the house – utilitarian and sparse, with its bare polished floorboards and the wooden-framed bed, a battered mahogany nightstand beside it. On top of it sat Pa’s alarm clock. I remembered coming in here once when I was very young and being fascinated by it. Pa had let me press the switch up and down, up and down, to stop and start the alarm bell. I’d giggled in delight each time it rang.

  ‘I must wind it every day or it stops ticking,’ he’d told me, doing just that.

  The alarm clock wasn’t ticking now.

  I walked across the room and sat down on the bed. The sheets were uncreased and pristine, but still the tips of my fingers reached out and stroked the starched white cotton of the pillow where his head had last rested.

  I wondered where his old Omega Seamaster watch could be and what had happened to the rest of what undertakers would call his ‘personal effects’. I could still picture the watch on his wrist, with its simple, elegant gold dial and the leather strap that had bad chafing on the fourth hole. I’d once bought him a replacement strap for Christmas and he’d promised he’d use it when the old one finally broke, but it never had.

  My sisters and I often pondered the fact that Pa could have bought any timepiece he’d wanted or chosen designer labels to cover his body, yet it seemed to all of us that he’d worn the same set of clothes – when he wasn’t sailing at least – ever since we could remember. His old tweed jacket had always been teamed with a perfectly laundered snowy-white shirt, discreet gold initialled cufflinks at the wrist, and dark trousers with militarily precise creases down the front. His feet had invariably been clad in brown brogues with gleaming toecaps. In fact, I thought, as I glanced around his bedroom and my eyes fell on the small mahogany wardrobe and chest of drawers – the only other pieces of furniture in the room – Pa’s personal needs had always bordered on the frugal.

  I looked at the framed photograph of him and us girls aboard the Titan that stood atop the chest of drawers. Even though he’d been in his seventies when the picture was taken, it was plain to see he had the physique of a much younger man. Tall and deeply tanned, his attractive weathered features were creased into a broad smile as he lounged against the railings of the yacht, surrounded by his daughters. And then my gaze strayed to the only picture hanging on the wall, which sat directly opposite the narrow bed.

  I stood up and went to study it. It was a charcoal sketch of a very pretty young woman, who I guessed must be in her early twenties. As I looked more closely, I saw that her expression held sadness in it. The features were striking, but almost too large for her narrow, heart-shaped face. Her huge eyes were in proportion to her full lips, and I could see a dimple on each side of her mouth. She had an abundance of thick, curly hair that fell to beyond her shoulders. There was a signature at the bottom of it, but I couldn’t make out the letters.

  ‘Who are you?’ I asked her. ‘And who was my father . . . ?’

  With a sigh, I returned to Pa’s bed, lay down and curled myself up into a small ball. Tears dribbled out of my eyes, soaking the pillow that still smelt of his clean, lemony scent.

  ‘I’m here, darling Pa,’ I murmured, ‘but where are you?’

  6

  I woke the next morning on Pa’s bed, feeling groggy but cleansed. I didn’t even remember falling asleep and I had no idea what time it was now. I rose from the bed and went to look out of the window. I decided that whatever Pa Salt’s bedroom lacked in luxury, the vista from his window more than made up for. It was a glorious day, the sunlight glinting off the smooth surface of the lake, which seemed to stretch out to a misty infinity left and right. Looking straight ahead, I could see the lush green of the hillside that rose steeply from the shore on the other side of the lake. And for those few seconds, Atlantis felt magical again.

  I went upstairs to my own room, took a shower and emerged thinking about Theo and how worried he must be that I hadn’t contacted him yet to say I’d arrived. Dressing hastily, I grabbed my laptop and ran down the stairs to the kitchen to retrieve my mobile, which I’d been on my way to collect last night. There were several texts from Theo waiting for me, and my heart warmed as I read them.

  Just checking in. Sending all my love.

  Goodnight, darling Ally. My thoughts are with you.

  Don’t want to disturb you. Call or text when you can. Miss you. x

  The texts were loving and undemanding – not even requesting an immediate reply. I smiled as I texted him back, remembering Pa’s letter, telling me I could be anything or be with anybody I wanted.

  And right now, I wanted to be with Theo.

  Claudia was standing at the kitchen worktop, mixing some batter in a bowl. She offered me hot coffee as a greeting, which I accepted gratefully.

  ‘Am I the first down?’ I asked her.

  ‘No, Star and CeCe have already left on the launch to go to Geneva.’

  ‘Really?’ I said as I took a sip of the rich, dark liquid. ‘And the others aren’t up yet?’

  ‘If they are, I haven’t seen them,’ she said calmly, continuing to beat the batter with her strong, capable hands.

  I took a fresh croissant from the breakfast feast laid out along the centre of the long table and bit into the buttery pastry. ‘Isn’t it wonderful that we can all stay here at Atlantis? I’d thought the house might have to be sold.’

  ‘Yes, it’s very good indeed. For everyone. Will you be wanting anything else?’ Claudia asked me as she tipped the contents of the bowl into a baking tray and laid it beside the oven.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  She nodded at me, then divested herself of her apron and left the kitchen.

  Throughout our childhood, Claudia had been as much of a fixture at Atlantis as Ma or Pa Salt. Her German accent made her sound severe, but we all knew what a soft heart she
had underneath. I thought how little all of us knew about her background. But then, as children, or even as young adults, we had never thought to question the where, how and why. Claudia, like everything else in the charmed universe we had grown up in, just was.

  I wondered then about the coordinates on the armillary sphere and how the secrets they held could completely unsettle everything we had known – or didn’t know – about ourselves. It was a daunting thought, but Pa Salt had obviously left them for us for a reason and I had to trust his decision to do so. Now it was up to each of us individually to explore them further, or not, as we chose.

  I picked up a pen and notepad from the sideboard, and left the kitchen by the back door, blinking in the morning light. It was refreshing to have the cool air on my skin. Not yet warmed by the sun, the grass was still fresh and dewy as it brushed the sides of my feet. The gardens lay in perfect tranquillity, with only the occasional trill of birdsong floating on the air and the gentle lapping of the water on the lake shore to disturb the silence.

  I retraced my footsteps from last night around the side of the house towards Pa’s special garden, admiring the many varieties of roses that had just opened their buds and were spreading their heavy scent into the morning air.

  The golden ball in the centre of the armillary sphere glinted in the sunlight, which was already casting sharp shadows onto the navigational bands. I wiped the dew from the band with my name on it using my sleeve, and traced the Greek inscription with my finger, wondering what it said and how long ago Pa had planned this.

  Getting to work, I carefully noted down the coordinates for all of us, trying not to second-guess where any of them – especially mine – would lead. And then I noticed something. Counting the bands again, my fingers touched the seventh. It was inscribed with one word: ‘Merope’.