Secrets Beneath a Riviera Sky
Chapter 1
1
Agnes stared out at the rain-soaked garden as Theo’s voice, suitably sombre, but without an apologetic, ‘I’m sorry for the sad call’, informed her of the death of his brother, her husband. The phrase ‘Oscar is dead’ hung in the silence of the airwaves for several seconds and failed to elicit the correct emotion in her.
‘Had he been ill?’ She pulled herself together enough to ask.
‘ Non . He fell off his boat and drowned.’
Theo’s matter of fact voice lacked any sorrow or regret in its measured tones. Perhaps it was the telephone line masking his emotions? It was his older brother after all, even if they were constantly falling out. Agnes knew though that she and Theo were emotionally as one on the subject of Oscar Agistini. Thankfully, and seemingly knowing without asking, that she wouldn’t be rushing over to France, Theo told her he would deal with the funeral arrangements and call again with the details.
‘Would you like me to phone Francine and tell her?’ Theo asked finally.
‘ Non merci . I will tell her.’ She knew her daughter would have a similar reaction as her own to the news. When the call ended, Agnes found it impossible to remember it in detail. In truth it had been a strange, one-sided conversation. She, unable to express an unfelt sorrow, Theo simply doing his duty informing her of the facts. Conversation about the event would follow later without a doubt.
How was she supposed to feel about the death of a man she hadn’t seen for far too many years to count, Agnes wondered? The truth was she didn’t feel a thing – no sadness for his death, no regret for the way things were, no guilt for her part in… anything. She might still bear his surname but Oscar had ceased to have a meaningful existence in her life over forty years ago. She’d routinely wished him dead and buried for so long that the unexpected, if welcome, news of his demise was hard to take in.
Had there been any truth in the power of murderous thoughts, the ones she’d harboured and sent his way down through the years should have been enough to kill him off a long time ago. As should the straw doll she’d kept hidden in the dressing table drawer and stuck pins into on and off for years. Relieving her frustration over her situation by repeatedly jabbing an old hat pin into the stuffed doll and slamming it hard against the wall had been so therapeutic. Until it came to an abrupt end a decade ago. After a particularly upsetting row with Oscar, she’d managed to stab her own finger rather than the doll and got blood all over it. Soaking the doll in warm water in an effort to clean it proved to be a bad idea as it disintegrated so she’d thrown the remains in the rubbish bin.
Age had thankfully worn away her frustration with certain life events and she rarely felt the need to vent her feelings these days by sticking pins in dolls. If she did, she merely stamped her feet like a petulant toddler for thirty seconds or so before pouring herself a small sherry and letting the feeling go. Sherry. She could do with one right now. Taking the bottle of her favourite dry sherry out of the fridge Agnes poured herself a glass and took a sip.
The day she’d left France all those years ago she’d vowed never to return to the Riviera while Oscar was still alive. Now he was dead and she could return. Thoughtfully she sipped her drink. But was it all too late? If only he’d died thirty, forty, years ago there would have been a point in returning, time would have been on her side. But now? Agnes gave a mental shrug.
The world had moved on, she was officially an old woman and even if she did return it would all be so, so different. Life here in Dartmouth, South Devon had settled onto an even keel over the years and was good. Going back would surely drag the past into the present, bringing a bundle of regrets with it that would weigh her down rather than uplift her.
The foolish thing though, was that she wasn’t sure she could deny herself one last opportunity to try and make peace with the past.