I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t see the lights turning on in the stairway. Crap, footsteps in the corridor below. I hurriedly leave the attic, closing the door behind me, and creep down the stairs. My father is standing listening at the other end of the corridor. Halfway down the passage to my right is the bathroom door. He hasn’t seen me yet, maybe I can make it undetected. One step, another one.
“Livia! What are you doing wandering around at this time? Did you hear that noise just now?” he asks impatiently. I try to look sleepy and innocent.
“I have to use the bathroom,” I explain, yawning widely. “What noise? I didn’t hear anything.” But I’ve never been an accomplished liar and my voice is high-pitched and squeaky. Now he comes towards me, in his classic blue-striped pyjamas and velvet slippers, and scrutinises me till his gaze falls on the keys which I’m still clutching in my hand.
“What on earth are you doing with these keys in the middle of the night?” he asks suspiciously. Of course a hot blush rises in my cheeks. I instantly feel guilty, reduced again to a small girl by his words.
“Nothing, I must have picked them up unconsciously, I’m half asleep.” I glance at the bathroom door, my escape route, but I’m frozen to the spot. He always has this effect on me no matter how old I am.
“And what are you hiding here?” he demands, grabbing my right fist.
“Nothing!” I exclaim, louder than intended, and take a step back. But he forces my hand open till he is staring at the ring. Suddenly his face turns ghostly white.
“Where did you find it?” he hisses. I try to extract my hand from his grip but he holds on. The fierce look on his face scares me but he wouldn’t harm me, would he? He is my father after all.
“In the small room behind the attic,” I mumble. Right, I’m not a brave person, I cave in at the slightest sign of opposition but I will not relinquish the ring, definitely not.
“Impossible!” he huffs. “Which small room? What on earth are you talking about?” I try to stay calm but I wish with all my heart that the interrogation was over and I could escape into my room. He stares at me, waiting for my reply.
“Behind the north wall there’s a small room with a chest in it. That's where I found the ring,” I say defiantly. Why shouldn’t I tell him the truth, he can go and see for himself. My father looks at me questioningly.
“Don’t take me for a fool! You know perfectly well that there’s no room off the attic. Where would such a room lead, can you tell me? You can’t ever tell the truth, can you?” Hurt by his accusations I finally break away from him.
“I found it in the attic, whether you believe it or not! It’s mum’s ring, isn’t it?” I whisper. My father stumbles back as if he had been punched. His face is hard and closed.
“Yes, it was your mother’s. I thought it had drowned with her.” I inhale sharply but he’s already turning away from me.
A door opens and I hear my stepmother’s sleepy voice: “What’s going on out there?”
“Nothing, I’ll be with you in a second,” my father replies and shuffles to the bedroom door. But I have a very important question.
“Did you give it to her?” I ask, my voice barely audible. When he turns to me he looks incredibly old and I can see the hurt in his eyes.
“No, I don’t know who gave it to her, she never told me. But she always wore it during the last months of her life. I haven’t seen it since she died.” He hesitates. “Do me a favour and don’t wear it. It’s not a lucky ring.” Without looking at me he goes back to bed.
I just stand there, shell-shocked. What was that about? What did he mean, it’s not a lucky ring? Because she died? Because it was a present from – I don’t know, maybe a lover? The thought is new and strange to me. My father looked so hurt, I just don’t understand. When I come to think about it, I know scarcely anything about Rebecca. But I don’t want to think badly of her. She wanted me to have this ring and that surely has to mean something. Suddenly the excitement is back and I rush to my room where I hold the ring to the lamp. It’s a rather broad gold band with seven small cameos embedded around it, like an eternity ring. Each one represents a face: an older man with short hair, cut into black volcanic lava, a beautiful young woman in red coral. To her left is the face of a boy with a rather large nose in light grey lava stone, followed by the face of a pretty girl with long curls in some beige stone. Next is a young man with sharp, aristocratic features in dark grey, setting off the white cameo of a middle-aged man with a short beard. The last cameo is light brown and I’m not sure if it pictures a boy or a girl, it could be either. It is indeed a rather strange piece of jewellery but I can’t avert my eyes from it. These faces each seem to tell a story, they offer to share their secrets with me but somehow I feel like an intruder. They seem so alive, it’s kind of eerie. Next thing, they’ll get up and leave and go their own way.
The ring holds a strange fascination for me, but that’s no wonder really, as it was my mum’s. Hesitantly I slip it onto the ring finger of my right hand. It’s too tight, so I try the left hand. It’s the engagement finger, but what the hell. It’s a weird thought that my mum wore it at one time. Unbelievable, that the cameos are still so perfect, there’s not a scratch on them. Now the girl with the curls seems to smile and I giggle with nervous relief after the night’s excitement. Suddenly I’m terribly tired. I switch off the light and shove my hand under the pillow.
Well, the first step is completed, I’ve found Rebecca’s ring. Contentedly I close my eyes, but the next moment I sit up in bed. Holy crap, I’d completely forgotten the poor cat! I jump out of bed and tiptoe along the corridor and up the stairs, careful to make no sound. No need to wake my father again. “Kitty, where are you?” I whisper, but everything remains still and silent. The animal is certainly shy and I resolve to leave the door ajar so it can come down on its own. I definitely want to go back to bed now. But then I hear my father’s words again: there is no room off the attic. Well, he has to be wrong. Slowly I make my way back through the boxes until I reach the pieces of luggage that hide the door. I wrinkle my brow in confusion. It was here, wasn’t it? The luggage is stacked up in neat piles again but the really strange thing is that there are no marks in the dust. Who has tidied up? My father? Confused I push the trunks to one side and stare at the wall behind. There’s no door any more.
Chapter 7
Augustus knocks on the heavy wooden door, behind which Randolph conducts his experiments. Normally it is forbidden to disturb him in his laboratory, but Augustus is in a hurry. He has to talk to Randolph before the others arrive. A furious Randolph opens the door and glares down at the smaller man who is wearing a nondescript grey suit. “Are they already here?” he grumbles, wiping his hands on his white laboratory coat. Augustus shakes his head.
“No, but I have to talk to you alone, it’s important.” Randolph sighs but being aware of the other man’s persistence he knows that his interesting afternoon has come to an end. He closes the door behind him and leads Augustus up a flight of winding stairs to the tower room with a spectacular view of the sea.