Page 2 of Alive (Shadows of a Forgotten Past #2)

CHAPTER 2

~ FORTI RADICI ~

Forti Radici beckoned as Betsy broke through the tree line. The silver moonlight bathed its sprawling roof and stone facade, softening the edges of the night. I was home.

Once more, I felt like I’d never left the New Forest, like my existence in New York had been a dream from which I’d woken to find myself back in 1917. It would have been easy to believe if not for the tragic losses of my father, General Marcus Contini; our dear housekeeper, Mrs. Allerton; and Mr. Leroy, our tenderhearted gardener.

My heart ached for them.

I could picture Father in the courtyard, discussing the latest news in the car industry with Mr. Lewis, our chauffeur. The image faded, replaced by Mrs. Allerton and Mr. Leroy quarreling about the garden’s design—her white hair neatly pinned into a bun, her spectacles catching the sunlight. And the short, French fellow, adjusting his cap in exasperation. Their arguments, though fiery, were born from love and mutual respect—a bond that carried them even into their final moments as German soldiers pursued them.

The poignant memory brought the brutality of the Great War into focus. With it came Alex’s reflections on Europe’s current instability. “ There is a terrible evil growing in Germany—one so immense I’m afraid it will find a way to creep past its borders and threaten us all. The contempt for human life is germinating into madness. And madness never ends well ,” he had said. I hoped we wouldn’t come to regret our decision to return home.

Betsy’s hoofbeats echoed through the final stretch toward the house.

“We are almost there,” I encouraged, sensing she’d had her fill of exercise for the day. “Almost there.”

At the stable, I dismounted and caught sight of Zaira and Clarence Bolton, who cared for the horses. They conversed near the hay bales at the far end. Clarence, about Zaira’s age, had fine, dark features, bright eyes, and an undeniable bond with the animals he cared for.

When Zaira and Oliver’s relationship didn’t work out, she moved back to Europe—for which I was grateful. Zaira, though unaware of my past life, proved a trustworthy friend and a comforting connection between past and present. She understood the harshness of being uprooted from one’s homeland and replanted elsewhere. While I called both countries home, England had moved on without me, and Zaira had bridged the gap, helping me navigate the nuances of modern English society.

Guiding Betsy inside, I got a better look at the couple. They seemed at ease with one another, especially Clarence. Though, no doubt, I suspected Zaira’s red curls and spirited personality posed a fair challenge to his confidence.

“I’ve got her, Mrs. Sterling.” Clarence met me halfway down the aisle and took Betsy’s reins.

“Thank you. She did well today—she’s earned a double treat.”

“Yes, ma’am.” A smile crossed his face as he patted Betsy’s neck. “Hear that, girl? Let’s find some apples. But don’t tell the others. I’ve already settled them for the night, and they’ll be mighty jealous of your late snack.”

As I watched Clarence lead Betsy away, the tranquil bond between man and animal unfolded before me—a scene that clashed with a haunting memory. I could still see Mrs. White slipping the snake into Sunny’s stall, still hear Sunny’s thrashing and panicked neighs. I could almost feel the pounding of her hooves on my back. I flinched; those moments had wounded Alex and me, leaving scars that time could never fully heal.

“Where were you? I’d started to worry you were lost.” Zaira’s voice pulled me back to the present.

“You shouldn’t have. I . . .” I caught myself in time, concealing my acquaintance with the region.

“You were, weren’t you?” she assumed.

“Something of the sort.”

“You must be careful. This is not Geneva, you know. The forest is beautiful but desolate. If you get in trouble, no one will come to your rescue. At least, no one with decent intentions. Good, law-abiding citizens don’t roam the woods after dusk.” She frowned in clear disapproval of my foolishness.

“You are right. Thank you.” I embraced her briefly. “Is Alex home?”

“Yes, he arrived not long ago. I dare say he was surprised, maybe even disappointed, that you weren’t home. If I were you, I’d hurry inside before he comes looking for you.”

I understood her meaning. Since our move back, Alex worried about me more than was necessary. “You are right again.”

“Do you need anything from me?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, if you change your mind, Martha will be more than happy to help. The poor girl is terribly bored in the evenings,” Zaira said. Martha, an attractive middle-aged woman with a cascade of black hair and alert eyes, helped around the house with an array of tasks. Having come from the bustling city of Salisbury, she found the slow pace of the countryside challenging—there was never enough to keep her entertained.

Betsy nickered softly, and I nodded toward the cubicle. “Clarence might appreciate some help with her though.”

A soft pink spread across Zaira’s cheeks.

“He’s quite a catch,” I added.

“You can say that again,” she replied, the pink deepening to scarlet.

* * *

I gripped the door handle and smiled. Unlike my awakening, when my spirit had passed right through the wood, I was now here in the flesh. Turning the knob, I stepped into the entry hall. The marble floors, towering walls, and hand-painted ceiling never failed to amaze me. But my attention was drawn to the man leaning against the banister, dressed in dark trousers and a white button-down, his sleeves rolled up.

Alex’s blue eyes took on the shine I had come to love, and for a second or two, I stood rooted to the spot, marveling at the miracle of being with him again. Since our wedding, his health had steadily improved. He had even resumed his morning runs through the forest.

“Good evening, Miss Contini.” He smiled that mesmerizing smile that had broken countless hearts over the years.

“Are you holding the post in place?” I asked playfully.

“No. As always, I’m waiting for you. I’m beginning to think you like it that way.”

“Good things come to those who wait, Mr. Sterling.” I removed my gloves and set them on the credenza.

“Such as?”

“Such as this.” I weaved my fingers through his hair, pulled him close, and kissed him soundly.

“Where have you been?”

“I went for a ride.”

“At this hour?” His tone was curious but edged with suspicion.

Did he suspect where I’d been? Since arriving in the New Forest, I found myself drawn to our son’s grave. When Alex voiced concern over how much time I spent there, I began to keep the outings secret. As much as I hated lying to him, I saw no reason to trouble him with my unresolved emotions—not yet.

“It was a pleasant ride,” I said casually. “I’m afraid I didn’t realize how late it was.” Then, to divert the conversation, I added, “On the other hand, you are home sooner than I expected.”

“I took the express. Disappointed?”

“No . . . maybe . . . well, it depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“On how well you behave this evening.”

His eyes lit with amusement. “I assure you, Miss Contini, my behavior will erase the word disappointment from your vocabulary.”

“We shall see,” I taunted.

Alex cupped my face in his hands and leaned in, his lips brushing mine. As the kiss deepened, I knew I’d lost the battle. But, the sound of footsteps forced us apart, the spell broken as Mrs. Haywood joined us.

From Alex, I had learned that Mrs. White, an acquaintance of Peter and Agnes Haywood, had hired them to manage Forti Radici when he moved to America. That connection alone was enough to temper my sentiments toward the Haywoods. However, there was nothing in their conduct to justify my reservations.

Agnes, a plump woman with white-blonde hair, radiated kindness in her smile. Her husband, Peter, reserved and observant, had red hair streaked with gray and a dedication evident in his long hours of hard work.

“Good evening, General. Mrs. Sterling,” Mrs. Haywood greeted cordially. Her gaze traveled between Alex and me before settling on him. “Would you like a late supper?”

“It’s up to the lady of the house,” Alex said.

“Surely Mrs. Sterling would enjoy some roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. If I may say so myself, it turned out wonderfully.” She gave me a quick, assessing glance, her unsaid verdict: I was too thin and could benefit from her cooking.

“Sounds like we must, Mrs. Haywood. We’ll come to the kitchen as soon as we wash up,” I said.

“Nonsense! I’ve already set the table in the dining room.” Before I could protest, the housekeeper had bustled eagerly down the corridor.

* * *

Alex and I settled at the end of the grand table. I ran my hand over its polished wood, worn with scratches and burnished spots. Unlike the old days, when laughter and chatter filled the room and Mrs. Allerton arranged place cards for guests, the dining room now felt too quiet and elaborate for just the two of us.

“Mrs. Haywood wasn’t exaggerating about the food. It’s very good,” Alex commented, digging into the pudding.

“It is, but not as good as Zaira’s,” I said quietly.

“Even so, I’m sure Zaira is enjoying the break from the kitchen.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.” I thought of her friendship with Clarence and the hours they spent together. Contrary to her time at Oak’s Place—where Mrs. White’s strict schedules strained her relationship with Oliver—Zaira now had the freedom to meet Clarence whenever she pleased.

Alex took another bite of the meat. “Mm, delicious.”

“You haven’t told me why you went to London.”

“You’ll know in the morning.”

“In the morning?” I repeated, the wait sounding like years to me. “Don’t be a bore—tell me.”

“You are a curious creature,” he teased.

“That’s why you shouldn’t make me wait.”

“Oh, but I will.”

Knowing his stubbornness, there was no point in pressing further. With a sigh of defeat, I dropped the subject. Tomorrow would come soon enough. Alex shot me a sideways glance, his lips curling—he knew he’d won—and helped himself to another serving of Yorkshire pudding.

We savored the meal in comfortable silence, never needing meaningless words to fill the void. However, as time passed, I noticed a shift in Alex’s demeanor. His cheerful air gave way to quiet tension, his thoughts seemingly lost in a labyrinth of worry. I knew that look.

“What’s troubling you?” I placed my hand over his, an assurance that I was here for him. When his eyes met mine, I saw apprehension there. Never a good sign. “Whatever it is, I’d rather know.”

“I didn’t want to ruin our evening by telling you.” He pushed his plate aside. “But sooner or later, I have to. Being forewarned is being forearmed.”

“What is it?”

“A telegram from Scotland Yard arrived. They spotted Deborah White on the outskirts of London.”

“Mrs. White . . .” saying her name aloud summoned a flood of dark memories. “She’s back in England, then.”

“They believe she has been for quite some time.”

“And Mr. Vines?”

“Nothing about him. They might not even be together anymore.”

“I doubt that. If he didn’t leave her after the atrocities she committed, he never will. He is obsessively attached to her. It’s a sickness.”

“Even murder.” Alex groaned, rising abruptly.

Murder—her husband’s, mine, nearly Alex’s, and maybe even my son’s. I joined him by the window and followed his gaze into the obscurity beyond. I could almost see Mrs. White there, hidden in the tangled undergrowth, her cunning eyes trained on the house, watching, waiting. She had walked the road of treachery superbly, and at its end, she had brought death. I shivered. “Let’s hope they catch her soon and lock her away for the rest of her miserable days.”

“Let’s hope they find her before I do. When I think of all those years she lived under my roof, posing as a friend while she was the root of our family’s suffering . . .” Alex pressed his fist against the windowpane, his voice low with restrained fury.

“I understand your feelings—you know I do—but we are together now. That’s what matters most, and we must protect it.” I forced myself to stay grounded, though heaven only knew the battle raging within me. The nuns at Higher Grounds warned me that unchecked anger could evolve into revenge-fueled hate. And hatred was a corrosive force that consumed reason and compassion. “Now, don’t misunderstand me,” I went on. “Mrs. White absolutely deserves to be punished—she does. But we must let the authorities handle it. She is the one who belongs in prison, not us.”

“You are right. To level yourself with a snake, you’d have to crawl on the ground. That we’ll never do.” His features softened, and his fists unclenched, though I feared the storm within him still brewed.

* * *

I opened my eyes to find Alex already awake, his gaze loving as he watched me.

“Good morning.” He brushed a few strands of hair from my face. “Today, we forget about the world. It’s just you and me.”

“And what will we be doing?”

“We are going to Keyhaven,” he announced.

“Are you serious?” In my first life, I had spent some of my happiest days in the fishing hamlet near Hurst Castle, the artillery fortress from which Alex had sailed to deliver Father’s classified information to France. “Is that why you went to London?”

“Yes, to get something for you.” He left the bed and disappeared into the powder room. A moment later, he returned with a round box. “Open it.”

“Alex, it’s beautiful!” I rotated the burgundy, wide-brimmed hat in my hands, admiring its embroidery. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He grinned. “You’ll need it at the beach. When I was planning the trip, I realized you didn’t have one.”

“In New York, hats aren’t as prevalent.” With a flourish, I placed the hat atop my head.

“I also brought you a catalog. It’s in my office.” He hustled to change out of his pajamas. “Makes it easier to order more if you’d like.”

“Thank you! I can’t wait to show it to Zaira. She’s infatuated with hats.” I pulled the brim lower over my eyes. “It’ll be perfect for shielding the sun at the beach—and excellent for avoiding unwelcome scrutiny.”

“Oh, am I unwelcome now?” he joked, lifting the brim just enough to meet my gaze.

“Believe me, you are the always-wanted man.”

“If I didn’t have another surprise for you, I’d continue this discussion,” he said with a wink.

“Another surprise?”

“That’s right. I’ll wait for you downstairs.” He rushed from the room.

I pulled on a pair of black slacks and an indigo blouse. Pleased with my choice, I sat before the mirror, my heart racing with anticipation. I drew the brush through my hair, each stroke reminding me of Mrs. Allerton. I could almost see her standing behind me, speaking of “the art of making oneself presentable,” as she called it, often followed by a lecture on how I might improve at it.

With a longing sigh, I left the bedroom, making a mental note to write to Granny. Throughout my two lives, I had been blessed to be surrounded by stalwart women—not just Granny and Mrs. Allerton but Zaira, Sister Callahan, and Margaret Sterling.

Unbidden, a recollection of Mrs. White surfaced. She’d played a significant role in my life as well, and still did, though her influence stood in contrast to that of the others. A realization struck me: Women held endless power to shape lives, for good or ill. Their challenge lay in loving and being at peace with themselves. Then, they could extend those gifts to their fellow beings—a tall order at times.

As I rounded the corner, Zaira nearly collided with me, her steps hurried as she surfaced from the staircase.

“Good morning!” she exclaimed.

“Good morning. What’s the rush?”

“Mr. Sterling is impatiently waiting for you out front.” She smirked.

“Out front?”

“Yes, out front. I’ll pick a few things for you to pack.”

“Oh, so you know.”

“Yes, yes. Go now.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and strode away with purpose.

I descended the steps, crossed the foyer, and stepped out into the morning sun. There, gleaming in the courtyard, sat a red-and-black convertible, its polished curves dazzling in the light. Beside it, Alex and a middle-aged gentleman were deep in animated conversation. Their fascination with the vehicle in full flare. I stood, letting the moment linger until their discussion naturally waned. At last, Alex turned to me.

“What do you think?” He motioned to the car like a child showing off a new toy.

“It’s magnificent.” My father’s 1910 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost had been impressive, but nothing like this.

“Florence, I’d like you to meet Albert Brown. He’ll be looking after the Lagonda and attempting to resurrect our old cars.”

“It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Sterling.” The man doffed his gray beret, revealing a well-kept black mane. I noticed a slight accent—French, perhaps?

“How do you do, Mr. Brown?”

“I’m well, thank you. Thrilled to work at Forti Radici.”

“Lagonda?” I asked Alex.

“It’s the name of the car. Lagonda V12 Rapide.”

“I see.”

“It can reach up to one hundred miles per hour,” Mr. Brown chimed in. He reminded me of Mr. Lewis, our former chauffeur, and his intimate attachment to the Silver Ghost. What was it with men and these machines? I doubted I would ever understand.

“One hundred and five, to be exact,” Alex clarified. “Mr. Brown will have it ready for our trip.”

“I’ll get to it straightaway.” Mr. Brown hopped into the Lagonda and turned the key. “Ahh, hear that? Like the roar of a thousand lions!” With that, he drove off around the side of the house.

“I hope the chap doesn’t run away with it,” Alex joked.

Trying to sort out what just unfolded, I peppered him with questions. “I didn’t know you were getting a car—a sports one at that. Did it cost a fortune?” We had discussed purchasing a vehicle, but I’d imagined something practical that could accommodate a family with children, not a sleek two-seater. “Where did Mr. Brown come from?”

“Which question would you like me to answer first?” Alex teased. “There are quite a few.”

I opened my mouth to add another, but he silenced me with a kiss. If he hoped to charm his way out of this one, he was mistaken. “Your choice,” I said. “Just answer them.”

“It’s not like I’m a spendthrift. The cars we have are old and haven’t been driven in a long time. I figured we could use a new one and didn’t think you’d object if I went ahead and got it. I’ll admit it did cost a fortune—but that’s a conversation for another time.” He cleared his throat, clearly choking on the memory of the price tag.

Though I valued frugality, I chose not to dampen his elation. After all, my disappointment lay less in the cost and more in the car’s size. But I reasoned that we could trade it in when the time came. “And Mr. Brown?”

“I wasn’t looking for a driver. It kind of happened. He’s a recent arrival from Belgium and needed work. Besides, he comes highly recommended by an acquaintance. Satisfied?”

Not French like my dear groundskeeper, Mr. Leroy, had been. “For now.” I produced a gracious smile.

“I can’t wait to take it out on the road.” Alex grasped my hand. “Let’s go pack.”

* * *

The Lagonda’s engine rumbled down the winding forest roads, so different from the day we escaped the German attack on the manor. Back then, we were hunted souls overshadowed by grief and fear. Today, those shadows were far behind us. In their place, we reveled in each other’s company, carefree and content.

“Your arm is going to fall off if you don’t let it rest,” Alex called over the roar of the engine.

“Better than losing my hat,” I shot back, irritated by the wind tearing at me. I was no fan of driving with an open roof.

He reached over, plucked the hat from my head, and set it on my lap. “There. Now, rest your arm, and I’ll watch your hair wrestle with the wind.”

Gusts of air rushed through the cabin, sending my tresses into a wild flurry. Alex chuckled. I swatted his arm, unable to suppress a grin. We were like children on an adventure, eager to bend the rules, anxious to discover and please each other.

Alex continued to test the car on sharp curves, braking suddenly at unexpected signs of wildlife. Shouting and laughing, we whiled away the minutes until the air began to change. It grew damp and heavy, infused with the salt of the sea—like the sudatoriums I had read about in history books.

I closed my eyes, reminiscing: Alex’s family cottage, the steady drone of insects as we fell asleep each night, sunny afternoons at the sea, his love, his passion. It all came back with searing intensity. I glanced at him—his fine features, muscular frame, and indomitable spirit—an irresistible combination. I felt just as crazy about the man as I did over twenty years ago.

“Where are we staying?” I asked, assuming the dilapidated cottage had been torn down long ago.

The corners of his mouth curled up. “Care to guess?”

“Really? The cottage?”

“That’s right.”

“You can’t be serious.” I pictured the sagging roof, layers of dust, and cobwebs in every corner.

“Don’t act so excited,” he teased, veering off the road onto a narrow path. “It’s just beyond those trees.” A few yards later, he made a final turn and parked. “This is as far as we can go.”

Nature had aged as well, reproducing and expanding in every direction. The sequoias’ branches interlaced in verdant splendor, shading the undergrowth. We stepped out of the Lagonda, and I spotted a roofline peeking through the foliage.

“Come on, let’s go.” Alex led the way through the brush, his stride confident.

Not far ahead, the cottage emerged before us. Its brown wooden walls and grayish roof looked fresh and alive, blending seamlessly with the landscape. Stones now skirted the perimeter, and a porch sheltered it from the elements.

“It can’t be the same place . . .”

“But it is,” Alex said. “I’ve maintained it over the years, and before I moved to America, I had it fully restored. I knew that someday I would return looking for you, for memories, for something to hold on to. Now I have something even better—you.” He kissed my forehead. “I didn’t think I’d get this sentimental.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” I understood. My own emotions simmered just beneath the surface.

He bounded across the porch and opened the front door, signaling for me to follow. Inside, he went to the window and drew the shutters. Daylight streamed in, vanquishing the darkness.

“Wow!” I turned in a slow circle, taking in the transformed interior. “This is beautiful.” The polished floorboards, stone fireplace, and built-in cupboards were a marvel. A rustic table and chairs, along with colorful rugs completed the ensemble.

“I’m glad you like it, but don’t get too attached to modern conveniences—there’s still no electricity.”

“The window helps—it’s bigger than the old one.”

“I replaced the one upstairs too. No more worrying about critters.” Alex grinned. “Well, at least not as much.”

My gaze shifted to the ladder that led to the attic. It was now a solid, built-in piece. “Ah, that was long overdue. I held my breath every time you climbed it.”

“Are you implying I was too heavy, or that the ladder was too weak?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone playful.

“The latter, Mr. Sterling, the latter.”

“Right, then. Shall we test this one?” He started up the steps, pausing briefly. “Listen—no creaks at all”

I climbed after him, the solid footing reassuring beneath my steps. Daylight streamed through the open shutters, highlighting the metal bed and large chest filled with bedding, just as I remembered them. “You kept them.”

“I couldn’t let them go.”

I came to the window. The woods stared back at me. They brought memories of the days I had stood here, gazing beyond the trees to the sea, waiting for Alex to return from France. A wave of nostalgia washed over me. “All of this feels like a dream—one from which I hope to never wake . . .”

“Let’s not, then.” Alex’s voice was warm, steady. “Right now, out here, we are free from every care. And now that I think about it, this is our second honeymoon. Ironic as it sounds, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Our hiding place. Our haven.”

“ You are my haven.” Alex leaned in, and as his lips connected with mine, the world fell into perfect harmony, a moment of perfect belonging.