Page 58 of The Lost Story of Sofia Castello

57

LISBON, 1941

The next month passed by in a numb haze. It should have been one of the happiest, most exciting times of my life. ‘Ocean Longing’ became a smash hit on both sides of the Atlantic, climbing to the top of the British hit parade and staying there for weeks. But I couldn’t think about chart positions, or America, or the life-changing amounts of money being deposited into my bank account. All I could think about was the way Trafalgar had betrayed me, as well as his country. All I could think about was his connection to the member of the Gestapo responsible for the disappearance of my beloved jacaranda sister, Judith. It made me want to retch when I thought of how I’d confided in him about her, and how he’d pretended to be so concerned. I felt so stupid and naive. But I couldn’t allow the shock and the hurt to break me. I was a famous singer now; the show had to go on – literally.

Wanting to build on my sky-rocketing success, Alexandre arranged for me to do some gigs in Portugal, which only increased my pain. Having to perform a song that had been inspired by that dirty rat Trafalgar felt like having all of my teeth pulled in the hot glare of the spotlight night after night – and without anaesthetic. It was torturous.

And then, one evening, about six weeks after I’d last seen him, the phone in my hotel room began to ring.

‘Good evening, Miss Castello,’ the switchboard operator chirped. ‘I have a long-distance call for you from London, a Mister Trafalgar.’

My stomach dropped like a stone, and I quickly sat down in the chair beside the phone. Emilio and I had gone over what I should do in the event of Trafalgar calling, but practising it with him was one thing – having to talk to the rat himself was quite another. In truth, part of me had suspected that I’d never hear from him again after he’d got what he wanted from me that night in Estoril.

I cleared my throat and took a breath. ‘Thank you. Please put him through.’

There was a click, and the line hummed and buzzed with static.

‘Good evening, Miss Castello,’ Trafalgar’s voice crackled in my ear. ‘I’m calling to see if you believe in fate yet?’

Only that I’m fated to be cursed by dirty rats , I felt tempted to reply, but somehow I refrained. ‘Possibly,’ I replied instead.

‘Yes!’ he exclaimed, and I pictured him punching the air in that exuberant way of his. It made me sick to think that I’d once found it so attractive. No doubt it was all just a part of his act. ‘I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to call. I’ve been very busy.’

Yes, busy being a traitor to king and country, I thought. ‘That’s OK – I understand,’ I trilled.

‘I knew you would, and I see you’ve been busy too,’ he said, instantly causing my skin to prickle.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your new song. It’s top of the charts here in Blighty.’

‘Oh – oh yes.’ I felt a wave of nausea rolling in. But then I remembered what Emilio had coached me to say in this situation. ‘As a matter of fact, I was thinking of coming back to London to do another show – to show my gratitude for all of the support.’

‘Are you being serious?’

‘Of course.’

I heard a clunk, like the receiver had been put down on the side, and then a faint, ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ There was another clunk as he picked it back up, and his voice became clearer. ‘Sorry, I was unable to contain my excitement. I thought what happened last time you came here would have scared you off for good – and quite understandably,’ he added hastily.

‘It takes more than a few bombs to scare me,’ I said firmly, but my nausea continued to grow at the thought of having to see him again.

‘Attagirl! Oh, Sofia, I’d been feeling a little down since we last met and missing you terribly, but now you’ve made me so happy.’

‘Me too,’ I said through gritted teeth.

‘And I promise I will spend every available second that I have with you. I’ll begin planning things to do and places to go right this minute – or as soon as I get off the phone anyway.’

‘Wonderful.’ I winced at how strained and false my voice sounded, but thanks to the crackles on the line he didn’t appear to notice.

‘Shall I call you again in a few days, to see if you have your date and time of arrival?’

‘That would be wonderful.’

‘OK, I’d better go. I can’t wait to see you!’

‘Me too,’ I said again, like a stuck record.

I put the receiver down feeling sick to my stomach, so sick in fact that I had to run to the bathroom, where I vomited into the sink.

The following night, I arranged to meet Emilio for dinner at the Britannia Hotel. He arrived looking like his dapper old self, dressed in a sharply pressed suit, with fresh clipped hair and smelling of a new cologne.

‘I heard from Trafalgar,’ I whispered as soon as the waiter had taken our order and left us alone.

Emilio’s eyes widened. ‘When? How?’

‘He called me at my hotel last night.’ I leaned closer. ‘I told him I wanted to come back to London, just as you suggested.’

Emilio nodded. ‘And?’

‘And he was very enthusiastic.’

‘This is great.’ He beamed at me across the table.

I felt a rush of relief at receiving his approval, but I knew the only way I was going to make full amends for my faux pas was by going to London and getting some dirt on Trafalgar. As soon as I thought of this, my stomach lurched, and I took a quick sip of my iced water.

‘OK, you need to speak to Alexandre,’ Emilio said. ‘Tell him that you’re dying to get back to London to thank your fans for their support. Ask him if he can send you for a little longer this time. The bombing isn’t as bad there now that Germany are preoccupied with Russia, so hopefully he’ll agree.’

‘But do you really think I’ll be able to catch Trafalgar out?’ The more I thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed. ‘I let him know that the SOE were on to him – surely he’ll be playing it really safe now.’

Emilio took his cigarettes from his pocket and offered me one. I shook my head. Due to my unsettled stomach, just the smell of cigarettes had been making me queasy. ‘Yes, but if he’s fallen in love with you, that makes him vulnerable to being indiscreet. Perhaps if you were to express a certain dissatisfaction with the Allies yourself, you might be able to entice his pro-German sympathies out of him. And if there was some way of recording him…’ He trailed off, looking thoughtful.

‘I’m sure he hasn’t fallen in love with me. He was probably just using me,’ I said casually, although the thought still cut me like a knife.

Emilio looked confused. ‘Well, then he’s even more of a damn fool.’

‘Why, thank you, Almeida,’ I said, raising my glass of water. ‘But if anyone’s a damn fool, it’s me for falling for his schemes.’

‘You mustn’t blame yourself.’ He reached across the table and took hold of my hand. ‘How were you supposed to know?’

‘I honestly thought I was a better judge of character,’ I said with a sigh.

He squeezed my hand tightly. ‘If it’s any consolation, I think you’re swell.’

‘Thank you.’ I smiled across the table at him, overwhelmed with gratitude for my loyal songwriting partner and friend.

Emilio cleared his throat. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

‘Uh-oh. Please don’t tell me Alexandre is working for the Gestapo; I don’t think I could take it – although I could believe it of that sourpuss of a secretary of his…’

He laughed. ‘No, it’s nothing like that…’ He looked down at the table. ‘My wife and I are no longer together. We’re getting a divorce.

‘Oh no; I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s OK, honestly.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve been worried about our marriage for months, but now it’s finally over, I actually feel a bit better.’

I nodded, thinking about the strange relief I’d felt when my mother had passed and was finally free from pain. ‘I understand.’

‘And now that I’m free…’ He looked at me hopefully.

‘Yes?’

A waiter arrived at our table and put our plates down in front of us. I caught a waft of sardines and suddenly felt sick. I’d been on edge ever since Estoril and it was really affecting my stomach.

‘I was thinking that maybe…’ Emilio said as the waiter left.

‘For goodness’ sake, speak in full sentences,’ I said, fanning myself with my napkin to try to stop my growing nausea.

‘You and I could maybe become an item.’ Emilio started fiddling with his silver napkin holder.

‘I’m sorry, I—’ I stood up from the table so suddenly my chair tipped over backward. ‘I have to go to the bathroom,’ I gasped, retching into my napkin.

I somehow made it to the bathroom and into a stall before vomiting. Once I was done, I closed the lid on the toilet and sat with my head in my hands. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed by Emilio’s proposition, but one thing was for sure – after what had happened with Trafalgar, I didn’t want any kind of romantic involvement with anyone.

I went and freshened up at the sink and returned to the table. Emilio had obviously ordered himself a large Scotch since I’d left, and his dinner was untouched.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, sitting back down.

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ve certainly had more favourable responses from women.’

I gave him a sheepish smile.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes, I’ve had a bit of an upset stomach the past couple of days. I thought I was over it, but clearly not.’

‘OK, so I don’t need to take it personally?’ His expression turned to one of hope.

‘Of course not. But…’

‘Uh-oh.’ He took a swig of his Scotch.

‘I’m just not looking for any kind of fling at the moment.’

‘But it wouldn’t be a fling!’ he exclaimed. ‘We’re Almeida and Castello, the dream music team. I mean it, Castello, I’m crazy about you.’ He placed his hand on top of mine on the table. ‘Please don’t rush off to be sick again or you’ll give me a real complex.’

I laughed and took a sip of my water. ‘But the fact that we work so well together is exactly why we shouldn’t get romantically involved. I don’t want anything to ruin our creative partnership.’ The look of hurt on his face was like a punch to the gut. I hated doing it to him, but I had to be true to myself and what I wanted – or, in this case, didn’t want.

‘But I thought—’ He broke off and took another swig of his drink. Then he cleared his throat as if somehow resetting himself and forced a smile onto his face. ‘Of course. You’re right. I’m sorry.’

‘No need to apologise! To Almeida and Castello – songwriting dream team.’ I raised my glass.

He nodded and smiled but didn’t clink his to mine, and we returned to our meals with an awkward silence heavy as a storm cloud hanging over the table.