Page 66 of The Lost Story of Sofia Castello

65

LONDON, 8 MAY 2000

I follow Judith into the Savoy restaurant, my mouth dry and my heart pounding. Even though we’ve spent the past few months rehearsing the showdown between Sir Lawrence Bourne and Sofia, and preparing for every possible outcome, including Bourne keeling over from shock and whether or not we would try to resuscitate him, I can’t shake a feeling of dread. I completely support Sofia’s right to set the record straight, especially now I’ve written the first draft of her book and I know the full story in intricate detail, but I just can’t see how this can end well. Sir Lawrence might now be in his eighties, but he was once capable of murder – and Sofia’s murder at that. A shiver runs up my spine as I wonder how he’ll react to discovering his victim has risen from the dead and at the very place they first met – and on the anniversary of that meeting too, which had been Sofia’s idea.

‘Hello,’ Jane-Judith, as I’ve come to think of her, greets the ma?tre d’ cheerily. ‘I have a table for five booked in the name of Jane Hill.’

I feel a pang of sorrow as I think back to Jane telling me how she’d felt the need to anglicise her name from Judith Hilderstein when she’d first moved to London. ‘I never wanted to be hunted like an animal again simply because of my Jewishness,’ she’d said, and while I understood, I also found it heartbreaking.

‘Yes of course, madam – right this way.’ The ma?tre d’ gives us a beaming smile, blissfully unaware of the carnage that might be about to be unleashed in his restaurant.

We weave our way through the tables, all laid with starched snowy-white tablecloths and ornate gold cutlery. The diners perfectly match the decor, immaculately dressed in expensive clothes. I feel a jolt of panic. This is surely the worst place to have a major showdown. Thankfully, our table is in a far corner, partially hidden behind a wall of large potted ferns.

‘Did you book this table deliberately?’ I whisper to Jane as we sit down.

She nods grimly.

The waiter leaves us with some menus and a jug of water. As I pour us both a glass, I realise that my hand is trembling. The plan is that Jane and I will begin our lunch with Lawrence, then, shortly after, Sofia and Gabriel will arrive, and Sofia will make her big reveal.

‘Don’t worry,’ Jane says, placing her hand over mine. I look at her ring and think of the journey that diamond has been on – the journey Jane has been on, since being a teenage refugee on the run from the Gestapo. Then I think of how she wouldn’t be here at all if Lawrence had had his way, and my resolve strengthens. I can’t imagine what my life would have been like if I’d never met Jane. It doesn’t bear thinking about. And now I know that she’s also the sweet, kind teenager from Sofia’s story, I love her even more.

‘I’m trying not to,’ I reply. ‘I know we’ve rehearsed it about a million times, but can you please remind me one more time?’

‘Of course.’ Jane places her hands neatly on the table in front of her as if she’s about to give some kind of formal address. ‘When he first gets here, we’ll talk about his book and drink a toast to how well it’s doing. Then, when Sofia and Gabriel arrive, I’ll tell him that I have someone I’d like him to meet and Sofia will introduce herself, and then we just play it by ear.’

‘But what if he gets up and walks out?’ I ask, unfolding my linen napkin. ‘Surely once he finds out who she is and that she’s still alive he’s going to panic and leave?’

‘That’s where Gabriel comes in,’ Jane replies, slightly ominously. She gives me a reassuring smile. ‘You don’t have to do or say anything, other than record it all for the final chapter of the book.’

I reach into my bag for my mini voice recorder and place it under my napkin on the table. ‘I hope the waiter doesn’t try to move it. Can you imagine if…’ I see Jane staring at something over my shoulder and fall silent.

‘He’s coming,’ she whispers, and now even she looks nervous.

I turn and peer through the ferns and see the ma?tre d’ escorting Sir Lawrence through the restaurant towards us. As always, his presence creates quite the ripple effect, with the diners either side stopping talking and eating to gaze up in awe. He might be in his eighties, but he’s still a commanding presence – tall and wiry with a spring in his step and a thick shock of white hair.

‘Jane, my dear, and darling Lily!’ Lawrence booms in the voice of a trained theatre actor as he arrives at the table. Normally, he wears flamboyant suits and ties in vibrant colours, but today, to my surprise, he’s all in black, with a smart leather satchel slung over his shoulder. ‘It’s so good to see you.’

We both stand to greet him, and he gives me a hug. I always used to like how affectionate he was. He always seemed so warm and genuine, but now I freeze in his embrace. All I can think is that this is the man who tried to get Sofia – and Jane by default – killed. This is the man who betrayed his country and his lover to the Nazis.

He steps back and takes a look at me and gives me one of his boyish grins. ‘You look positively radiant.’

‘Oh – uh – thank you. I’ve – uh – been away.’ I sit down and take a gulp of iced water, desperately trying to compose myself.

As Lawrence and Jane embrace, I slip my hand under my napkin and turn the voice recorder on.

Jane orders some wine for the table, and the waiter hurries off.

‘Are we expecting some other guests?’ Lawrence asks, looking at the two empty seats.

‘Yes, I’ve invited a couple of people from your publishing house,’ Jane replies, cool as a cucumber. ‘I thought it only right that they join the celebration.’

‘Grand idea.’ He turns to me and smiles. ‘It’s so nice to see you again, Lily, especially today. I really miss our chats.’

‘Me too.’ I force myself to smile at him. ‘What do you mean, especially today?’ I ask, worried he might have realised that there’s more to this meeting than meets the eye.

Lawrence sighs and pours himself a glass of water. ‘The eighth of May is always a very sad day for me.’

I shoot a glance across the table at Jane. Her expression is unreadable.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I reply, my stomach churning. Could he be referring to his meeting with Sofia? ‘Do you mind me asking why?’

‘It’s the anniversary of the best day of my life,’ he says quietly, gazing down at the tablecloth.

I shoot Jane another look, and she raises her eyebrows.

‘So why is it sad?’ I ask softly.

‘Oh, that’s a whole other story.’ He looks up at me and smiles, but his eyes are filled with sorrow. ‘And one that never made it into the book.’

I feign a breezy laugh, all the while my pulse quickening. ‘I thought you told me everything.’

‘Not quite.’ He looks around and clears his throat. ‘The funniest thing is that this is where it happened, here at the Savoy.’

I gulp hard. He is talking about Sofia. He has to be.

‘Oh really?’ I reply, my voice wavering.

‘Yes. And I’ve spent years avoiding this place like the plague.’ He looks across the table at Jane. ‘But when you sent me the invitation and I saw the date and the venue, I thought it had to be some kind of sign – fate, you might say – and that maybe it was an opportunity to lay some ghosts to rest.’

He says this just as I take a mouthful of water, and it takes everything I’ve got not to spit it all over the table.

‘How interesting,’ Jane says coolly, but my mind is racing. Something about this doesn’t feel right. Lawrence seems so genuinely sad.

But he is an Oscar-winning actor, I remind myself. And he was once a spy. He’s well practised in the art of deception .

I shoot a sideways glance at Lawrence, sitting head bowed in his black suit and tie. But he doesn’t know that we’re on to him. So, as far as he’s concerned, there’s no need for him to fake anything.

‘Why didn’t you include it in the book?’ I ask gently.

‘Because some things are way too special for public consumption,’ he replies. ‘Some things are too sacred – they need to be kept private.’

Jane clears her throat, and I see that she’s staring over my shoulder again, and my heart skips a beat.

‘Our other guests are here,’ she says, her voice strained and slightly high-pitched.

I clench my hands beneath the table and pray that this doesn’t end in complete and utter disaster. This isn’t going how I’d expected at all.

‘Hello!’ Lawrence says cheerily, getting to his feet.

Gabriel and the ma?tre d’ are now right by the table, with the tiny Sofia hovering behind them.

‘Someone will be over to take your order shortly,’ the ma?tre d’ says, gesturing at the empty seats. And then he’s gone. And it’s just us.

‘Nice to meet you,’ Lawrence says, offering Gabriel his hand.

‘And you,’ Gabriel says gruffly, giving it a brisk shake. I know from our conversations that he’s been dreading this meeting and that it will take all of his restraint not to ‘gut that rat like a mackerel’ – a mixture of metaphors that had required all of my restraint not to giggle at.

Gabriel sits down opposite me and beside Jane, so now it’s just Lawrence and Sofia standing. I’m so tense, I’m barely able to breathe.

‘And very nice to meet you too,’ Lawrence says, offering his hand to Sofia, although his tone is a little less self-assured. I’m guessing he must be surprised by her age, given that she’s supposed to be from his publishing house.

Sofia stares at him, her mouth agape. She’s wearing a vivid green dress and matching shoes, and her short hair has been freshly dyed black.

Say ‘nice to meet you too’, I silently implore, thinking back to all the times we rehearsed this moment.

‘Nice to meet you too,’ she mutters, quickly shaking his hand and sitting down at the head of the table.

Lawrence remains standing, still as a statue.

I shoot a panicked glance across the table, but Jane and Gabriel are staring at Lawrence, and Sofia is looking down into her lap.

‘I-I…’ Lawrence stammers, and I erupt in a cold sweat.

‘Are you OK?’ I ask, standing up beside him. His gaze remains fixed upon Sofia.

‘Is it you?’ he whispers.

Sofia gives a little gasp of shock. None of us had expected him to recognise her, and we haven’t prepared for this.

‘Sofia?’ he gasps, placing his hands on the table for support.

Sofia appears to gather herself and clears her throat. She looks up at Lawrence, her expression deathly cold, and she nods.

Lawrence lets out an anguished cry. ‘But… but – you’re dead.’

Sofia keeps her gaze fixed on his, but I notice that her hands are now balled into tiny fists. ‘Surprise!’ she replies icily, reverting to her prepared script.

‘Oh my God. I must be dreaming. Am I dreaming?’ Lawrence looks down at me, his eyes wide with shock. Before I can respond, he turns back to Sofia.

‘In a way,’ Sofia replies. ‘I suppose I must be your worst nightmare.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Lawrence exclaims. ‘You’re alive!’

‘Yes,’ Sofia says. ‘And your plan failed.’