Sea of Lost Love: A Novel - Softcover

Montefiore, Santa

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1416543732 ISBN 13: 9781416543732

Publisher: Simon & Schuster, 2008

Synopsis

From the author of The Gypsy Madonna and The Last Voyage of the Valentina, a breathless novel that sweeps its heroine from the Cornish coast to the rugged beauty of Puglia Italy, where she discovers a shocking truth about her family and the way to save her ancestral home.

Celestria Montague always spends her summers at Pendrift Hall, the rambling, shabby mansion adorned with wisteria and clematis that has been home to the Montague family for generations. It is 1958, and the family is celebrating her father's fiftieth birthday at a lavish ball. The celebratory night ends in death and tragedy, however, and young Celestria learns that the family may lose Pendrift Hall. Her grandfather urges Celestria to play detective, to solve the mysteries surrounding the night's events, and to save the ancient mansion if at all possible. Her quest takes her to Italy's rugged and beautiful Puglia, and into the dark, cool cloisters of the Convento di Santa Maria del Mare. Here Celestria meets an enigmatic stranger and confronts unwelcome truths about her family—and herself.

Sea of Lost Love is Santa Montefiore at her very best—sensitive, sensual, and complex.

About this title

About the Author:

Santa Montefiore’s books have been translated into more than twenty-five languages and have sold more than six million copies in England and Europe. She is married to writer Simon Sebag Montefiore. They live with their two children, Lily and Sasha, in London. Visit her at SantaMontefioreauthor.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

1

Cornwall, August 1958

As Father Miles Dalgliesh cycled up the drive towards the Montague family home, Pendrift Hall, he took pleasure from the golden sun that filtered through the lime trees, casting luminous spots of shimmering light onto the gravel and surrounding ferns, and swept his bespectacled eyes over lush fields of soft brown cows. A fresh breeze swept in off the sea and gulls wheeled beneath a cerulean sky. Father Dalgliesh was new in town. Old Father William Hancock had recently passed away to continue his work on the Other Side, leaving his young prodigy in the hot seat rather sooner than anticipated. Still, God had given him a challenge and he would rise to it with gladness in his heart.

Today he would meet the Montagues, the first family of Pendrift.

Pendrift Hall was a pale stone mansion adorned with wisteria, tall sash windows, and frothy gardens that tumbled down to the sea. Pigeons cooed from the chimney pots, and every year a family of swallows made its nest in the porch. The house was large and somewhat shabby, like a child's favorite toy worn out by love. It had an air of contentment, and Father Dalgliesh's spirits rose even higher when he saw it. He knew he'd like the family, and he anticipated an enjoyable afternoon ahead.

He stopped cycling and dismounted. A sturdy, white-faced Labrador bounded out of the front door, wagging his tail and barking excitedly. Father Dalgliesh bent to pat him and the dog stopped barking, sensing the young priest's gentle nature, and proceeded to sniff his shiny black shoes instead. The priest raised his eyes to the butler, who now stood in the doorway, dressed in a black tailcoat and pressed white shirt. The man nodded respectfully.

"Good morning, Father. Mrs. Montague is expecting you."

Father Dalgliesh leaned his bicycle against the wall and followed the butler through a large stone hall dominated by a sleeping fireplace and a large set of antlers. The air in the house was sweet with the memory of winter fires, cinnamon, and centuries of wear and tear. He noticed an open chest beneath the staircase, full of tennis rackets and balls, and an old grandfather clock that gently ticked against a wall like a somnolent footman. Classical music wafted from the drawing room with the low hum of distant voices. He took a deep breath.

"Father Dalgliesh, Mrs. Montague," the butler announced solemnly, indicating with a gesture of his hand that Father Dalgliesh should enter the room.

"Thank you, Soames," said Julia Montague, rising to greet him. "Father, welcome to Pendrift."

Father Dalgliesh shook her hand and was immediately put at ease by the warmth of her smile. She was voluptuous, with soft white skin, ash-­blond hair, and an open, gentle face. Julia Montague radiated so brightly that when she was present it was always a party. Wearing large beaded necklaces in pale greens and blues to match her eyes, with a laugh so infectious no one was immune -- not even that sourpuss Soames -- and a sense of humor that always made the best out of the worst, Julia was like a colorful bird of paradise that had made her nest in the very heart of tweedy Cornwall.

"The family are waiting to meet you on the terrace," she continued with a grin. "Can I get you a drink before I throw you to the wolves?"

Father Dalgliesh laughed, and Julia thought how handsome he was for a priest. There was something charming in the lines around his mouth when he smiled, and behind his glasses his eyes were deep set and intelligent. He was surprisingly young, too. He couldn't have been more than thirty.

"A glass of water would be fine, thank you," he replied.

"We have some homemade elderflower cordial; why don't you try some?"

"Why not? That would be very nice."

"Soames, two glasses of elderflower on the terrace, please."

Soames nodded and withdrew. Julia slipped her arm through the priest's and led him through the French doors into the sunshine.

The terrace was a wide York stone patio with irregular steps descending to the garden. Between the stones wild strawberries grew and tiny blue forget-me-nots struggled to be seen. Fat bees buzzed about large terra-cotta pots of arum lilies and freesias, and drank themselves dizzy in a thick border of lavender that grew against the balustrade lining the terrace. In the garden Santa Montefiore a gnarled weeping willow trailed her branches into a decorative pond where a pair of wild ducks had made their nest.

The family fell silent as Father Dalgliesh emerged with Julia. Archie Montague, Julia's husband, was the first to step forward. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he exclaimed heartily, shaking the priest's hand. "We were very sorry when Father Hancock died. He was an inspirational man."

"He was indeed. He has left me with the unenviable task of following in his footsteps."

"Which I'm sure you will do valiantly," added Archie kindly, running his fingers down the brown mustache that rested on his upper lip like a neatly thatched roof.

"Let me introduce you to Archie's sister, Penelope, and her daughters, Lotty and Melissa," said Julia, still holding on to Father Dalgliesh's arm because she knew her husband's family could be a little overwhelming. Penelope stepped forward and shook his hand. He winced as she squeezed the life out of it. Large-boned and stout, with an arresting bosom and double chin, she reminded him of one of her brother's Jersey cows.

"Very nice to meet you, Father." Penelope's voice was deep and fruity, and she articulated the consonants of her words with relish, as if each one were a pleasure to pronounce. "You're a great deal younger than we expected."

"I hope my age does not disappoint," he replied.

"To the contrary. Sometimes the old ones have had too many years listening to the sound of their own voices to be sensitive to the voices of others. I doubt you will fall into that trap." She turned and ushered her daughters over to meet him. "This is Lotty, my eldest, and Melissa, who has just turned twenty-five."

She smiled at them proudly as they greeted the priest.

Dressed beautifully in floral summer frocks, with their long hair pulled off their faces and clipped to the tops of their heads, they were pleasant to look at and very presentable. However, they were vapid girls, their heads full of frivolities, encouraged by their mother, whose main concern was marrying them off to well-bred young men of means. According to Penelope, they were two of the most eligible girls in London, and nothing less than the very best would do. She scoffed at the idea of marrying for love. That was a highly impractical notion, not to mention foolish: one's heart could not be trusted to fall in love with the right man. She, herself, was a prime example of her theory. She had grown to love Milton Flint over time, though she secretly hoped her daughters would make better matches than she had made. She might have married a Flint, but she remained in her heart a Montague.

"This is Milton, Penelope's husband, and David, their son," continued Julia, leading the priest farther onto the terrace. Milton was tall and athletic, with thick blond hair brushed back off a wide forehead and lively blue eyes.

"Good to meet you, Father. Do you play tennis?"

Father Dalgliesh looked embarrassed. "I'm afraid not," he replied.

"Dad's obsessed," interjected David apologetically, "though he does put the racket down for Mass!" David laughed, and Father Dalgliesh was reassured by the presence of a young man of his own generation. Julia let go of his arm and sat down.

Father Dalgliesh took the seat beside her and crossed one leg over the other in an effort to look casual. He felt a little nervous. His conviction was as solid as rock, his knowledge of the scriptures and philosophy unsurpassed, his command of Latin exceptional. His Achilles' heel, however, was people. Father William Hancock had once told him: "It's no good being so heavenly minded as to be no earthly good. You have to learn how to relate to people, Miles, on their level, otherwise you might as well become a monk." He knew the old priest was right. The bishop had sent him out to be among the people to spread the word of God. He pushed his glasses up his nose, determined not to let him down.

"Our young sons are out in the woods with their cousin, Harry, setting traps for vermin," said Julia. "The gamekeeper gives them sixpence a rat, if they bring it to him dead. They're getting rather rich, I believe. My three-year-old son, nicknamed Bouncy because his feet are made of springs, is down on the beach with Nanny. They should be up soon, and Celestria, my niece..." Julia looked around. "I don't know where she is. Perhaps she's with her mother, Pamela, who's married to Archie and Penelope's brother Monty. She's in bed with a migraine. She suffers from them, I'm afraid. She might come down later. She's American."

Julia hesitated a moment, for Pamela Bancroft Montague, as she liked to be called, was extremely pampered, often spending whole days in bed, complaining if the light was too bright, moaning when it was too dark, insisting on being left alone with Poochi, her powdered Pekingese, while at the same time demanding as much attention as possible from Celestria and Harry, and constantly ringing the bell to summon the staff. She doubted whether Father Dalgliesh would meet Pamela at all, as she wasn't Catholic and abhorred the Church, which she thought a waste of time. "Monty arrives this evening on the train from London. He's a wonderful character, and I hope you'll meet him. You'll certainly meet Harry and Celestria, their children. Harry sings rather beautifully and is in the choir at school." Julia lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Soames stepped through the doors with a tray of drinks. When he handed Father Dalgliesh a glass of elderflower, Julia noticed that the young priest's hands were trembling.

It wasn't long before Wilfrid and Sam, Julia and Archie's elder sons, returned from the woods with Harry. Exuberant after a morning building camps and setting traps, they were ruddy cheeked and sparkly eyed. "We found three dead rats!" exclaimed W...

About this edition

• Publisher: Simon & Schuster
• Publication date: 2008
• ISBN 10: 1416543732
• ISBN 13: 9781416543732
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 437