Page 10 of Return to Whitmore
“There’s so much you don’t understand!” Francesca howled. And then, like a teenager, she fled the room and sped down the hall.
Charlotte waited till she heard the slam of her mother’s bedroom door before she sat on her bed and, inexplicably, began to cry.
But it was later that afternoon that Allegra suggested they go dancing in Florence. Charlotte was surprised at the idea. Since they’d come to Italy, she’d gone out with her sisters no more than three times, and she’d expected to spend another night at the villa, editing film or writing in her journal or waiting for her mother to come yell at her again. Lorelei said she was up for dancing, and Allegra let Charlotte borrow one of her nicer dresses. By nine thirty, they were speeding down the road in a taxi, giggling and checking their lipstick. Charlotte hadn’t told her sisters about what had happened with Francesca. She wasconsidering dropping the topic altogether. Her mother needed love, just as they all did.
Maybe Charlotte would never understand her mother, but she understood love. Or she once had.
When they reached the club, they paid the driver, got out, and went immediately to the start of the line, where the bouncer nodded and waved them through. Others in the line howled at them angrily, confused as to why they’d gotten in immediately, and Allegra shot them a flirtatious smile and said, “Hope to see you later!” Charlotte and Lorelei laughed at her gall.
The nightclub was dark and pulsing with life. Without bothering with drinks first, Charlotte and her sisters went to the center of the dance floor and spent the next two hours dancing like their lives depended on it. Charlotte couldn’t believe how well they were getting along, and she tried her best not to question it. They were the only family she had left. She threw her arms around them both and looked at the ceiling, where a speaker pounded.
Later, they grabbed drinks and sat in the garden to the back of the club. The night sky was filled with stars, and the air was cool. A few guys walked by, wanting their attention, but the Whitmore girls didn’t bother with them. Allegra said she missed American men, and Lorelei agreed. They looked at Charlotte, their eyes filled with questions. Charlotte knew they wanted to ask about Vincent, about the love she’d left behind, just as she wanted to ask them about their boyfriends. She had a flashing memory of little Nina, always watching her older sisters and their boyfriends, so curious about the future she would have. Charlotte’s guilt weighed heavily on her chest. She needed to find Great-Aunt Genevieve’s phone number. She needed to figure out if Nina was all right.
That’s when she realized they knew someone else at the club.
Handsome Jefferson Albright was in the garden, smoking a cigarette and conversing with a few people in a mix of English and Italian. The sight of him here, in his black button-down and with gel in his hair, enraged Charlotte, at least at first. How old was he? As old as their mother, at least.
“Oh no,” Allegra said, realizing what Charlotte already had. “I didn’t know he came here.”
“Me neither,” Lorelei breathed.
But Jefferson had spotted them. He tipped an invisible hat to his little group and turned to walk over to them. Charlotte drank down the rest of her gin and tonic, her heart pounding. Why couldn’t he leave them alone?
“Ladies,” Jefferson said in that silly English accent. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Hi,” Lorelei said, sounding disgruntled.
“Can I sit down?” Jefferson asked. His eyes scanned them and settled on Charlotte, whose stomach churned. Before they could answer, he grabbed a chair and pulled it over to them to form a circle. “How are we this evening?”
“We’re fine,” Allegra said. “And you?”
Jefferson continued to look at Charlotte. Charlotte’s skin felt hot. She wanted to ask him why he was staring at her, why he was being so creepy, but she was terrified of his answer. She bit her tongue.
“Your mother was busy tonight,” Jefferson said, “so I thought I’d take myself out.”
“This isn’t really her type of place,” Lorelei said, gesturing vaguely toward the young people, the doorway that led back to the dark club.
“No. I should say not,” Jefferson said. “It’s nothing like you have back on Nantucket, either, is it?”
At the mention of Nantucket, Charlotte straightened her spine. Hadn’t she suspected that Jefferson had been hermother’s horseback riding trainer back in Nantucket rather than Tuscany?
“That’s right,” Allegra said. “When was the last time you were there?”
Jefferson laughed. “I imagine you don’t remember me, Allegra, but I remember you. You were just a little thing when I was last there. And Lorelei, we used to play and play. You were a wild child, you remember? I could barely keep up with you.”
Charlotte watched her sisters’ expressions but found herself unable to read them. The air was taut.
Before she could stop herself, Charlotte asked, “What about me? Do you remember me?”
Jefferson raised his eyebrows and looked her dead in the eyes. “I was gone by the time you were born, Charlotte,” he said.
Charlotte’s heart thudded. She wished she had another drink.
“Still can’t believe the White Oak Lodge is gone,” Jefferson went on. “That formidable place seemed like it would go on for another three centuries more.”
“It isn’t gone-gone,” Allegra interjected. “I mean, it’s still standing.”
“Your mother made it sound like nobody would ever enter its doors again,” Jefferson said. “I assumed it had been bulldozed by now. Does the Whitmore family still own it?”
