Page 6 of Return to Whitmore
Charlotte said hello to the cinematographer and then heard herself ask him a few questions about the shot he was preparing to set up. Her grandfather watched with his eyebrows raised, as though he were surprised that she was going to such lengths to understand. The cinematographer seemed pleased to talk about both himself and his artistic decisions, and Charlotte filled an entire page in her notebook. When he finished, it was time to set up, and everyone sped in separate directions. Charlotte’s grandfather tapped the seat the cinematographer had vacated and said to her, “You are earnest, Charlotte. It’s refreshing to see. Everyone in this business is too aloof.”
It had been a very long time since someone had complimented her. It felt bizarre but beautiful, like a slice of sunshine during an otherwise cloudy winter.
Charlotte was surprised how quickly she fell into step on set. With an eagle eye, she took note of how her grandfather managed the actors, instructed the designers, cooperated with his team, and swept them through day after tireless day. Charlotte frequently forgot to eat lunch or else scarfed it down between notetaking. And once, on day six of shadowing her grandfather, he asked how she thought he should set up the shot.Charlotte swallowed her moment of surprise and answered as honestly as she could. “That’s exactly what I would have done,” her grandfather said, his eyes echoing love. “You’re a natural, Charlotte. Always go with your gut.”
Back at the villa, Allegra and Lorelei maintained their jealousy for Charlotte’s newfound “career,” or whatever it was. They said she was sucking up to their grandfather. They said he was playing favorites, that it wasn’t fair. Of course, their grandfather and grandmother loved their grandchildren equally, or more or less equally. People were people, and favorites were always played to an extent. But more than that, their grandparents were just as brokenhearted as their daughter Francesca. Their son Angelo had had to escape Italy for legal reasons, and over the summer, he’d perished there—in the very luxurious hotel they’d once vacationed in when their children were young. They couldn’t mourn Angelo properly, because they’d been so angry with him when he’d left Italy. Also, he’d been cremated in the United States, and for legal reasons, they hadn’t been able to have his ashes shipped to Italy. Grandmother and Grandfather were both incredibly religious, and their struggle was enormous.
The fact that they’d also lost Jack—and that their other grandson Alexander refused to come visit—added insult to injury. They never spoke of Benjamin, but Charlotte couldn’t tell if that was because they’d never liked her father, or because they didn’t want to remind Francesca of the beloved husband she’d lost.
Sometimes, Charlotte cried herself to sleep, thinking of her father and brother, pivotal members of a family that now lived life permanently on the rocks.
In November, when her grandfather’s film wrapped for the year, Charlotte began to go out in Florence, meeting Italian friends who were also interested in film. Throughout December,January, and February, they met to make little films on a video recorder that belonged to one of their parents. They took turns being directors, writers, actors, and cinematographers. Most of their results were messy and chaotic, but Francesca felt they were beautiful distractions and little, unique worlds where she didn’t have to think about all she’d lost. In late February, when her grandfather prepared to attend the Academy Awards in Los Angeles, he gifted her with a brand-new video camera, a state-of-the-art one that made her friends look crummy. Charlotte was thrilled. She threw her arms around her grandfather and wept. Her tears were a surprise for both of them—and probably a result of her not being able to cry in front of anyone else, lately, about everything that had happened. She thanked him again and fled the room.
Now that she had a camera all her own, Charlotte made experimental films that sort of starred her family. She didn’t always tell them she was filming, because she liked the way they were when they didn’t think anyone was watching. Allegra always looked so beautiful and peaceful, reading in the garden or watching the wind through the stone pine trees. Lorelei always looked so happy, dancing through the kitchen as she baked bread for the family. They didn’t look like the sad selves they normally were.
But Charlotte’s favorite subject of all was her mother.
Francesca still spent most days alone. Sometimes, she went for long walks through their grounds, dressed to the nines, her dark hair glowing. One afternoon, Charlotte decided to follow her. Shivering in the cold winter air, Charlotte kept herself at a steady distance and frequently stopped to record her mother sweeping across the grass and between the trees. Her mother increased her speed, almost running. Charlotte couldn’t understand what the hurry was, not unti she realized that there was someone waiting for Francesca at the edge of the forest.
Like something out of a romance novel, it was a man on horseback.
Charlotte’s heart seized. Terrified of being spotted, she leaped behind another tree and kept recording, wishing she was close enough to see every detail of her mother’s face. Even at the distance of half a football field, she could see that her mother was smiling. It was such a rare sight these days that it took Charlotte’s breath away.
The man got down from horseback and swept his arms around Francseca, kissing her. Charlotte couldn’t believe it. Anxiety and anger splintered through Charlotte. Soon, Francesca swept up onto the horse, and the man followed, adjusting himself in front of her for a ride. They disappeared through the shadows of the woods, leaving Charlotte alone.
Charlotte returned home irate. For months, her mother had been in the depths of depression, hardly speaking to any of the daughters she’d dragged to Italy with her. It was clear that she reserved her smiles and conversation for this handsome stranger. But who was he? She didn’t dare show the footage to anyone. But she was plagued with questions and often had to fight the urge to blurt what she knew.
But just two weeks after that day, the man she’d seen at the far end of the grounds appeared in the house. Francesca introduced him as her brand-new riding instructor. “The doctor says it’s good for my disposition to ride,” Francesca explained. “And in fact, this is not the first time that Mr. Albright has shared his gifts with me. I was a very skilled rider back in the old days. I hope I can get back to that.”
“I see no reason you can’t,” Mr. Albright said. He had an English accent, which they later learned was from London, and he looked at their mother as though she were a jewel, a joy, the greatest beauty.
“When?” Charlotte asked, surprising herself.
Francesca’s fun-loving facade nearly crumbled. “I beg your pardon?”
“When was Mr. Albright your horseback riding teacher? In the past.” Charlotte needed to know how long this supposed “friendship” had been going on.
Francesca turned to smile up at Mr. Albright. “It’s so difficult to know, isn’t it, Jefferson?”
The use of his first name startled Charlotte. Allegra and Lorelei seemed similarly perturbed, glancing at one another.
“It’s been some years now,” Mr. Jefferson Albright said thoughtfully. “Decades, at the very least.”
“Far too long,” Francesca agreed.
Very soon after, Francesca and Jefferson left the villa for a horseback riding lesson. Allegra and Lorelei disappeared into the kitchen and began whispering so loudly that Charlotte couldn’t resist following them. Her heart thudded with fear. She found her sisters with a bottle of wine and dark, inky, secretive eyes.
Before they realized Charlotte was in the kitchen with them, Allegra said, “That’s him. I swear.”
“How could you possibly remember?” Lorelei asked. “I barely do, and I’m older than you.”
“I think Mom kept a photograph of him in her office,” Allegra said, rubbing her upper chest with a shaking hand.
“I don’t understand,” Charlotte interjected.
Allegra and Lorelei twisted around to look at her. Their eyes echoed a mix of arrogance and fear.
“There’s a lot about Jefferson Albright you don’t know,” Allegra said finally, her nostrils flared.
