Page 56 of The Stolen Queen

“It seems to me you’re giving her a lot of slack.”

“How do you mean?”

Charlotte’s rage from the events of the past hour funneled into her resentment of Lori, the words tumbling out as if of their own accord. “She’s not accountable to anyone. She throws her laundry in the washing machine and leaves it there for two days. She’s rude to me and her mother, but then gets super sweet when you’re around.”

“It’s hard to explain, Charlotte, but she needs some room to express herself right now, even if it’s not in a way that we approve of.” He was speaking in his professorial voice, as if she were one of his Theater Arts 101 students. “Maybe because you aren’t a parent, you don’t understand what it’s like.”

If she’d been a dog, she would’ve snarled. “Be careful, Mark.”

“What? I’m doing everything I can to make peace between these two women I love very much. I know this isn’t what we expected when you moved in with me, but Lori is my daughter, she is part ofthe package, which maybe you don’t understand having never had a child of your own. I’m just asking you to ease up a little.”

For years, people had looked at Charlotte with a polite sympathy after asking if she had any children and learning she did not. As if they were the keepers of some secret that she would never be privy to, as if she were less than them because she didn’t have a son or daughter in her life. Or they’d make a patronizing show of being jealous of her independence and freedom, a cover for the fact that she did not fit into the world as they saw it. A single woman, especially back in the 1940s and 1950s, was an aberration, considered barren. With the onset of the ’70s, conventional wisdom had eased slightly, but that was mainly for the younger set. At the age of sixty, Charlotte was past redemption.

It was time. She was tired of keeping secrets from the people close to her, especially Mark. Mark, who only wanted the best for her and who didn’t give up when she pushed him away or closed down.

“You’re wrong there,” she said.

“I’m wrong about what?” asked Mark.

“Iwasa parent. For three months.”

Mark went white. “When was this?”

“In Egypt. I was married as well.”

She studied his face as he ran through the expected emotions: shock, then pity, then confusion. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this?”

“I never told anyone. My parents knew, but they didn’t want it getting out, and so once I was home, we acted as if it never happened.” She paused, remembering Everett’s abandonment. “I did tell someone close to me, once, but it was the wrong thing to do. I learned from my mistakes, I guess.”

She wobbled slightly. Mark put his hands on her shoulders. “Let’s sit down.”

As the full moon slid behind the clouds, like it was seeking coverfrom the harsh stare of the earth, Charlotte told Mark about meeting Henry, their rushed marriage, and their delight at the birth of Layla. She glanced over at him once as she spoke, but the pain reflected in his face forced her to look away, keeping her eyes trained on the plaza in front of them. She spoke of Layla’s sweet nature and how she’d enjoyed being a mother, even if it came at the expense of her ambitions. How Layla’s mouth formed a surprised O whenever Henry sneezed. About how hot it was in the Valley of the Kings but how cool the interiors of the tombs were. She spoke of her last night as a mother and a wife, of the ship’s sinking, and the surprise she felt when the broad collar tumbled out of Leon’s suitcase. Of Layla crying for her in Henry’s arms.

“I never saw either of them again. Presumed drowned. I should’ve never gone to the Valley of the Kings, I should’ve stayed in Cairo. Or I should’ve gone back to New York earlier, for God’s sake. What on earth was I thinking?”

“You were in love. And you loved your work.”

“I put my baby in terrible danger.”

“You couldn’t have known. And it sounds like Henry put you both in danger, to be honest, that last night.”

“It didn’t make sense, our leaving in such a rush. I remember wondering why Henry was so anxious to get out. Looking back, I can see that he and Leon were up to something suspicious, and maybe they used the Polish withdrawal as an excuse to get out of the country themselves. Or perhaps he was covering for Leon. No matter what, inside one of Leon’s suitcases was the broad collar that was supposed to be in the Egyptian Museum. The same one that just turned up at the Met.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“How did you escape the ship?”

They were dancing around the true tragedy. But it was all connected.

“I was trapped, stuck under these heavy wooden deck chairs, and I insisted that Henry take the baby to the top deck. Leon had stayed to help free me when suddenly the ship tilted the other way and the chairs slid away, but at the same time the water came at us so fast I couldn’t grab on to anything.” She took a couple of deep breaths, steadying herself. “The next thing I knew I was enveloped by dark water. Without the life vest, I would’ve drowned for sure. I yelled for Henry, over and over, but the ship had disappeared, and after ages the captain of a nearby boat heard me and picked me up. My voice was almost gone by then, I didn’t want to leave the water in case they were still out there, but they dragged me back to land.”

“Thank God. What happened once you were at shore?”

“To be honest, I went mad. To the point where I did nothing but cry and sleep. They took me to a hospital and held me there. I tried to ask about Henry and Layla, but there were very few survivors. Their bodies were never found. They said the Nile is unforgiving, in that way.”

“I’m so sorry, Char.” Mark’s eyes were red. “I had no idea.”

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