Page 24 of Lela's Choice

“Lela needs some explaining. Miranda suits you. Did you know Shakespeare created the name for his heroine inThe Tempest?”

She shook her head.

“Do you object?”

“I’m still deciding.”

He ordered a local wine, Antonin, and some water. “Thank you.” He smiled at the waitress and then turned back to Lela. “Tell me the rest.”

* * *

“WHAT REST?”Shakespeare’s heroine, Miranda?Lela’s pulse raced.

“You told me you’d taken your mother’s name. Not why.” He held up a hand to silence her. “Is it to remind your father of your mother, to prod him in some way, because you think she’d have handled things differently if she’d lived? I’m guessing of course.”

“You’re very good at guessing.” Lela leaned back against the chair, sabotaged again by the way he paid attention. But she couldn’t allow Papa to take all the blame on this. “As you’re probably learning, there are a lot of common Maltese surnames, like Vella. Mama’s name was Lela Vella before she married Papa. I announced my name change after Mari died.”

“You were ten.”

The few people who’d heard this story were usually surprised and a little repelled. Lela sensed admiration rather than surprise in Hamish. “My personal rebellion. In less than two years, I’d lost my mother and sister, Sophie was a baby, and I was the sole female in my immediate family able to voice an opinion.

“My brothers were lost and confused, but using Papa as their role model and ready to swagger around the house pretending they weren’t as scared and alone as I was. Maybe it was a bit easier for them,” she reflected. “They had each other.”

The waitress returned with the wine, offered it to Lela to sample. Lela swirled the glass, bent forward to absorb the “nose,” and nodded. The woman filled both glasses. Lela took a sip. “It’s good.”

“Are you familiar with Maltese wines?” He held his glass up to the light.

“I’ve tried a few, not many.” He didn’t push, just listened, making it easy for Lela to finish her explanation. “I wanted Papa to remember every time he looked at me that Mama would have fought his decision. She wouldn’t have allowed him to abandon my sister.”

“I bet he has.”

“Not because of the name.” She fiddled with a fork. “And I was wrong. He’s never really recovered from Mama and Mari’s deaths. I didn’t realise as a child how much I resembled both of them. He’s so stiff-upper-lip and stubborn he won’t talk about his feelings, and he lost the capacity to show physical affection when Mama died. Aunty arrived shortly after Sophie was born. Aunty isn’t naturally affectionate either. If I had my time over, I wouldn’t change my name, but by the time I worked that out everyone knew me as Lela.”

“Is he the only person who calls you Carmen?”

“Aunty does, but it throws me if someone in my wider world uses it. I don’t recognise myself in the name.”

Laughter from the next table distracted them. One of the customers and the waitress were having an animated exchange about the evening’s specials. The customer sounded like a regular who’d brought friends for a special night out. The waitress entertained them in a mixture of Malti, English and French.

“That’s another thing I regret,” Lela said, listening to the energetic bargaining at the next table. “That I never really learned Malti.”

“Does your father speak it?”

“Yes, especially to his sister. Sophie even has a few words,Nannufor grandfather andZija Kbirafor great aunt. When I was younger, I thought they wanted a secret language my brothers and I couldn’t penetrate.”

“Wasn’t that enough to spur you on?” he asked slyly.

“Am I so easy to read?”

“Another guess.” He smiled. But his perceptiveness came from listening to people. An insidiously attractive characteristic, especially when combined with his natural warmth.

“It was complicated. I wanted to know exactly what they were saying, but I feared it was a trap as well. Tying me to the old Malta, the old ways of absolute obedience to the male head of the family. I decided that if I learned Malti I was betraying my sister and giving up some of my independence. Stupid really. I’ve never fully realised that before.”

The waitress arrived with the steaming rabbit dish and a vegetable dish called kapunata, a kind of ratatouille only with lots more capers. The bread was warm.

“Help yourself,” he said.

Lela served herself and passed dishes to Hamish. “Where on earth do we put the serving dishes?”

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