Page 81 of Her Dark Lies
But Fatima’s expression doesn’t change. She is staring at my Medusa curls with something close to distaste. “Do you need help with your hair? I am quite good with hair. It has been a long time since I had the chance to dress a lady for her wedding. If you like what I do, perhaps you would consider allowing me to help for the wedding tomorrow.”
I want to say no. Harper has already said she’d manage my hair for the wedding, and who knows what sort of skills Fatima has. But she is peering at me, her eyes the shiny ebony of a crow’s wing, expecting me to say yes. I don’t want to offend her, and truth be told, I don’t want to be alone. Plus, Fatima is going to be a major part of my life. Jack would want me to be polite.
“That would be lovely, Fatima. Thank you. Please be careful, though, I hit my head and have a cut that they stitched up.”
I pull the robe tight and sit at the dressing table. Fatima wastes no time. She assembles the blow dryer with the diffuser and a curling iron. I shut my eyes and allow myself to enjoy the ministrations. She is gentle, so very gentle. Before long, my curls have been tamed into smooth, stylish, beachy twists that I’ve never been able to master on my own. She pins the unruly shorter pieces around my face and declares herself done.
“Your hair is like silk, Signorina. So soft.”
“Thank you. There must be something in the water here. It won’t normally do this.” I admire the back of my hair in the hand mirror, fluff the front a touch. “Wow. It looks great.”
She seems pleased with my reaction. “I agree. Signore Jackson will approve. Do you want me to do your makeup as well?”
“I don’t normally wear much.”
“You do not need much. You have such a glow of youth about you. I will make it look very natural.” She opens the vanity door and pulls out a large quilted leather case stocked with brand-new high-end cosmetics.
She’s true to her word. With creamy eyeshadows and a touch of mascara, a berry-stain lip gloss that makes my lips feel buzzy and plump, I look fresh, not made up. Damn. I could get used to this kind of pampering. I’m starting to understand exactly why Ana would want someone like Fatima on staff. She seems quite versatile, and quite dedicated. Without Henna at Ana’s side, I wonder if Fatima might get the job.
“Were you a hairdresser before you came to work for the Comptons, Fatima?”
“Ah, no. I’ve worked for the family most of my life. My mother did as well.”
She finally looks down, and I see a tick in her jaw.
“I am so sorry for your loss. It must be hard to continue working when...well, when she’s just been found.”
“I prefer to work than to grieve. My family have been caretakers of the Villa since the Comptons bought it. We have been treated very well by the Comptons, for many years.”
“So, you’ve been with them since before Jack was born?”
“Yes. Though it is only me now, my family has been on Isola for many generations.” She begins putting away the makeup. “My mother was housekeeper here before me. For a time, I thought I wanted a different life, a bigger life. I went away to school, in Milano. I loved fashion. I worked at Prada, and Ferragamo. With the models, for the shoots. But it was not meant to be. When my mother disappeared, I was needed. So, I left Milano and came back to Isola.”
“When did she disappear?”
“It’s been twenty years now.”
I do the math. Jack would have been eighteen. Which means Fatima is younger than I thought. Midfifties, maybe. The years have not been kind. And I doubt I could be as calm talking about my history if it was my mom, lost for years, then found.
God, Claire, what a horrible thing to think. Why are you transferring your emotions to her? And what exactly happened to her mother? “I am so sorry, Fatima. This must be hard for you.”
“Si, grazie. We grieved my mother’s death long ago. Now... yes, it is good to have closure. I’m sure my father is looking down in joy at the resolution of the mystery.”
“When did you lose him?”
“He passed two years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, reflexively. I know how hard it is, losing a father.
“You are very kind, Signorina. I love working here, though. It is a beautiful place, and as I said, the Comptons, they have been so kind to us, always. It was good to see the boys grow into men.”
“I would love to hear more about young Jack. Was he terrible?”
Her face is briefly suffused with something akin to love. “He was always a sweet boy. I will tell you more later. Now, would you like to see how your hair looks with your dress for the dinner tonight? In case you’d like to make changes?”
I resist glancing at my watch. I get it; Fatima has been instructed to distract me. And I am more than happy to be distracted. Playing dress up is as good a way as any.
“Sure.”
