chapter Eleven

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EPISODE 27

One small heart

one pair of eyes

one work of art

here in my arms.

Here he lies,

trusting and warm,

blessed this morn

a child is born

from the song A child is born

Vice City, 2008

Laurent & Carlo

'Sir, will you please drive safely?' -- I told the driver, who grimaced -- 'There are too many people who drive drunk in Vice City, especially at this hour in the night.' -- I explained to my father -- 'They all cross the red lights, and I don't think we should be doing the same.'

The taxi driver slowed down a little bit and I relaxed, drifting back to my own reflections about what I had just heard from Carlo.

I had cried a lot, upon learning how Carlo and Catherine had cheated and abandoned Armand. 

Mostly because I had also been left behind, just like that, by Angelo and Laura. Like Carlo and Catherine had made love on Armand's bed, so had Angelo and Laura on the bed I shared with Angelo. And I could well imagine the pain my uncle had felt -- when Angelo had left me for a woman, the worst feeling was the doubt that he might never have liked me. I seemed to have been just a period of doubt in his life, or a mistake -- and the proof to me was that, as far as I knew, Angelo and that woman remained married.

Not that I had been the only man in Angelo's sex life. Instead, he had had many, during those eight years of our relationship -- I just had been the first guy. Laura, like me, had been the first woman -- but unlike me, she had been and remained being the only one, as far as I knew it.

That excuse that Angelo had used so often when I had accused him of cheating on me -- "It's just sex, Laurent", and though he was talking about the other guys, it could also have applied to me.  With all men in Angelo's life, as well as with me, it had been just sex, he seemed to imply with his comment. Only with Laura, the one who had "straightened" him, was it love.

'Why did you hide my uncle from me, Carlo?' -- I finally asked, when I stopped crying, coming out of my painful reminiscing.

'Your mother...' -- Carlo paused, pondering on how to continue -- 'She has never wanted you to go through the same embarrassment she has suffered a lifetime... that of being a bastard child, begging for a family name... She's been fighting for the Montbelle surname, and until she gets it, I think she wouldn't have told you... '

That was indeed a serious revelation. My mother's confident and even impositive attitudes, and a certain snobbish arrogance... were shields? During that discussion with Armand at the Île du Blanchomme, as retold by Carlo, my mother had proved clearly vindictive, feeling inferior to her half-brother... It was a completely new way of regarding and understanding her, and I would have to make adjustments to the image I held of my mother.

I had barely started with this process, when Carlo gave me a new information.

'Celeste, neither, wanted to have complications with Gaston de Montbelle... She had other plans, and couldn't care less about Catherine's issues about being an "ilegitimate child".'

'And you decided to obey them, Carlo, was it?' -- I was being purposely rude to my father -- 'Simple like that! And very convenient, too, right? Okay, I think I can understand their reasons, but why did you also hide all this from me?' -- it was not posed as a question, it was an accusation.

I could not have predicted my father's response. I figured out he would strongly react, yell at me, swear at me, order me to shut up.

'Yes, Laurent... I obeyed them.' -- he agreed, humiliated -- "Don't mess with this. It's not your family", Catherine had told me. "And remember who's paying the bills in this house." Catherine often reminded me of Celeste's financial aid, that we received in Punaouilo. In fact, Catherine felt more humiliated than me, for being still and totally dependant of her mother. Held hostage, that's how she felt in that situation. She tried to constantly humiliate me, to see whether I would react and take hold of our little family... And of course I tried, as best as I could, but with the painting and gardening services around the island I couldn't really provide for us...' -- it was kind of sad to see my dad like that, so humbly defeated, knowing that he was currently one of the most respected contemporary painters -- 'I also felt shame, because of Armand...'

'Shame, Carlo?' -- I was outraged -- 'Because he's gay?' -- I had raised my voice. Those were sensitive matters to me -- 'Maybe that's also why you left home? Ashamed of having a gay son, were you?' -- I almost spit the words on him.

'Laurent!!!' -- my father almost yelled my name, sharply. Embarrassed, like a boy who'd been scolded in public, I looked over at Gabriel... But he was no longer paying attention to us, while preparing to close the bar. He had loosened his ponytail, and he looked even sexier. I would yet see Gabriel with many hair styles, and that style was for a Conan type of movie for which he would do a screening test -- 'What a nonsense, Laurent! I've never been ashamed of Armand being gay. And much less of you being gay... Do you think that is the reason why I left?'

'Yeah, sometimes I think so!' -- I lamented, finally expressing my grief, that had consumed me for the last twenty years -- 'But how could you know, isn't it Carlo?' -- I changed to an ironically cheerful tone -- 'You were not there when I decided to come out.'

'Laurent... My son...' -- Carlo murmured and timidly tried to place his hand over mine, that I gently withheld, putting it on my lap, securely out of his reach.

'I think we need to go, Carlo.' -- I said abruptly, and he startled -- 'Gabriel is willing to close.' --  I pointed out the bar, where the beautiful bartender stand just waiting, with nothing else to do.

'Okay, Laurent...' -- Carlo mumbled -- 'But I wouldn't like for our conversation to end like that, my son...'

Actually, neither would I, I thought. But I could not bear to sit at that table with my father any longer. I was almost feeling nauseated, and the fancy restaurant seemed like a prison now. I had to breathe fresh air. And I had just had an idea. For hours Carlo had kidnapped me into his past -- now my turn has arrived!, I thought.

'Shall we go, Carlo? Can we go to another place?'

'At this time, Laurent?' -- my father was surprised. He slowly blinked, and I thought me might be sleepy.

'Are you tired, Carlo?' -- just then, did I realize he might have been suffering from jet lag. He had flown in from Italy just for my vernissage. Quite a long trip, and yet I had not yet thanked him. Somehow, I felt it was his obligation, and somewhat a diplomatic gesture from his part, after an absence of twenty years.

'Oh no! I've told you, I love the night time to work on my paintings... And since I have arrived a few days earlier, I'm not tired at all... But do you think other places will still be open at this hour?'

'In Vice City? All the worse places will be open! Or the best, depending on what you are looking for...' -- I lauhged -- 'Have you ever been to a nightclub with a dark room, Carlo?'

'I went to some nightclubs in London, Laurent...' -- Carlo seemed ashamed to tell me that -- 'but I  don't think they had that room specifically... You want to take me to Vice City's night life, is it, son?'

'Let's go, Carlo?' -- I prompted him, without answering his question.

We bid Gabriel goodbye, and my father was quite warm -- I hadn't received a hug like that from him when we had met some hours ago. He even wanted to give a special tip to Gabriel who, however, refused.

'Young man, you need to think about getting another job...' -- he sounded so fatherly, and it brought echos of a distant past to me -- 'This restaurant will not last long, seeing from the frequency today. It's a shame, but...'

I looked at Gabriel, and he looked at me, and I could not help laughing. We had held that secret between us for a whole evening, and it no longer mattered, actually.

'What is it, boys?' -- Carlo asked suspiciously -- 'What's the catch here?'

'This restaurant is closed on Mondays, Carlo!' -- I amused myself with my father's surprised, confused look -- 'Yes, the restaurant has opened tonight just for us, so that we could talk quietly...' -- I laughed again -- 'Have you enjoyed your private night at one of the fanciest restaurants in the country, Carlo? Of course we owe our meeting to Gabriel, who agreed to work today, and also to the second chef... I believe she's gone, right?'

Carlo stood motionless and speechless for some time, digesting the new information, as I hugged the beautiful bartender. It must be fate, I thought, that another Angel, named after an archangel, is coming into my life. But may Gabriel be not like Angelo, I wished, as I hugged him, and we brushed our faces and our bodies seemed to perfectly fit in an embrace, foreshadowing how great sex between us would be.

'Thank you, Gabriel...' -- I whispered in his ear. We were so close that if my father had not been present, we would surely have kissed.

'Thank you, Laurent...' -- Gabriel corresponded to my hug with his whole body, and I felt he was as aroused as me -- 'Will we ever see each other again?'

'Of course we will! Here, take this.' -- I drew from my pocket the envelope with the invitation for my vernissage at Vice's Contemporary Art Museum that same day, in the evening. But I handed him the invitation only, and since I had written Carlo's name on the envelope, I crumpled it and threw it in the trash -- 'There will be a VIP cocktail before the show opens to the public. I would love to see you there, among the VIP!' -- and again we hugged. His beautiful blonde hair felt so soft under my hand, while his chest was so firm and broad against mine. I had goosebumps when I let go of his body, and found myself longing for another embrace of his strong arms.

'Rather impressive, Laurent!' -- Carlo commented, while we waited for a taxi downstairs -- 'I wonder how you did that... Such an exclusive and expensive restaurant just to ourselves? Have you sold a paiting for a million, too?' -- Carlo giggled -- 'Gabriel is your friend, right? Is he the owner, by chance?'

'Oh no, Carlo!' -- I laughed again, sounding like a naughty child -- 'I had never seen Gabriel before, not until this evening!' -- Though I think I'm going to see him more often, I thought, but did not tell my father. I paused for effect, before proclaiming -- 'Dan.' -- I said, quite simply.

'Charmand?!?' -- Carlo exclaimed, and I acquiesced -- 'What have you to do with him, Laurent? Is he the owner of that restaurant? Because Charmand has his tricks, for making money...' -- Carlo looked sick with the possibility of having dined of Charmand's food, ready to vomit it if I  had said yes.

'No, of course not!' -- I replied, amused on seeing my father so upset -- 'Dan made ​​the selection of artworks for the restaurant. Those portraits. He is friends to the owner. But it was him who asked the owner to open up for us, tonight.'

'And why would he do that for you, Laurent?' -- Carlo was suspicious. And probably jealous, too. I think Carlo had already noticed how Dan Charmand had taken the place he had left vacant in my life. Dan had been the major male elder figure in my life... sometimes, I guess, like a father to me.

'Because he likes me!' -- I replied emphatically, and made another pause, savoring Carlo's annoyance -- 'Or maybe because we were just a few French expats living in Vice City, at that time?' -- Carlo seemed to doubt my justifications -- 'Okay, Dan is not fond of many people, and almost no one likes him, but he likes me, and I also like him. I enjoy his company and conversations, I listen to his advices, I trust him. He might be obnoxious and rude to many, as well as snobby and arrogant... but just until chapter five, do you understand it? And I read further into his story. He has always aided me here in Vice City.' -- I could not help but think that, at first, it had been out of guilt for betraying me with Angelo, but now I wanted to believe it was for my talent as a painter -- 'And then I moved to Samsara Heights, at his suggestion, and he continued helping me there... And maybe, Carlo, he is also doing it to please you. I think he would like to invite you to set an exhibition of your works at VI/CAM...' -- Dan had asked me one favor in exchange for that exclusive evening at the Nirvana Lounge. And it had been to deliver that invitation to my father, "But only if the conversation between you goes well!", he had said.

'What a hypocrite!' -- Carlo snorted, and again he fell silent. He must have been hurt, and I'm afraid I was glad. After all, I had planned so many different times by so many different means on taking revenge on my father. At least emotionally, I could not help but still try -- and rejoice if I did hurt him.

I hadn't known, and it would still take me a couple of years to discover, that for a long period Dan Charmand had been a fierce critic to my father's paitings, that he had classified as "outdated and repetitive" -- and that, when Carlo was still a relatively young painter, having just moved to London, shortly after leaving France, already a commercial hit, but still struggling to be taken as a serious painter, and not just fashionable or decorative. 

If Carlo had gained success and recognition, it wasn't thanks to Dan Charmand. Hiting the father and caressing the son -- but I could not have known that, and neither did I have a chance to ask, because our taxi arrived shortly thereafter. 

'Where to, sir?' -- the taxi driver had actually addressed my father.

'I don't know. It's my son who knows about the night life here in this town.' -- and by the glance the taxi driver gave us both, he must have thought we were sexual partners engaged in a "daddy and son" role play.

'I know you know what it is, but please do not mention it... I want to keep it as a secret to my father, ok?' -- I requested from the driver, after I had given him the address we were headed to.

'I don't think it is open.' -- the taxi driver replied, the car still parked by the sidewalk, as if waiting for another direction -- 'Not at this time of the evening, sir.'

'Never mind. I have the keys.' -- and to that, we were on our way -- 'And please take the longest route, sir. I would like my father to see more of this town at night.'

I wanted to turn on my mobile phone and call Catherine at that very moment. What time would it be, in Russia? I wanted to confront her, with my father still by my side. With the revelations made ​​by him, my mother became the main culprit for that web of lies around my birth that had lasted 33 years...  

So I was right... like Jesus Christ, I would die at the age of 33. Because at least a part of me was dying tonight. And my own mother was killing me, while my father gave me a new birth.

The concern she had manifested during that whole day, her repeated international phone calls, hadn't concerned my well-being after all, but probably because she had been wondering how shaken her image would come out of that conversation with Carlo...

And my father? I seemed to feel shame for his weakness, to be handled by his companion so helplessly like that -- though he did not show it himself. 

I also felt ashamed because he had so cowardly abandoned the love of his life, my uncle Armand -- and it was precisely at that point that my gratitude also began. 

Even being consistently despised by Catherine, he had decided to stay by her side and give his best to make her happy -- and the only reason to do it, out of an astonishing humbleness, was a greater love... and it certainly was not his love for Catherine... Carlo had endured everything for me, his son, that had been announced to him! And to that understanding, my anger again subsided.

'It was no romance on the lush magnificent shores of a tropical paradise, was it?' -- there was still one thing I wanted to know from Carlo, but it wouldn't be in the backseat of a poorly maintained taxi that I would ask my father "WHY"? But our silence was getting awkward, and I wanted to manifest my budding understanding of his sacrifice to try to raise a family.

'The setting was exactly as you describe, Laurent, and you know very well how beautiful Punaouilo is!' -- Carlo sounded melancholic -- 'But that was only the surface of my story with Catherine, as she wanted us to keep up the appearances, especially when we first arrived at the house of the friend of her mother, where we would be staying at, in Punaouilo. Exactly like, in that same parasidiac landscape of the South Pacific, the French government was testing the atomic bomb.' -- Carlo sighed -- '1974, the year we disembarked in Punaouilo, was when the last atmospheric test was held. And so it was, between me and Catherine... On the surface, everything seemed a paradise, but underground, the bombs still exploded in her case, or imploded, in my case... Not even on this matter would we agree... I had adopted a pacifist position close to Armand's, who had participated in protests and marches, while Catherine was of the opinion that France needed to have nuclear technology to remain an hegemonic state on the world stage.'

"Shut up!" -- she had told me, once or twice, as the matter had been raised between us -- "You are not even French, to be entitled to have an opinion about it!"

Interestingly enough, I had said the same thing to Armand as a justification, many years earlier, when he had invited me to join him on a protest. "I am not French, I have no right to manifest an opinion contrary to the country which is housing me, and which has thought me all I know about Art."

"Well, you live on this planet, don't you?" -- Armand had replied -- "We are all being affected by those explosions. Yes, you do have the right to opine. If you want to. Do you?" -- he had confronted me with kindness, and in the end he had brought me along to the protest.

'Catherine was very sick when we got to Punaouilo.' -- Carlo recalled --  'To the morning sickness that she was feeling in early pregnancy, the nausea of those weeks traveling on the ship had only worsened her state... We were afraid...' -- Carlo's voice broke -- ' that she would lose the baby...' -- Carlo shook his head, as if dismissing his bad memories.

'And of course, above all, we had to hide that pregnancy from everyone we met. Maybe that's why Catherine antagonized Joanna from the outset. Even without any physical sign of pregnancy, because Catherine would remain slim until the very day of your birth, Laurent, from the beginning Joanna was suspicious.'

'The little madam is pregnant?' -- with a smile that showed great joy about that possibility, she had asked me about Catherine, who had collapsed on the sofa by the pool right after our arrival at the mansion -- 'I have a remedy against nauseas...'

'That would be really lovely, if you could give it to her...' -- Joanna looked me deep in the eyes, and I stared back at her with an honesty and sincerity so that she could understand me -- 'But please do not mention any pregnancy... please!'

Joanna was the maid, brought from the USA to take care of the house by its owners, and even though she had married Will, a local, she couldn't speak much French. And I spoke almost no English at the time... Nevertheless, not more than five minutes after our arrival, Joanna had become our ally, or at least mine, and therefore also her husband, Will.

When the owners of the house, Clothilde, Celeste's friend, and her husband Johnny, both from the USA, came back from lunch at a friend's house on the other side of the island, Catherine was still resting on the couch, exhausted from feeling sick for weeks on the ship.

All I knew about them was that they had rented an apartment in Celeste's building in Paris, and had thus become friends. Johnny was a mighty movie producer from Hollywood, and Clothilde was an ex-actress-to-be who had actually married before ever perfoming in any movie. They asked whether I knew Celeste, and were a bit disappointed when I said no -- they were trying to make conversation.

'I have lived in Paris, but I only met Catherine here, on a cruise ship...' -- I lied to them, according to the story that Catherine had invented about us. But when they wanted to know about our cruise, I smiled blandly. We had not rehearsed that part, for Catherine was supposed to give all the details.

And although I had been aware about many of the lies that Catherine was going to tell about me, I was still unable to lie about many details of my life -- I confessed that I had never been to that part of the world before, and when Johnny said he thought he recognized me from a vacation that they had spent in the Caribbean, I confessed that I had never been there, either.

And not on the Riviera, nor in any of the other fancy places that Clothilde and Jonhhy mentioned -- that first conversation, polite and neutral, was a complete failure. They seemed to ask all the wrong questions, leaving me puzzled, and I just muttered my negative replies. For someone who should belong to the international jet set, I was the least traveled person, and just completely unaware of many places and all the people they mentioned.

To make things even more awkward, they kept calling me Gian Paolo, the fake name Catherine had picked for me, and I realized I blushed every time they uttered it.

When Catherine woke and joined the conversation, she tried to convey the idea that we were a well-traveled couple -- in fact, I was supposed to be the great traveler that had infected her with the fever of globetrotting. Catherine did not notice it, but the suspicous looks Clothilde and Johnny exchanged during her speech left me really worried -- in fact, terrified. 

What if they knew Monsieur de Montbelle, too? I had delivered my farce to them on a plate. And thus Catherine sounded also like a great liar, carelessly talking about the character she had invented for me.

That first afternoon, we split in two pairs -- while Johnny showed me around the property, Clothilde showed Catherine the small chalet in the back of the garden that we would occupy -- not really a proper home, because it did not have a kitchen. It was more like a hotel room, with a living room and a double bed in one corner, and an empty space next to the bathroom door where we would put your crib, Laurent. Do you remember our little chalet?

'Very romantic... and discreet... for a couple in love, don't you think, darling?' -- Clothilde commented wryly with Catherine -- 'Here you can have all the privacy young lovers need.'

Catherine did not like the room since it was small and rather simple, with old furniture that probably were remains from the main house. It also sat at the very back of the property and separate from the main house -- on rainy days, it was not pleasant indeed to have to use umbrellas to go to the kitchen, some 100 meters far from the chalet, to grab your nipple bottles, Laurent, that Joanna heated for us.

Yet, there was a two stores, very pretty guest house beside the main house, but we would not be occupying it since Clothilde wanted to keep it vacant for "her own guests" -- as if the two of us were not. We were puzzled, since the house was not taken at that moment, and we would only be staying for a couple of weeks.

'Wouldn't it be rather Giancarlo than Gian Paolo?' -- Johnny confronted me, two days after our arrival. At least he was discreet and did it far from the two women -- 'Why are you using a false name, boy?'

When we arrived at the port of Punaouilo, Catherine and I had left our records with the police, using our real names in the passports, and Johnny had begun his investigation there.

'Because I'm of humble origins.' -- I confessed at once. I dreaded lying, and somehow I was relieved that Johnny had discovered my real name.

'And what's wrong with that, boy?' -- Johnny was clearly displeased. He was a self-made man, himself of humble origin, who had opened his own ways in Hollywood working very hard, and was so proud of his career.

'Catherine thinks that it's not appropriate... for someone in her companion.'

Johnny laughed, wholeheartedly. He was a good, simple and straightforward man. He had also been a farmer in his youth, and only after he had married Clothilde, who was perhaps two decades younger than him and had been born in a wealthy family, had he come to belong to the international jet-set. And he himself knew what was like trying to be someone else, to dress differently, trying to impress and to behave in another way, to try to please his wife. And so he instantly sympathized with me.

'The idea was yours or was it hers, Carlo?' -- he called me by my real name, and instead of blushing like before, I was able to smile -- 'Anyway, you're clean. I checked it, son. No record in any of those names, the false and the true. But can I make a suggestion? If you are going to use a false name, more like a fantasy name, why not partially include the true one? How about Giancarlo? It sounds fancy enough to me! Although this is not a very good start to your stay in Punaouilo!'

Our "stay"?  I was puzzled with the expression he had used.

We were just passing through, and that's why my fake ID did not seem that important -- just a romantic travel anecdote, as Catherine had pictured it. Sometimes I think I might have been the very first character she created in the tropics... And I have to confess that, despite being a lie, I was actually enjoying myself as Gian Paolo. Though not ours, he had money, and we enjoyed ourselves. Whatever made Catherine happy, made me happy too!

Clothilde was the one to answer my question on "our stay" -- to Catherine.

'You are pregnant, aren't you, honey?' -- the two women had their own private conversation at the pavillion by the pool, away from the house.

'Of course not! What an idea!' -- Catherine's voice was shaky as she confronted the older woman.

'Oh, you might not know it yet?' -- Clothilde feigned surprise -- 'Then I suggest you to go to the hospital today to find it out...'

Though increasingly nervous, Catherine continued to deny it.

'Honey! Not only are you pregnant... You look pregnant! Even over the telephone you seemed pregnant!' -- Clothilde gave a little laugh, and then paused dramatically -- 'Do you understand it? Or not yet? Why do you think Celeste has sent you here to Punaouilo? So that Clothilde could take a good look on you... and that crude yet handsome boyfriend of yours... He is the father, right? Get it now? You're here just to confirm what Cel had already suspected from your lame excuses over the phone! You, young people, find yourselves very smart, isn't it? Yet, you have a lot to learn from us, honey!'

'Impossible! No! My mother cannot know anything!'

But Celeste knew -- or at least she had suspected. And now, through Clothilde, she was sure.

Thus, without realizing it, we had already started our stay on the island -- our exile in Punaouilo. 

Catherine did not fail to enjoy the island, as we had been to the famous restaurants, visited the jewelry shops, and we had even taken a look at the beaches -- though, however, Catherine had never wanted to go into the sea. The first two weeks, despite the tension with our hosts, were really nice and we behaved like carefree tourists.

On the third week, Johnny and Clothilde left, but instead of feeling relief, Catherine started manifesting concern. She began to see herself isolated from the "civilized world". I had nice conversations with Will, Joanna's husband, but Catherine would not address the couple of employees unless she had a demand. 

After repeated phone calls, Catherine had not yet been able to talk to Celeste, to try to discuss the next stage of our journey back to France. And our money was running out. The maid at the apartment in Paris just reported that Celeste had traveled, leaving no contact number nor address.

It was the most elegant way, perhaps, that Celeste had found to imply to Catherine that she would spend a very long time in Punaouilo -- that Catherine would actually live in Punaouilo, for an indefinite period, as it was told over a telephone conversation they had, a couple of weeks later. 

We had already been on the island for five weeks -- and every week, Catherine was "more pregnant", as she put it herself, and our plan to travel to France with several stops seemed to be less feasible. We were running short of time.

'I was at the Chateau de Montbelle!' -- Celeste revealed upon her return to Paris, when Catherine had finally reached her. She was elated to have visited the property she now wished to occupy -- 'Have you gotten used to the island yet, my dear?' -- she then asked her daughter.

'Get used to this?! I've had my share of this place!' -- Catherine growled -- 'I need more money, Celeste, to move to the next leg of the journey, which I thought could be...'

'What is it that you did not understand, Catherine?' -- Celeste interrupted her daughter -- 'Your presence in France would only disturb my plans at the time being! Even more, now that you are pregnant! Don't try to deny it, child! How could you do that to me? How can I become a grandmother at my age?!?' -- Celeste snorted -- 'I have to go, now. Yes, I have to hang up, Catherine. I have to go to the theater. One of these silly modern pieces they stage nowadays, and I have to contribute to their success by being in the audience...' -- despite away from stage for many years, Celeste was still invited to all events in the category of "ex-diva", though she hated to think of herself in the past tense.

Catherine had tried to phone her mother a dozen times that same evening, and she was sobbing when she got into bed and slapped me -- 'Stop snoring, you!' -- she had yelled at me, and at once I knew the conversation with Celeste had gone wrong.

'You cannot force me to stay here Celeste! Not at the end of the world!' -- Catherine had hurled at her mother, during another phone call. It hurt Catherine even more when she heard Celeste speaking of going to fashion shows and theaters in Paris, while she could just return to our tiny chalet at the back of the property, which now seemed like a prison to her -- stuffy and full of mosquitoes. And being near the hillside and close to the forest, it was full of weird, unknown noises all through day and night.

And since we had little money left, we restrained from going to restaurants, and the only food we ate was Joanna's -- that was actually delicious, but Catherine hated it for not being served with glamour. And Catherine hated me for controlling our money, too. It really seemed that she thought I was to blame for all her tropical unhappiness... even if, slowly, Celeste made her plan clear to her daughter.

'Forcing you? I wish you would consider it as a favor to your mother! And ultimately to yourself, don't you understand, child? Your distance and your silence are necessary for me, so I can get Gaston to marry me!' -- Celeste had new ambitions, since the death of Armand's mother. She wanted to become the new Madame de Montbelle, but through marriage, and not through legal means, as it was how Catherine intended to join the Montbelle family. Such legal procedures contradicted Monsieur, and put a lot at risk, as Celeste knew well -- 'What do you prefer, you idiot? A castle or a surname? Oh, I know your stupid answer already! "Illegitimate daughter"! What does it matter? Who cares? You know, your ridiculous insistence is annoying and dangerous!'

Catherine wanted to go to court with a paternity acknowledgement process against Gaston. She believed that the right moment had arrived for her -- Gaston was finally free and no longer needed to hide his second family, and his relationship with Armand was not at best terms. Armand was shaken and devastated himself, willing to hide and retreat and not to fight, as Catherine knew so well. Finally, the Montbelle household seemed vulnerable -- and both mother and daughter wanted to deliver their blows on it, though by different means, with distinct purposes and from opposite sides. Just that Celeste wouldn't allow Catherine to act, and to remain sure of that impossibility, had decided to confine her daughter to the tropics.

'You already know what I think about bearing a child when one is so young!' -- when Catherine had been born, Celeste had been even younger than her daughter was, and she spoke from her own experience -- 'How many times have I warned you! It is not only stupid... it is... a waste of life! And an ordeal!'

Celeste used to say that her actress career had been interrupted by the birth of her daughter, but Catherine herself had overheard a conversation between Gaston and Celeste, and she had accused him of having demanded she let go her career -- and ever since it was her who made ​​the demands for compensation.

'You have used me, Celeste, haven't you? You sent me here to check on Armand's life... To try to obtain part of that stupid little island you thought he owned... Or did you actually know he did not own anything? You won't answer me, right, Celeste? But actually, you simply wanted me far away from France, isn't it so?' -- as the understanding that she had been used and deceived by her own mother dawned on Catherine, she was doubly hurt. Deeply, in her pride, and she came to doubt her own intelligence... Catherine, the intellectual, realizing how naive she was if compared to her wily mother.

'You really needed a vacation, my dear! Haven't you said so yourself?' -- Celeste joked. What once had left us feeeling puzzled -- why were we heading to Punaouilo, which was in the opposite direction to France -- was now being answered by the very author of the plan. 

But Catherine wanted to keep on fighting, though without any weapons against Celeste and the exile imposed on her, on us -- on our small family-to-be.

'I have my research on Russian mystics to carry on at the Université, Celeste!' -- mentioning her studies, Catherine had almost cried -- 'And you were going to ask Gaston to pay my field trip to Russia! Oh mon Dieu! Did you lie about that too, Celeste?' -- from a very early age, Catherine had been forbid to call Celeste "mother".

'Don't be ridiculous, Catherine! You've changed those plans by yourself! It was you who decided to get pregnant! How many times have I warned you against it? And it is you who cannot fly by plane! It is you who gets sick on ships! How often have I refused Paul's invitations to go to Tangier, because of you and your ridiculous fears? Now, darling, it's my time to enjoy my freedom!' -- suddenly, Celeste used a softer tone, as if she had realized how doomed her child must be feeling -- 'Weren't you happy, dear, to visit Punaouilo? Everybody say it's paradise! Don't you think it's a privilege to live on an island that the whole world dreams of?' -- and again, Celeste sounded bossy -- 'Now calm down. You are not leaving Punaouilo because you have no means, do you understand? And now I must go. I hate being late for the Opera!' -- to Celeste, being late meant to make her entry in the dark, without the gaze of admirers following her, and that she could not bear!

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