January, 14th

Frederick:

I wonder if my parents have also experienced this feeling with Margaret - or even with myself, that she's been away from us for so long that she has turned into a wonderful woman we're yet to discover. I wonder if anyone truly knows her. I refuse to believe that my frivolous cousin Edith, of all people, is her closest relative.

My sister spent the past two weeks in Cádiz with us. Olivia adores her, Dolores shamelessly tries to convince her to stay longer or come back soon. Margaret smiles... she seems older and wiser but still beautiful, my strong sister. I don't ask her personal questions, I simply let her being around and come and go as she pleases but sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of wistfulness in her eyes.

I find it hard to believe that my sister doesn't have, let's say, suitors and admirers. Chances are that she has, and plenty, but being the opposite of vain she probably doesn't notice. She's never had Edith's manipulating intentions, would never date anyone for the purposes of being seen or just have fun. She's serious, my sister Margaret.

On Epiphany's eve we attended the traditional "Cabalgata de Reyes", the Kings' Ride, and leave Olivia and Dolores at home. While we were waiting for the candy she told me Henry is gay (though she warned me it's not yet common knowledge), and that she isn't seeing anyone. She surreptitiously wiped a tear and in an excess of physical affection between two Brits I put my arm over her shoulders; I have no idea what that tear was about and it probably doesn't matter. Even if she told me there's nothing I could do about it.

Margaret leaves today for London and the whole family jumps into the van to the airport. My wife has none of the qualms we English men have and hugs and kisses Margaret repeatedly, even lets a few tears. "Vicariously" is an adverb that comes up to my mind often when I observe Dolores relating to many of my people.


January, 15th

Margaret:

While I was in Spain Melanie wrote me asking if I could meet her today, Sunday, at her home, which reinforces my idea that Sylvia left me something small I could probably carry home in my pocket. A photograph or a letter, perhaps? A bracelet?

Well, I'm mistaken. I couldn't be farther from the truth, actually. Sylvia left me everything she owned.


Everything, in this case, is worth about twenty million pounds. Mostly in real estate, some shares of stock, some jewelry and some cash in the bank, about four million. I don't attempt disguise my astonishment. I lose speech for a long minute.

Melanie asks me if I'm alright and offers me a glass of cold water. I try to refuse - the money, not the water. "Melanie, it should go to you. What's going to happen to you?" I say genuinely concerned.

Melanie smiles condescendingly. Isn't it curious that I had barely seen her smiling before and now, that she's mourning her spouse, it seems to come up more easily? Or maybe it's just my impression.

-"Margaret, I'm one of the ten richest people in Britain, and that's not counting Sylvia's assets", she shakes her head. "I'm not destitute, you know?"

-"Oh, I see", my argument loses force. "But it feels wrong. I never... I wasn't close with Sylvia. Not as close as I could have been" I open up to this square faced woman who knows and understands, "I'm afraid I hurt her more than once with my coldness."

Melanie's smile is wider now, her eyes glisten with tears that refuse to fall.

-"Margaret, you have no idea how good you were to Sylvia", she shakes her head while her eyes wander to my left and up, and then find mine back. "She didn't expect anything from you but you made her very happy. She didn't want to tell you about the will for fear you'd say no..."

Here Melanie stands and motions me to follow her, over to Sylvia's workshop.

-"That's why she never offered you one of her pieces, because she was afraid you didn't like it and said no and broke her heart, or didn't like and took it anyways, and then broke her heart."

Melanie's rummaging among the paintings, the orderly disorder of the workshop.

-"I am keeping the rights as Sylvia's artistic executor" she faces me as she utters the words, to emphasize them. "I would fight for them, just so you know."

-"They're all yours", I reassure her.

-"Good", she nods once. "But you can take some paintings if you like them. Just, please, don't take anything you don't like. Please" she pleads with her eyes and then goes back to the paintings. "Oh, here it is", she says pulling out one square painting of about twenty inches long. "I wanted you to see this one".

This painting is unlike the rest of Sylvia's style. It's very descriptive - there are two girls or young women in an open air round swimming pool in a summer day. They're wearing the same striped blue and white swimsuits and they look similar, but they're distinct persons.

-"She painted this one right after she met you", says Melanie now standing by my side. "You were then about the age she was when she got pregnant" Melanie purses her lips and frowns, I suspect that fighting more tears. "She came from the hospital with this idea of a full circle and painted it from an old picture of hers and one of yours".

So, one of the girls is me. I look closer and I recognize my face, still quite round at fifteen, my dark hair in the style I wore then.

-"You looked a lot each other" adds Melanie. "You're taller and have darker hair and eyes, but the bone structure..." she points vaguely over her facial features, "is just the same."


I didn't know that. I've never wanted to see anything of myself in Sylvia, denied any similarity. But Melanie is right, we looked like each other.

Melanie is keeping personal papers and pictures of Sylvia. I won't argue with her, but request to take a look at older pictures. We spend the afternoon going over them; there are a few of mine but Melanie wants to keep them too and I agree.


I don't know what to do with the money. I'm a millionaire now, what do millionaires do? I toss and turn in bed trying to get some rest until I give up and get up to fetch my phone and write a message to Melanie.

"Can you please give me lessons in finances?"

Melanie reply arrives at around 8.00 AM next morning. "Of course, honey. Just call my secretary and set an appointment".