LADY of VENICE Read online

  Published by SC DAIKO

  First Edition 2019

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by the copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the email address below.

  This is a work of fiction. The locations are a mixture of real and imagined. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 Siobhan Daiko

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design Cover Kitchen

  Edited by Trenda Lundin

  All enquiries to [email protected]

  The English used in this publication follows the spelling and idiomatic conventions of the United Kingdom.

  This book was previously published as Lady of Asolo

  For Lili

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books By Siobhan Daiko

  Chapter 1

  Italy

  June 1989

  I pushed open my bedroom door and my stomach gave a sudden lurch. Something was burning; I was sure of it. In the corridor, morning sunlight filtered through the shutters, but there was no sign of a fire. The passage was clear of smoke, yet I could smell an acrid odour. Could it be bleach?

  A frisson of cold stirred the air.

  ‘Lorenza!’ came a ghostly voice.

  I almost jumped out of my skin.

  ‘Who’s there?’ I whispered, my heart thudding.

  Snorts reverberated from behind the closed door. Aunt Susan, Dad’s sister, could snore for Wales just like Dad. Maybe what I’d heard was simply an echo?

  Slippers flip-flapping, I made my way along the corridor and down the spiral staircase. In the kitchen, a fat tabby cat wound its body around my legs. I bent to stroke the smooth fur, catching the scent of roses from the vase on the table.

  Everything seemed normal down here; I must have been imagining things.

  I straightened up and took in my surroundings. The open-plan room looked out at a wide veranda fronting the ground floor. There was a fireplace between the cabinets, and a sitting area with a sofa, an armchair and a television. It was a lived-in kitchen, well-used and comfortable. Not like the “shoebox” where I prepared my own meals in London.

  I gazed through the picture window at a narrow road hugging vineyards and cornfields. Dawn light illuminated a range of hills in the distance. An ancient fortress-like building sat on the highest crest, and below the fort nestled the small town of Asolo. A place for writers, musicians and artists, by all accounts. Would I find the peace I was seeking here?

  ‘Lorenza . . .’

  The whisper, so plaintive, came from right next to me, and a shiver ran up my spine. ‘Who is it?’

  Silence.

  Feeling a tad ridiculous, I repeated the question.

  Nothing.

  How weird…

  I went over to the bookshelf and picked up Auntie’s latest novel. The Duke’s Mistress— A Romance by Susan Finch. I loved reading and couldn’t wait to lose myself in it.

  Tingling with anticipation, I carried the book to the table. I let out a gasp; my foot had knocked against something rough… a jagged piece of wood, about six inches long, blackened by fire. Had the cat brought it in? I ran my finger along it… cold as a tomb. With a sick feeling in my belly, I picked it up and threw it into the grate. Was that what I’d smelt?

  No. It had burnt out long ago . . .

  ‘Lorenza.’

  The word hung in the air.

  A sliver of ice slipped down my spine.

  With a yowl the cat ran from the room, its tail fluffed out to twice its normal size.

  Floorboards creaked above my head and my heart skittered.

  ‘Is that you, my lovely? You’re up early,’ Auntie said in her Welsh lilt as she came down the stairs in an old cotton dressing-gown that hugged her portly figure. She pushed frizzy grey hair back from her forehead, dislodging a pair of tortoiseshell-framed glasses.

  I knitted my brows. ‘Something woke me, and I couldn’t get back to sleep again.’

  Auntie stared at me myopically. ‘A bad dream?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ I narrowed my eyes. I was cured of the nightmares, I hoped. Those dreadful visions of flames and death. Smoke pouring through the blackened tunnels. The panic and the choking and the searing in my lungs.

  ‘Lorenza . . .’

  Like a soft echo.

  I swallowed the sudden lump of fear in my throat, and asked, ‘Did you hear that?’

  Auntie switched on the kettle. ‘Hear what?’

  ‘Someone’s whispering.’

  ‘I didn’t hear anything,’ she said, settling her glasses onto her nose. ‘It must be the wind.’

  I peered through the window, but the olive trees outside were completely still. I glanced at the fireplace; no sign of that piece of wood I’d thrown in earlier. I told myself not to be pathetic. There had to be an explanation for the whispering. Someone outside could be calling out, Lorenza, or my ears might be playing tricks on me. Not my eyes, though. I was sure I’d seen that piece of burnt wood. And I’d definitely touched it.

  ‘Where’s Gucci Cat got to?’ Auntie asked, pouring boiled water into the teapot. ‘He’s usually here in the mornings, begging to be fed.’

  ‘He was in the kitchen when I came down, Auntie. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a relief,’ she beamed. ‘We could go to Asolo after breakfast, if you like.’

  ‘Perfect! I’ll take my sketchpad and try to capture some of the scenery.’ Again, I felt a breath of cold air and rubbed my arms. ‘Isn’t it a little chilly in here?’

  ‘Not to me it isn’t. Quite the opposite, in fact. Early June can be as hot as mid-summer,’ Auntie said unblinking. ‘You’re just tired after your journey last night. I always feel cold when I’m tired.’

  I forced a smile. ‘Maybe...’

  Half an hour later, we set off in Auntie’s Fiat 500 and soon we were sitting at a table on the outside terrace of the Caffè Centrale… sipping frothy cappuccinos in the warmth of a glorious, sunny day.

  I studied the building with frescoed walls on the other side of the cobbled piazza. The sunshine lit faded outlines of a battle scene, knights on horseback carrying lances… ghosts from centuries past. But wasn’t something missing? Shouldn’t there be an external staircase leading to the first floor? No. This was my first visit to Asolo. I had to be wrong. My mind was playing tricks on me, that’s all.

  A fountain graced the centre of the square, a column with grooved shafts at its base, and a barrel-chested pigeon had bobbed down to drink from the flow. The winged Lion of St Mark was surveying
the scene from the top of the pillar. Symbol of the Venetian Republic.

  My skin tingled and a fluttery feeling invaded my insides.

  How the hell did I know that?

  I tapped the coffee spoon on the side of my cup.

  I’m tired. Just tired. Must be something I’ve read about.

  The scrape of a chair on the tiled terrace interrupted my thoughts. A tall dark-haired man dressed in faded denim jeans and an open-necked white dress shirt was approaching our table.

  ‘Buongiorno, Susan.’ The man bent and kissed Auntie’s cheeks, his tanned face a stark contrast to her pallid complexion.

  ‘Luca. What a lovely surprise!” She cooed. “This is my niece, Fern. She’s staying with me for a few weeks.’

  I held out my hand.

  He swept his eyes over me. ‘Haven’t we met before?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ I would have remembered meeting this man. He was probably in his early thirties, judging by the slight recession in his hairline. Not much older than me. And devastatingly good-looking (he wouldn't look out of place on the cover of one of Auntie’s novels).

  Not that I was interested.

  Far from it . . .

  Something passed through me as his warm palm enfolded mine. Something like a mild electric shock. Hard to describe, but it made me feel light-headed. I grabbed hold of the table to steady myself.

  ‘Let’s leave walking up to the Rocca for another day.’ Auntie pointed toward the old fort at the top of the hill. ‘The weather is too hot for the hike. Why don’t we visit the Queen’s Castle then call it a day?’

  A smile tugged at my lips. ‘The Queen’s Castle? Did Asolo have a queen?’

  ‘Queen Caterina Cornaro,’ Luca said, taking the seat next to me and stretching out his long legs. ‘Daughter of Venice. Married off to the King of Cyprus. Persuaded to abdicate by the Republic and given the fiefdom of Asolo in 1489.’

  ‘Luca’s an expert on the subject,’ Auntie said in an impressed tone.

  I shot him a curious look. ‘Are you a historian?’

  He was unlike any of the fusty old historians I’d met when I’d gone to the History Club at university…

  Luca’s smile made his deep blue eyes crinkle at the corners. ‘An architect, but I’m involved in restoration work. I met your aunt at a talk I gave in the local museum. I’m not such an expert on the Queen,’ he chuckled, ‘however, I do know about the castle.’

  ‘I’ve got a book about Caterina Cornaro at home.’ Auntie’s lips pursed. ‘Quite academic, but interesting all the same.’

  I laughed. ‘Well, that’s my vacation reading sorted, then. Come on, Auntie! The castle is waiting for us.’ I turned to Luca. ‘Your English is brilliant. I wish I spoke Italian half as well.’

  That would be an achievement considering I only know a few phrases.

  ‘My mother’s English.’ Luca grinned. ‘I grew up bilingual and I was educated in England. I’m going to the castle too, so I might see you up there.’

  ‘Great,’ I said, unhooking my handbag from the back of the chair. ‘Hope to catch you later.’

  I got to my feet, and followed Auntie across the road, my long skirt billowing around my legs. Vacation clothes… the ones in which I felt most comfortable. I glanced to my left. The Venetian plain stretched beyond my gaze; the silhouette of a church tower etched against the clear blue sky. Something about it tugged at my memory. What? I shook my head and caught up with Auntie.

  ‘In Asolo, you should walk with your nose in the air.’ She took me by the arm. ‘Look at those arched windows and purple petunias cascading from the balconies!’

  ‘It’s stunning. So well-preserved.’ I loved how the colours of the buildings harmonised with each other in shades of cream and apricot. And the shop signs were discreet, not like in towns back home. ‘If I walked with my nose in the air without you to hold onto,’ I smirked, ‘I might end up falling flat on my face.’

  Auntie snorted out a laugh. ‘Indeed. Only do so if sure you’re safe. Goes without saying…’

  She led me up a short steep incline, under an archway to a high terrace. Then she stopped abruptly. ‘Goodness.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’ve just thought of the solution to a plot problem. It’s been niggling at me for ages.’

  I stared at her. ‘That’s good, right?’

  ‘Yes, but I need to get it down before I forget.’ She rummaged in her handbag. ‘Duw! I’ve left my notebook in the car. Will you be all right while I go and get it?’

  ‘I can tear you off a sheet from my sketchpad if you like.’

  ‘Thanks, love, but I need to check through my notes. I’ll meet you on the terrace.’

  A quiver of unease passed through me as I waved her off. The tables sprawling across the patio, shaded by ivory-coloured umbrellas, seemed alien to this place.

  Of course, everything would be different, I told myself. I was used to the drizzle of London and red-bricked houses with grey slate roofs, the drone of jetliners on their way to Heathrow, the hunched crowds hurrying along pavements, and shops screaming sales or unbeatable offers at every corner.

  I decided to climb the steep steps to the ramparts and admire the view. At the top, I retrieved my sketchpad from my bag and contemplated the green terraced gardens glistening in the bright sunshine.

  Without warning, the colours intensified, almost blinding me. I quickly returned my pad to my bag and shaded my eyes from the intensity.

  Dizziness buzzed in my head, and my knees began to give way.

  My hand went to the parapet, but it wobbled under my fingers.

  Christ!

  Without warning, the light had changed, and the vibrant colours had become washed-out, over-exposed like an old photograph.

  This is so bizarre.

  Suddenly, I was floating, looking down on the scene from above the castle wall. I tried to set my feet onto the stone, but all they encountered was thin air.

  Oh, my God.

  The sunlight had fractured and splintered like glass shards.

  The tall building had transformed into a two-storey structure.

  A regal lady and her attendants, mounted on magnificent horses, were passing under the portcullis.

  I had to be dreaming. The wasn’t real. Except, I could hear the hooves clattering on the cobblestones and the voices of the people.

  I shut my eyes and opened them again.

  The building had morphed back into its 1989 state.

  Only the faint clop of horseshoes on cobbles resonated in my ears.

  I inhaled the lemony scent of caper plants growing through cracks in the ancient wall.

  The wall which had appeared much newer only a few seconds ago.

  Chapter 2

  Luca

  I saw the English girl sitting on the ruined rampart of the castle. Dressed in a voluminous skirt and a gypsy blouse, her long hair a riot of curls, she reminded me of a hippy. What was her name? Something botanical, wasn’t it? Could it be Heather? The girl seemed miles away. Oh, shit! She was swaying and looked as if she was about to fall. I ran up the steps and managed to grab hold of her before she toppled from the wall. The girl slid to the foot of the parapet, and I shook her gently.

  ‘Put your head between your knees,’ I said as she came to. I patted her shoulder and experienced that sense of recognition again. Jesus! I eyed her white face and the sheen of perspiration on her high forehead. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I think so,’ she said softly.

  ‘You shouldn’t be sitting here. It’s dangerous. Especially if you’re not feeling well.’

  ‘I’m fine. Really, I am.” She shrugged. ‘Last night I didn’t sleep well, and I suppose I must’ve dropped off just now.’

  ‘You were literally dropping off this wall and it’s quite a long way down on the other side. I think you were on the point of fainting.’ I frowned. ‘You were totally out of it, you know. Where’s your aunt?’

  ‘Gone to fetc
h something from the car.’ The girl took a deep breath. ‘Please don’t worry. I’m perfectly all right.’

  ‘Are you sure we haven’t met?’ I couldn’t help staring at her. She had an unforgettable face. A prominent nose slightly spoiled the symmetry of her features… not that it made her ugly… and her blonde hair could only be described as wild, but there was definitely something alluring about her.

  The girl’s gaze rested on my chest, then travelled up to my face. Green eyes. Quite lovely. She smiled at me, her lips curving in such a delightful bow-shaped way that I wanted to reach out and brush my fingers across them.

  Not in a creepy fashion— more like in admiration.

  ‘I’m sure we haven’t met,’ she said firmly.

  I nodded but wasn’t convinced. Could I have seen her at some party in London? It didn’t seem appropriate to ask.

  The girl pointed at the castle buildings. ‘I was wondering about the structure at the time of the Queen.’ She tucked a curl behind her ear.

  ‘There’s a drawing in the Civic Museum showing what it was like before demolition in the early 1820s.’ I led her toward the terrace.

  Best get her sitting down before she passes out again.

  ‘Such a shame,’ she sighed. ‘I mean, that we can’t see the original today.’

  I glanced at her, trying to detect a note of irony in her voice. My friends often accused me of going on and on about the castle, but she appeared to have a genuine interest in what I had to say. The pallor had returned to her face. ‘Have you got time for a drink?’ I asked.

  Without waiting for an answer, I took her to one of the tables at the café on the patio and signalled the waiter. ‘Un Fernet Branca per la signorina ed un caffè macchiato per me.’