LADY of VENICE Read online

  Footsteps echoed on the flagstones and I turned toward the sound, still feeling dizzy. Luca was approaching, carrying a tray with a bottle and three glasses.

  ‘Has it happened again?’ he asked, concern in his voice as he put the Prosecco down on the table. ‘You’ve gone as white as a sheet.’

  I hugged my arms. ‘I don’t think I’ve gone completely crazy, although some of what I’m experiencing could be attributed to trauma, I suppose. There’s usually a smell, or a sound that triggers it. Your mother thinks Cecilia might have been in the fire that destroyed the Barco.’ I chewed my bottom lip. ‘I don’t think I’m imagining her… she’s too real.’

  He steepled his fingers. ‘And you’re scared by her?’

  ‘Well, wouldn’t you be?’ I couldn’t help the sharpness in my tone.

  He held up his hands. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I can’t help being fascinated by her,’ I said more calmly. ‘I’m torn between wanting to know what happens to her and not liking the way she takes over my mind.’

  ‘So, it’s not the girl who scares you.’ He met my gaze. ‘It’s the fact that you can’t control when you’re having these flash-backs.’

  ‘Sounds as if you believe me.’ I pulled at a loose strand of my wild hair.

  ‘Fern, I never doubted you for one minute.’ He reached for the wine. ‘However, whether Cecilia is a figment of your imagination or not is something I still need to get my head around.’

  ‘Oh.’ I felt my eyes drawn to the area across the field where I was sure I’d seen the deer killed. Where Cecilia had seen the deer killed. I had to find a way of separating myself from her. Damn difficult, though, when my thoughts had meshed with hers. ‘Maybe I should leave Italy.’ I suggested reluctantly.

  Luca gave me a searching look, then pulled the cork from the bottle. ‘Wouldn’t that be running away?’ He filled the three glasses.

  ‘You’re right, of course. Besides, I love it here and I’m not due back at work until the end of the month.’ My words came out in a rush. ‘It’s just that I can’t keep going on like this. It’s dangerous. I mean, I could be driving along a road then suddenly find myself back in the past.’

  ‘To be honest, I had the same thought myself,’ he blew out a breath. ‘You need to find a way to control these visions. As far as I’m aware, they seem to happen when you’re alone.’

  ‘That’s true. So far. Are you suggesting I should never be by myself? That would be hard, particularly as I like my own company and, in fact, thrive on it usually. Especially when I’m painting.’ I lifted my glass and took a sip of Prosecco, savouring the sparkling fruitiness.

  The sound of voices alerted me to the arrival of Vanessa, who was coming down the steps to the garden with a tall dark-haired girl, dressed in riding breeches and a white t-shirt. Luca stood and pulled out two chairs. ‘This is my sister, Chiara,’ his smile was warm. ‘She’s been looking forward to meeting you.’

  ‘Hello.’ Chiara took a seat and raked her eyes over me. She turned to her brother. ‘You’re right. Fern is like the girl in The Tempest.’

  ‘The Tempest? What’s that?’

  ‘I was going to tell you, but smart ass here jumped in before me,’ Luca chuckled. ‘It’s a painting by Giorgione. I’ll take you to see it in the Accademia Gallery in Venice, if you like. The resemblance is uncanny.’

  ‘Don’t we have a picture in one of our art books?’ Vanessa interjected.

  ‘We do. I’ll go and fetch it.’ Luca pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

  I watched him set off across the patio. His broad shoulders tapered to a slim waist and his jeans hugged his firm buttocks.

  I gave my head a shake to clear it of inappropriate thoughts. ‘I used to ride when I was younger,’ I said to Chiara for the sake of making conversation.

  ‘Oh, then you must come out with me sometime.’

  I gave a wry laugh. ‘Not sure I’m up to it anymore.’

  ‘It’s like riding a bicycle. You don’t forget.’ Chiara pressed her lips together.

  ‘Fern can ride Magic. He’s a lovely old boy and calm as anything,’ Vanessa said, re-filling my glass. She went on to praise the virtues of the horse and told me about her successes at show jumping when she was younger. ‘Ah, here’s Luca.’ She glanced up as her son approached. ‘Did you find the book?’

  ‘No. It seems to have gone missing. I was only looking at it the other night, too.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said with a smile. ‘I was planning on visiting Venice, so I can see the painting while there. Are you sure you can spare the time, Luca? I mean, I’m quite capable of going by myself.’

  His mouth turned up at the corners and a feeling of recognition passed through me. No. Not recognition. Attraction. And it was wrong. Too soon, too sudden, too much of a betrayal. I couldn’t allow myself to be attracted to Luca.

  ‘I’m due for a day off,’ he said. ‘I’d love to show you my favourite city.’

  ‘What about you, Chiara?’ I asked his sister. ‘Would you like to come with us?’

  ‘No way! I was at university in Venice. Had enough of the place to last a lifetime.’ She grimaced.

  ‘Wow! That must have been a fantastic experience.’

  ‘Not when there’s a high tide and you have to wear long rubber boots to get around,’ she groaned. ‘Thank God my student days are over.’

  ‘Chiara’s taking a break from her studies.’ Vanessa frowned. ‘A hiatus.’

  ‘I can’t see the point of endless exams,’ Chiara muttered.

  ‘What were you studying?’ I asked, genuinely curious.

  ‘English. It was easy for me, of course. But I found it boring.’ Her gaze bounced from me to her mother and back to me again.

  ‘Did you go to school in England like Luca?’ I ventured to ask.

  ‘Yes. But I couldn’t face university in England, unlike him. I found the weather far too depressing.’

  ‘With hindsight, that might have been a better choice.’ Vanessa’s voice had turned shrill. ‘You wouldn’t have met such extremists.’

  ‘They’re not extremists,’ Chiara huffed. ‘The Veneto is being suffocated by Rome.’

  Vanessa waggled her finger at her daughter. ‘We won’t discuss that now. It’s impolite to talk politics during a social occasion.’

  ‘You’re so old-fashioned, Mum,’ Chiara laughed. She got to her feet and said to me, ‘I meant what I said about coming for a ride. It’s a great way of seeing the countryside.’

  I could only nod. There was no way I would get on a horse, I said to myself. Not after my strange vision only minutes ago…

  Vanessa shot Chiara a stern look. ‘Aren’t you staying for dinner?’

  ‘Sorry, but I’m meeting Federico. I told you this morning, didn’t I?’

  ‘Ah, I’d forgotten. What time are you coming home?’

  ‘I’m twenty-one not eleven.’ Chiara said determinedly. ‘I’ll be home when I’m home.’

  ‘While you live under my roof, you’ll follow my rules. I want you back by midnight.’

  ‘Yeah… yeah,’ Chiara’s smirk belied her promise. She was clearly rebelling against her background, trying to find her place in the world.

  Vanessa’s gaze followed her as she headed out of the garden. ‘I apologise for my daughter. She’s becoming quite impossible. First, she drops out of university. Second, she runs around with all sorts of wrong people. I don’t know what to do with her.’ She sighed. ‘Dinner should be ready now. Let’s go into the dining room.’

  Luca stood and held out his hand to me. Again, his touch felt unthreatening as he led me into the family’s rooms in the right-hand wing of the villa. Furnished in what I guessed were Italian country antiques, it had none of the opulence of a stately home, even though a maid had prepared our meal and waited on us at the table. I immediately relaxed.

  After a starter of prosciutto with melon, washed down with a lightly chil
led red wine, the maid served us thinly sliced grilled fillet steak with roast potatoes and salad. While we ate, Vanessa and Luca told me about the history of the villa, which had been in the Goredan family for centuries.

  Luca’s brother and his wife joined us after dinner for coffee. Antonio had the same blue eyes as Luca, and he chatted to me about the family business. His wife, Michela, appeared shy, barely saying a word. They lived in a house on the estate and had three young children: two boys of eight and six, and a girl of three, whom they’d left in the care of their English nanny.

  At around eleven, Luca drove me home. ‘Thanks for a wonderful evening,’ I said as he pulled up in front of Auntie’s house. ‘I like your family. Antonio’s wife is very reserved, though, isn’t she?’

  ‘They’ve been married for ten years and even now she’s somewhat in awe of La contessa, as she still calls her.’

  ‘Oh, why’s that?’ I blinked.

  ‘Antonio met her at Padova University. Unlike me, he opted to study in Italy. She comes from a family of factory workers. Mother isn’t a snob, of course, and does everything she can to put Michela at her ease. The problem isn’t my mother but Michela. I don’t think she’ll ever change.’

  ‘Some people are natural introverts, I suppose.’ I paused. ‘Are you sure you can spare the time to take me to Venice?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll pick you up at eight on Tuesday morning.’ He leaned over to kiss me on both cheeks.

  I pecked his cheeks in return, a friendly Italian gesture, catching the spicy scent of his after-shave.

  He leapt out of the car and opened the door for me before I had a chance to do it myself.

  ‘Good night, Luca,’ I said. ‘Thanks for a lovely evening.’

  ‘It was a pleasure, Fern,’ he smiled.

  I waved him off as I stood in the doorway.

  He was nice.

  He was far too nice for someone like me…

  Chapter 7

  I feel drowsy in the warmth of this early summer’s afternoon as I sit on the stone lip of the fishpond. The Queen and the rest of the court are taking a post luncheon nap. I couldn’t sleep and tiptoed out here as soon as Dorotea was snoring next to me in the quarters we share.

  I trail my fingers in the lukewarm water, green like the moss that grows up the statue of a cherub with feathery wings, which graces a plinth in the shade of the cypress tree. Golden carp swim in lazy circles, nibbling at my thumb, and a dragonfly dips down for a drink before flitting away again. I think about the painter and wonder when I shall see him next. I hear footsteps on the path; I blush and lift my gaze. Not the painter, but the man from Ferrara, Lodovico Gaspare. Oh, how I wish he wasn’t seeing me with my cheeks so pink; he might think I’m blushing for him…

  I stand and we make our reverences, Lodovico bowing and doffing his hat. I curtsey and keep my eyes downcast so that he should not consider me forward.

  ‘Will you go to Venice with the Queen next week?’ He asks, lowering himself to sit on the stone bench by the pond.

  I perch next to him. ‘To her palazzo on the Grand Canal.’ I’m unable to keep the excitement from my voice. I have heard that Signor Zorzo’s studio is in a campo nearby, and, as he isn’t at court, he might well be there.

  ‘Ah,’ the man from Ferrara frowns. ‘I depart tomorrow to attend the Duke.’

  I’ve heard such stories of the Duchess of Ferrara, Lucrezia Borgia, and ponder whether to ask Lodovico about her. In the end, my curiosity gets the better of me and I say, ‘Is it true she did “know” the heat of a bed with her brother?’

  Lodovico glances from left to right. ‘Those were but rumours put about by Cesare Borgia’s enemies.’

  I’m not interested in politics and request more information about the Duchess instead. Lodovico appears pleased to spread the gossip. ‘They say she did “know” Francesco, Marquis of Mantova, but that “knowledge” has ended since he came down with the pox, and now she has become the lover of Pietro Bembo.’

  ‘Oh.’ Poor Dorotea – she will not be able to compete with a duchess. ‘And does the Duke not mind?’

  ‘As long as she brings forth sons of his blood, and runs the household well, he’s happy to look the other way.’

  ‘And what does he see when he looks?’ I have heard rumours of Alfonso, Duke of Ferrara’s, many affairs.

  The man from Ferrara roams his eyes over me. ‘No woman as beautiful as you.’

  Cecilia, you should not have spoken of the heat of bedrooms.

  I pretend to be shocked, deliberately opening my eyes wide and letting a hand fly to my mouth.

  Maria Santissima! Lodovico leans in and tries to kiss me.

  I twist my face away, repulsed by the fishy stench of his breath. He should have picked his teeth after lunch!

  He persists, and puts his arms around me, pulling me against him.

  I wish I had never thought this man fascinating, and I’m filled with disgust. Not only does his mouth stink of fish, but his lips are like fishes’ lips, thin and flat and bony.

  I push my hands against his chest. He takes them in his and pins my wrists together. ‘Hush, Lady Cecilia. I presume this is your first time. Relax and it will be easier for you.’

  Easier? What does he mean? Surely, he’ll not take me here in the open? Am I about to lose my maidenhead? ‘No,’ I say. ‘Not here.’ He’s so much stronger than me that I won’t be able to stop him if that’s his intent.

  Lodovico Gaspare laughs mockingly. ‘My dear, I did but mean your first kiss. You want me to make love to you?’ His thin lips curl in a smile that makes me recoil.

  ‘No. Of course not,’ I splutter. ‘I’m a maid and will remain so until I’m wed.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ he says with another laugh, the straight white scar on his cheek shining. ‘And you shall have an even more spectacular wedding than your sister, I hope. In the meantime, let me caress you. I’ve been longing to taste your sweetness. Don’t deny me!’

  He pulls me to him again, untying the laces on my sleeves so that my shoulders are bared, and he slobbers at them like a hungry beast.

  Heartbeats racing, I flail at him with my fists.

  He doesn’t seem to notice and his bony mouth travels down to my chest.

  Summoning all my strength I push at him again.

  Finally, he lifts his head and I catch sight of the spittle on his lips and the hotness of desire in his eyes.

  ‘I said to relax.’ Desire changes to anger in his expression. He takes my hand and places it on his codpiece. ‘Can’t you feel how much I want you?’

  I let out a cry and whip my hand away. ‘No!’

  This is a nightmare, I tell myself. I will wake and all will be well. I close my eyes and count to three.

  One, two, three. I woke with a start and gulped in the cool night air. I was in my bed at Auntie’s but disgust still festered in my stomach— a revulsion so palpable I could taste it. I’d been dreaming, but it had all seemed so real. I could still smell Lodovico’s fishy breath and it was making me gag.

  A knock sounded at my door, and Auntie poked her head around. ‘Are you all right, Fern? I heard a shout.’

  ‘I’m fine. Just a dream, that’s all,’ I said, my throat scratchy. ‘Please don’t worry.’

  ‘Hmm.’ She gave me an uncertain look. ‘I’ll make you a cup of camomile tea. Come downstairs.’

  In the kitchen, she handed me a warm mug. My teeth chattered as I lifted it to my mouth. I sat on my usual chair and sipped, my mind flitting between what had happened to me as Cecilia and the comforting reality of the woman in front of me, who was adding sugar to her drink and opening a tin of chocolate chip cookies. ‘Was it the usual nightmare?’ she asked.

  I shook my head. The memory of Lodovico’s fishy lips on mine was making my stomach churn again. Had he gone on to force himself on Cecilia? It was all so weird; I couldn’t continue like this— keeping my dreams and visions from Auntie. I had to tell her.

  ‘I’m not dreaming abo
ut the fire anymore.’ I put my mug down. ‘Something really bizarre is happening.’

  ‘Tell me what’s wrong, love,’ she said in a kind tone. ‘I’ll see if I can help.’

  Haltingly, I recounted everything I’d told Vanessa and Luca, adding the latest incident. However, the more I talked, the more I became aware of how weird I was sounding. Auntie’s expression was indecipherable and soon I began to falter. ‘You think I’m crazy…’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ Her eyes were huge behind her glasses. ‘I think you’re still suffering from what happened two years ago. Somehow, your mind has become confused.’

  I shook my head. ‘But it seems so real.’

  ‘I’m sure it does.’ She paused. ‘Be sensible.’ Her Welsh lilt was even more pronounced than usual. ‘We can’t relive past lives. It’s physically impossible.’

  ‘How could I know so much about life hundreds of years ago if I wasn’t actually living it? I do know it sounds impossible. I’ve had that argument with myself, believe me. It’s just that I can smell things, taste things and even touch things, and be touched by them when I’m there.’ I shuddered. ‘You can’t do that in a dream.’

  Auntie reached across and patted my hand. ‘You must have read about it in a book or seen a film. And now your imagination is getting the better of you.’

  ‘No. I don’t think so.’ I leaned away, creating space between us. ‘It’s far too vivid. I couldn’t possibly know so many details unless I’ve actually been there. Cecilia is real; she’s not just in my mind.’

  ‘Something has upset you; I agree. Tomorrow I’ll take you to the hospital and we’ll see if they can prescribe you something.’

  Heat rose behind my eyelids. ‘I don’t want any more medication, Auntie. I’m done with all of that. There’s nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘Really?’ Her expression reflected her doubt.

  ‘I don’t want to see a doctor. Next thing I’ll have a “mentally ill” label slapped on me again, and I’ll be declared unfit to work. I went through all that last year. I’m over it.’ I made an X sign with my hands.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Auntie lifted an eyebrow.