The Echoes of Love (20 page)

Finally, at the top of the cliffs she came to the towering grey-stone walls that gradually loomed out of the darkening sky. They were interrupted by tall wrought-iron gates, standing open on a plateau that half jutted out over the ocean, and which looked as if it been carved out of the hillside a long time ago.
This is it
, Venetia thought, her pulse quickening. She hesitated and slowed the car for a second, before sweeping through the entrance and round the slow curve of a lime-bordered avenue leading to a gravelled courtyard. There, a large and beautifully proportioned turreted dwelling stood outlined in the obscurity: Paolo's home in the clouds.

Venetia drew the Porsche to a halt outside the imposing front door. The house was in darkness, the place looked deserted. Perplexed, the young woman sat in her car on the verge of laughter or tears; she didn't know which would win. Had she got the date wrong? Was this not Miraggio? She was sure she had followed the directions accurately and anyhow, there had been no other buildings in sight at the top of the cliffs on the narrow plateau. What was Paolo playing at? Was this his idea of a joke to punish her for driving down instead of flying as he had suggested? Or even for not being readily available to speak to him when he called? Such a tumult of feeling was rushing through her that for a moment her vision blurred, before she became aware that someone with a flashlight, and an Alsatian in tow, was coming towards the car from the far end of the courtyard.

The man approaching had a heavy limp and his right shoulder was slightly twisted. He was well over six feet in height and broad with it. A giant of a man, he had a great head of shaggy, grizzled hair which covered a very dark, bronzed face with coarse features. Venetia thought he looked much more menacing than the German Shepherd following him. He reminded her of the Roald Dahl children's character, The Big Friendly Giant, but there was nothing that seemed either friendly or gentle about this man.

‘
Buonasera, signorina, posso aiutarla
, can I help you?' he asked, flashing the torch on to Venetia's face in a somewhat antisocial fashion, while the dog stood rigidly next to him, staring upwards towards the young woman and emitting a steady long growl.

Dazzled by the torchlight, Venetia lifted a hand to her eyes.
‘Buonasera… è questa la casa del Signor Barone?
, is this the house of
Signor
Barone?'

‘
Sì, sì
,
siete a casa del Signor Barone
, but the
signore
is absent.'

An unpleasant feeling gripped Venetia. Had she been brought all this way to be sent back again, the victim of some humiliating misunderstanding?

‘I am
Signorina
Aston-Montagu. I was engaged for the restoration of mosaics in
Signor
Barone's
villa,' Venetia explained, trying to keep the dismay out of her voice.

‘
Sì, sì
,
lo so
, but we didn't know you were coming today,' the giant replied, gruffly. ‘Bad weather, so Santo Stefano airport is closed.
Signor
Barone's flight is cancelled. We thought you would be arriving with the
signore,
after the airport opens again.'

Venetia's spirits quailed as wretched thoughts went racing through her mind. Was she going to have to look for a hotel so late in the evening? Timetables were chaotic in this part of world, flights cancelled, and airports closed at the drop of a hat, it seemed. What if the flights were not reinstated for another few days?

The giant must have noticed the worried look on Venetia's face. ‘
Non c'è problema, signorina,
the
signore
asked for the cottage to be made ready a couple of days ago. I'll take you to it,' he added, much to her relief before she had time to ask about hotels. ‘
Io sono Antonio, il custode
,' he bowed respectfully and smiled, showing off great toothless jaws.

Venetia's heart gave a lurch as Umberto's words came back to her in a flash.
‘He's originally from Verbania, but he moved to Tuscany to reinvent his life and lives there with his regular mistress, Allegra, who is his caretaker's niece.'
So this was the uncle of the woman in Paolo's life? She felt a familiar surge of anger. Her instinct was to turn back and leave Miraggio immediately but it was not in her nature to give up, and so she tried to keep her voice deceptively low when she spoke.

‘Thank you, Antonio. Where should I leave my car?'

‘If you give me the keys, I'll park it in the garage next to the stables. It's a walk, you know. Maybe you city folk aren't used to walking. Got your cars to take you round everywhere instead of your feet.' He eyed her speculatively. ‘The storm has messed up the grounds – we've lost an oak tree.' He grunted and lifted his brows. ‘
Il signore
will be upset, he's very fond of his trees.'

Venetia looked out of the window and down towards the dog, who was still grumbling menacingly. She frowned. Alsatians could be quite aggressive and this dog did not seem happy at all. Venetia was distinctly wary of him.

The caretaker read her mind. ‘Don't worry,
signorina
, Rufus won't harm you.
É un cane bravo
, he is a good dog. He's only doing his job, protecting his owner.'

‘Is he your dog?'

‘
Sì, signorina
.'

‘Will you ask him then to stop growling and be a little friendlier?'

Antonio gave a hoarse, croaky laugh. ‘He's not growling,
signorina
, that's just groaning. There's a difference.'

Venetia sighed; she was not familiar with dog language. ‘If you say so!'

Reluctantly, she opened the door and set one hesitant foot on the ground. Rufus seemed more relaxed and was not making eye contact with her any more. She stood up and, after pausing a moment, gave Antonio the keys – she didn't much like her car being driven by other people. Her father used to say that women and cars should only be used by one person: the owner. A rather coarse comparison, she had always thought, but William Aston-Montagu found it a great joke, and Venetia agreed that at least about cars, he had a point.

Venetia rounded the vehicle, making sure she did not pass near Rufus, and opened the boot to take out her luggage.

‘I'll bring your bags for you,
signorina
.' Antonio reached into the boot and negotiated the young woman's two suitcases with surprising ease as he moved ahead, followed by his wolf. Despite his disability, he was athletically built and Venetia could see now that his shoulder only looked twisted because of the way he walked. This was a strong man, and coupled with his dog, they made mighty guardians. It would be very courageous robbers indeed who took on that formidable pair; Paolo's assets here were well protected.

There was no moon, but the windswept sky was so clear now that the stars glittered with icy clarity, and the black leaves of the trees sparkled with rime and diamond drops. Venetia followed the caretaker along a short narrow path with coarse grass on either side, which had a delightful, aromatic scent and led to a picturesque stone dwelling, facing the lawns of the main house. Half her mind was concentrating on her surroundings and the other half was thinking of Paolo, wondering when she would see him again and why he had not informed Antonio that she was arriving today.

The cottage where Venetia would be spending the next few weeks was made of stone and stood snugly behind the big house, alongside the cliff, nestled in its own sunken garden. Two very tall, elegant Italian stone pine trees stood guard on each side and bougainvillea cascaded in profusion over the low rocky walls that surrounded it. In the semi darkness, the garden looked old and somewhat untidy, set in the side of a terraced slope that rose steeply away from both the main house and its small, stony companion. A little mossy flight of steps ran through the garden up to the cottage, which was covered by a great many flowering bushes, a tangle of pergola vines and climbing roses.

‘La Sirena,' Antonio rasped, shuffling to a stop and waving his torch in the direction of the little house. There was an enormous magnolia in bloom on the lawn next to the cottage, and a pond with rushes and other plants that she couldn't recognise in the dusk. Like a large part of the main house, the cottage, enclosed on three sides by its low walls and thickly clustering bougainvillea, had a magnificent view over the sea on the fourth side, and the sight of it had Venetia transfixed.

Antonio looked back. ‘This way,
signorina
,' he called out as he unlocked the door to La Sirena, interrupting her reverie. He led the way in and ordered Rufus to wait for him outside.

It was a single-storey dwelling. The caretaker switched on the lights at the entrance that gave into a lobby. The inner door was open and through it Venetia could see a spacious sitting room. A floor-to-ceiling picture window with a sliding door swept the length of the room, looking over the cliffs, past a belt of trees, down to the Tyrrhenian Sea. Even on this moonless night, Venetia could appreciate the dramatic view of rocks and the turbulent sea below. Immediately outside the room was a long flowery terrace with two recliners and four painted resin chairs, arranged around a stone table set with a furled umbrella.

Venetia drew in a sharp breath. ‘It's utterly charming,' she whispered.

Looking around her, she spotted a great wooden bowl filled with fruit, creating a lovely splash of colour on the coffee table, and a vase of tastefully arranged bright-yellow roses and blue irises in an alcove.

Antonio followed her gaze. ‘Ernestina, the housekeeper, came in this morning and made sure the cottage was ready for you.' He scratched his head. ‘We didn't expect you tonight so there's no meal. But there's a loaf of bread, tea and coffee in the kitchen, and some cheese, milk
e una bottiglia
di vino nel frigorifero
.'

Venetia could not help but be warmed by the attention to detail paid to ensure her comfort and she wondered if Ernestina had acted on her own initiative or Paolo's instructions.

The caretaker put down Venetia's cases on a rack in the vast bedroom. The double bed in the corner was so high that it reached the windowsill, and there was a sofa and two armchairs, a small dressing table, a bijou desk, and built-in cupboards. Leading off the bedroom was a separate cloakroom and a magnificent marble bathroom in iridescent rose-petal pink, which was divided in two with a sunken bathtub and basin on one side and an open shower area on the other.

‘There's plenty of hot water and you'll find clean towels in the bathroom cupboard.'

‘Thank you, Antonio, this is perfect.'

He gave her a curt nod. ‘Staying long, are you?'

‘As long as I'm needed by
Signor
Barone to finish the work.'

‘Heh, long enough then.' He looked at her suspiciously, making her feel that she wouldn't be becoming firm friends with the giant any time soon.

She smiled as sweetly as possible. ‘Yes, I suppose. Is that a problem?'

‘
Nessun problema
,
signorina
. Antonio likes to know what goes on around here, that's all. Well,
buonanotte, signorina.
Have a good night.' With that, Antonio lurched out of the door, whistling for Rufus to follow him.

After the caretaker had left, Venetia made another quick exploration of the cottage. The main sitting area and the bedroom were tastefully decorated in tones of beige and yellow, with shaded lamps here and there. Lightweight curtains gave privacy without blotting out the light and Venetia could imagine them billowing and swaying in the breeze. The walls were hung with watercolours depicting the surrounding countryside, and over the mantelpiece in the living room there was an oil painting of a turreted house in a landscape of pale blue and powdery green, where cypresses pointed stiffly upward in the silvery air. Venetia presumed it was an illustration of Miraggio, but on looking more closely she saw printed on the frame underneath the picture,
La Torretta, 1969
.

Venetia threw one of the two windows of her bedroom wide open and leaned out. How wonderful! The sky had cleared; a damp, sweet air blew in, laden with moist scents. Over the shoulder of a nearby dark hill, the stars sparkled, large and bright; in the faint light, a small
ruscello
could dimly be discerned splashing down through the grass, and, in front, slanting across that little stream and swaying in the breeze, leaned the branch of an apple tree. She loved the purity of that air, fraught with wildness and wet.
No wonder poets were invented
, she said to herself, leaning out into that freshness, unwilling to come back into the room; but she was exhausted and finally closed the windows.

Venetia had to admit that she was disappointed not to have seen Paolo, and it made her a little sad. Her confusion about what to do, what to feel, had not abated. Still, she would have a long hot bath in the sunken tub, make herself some bread and cheese and a hot glass of milk, and go to bed. Hopefully, tomorrow would be a better day. At least she could explore this dramatic place and see if it shed any light on its enigmatic owner.

Chapter 6

I
t had been late when Venetia had finally retired to bed, but nonetheless she had not been able to sleep. Although the storm had subsided and the night was still, her brain refused to cease its chaotic tumble. Everything that had happened since she had met Paolo came back to torment her. At last she drifted off and, like most nights, was visited by a succession of erotic dreams that left her breathless and her heart pounding when she awoke in the dark.

The next morning dawned tranquil and warm after the tempest of the day before. In the bright April sunshine the earth lay damp and steamy, the sea calm. The hillside, which at night had been shrouded in darkness, was now bathed in a mellow saffron light. Among the olives and vines, standing erect, were pointed cypresses and massive ilex trees, which formed great blocks of dark foliage.

Venetia woke up to a cacophony of birdsong in the trees outside her bedroom window. Instead of pigeons perched on ancient city roofs, here there were thrushes singing in the garden, building their new nests high up in the tall Italian stone pines she had noticed the night before.

Her first thought was for Paolo, wondering whether he had arrived during the night and, if he hadn't, if she would see him today. Venetia listened for a moment to the distant, happy twittering, then stretched her limbs lazily. She lifted herself up and leaned against the pillows, her eyes still full of sleep but drawn to the scenery outside the open window. How serene, how fresh it all looked. Beyond the garden, across a narrow valley, were the terraced vines, the silvery-grey olive trees, and the hills with their flower-sprinkled slopes, so jewelled with colour they might have been the background for any legendary story.

Throwing back the covers and sliding out of bed, she padded barefoot to the other window, which had remained closed all night, and pushed the shutters open. Shafts of incandescent sunbeams spilled into the room. Dazzled by this sudden brilliance, she lifted her face to the warm rays, relishing the feel of them on her skin, and hugged herself. Below, the land fell away in a scattering of white rock and scrub to a semi-circular bay, almost landlocked by wooded promontories. Everything was clear in the crystal air, sparkling in the sunshine and filled with the fresh, tangy smell of salt, seaweed and iodine.

The Tyrrhenian coast glowed under the wide arc of a burning, cloudless blue sky, the sea a shimmering golden mirror; the sweeping coastline looked out over the distant islands of the Tuscan Archipelago, echoing their beauty with its wild and mountainous landscape, the pale rock densely interspersed with exotically green pine groves, and its almost luminescent aquamarine waters lapping the shores. In the still atmosphere, the picture was overwhelming.

Miraggio was a name that suited the place well. Hanging on its narrow bluff, it almost hovered in the void like an imaginary vision. Paolo's precarious home in the clouds seemed fitting for a man robbed of his past, a hunter of memories who, without an identity, could neither live comfortably in the present nor plan for the future. Looking at it from his point of view, Venetia almost sympathised with
l'Amante delle Quattro Stagioni'
s attitude to life.

The young woman gazed down in sheer awe at the magnificent scenery below, with the cliffs standing sentinel on each side of the cove. She felt as though, swept up by the sun and the wind above a primitive, surreal world and suspended in the air, she had left behind civilisation to embrace, for some time at least, the uncertain wildness and grandeur of Paolo's universe – a thought that excited her, even as she found it disturbing and almost frightening.

Glancing at her watch, Venetia saw it was nearly nine o'clock. If Paolo had arrived during the night he was probably still asleep, but somehow he didn't strike her as a lotus eater, so she thought she had better get herself ready for the day's work.

She showered and took a few minutes to ponder on what she was going to wear. Her choice fell on a peach-coloured, softly tailored Valentino trouser suit – smart but still comfortable if they were going for a site inspection. The long mirror reflected her: tall, slender and long-limbed. The pastel hue of the outfit brought out the warmth of her colouring and the glitter of bronze in her chestnut hair when the rays of the sun caught it. Today she had massed it in a sophisticated bun, held in place at the nape of her neck by an almost invisible net. It made her look a little severe, she thought, but it was appropriate in the circumstances. She was here to work and Venetia wanted the message to be clear, in case Paolo had other plans.

After making her bed and tidying up her room, she was just about to turn on the kettle when there was a knock at the door. Venetia caught her breath sharply. Her heart did a somersault in her breast and her pulse quickened as she went to open the door.

‘
Buongiorno, signorina,
' said the smiling woman who stood on the threshold. She was holding a silver tray loaded with a plate of pastries, a large
cafetière
of steaming coffee, and a pot of thick honey. ‘I thought you might like some breakfast.'

Venetia returned the woman's smile as she stepped aside to let her in. ‘
Grazie
, how very kind.'

‘
Sono Ernestina, la governante di Miraggio,
' the housekeeper introduced herself, once again beaming and showing off a set of surprisingly milk-white teeth. ‘Where would you like to have your breakfast – in the bedroom? The
salone
? Or maybe you would prefer to sit on the
terrazza?
It's a beautiful day.'

‘On the terrace would be lovely, thank you.'

Ernestina was a woman in her late fifties or early sixties, with a bountiful figure and a benign face. She might have been younger, Venetia thought, as she followed the servant into the house; it was true that women from her walk of life, tasked with manual work and often outside, usually aged more quickly. Ernestina's tanned skin was coarse and lined, her features strong and clean-cut. Her beak of a nose and firm mouth might have been engraved on a coin.

Venetia watched the servant place the tray on the table in the living room before going into the kitchenette for the china and silver, and she noticed how neat she looked in her black frock, which reached almost down to her ankles, and the red woollen shawl draped about her shoulders. Her iron-grey hair was pulled back, neatly gathered up on the top of her head and held in place by a tortoise-shell comb.

‘Ha dormito bene?'

‘I slept like a log, thank you – the air is so pure up here.'

‘
Sì
, and you must have been tired driving in the storm. I saw your car in the garage.'

‘Yes, it was a long drive from Venice, but the directions I was given were very clear and I had no difficulty finding my way, despite the bad weather.'

Venetia moved out onto the terrace, picking up a little radio she had spotted lying on a nearby table, and Ernestina brought out the tray, now laden with everything for her breakfast.

‘
The
signore
is not yet back,' explained the housekeeper, with a frown. ‘When Antonio went into town this morning, everybody was talking about the accident. Apparently one of those small planes crashed on the tarmac and the airport in Pisa is closed for now. We have not yet heard from the
signore
. He was due to arrive on the early Alitalia flight, so no doubt this will have held him up.'

Though Venetia's spirits sank at the news of Paolo's delay she was relieved that, without having to ask, she had received an answer to the question that had been at the forefront of her mind since she had arrived at
Miraggio
the night before. Still, she was a little put out that Paolo hadn't had the courtesy to ring the house to enquire whether she had arrived and inform his staff that the airport was closed.

She put down the radio and took a seat at the table, which was elegantly rustic with its wrought-iron frame topped by a cream slab of stone.

‘Have you had a lot of damage on the estate because of the storm?'

‘
Sì
, we have lost a very old oak tree
. Ma quel che è peggio
, but what is worse, the tree fell on our telephone post and our lines are down. That is why Antonio went into town this morning. He was hoping to bring back an engineer to mend the lines, but the storm has caused
tale devastazione
that it will be weeks before we can get someone to come over here.'

‘Perhaps I should have given
Signor
Barone my mobile number,' murmured Venetia.

Ernestina shook her head. ‘Those things don't work out here,
signorina
.' She shrugged. ‘Ah,
questa
nuova tecnologia
…'

So Paolo really wasn't to blame after all for the lack of communication. She realised that she had been a little unfair.

Ernestina was considering Venetia with a perplexed frown. ‘
Mi permetto di chiedere,
can I ask, the
signorina
is not Italian?'

‘You're right,
io sono Inglese
, but I've lived in Italy for three years.'

‘Your Italian is
perfetto
, if I may say so,
signorina
, but, yes, you don't look Italian. Your skin is like the skin of a peach that has been lightly touched by the sun –
molto bella.'
The housekeeper nodded and smiled approvingly.

Venetia laughed. ‘Thank you very much for the compliment, Ernestina.'

‘Do you have everything you need here?'

‘Yes,
grazie
, the cottage is really comfortable, and so charming.'

‘
Signor Barone sarà felice di sentirti …
he supervised the refurbishment of La Sirena himself…
sì, sì
,' she nodded, ‘and made sure it was
assolutamente perfetto
. The cottage had been closed for many years and needed a lot of work. The
signore
had not bothered to start it until he knew you were coming.
I lavori sono stati fatti molto rapidamente
, the work was done very quickly
.
It was all finished in two weeks.
Incredibile
!'

‘Well, that's very kind of
Signor
Barone, and I will make sure to tell him how agreeable and comfortable it is.'

Ernestina gave Venetia an oblique look. ‘You must be a good friend of
Signor
Barone
.
As I told you, La Sirena has been closed
per molti anni
, for many years, and the
signore
never has anyone up here. The poor man leads quite a lonely life, you know, cut off from the rest of the world – when he isn't away on business,
naturalmente
.'

‘My acquaintance with
Signor
Barone is purely one of business. He has commissioned my firm with a job and I'm here to work on this assignment,' Venetia replied guardedly.

It seemed as though her reserved response spurred Ernestina's interest. ‘The roses in the
salone
are from
Signor
Barone's
rose garden and no one is allowed to tend to them but the
signore
himself…
sì sì
,
completamente proibito.
He gave specific instructions about the flower arrangement before he left and he also asked for a bowl of fruit from the orchard to be put in your room.
Non l'ha mai fatto prima
, he's never done that before.' Ernestina shook her head, a puzzled look on her face. ‘Have you… has your firm known the
signore
long?'

Though Venetia could not help but feel warmed by Paolo's detailed attention to her comfort, she wasn't about to satisfy Ernestina's curiosity. ‘All I know is that we value
Signor
Barone's custom and do our best to please him, as we do with all our clients.' Venetia smiled sweetly at the housekeeper. ‘This coffee will soon be tepid if I don't drink it quickly,' she said, pouring out a cup of the strong brew. She helped herself to a
biscotti
and some honey, before turning her attention to the beautiful view that stretched out into infinity before them, indicating that the conversation was closed.

‘
Se mi permette
, I'll do your bedroom now,
signorina
,' Ernestina said meekly, taking the hint and turning to go back into the house.

Venetia smiled. ‘That's very kind of you Ernestina,
grazie mille,
but I have done my bed and tidied up my room and the bathroom. You don't need to trouble yourself.'

‘It is no trouble,
signorina
, this is what I am here for. As I have told you, it's not often we get visitors at Miraggio.' She shook her head, waving her finger, ‘
e mai
, never sophisticated ladies like yourself.' The housekeeper's jet-black eyes settled pensively once more on Venetia's face and she sighed as she turned away. ‘The
casa
has many rooms, too many of them unused.' Ernestina shook her head again, this time in disapproval. ‘Some days, Miraggio is more like a tomb haunted by ghosts than a home,' she muttered as she disappeared into the house.

Left alone, Venetia's mind turned once again to Paolo. So,
l'Amante delle Quattro Stagioni
kept his conquests well away from his house in the clouds. That was most likely because of Allegra, the woman Venetia had seen with Paolo at the restaurant,
la favorita
, the one he always returned to. At that thought, she was seized by a moment of desolation so sharp that it seemed almost to take physical form. She shivered and shook the feeling off, knowing that such corrosive ideas were folly to entertain – after all, what right did she have to command Paolo's sole attention? Hadn't she declared the last time they had been together that friendship was all she had to offer him?