she’d finished.
Vanessa eyed her with a thoughtful expression. ‘Well, in my opinion you’re lucky.’
‘Lucky?’
‘I mean to have been given the chance to re-experience the past so vividly.’
‘I don’t feel lucky. I feel . . . I feel as if I’ve become some sort of conduit.’
‘Possibly,’ Vanessa said calmly. ‘Cecilia seems to be using you to tell her story.’
‘But why? And why me?’
‘Is there something you might have in common with the girl?’
‘Dad was stationed in Cyprus when he was in the army, and I spent the first five years of my life there. Cecilia asked her sister if she missed the island and remembered living there until she was five too. I can hear her thoughts in Greek, although it’s an older form of the language than the one I spoke when I was a child. Oh, and I think she’s a bit of an artist. She likes to draw.’
‘That could well be why she’s selected you. What about this odour of burnt wood? Luca said you were at King’s Cross when they had that awful fire. Perhaps the fire is another thing you share?’
Fern clasped her hands to hide their trembling. ‘Cecilia might have been in a fire, you think?’
‘She could well have been. Most of the Barco was destroyed by fire in 1509. Perhaps she was caught up in it.’
A dagger of fear. ‘I don’t want to relive a fire.’ Fern’s heart pounded. ‘There must be some way I can block Cecilia from my mind.’
‘If she’s a restless spirit, it might be a good idea to call on the local priest and ask him to bless your aunt’s house. Perhaps if you wear a cross around your neck, it will afford you some protection.’
‘Do you think Cecilia wants to harm me?’
‘Quite honestly, I don’t know what to think, my dear.’ Vanessa’s eyes followed a bumblebee dipping and darting over the flower bed. ‘Have you talked to your aunt about what’s been happening to you?’
‘Not yet. I’m planning to tell her. Just haven’t got round to it yet.’ No point in explaining her reluctance. Aunt Susan couldn’t hear or smell what she’d heard and smelt in the house; she probably wouldn’t believe her. ‘How’s your family tree research coming along?’ she asked. She didn’t want to talk about Cecilia anymore; she felt too frightened.
‘Oh, it’s terribly complicated. I’ve managed to go back to the 1800s, which is as far as the records here at the villa go. I’ll need to visit Venice and search there next.’
‘A bit like looking for a needle in a haystack.’
‘Rather,’ Vanessa said, standing. ‘Luca must have gone to the stables to see his sister. She’s always messing about down there. I’ll be back in a minute with the Prosecco.’
A horse whinnied in the distance and Fern closed her eyes. The sun had moved round so that she was no longer shaded by the umbrella. She rubbed her arms. Why were they suddenly cold? The crow in the tree to her left gave a mournful caw. Then the chair beneath her started moving, her legs astride in voluminous skirts instead of stretched out in front of her. Bloody hell, she was riding; she’d ridden a lot when she was a teenager, but this was incredible.
Pegaso is fighting the bit; he wants to gallop, except we’re at the back of the hunt. My lady and her knights are giving chase to a deer and we’ve left the confines of the Barco. Turf flies up around us. The hounds are baying and the horns sound as we cross a wide field; we’ve come far. Pegaso prances from side to side and I give up trying to hold him back.
A surge and we’re going like the wind. Patatatum, patatatum, patatatum. Soon we are neck and neck with Signor Lodovico. I’ve heard he’s a cavalryman for the Duke of Ferrara; he certainly rides like one. Signor Lodovico glances at me and beams, revealing his uneven white teeth. Something in me recoils and longs for another man’s smile, the turning up of a mouth at the corners.
The chase is long, yet I do not tire. Finally, up ahead, the
Vanessa eyed her with a thoughtful expression. ‘Well, in my opinion you’re lucky.’
‘Lucky?’
‘I mean to have been given the chance to re-experience the past so vividly.’
‘I don’t feel lucky. I feel . . . I feel as if I’ve become some sort of conduit.’
‘Possibly,’ Vanessa said calmly. ‘Cecilia seems to be using you to tell her story.’
‘But why? And why me?’
‘Is there something you might have in common with the girl?’
‘Dad was stationed in Cyprus when he was in the army, and I spent the first five years of my life there. Cecilia asked her sister if she missed the island and remembered living there until she was five too. I can hear her thoughts in Greek, although it’s an older form of the language than the one I spoke when I was a child. Oh, and I think she’s a bit of an artist. She likes to draw.’
‘That could well be why she’s selected you. What about this odour of burnt wood? Luca said you were at King’s Cross when they had that awful fire. Perhaps the fire is another thing you share?’
Fern clasped her hands to hide their trembling. ‘Cecilia might have been in a fire, you think?’
‘She could well have been. Most of the Barco was destroyed by fire in 1509. Perhaps she was caught up in it.’
A dagger of fear. ‘I don’t want to relive a fire.’ Fern’s heart pounded. ‘There must be some way I can block Cecilia from my mind.’
‘If she’s a restless spirit, it might be a good idea to call on the local priest and ask him to bless your aunt’s house. Perhaps if you wear a cross around your neck, it will afford you some protection.’
‘Do you think Cecilia wants to harm me?’
‘Quite honestly, I don’t know what to think, my dear.’ Vanessa’s eyes followed a bumblebee dipping and darting over the flower bed. ‘Have you talked to your aunt about what’s been happening to you?’
‘Not yet. I’m planning to tell her. Just haven’t got round to it yet.’ No point in explaining her reluctance. Aunt Susan couldn’t hear or smell what she’d heard and smelt in the house; she probably wouldn’t believe her. ‘How’s your family tree research coming along?’ she asked. She didn’t want to talk about Cecilia anymore; she felt too frightened.
‘Oh, it’s terribly complicated. I’ve managed to go back to the 1800s, which is as far as the records here at the villa go. I’ll need to visit Venice and search there next.’
‘A bit like looking for a needle in a haystack.’
‘Rather,’ Vanessa said, standing. ‘Luca must have gone to the stables to see his sister. She’s always messing about down there. I’ll be back in a minute with the Prosecco.’
A horse whinnied in the distance and Fern closed her eyes. The sun had moved round so that she was no longer shaded by the umbrella. She rubbed her arms. Why were they suddenly cold? The crow in the tree to her left gave a mournful caw. Then the chair beneath her started moving, her legs astride in voluminous skirts instead of stretched out in front of her. Bloody hell, she was riding; she’d ridden a lot when she was a teenager, but this was incredible.
Pegaso is fighting the bit; he wants to gallop, except we’re at the back of the hunt. My lady and her knights are giving chase to a deer and we’ve left the confines of the Barco. Turf flies up around us. The hounds are baying and the horns sound as we cross a wide field; we’ve come far. Pegaso prances from side to side and I give up trying to hold him back.
A surge and we’re going like the wind. Patatatum, patatatum, patatatum. Soon we are neck and neck with Signor Lodovico. I’ve heard he’s a cavalryman for the Duke of Ferrara; he certainly rides like one. Signor Lodovico glances at me and beams, revealing his uneven white teeth. Something in me recoils and longs for another man’s smile, the turning up of a mouth at the corners.
The chase is long, yet I do not tire. Finally, up ahead, the
Similar Books
