Lady of Asolo (17 page)

‘Cecilia!’ My sister’s face is pinched with worry. ‘Whatever ails you? Are you ill?’ She links arms and the affection she has for me banishes the demon, for that’s what was plaguing me I’m sure. I shouldn’t have laughed at the Devil back there in the church.

‘I’m recovered,’ I say. ‘’Twas only the heat from the forge.’

Falling into step beside my husband, my breath falters. He’s looking at me, his eyes appraising me. The feeling of dread returns.

She gave a start. Sunlight came through the window; it was still morning.
I’m Fern again, of course.
So much happened when she was in the past, days would go by, that when she came back to the present it was as if she’d been jarred, the sense of displacement was so great. It reminded her of her one and only ride on a roller-coaster. The mad race along the tracks, the plummeting down the loops and the final grinding halt, jolting her backwards and leaving her feeling disorientated and nauseous. She’d not ridden one since, nor did she want to.

A tingling in her breasts. She was leaking again, and the ache to hold Lorenza felt unbearable. She prodded the piece of burnt wood on the bedside table. No point in throwing it away; it would vanish of its own ghostly accord. She shuddered, stuffed her bra with more tissues, and then phoned Luca’s mother. ‘Is it all right if I come and see you?’

‘Spontaneous lactation is unusual,’ Vanessa said, pouring a glass of Prosecco and handing it to Fern. ‘But not unheard of. I read an article about a mother who’d adopted a baby and then started producing milk. Only what you’re suffering from is extremely rare, I think.’

Fern sipped her drink. ‘My breasts are very sore. Isn’t there some sort of medication I can take?’

‘Only Paracetamol. You’ll stop lactating in a day or two, as you’re clearly not breastfeeding. I’m so sorry for you, my dear.’ Vanessa fondled the ears of the Labrador at her feet. ‘What a thing to happen!’

An urge to unburden herself took hold of Fern. Slowly, haltingly, and then more firmly, she told Vanessa about her pregnancy two years ago. How she’d tried to ignore it, and how she’d lost her baby. ‘And now I feel as if I’ve lost her again,’ she said, unable to stop the hot tears trickling down her cheeks.

Vanessa got up from her chair and held her. ‘You poor girl.’

‘When I thought Cecilia had miscarried, I didn’t want to go back into the past anymore.’

‘That’s why you asked for the priest?’

Fern nodded. ‘And now I can’t wait to return to Cecilia and see Lorenza again. It feels as if she’s my baby too.’

‘Only natural, I suppose. You went through the birth.’

‘I’m scared, though. Cecilia had a premonition of fire. I’m more and more convinced that’s how she died, and I couldn’t bear it if Lorenza died with her. It would be like losing my own baby all over again.’

‘I can understand your concern.’ Vanessa took Fern’s hand. ‘It’s a case of damned if you do and damned if you don’t.’

‘What do you advise? Should I go back to London earlier than I’d planned?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you, my dear. It’s your decision. Perhaps you should come and stay here for a couple of days? It may give you some respite from Cecilia, and also a chance to reflect. You say she only comes to you in places associated with her?’

‘That’s right. It’s very kind of you. Are you sure I won’t be a nuisance?’

‘Not at all. I’d be delighted. You can repay me with one of your watercolours. Luca told me how good they are.’

And so it was decided. Fern went back to her aunt’s to collect an overnight case. Aunt Susan was happy enough for her to stay with the contessa. ‘As long as you’re back in a couple of days,’ she said. ‘Otherwise I’ll feel as if you’re abandoning me.’

Trust Auntie to be so forthright!

‘Luca’s mother wants me to paint her a watercolour of the villa,’ Fern said. It was a good excuse. ‘Shouldn’t take me long.’ She deliberately left her print of
The Tempest
behind in her room.

***

It took the three days she’d been staying with Vanessa for Fern’s breasts to more or less become normal. She spent the time helping the contessa organise her genealogical research, taking the dogs for walks, riding with Chiara, and painting.

The Goredan family tree had so many branches, Fern’s head spun as she helped sort through myriad shoeboxes full of notes. Chiara rode with her in the mornings, but after lunch Luca’s sister would leave to spend the rest of the day with Federico, only returning in the early hours of the next day. Vanessa had given up insisting her daughter be home by midnight, but was firm about her coming back to sleep. ‘As long as I’m paying for your upkeep,’ she said. ‘You have to follow my rules.’

In bed, at night, while Fern lay waiting to drop off, she could hear the ghost of the lute-player strumming a centuries-old tune. And, as the contessa had told her the first time she’d met her at the Cipriani Hotel, the sound wasn’t frightening at all. Quite comforting, in fact.

Luca was still at his architectural conference, and Fern was glad. He was a complication she could do without. God forbid that he should catch sight of the occasional wetness on her blouses. Thankfully, the leakages occurred mostly in the evenings when Chiara was out; Fern would have found them impossible to explain. Gradually, she had to replace the sodden tissues less often and now she was almost dry.

Whenever thoughts of Lorenza came into her head, she made herself think of something else, just like she’d done when she’d lost her own baby. The mind was a powerful instrument . . .

Luca got back from Vienna on Fern’s last evening at the villa. ‘Let me see the painting,’ he said, after he’d greeted his mother. The excuse for Fern’s visit had been given to him as well. He followed her to the covered part of the patio, where she’d improvised her studio. Her watercolour was on an easel in the corner. She’d concentrated on depicting the central part of the building, suggestive of a Roman temple with its Ionic columns. ‘What do you think?’ she said to him.

‘Wonderful. I don’t know why you want to go back to working in a bank. You have a huge talent, Fern. You should focus on your art.’

‘Wish I could. But I have a mortgage to pay.’

‘Rent your flat out and use the income to live off here. You know it makes sense. London rentals are much higher than Asolo ones. You’d probably cover your mortgage and have enough left over to live on while you get established.’

‘Hmm, tempting.’ The idea
was
tempting, but now wasn’t the right time to go into it. Best change the subject. ‘How was Vienna?’

‘Beautiful. We must go there together someday.’ He stopped as he caught sight of her frown. ‘I’ve done it again, haven’t I?’

‘’Fraid so. I know you mean well, Luca. But you
are
a bit of a caveman.’

He laughed. ‘Evolution hasn’t caught up with modern society. Remember our discussion?’

‘About tribal instincts. Yes.’ She laced her fingers through his. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘Well, that’s a relief because I’ve missed you too.’

Fern glanced around the patio. They were alone. She wrapped her arms around his waist and lifted her chin. When his mouth came down on hers, she knew what she was going to say next. ‘Can I take you out for dinner tomorrow night? There’s something I need to tell you.’

***

The dining room of the Cipriani Hotel hummed with the low buzz of conversation. They were sitting at a table next to the picture window overlooking what had to be one of the most beautiful views in the world. The ancient buildings of Asolo marched along the crest of the hill in the foreground, towards an imposing villa that seemed as if it was perched on stilts, the loggia on the ground floor, and cypress trees standing sentinel at its sides. Sunset had caught the clouds, tinging them with pink, and the distant mountains rose up like guardian angels, spreading their wings over the landscape below.

Luca handed Fern the menu. ‘I hesitate to make any suggestions or you’ll accuse me of being a caveman again.’

‘Suggest away, you know this restaurant.’

‘The
taglierini con prosciutto
is excellent, as is the fish. We could have the pasta to start then grilled sole. And a bottle of Pinot Grigio.’

‘Perfect,’ Fern said, glancing down at her breasts. Thankfully, everything seemed to be all right in that department.

The waiter arrived and poured them a Bellini each before taking their order. Fern let out a sigh. ‘I’m going to miss all this so much when I go back to London.’

‘Then stay.’

She shot him a warning glance and he held up his hands. ‘Sorry!’

While they ate, Luca filled her in with more details about the conference (boring) and the city of Vienna (fascinating). Fern’s chest fluttered with butterflies. Perhaps she wouldn’t tell Luca about losing her baby; he might hate her. She finished her glass of wine and their waiter jumped to refill it.

‘
Dolce?’
Luca asked when they’d finished their main course. ‘The Tiramisù here is amazing.’

‘Why not?’ she said, knocking back another glass of wine.

It
was
delicious, but at the same time too rich and now she was feeling queasy. ‘I can’t eat or drink another mouthful.’

‘Shall we go for a stroll in the garden? We can have our coffee on the terrace. Then you can tell me about what’s been worrying you so much . . . you’ve had ants in your pants all evening.’

Fern linked her arm through Luca’s; she felt a little light-headed. He guided her to a chair next to the low wall protecting guests from the drop into the valley below. ‘I’ll fetch you some
acqua minerale
.’

‘Sorry,’ she said, embarrassed. ‘Didn’t realise how much I was drinking.’

She watched Luca striding across the garden, then swivelled her gaze towards the castle.

The plaintive cry filled her head.

‘Lorenza!’

I sit in my lady’s Asolo orchard, watching my daughter crawl towards me. Happiness fills all my empty spaces. She’s a sunny child, with dark eyes like her real father as well as her supposed one. It’s good fortune they both have the same colouring. Her nature is like mine, however; she’s impetuous and always into mischief. Only yesterday, she grabbed one of my brushes, dipped it into my ultramarine blue, and daubed the canvas I was working on, a painting of her. Lorenza’s first birthday will be next week and I’ve drawn and painted each stage of her development. Finally, I’ve been able to study a naked body, albeit that of a babe; I’ve learned much from observing then sketching my daughter.

Today, I’ve brought Lorenza to visit my lady. I needed to get her out of Lodovico’s way. His brother is visiting, and neither he nor Giovanni have any patience with my little girl. How can they fail to love her? Everyone else dotes on her – from the Queen, to Dorotea, to my sister. And I’m besotted with her; to me, she’s perfection. I open my arms and she comes into them, giggling as I hug her to me. Lorenza’s soft cheek is like a peach and I give her a resounding kiss. She nuzzles at my chest; she’s thirsty.

The court is sleeping the siesta; I glance around to check we’re alone. I unlace my kirtle and pull off my chemise, which I drape around my shoulders. Lorenza still suckles from my breast, once or twice a day. I place her next to me, on the other side of my raised leg, and her mouth latches onto my nipple. A tickling sensation as my milk lets down, and then my daughter sucks greedily.

‘
Dolcezza
,’ comes a voice from behind the cherry tree.

I give a jump as my pulse quickens. ‘Zorzo! What are you doing here?’

‘Searching for you. Your maid told me you were here.’

I make a move to cover my nakedness.

‘Don’t,’ he says. ‘Your babe will not thank you if you stop the feed.’ He delves into his bag, and takes out a rolled up parchment and a stick of charcoal. Then he removes a board and ties the parchment to it. With quick strokes he starts to draw. ‘I’ve a commission for a painting from a wealthy Venetian nobleman, and have been searching for the right Madonna for it. Should have realised I didn’t need to look far.’

My heart is jubilant at the sight of him; it has been far too long. His theory that I’d have had more freedom as a married woman has come to nothing because of my pregnancy and motherhood. Nevertheless, I don’t regret Lorenza, not for one minute, she’s everything to me.

I gaze at him while he works. My body has filled out since last he saw me; I’m no longer a nubile girl but a woman who bears the signs of childbirth. I try to pull my chemise around my nether parts, but Zorzo tells me to leave them uncovered.

‘
Dolcezza
,’ he says, his eyes drinking me in and his voice approving. ‘I would have come to Asolo sooner, except work has kept me busy. Your Zorzo is much in demand of late.’

My Zorzo!

‘The babe is delightful,’ he adds. ‘Hidden behind your leg, no one will realise she isn’t a boy. A cherubic
Gesù bambino
.’

After a while I need to change Lorenza over to my other breast, but by then Zorzo has finished sketching her and has moved on to roughing out a drawing of my face and body. ‘I don’t need to spend much time on your countenance. For ’tis in my heart and soul.’

When my babe has drunk her fill, she sits back and regards her father. Neither she nor he will ever know of the relationship, I’ve sworn to myself, yet seeing them together makes me feel proud of them both. I hand her to him to hold while I dress, and he lifts her in the air. ‘Look at you! The reflection of your mother.’

He whirls her above his head, making her unleash a stream of giggles.

‘I think she’s more like her father,’ I say, smiling to myself.

‘Talking of which, does he treat you well?’

‘Well enough.’ I will not tell him of Lodovico’s rough handling of me in bed, of the many bruises I’ve had to endure. Fortunately, of late, he hardly bothers to visit me at night. I think he must have a woman in Ferrara. He goes there, supposedly on the Duke’s business, more and more often. ‘Although I do wonder why he wanted to marry me,’ I say. ‘There’s no love in him.’

‘Granted, you’re the most beautiful woman at the Queen’s court, but I have my suspicions about where Ferrara stands with respect to the Pope’s alliance with the Hapsburg Emperor.’