Lady of Asolo (20 page)

Fern smiled to herself, remembering making love with Luca.
Luca!
She longed to see him. Had it been worth coming all the way to Venice to learn that Cecilia was the muse for Giorgione’s
Sleeping Venus
? She’d deduced that herself from looking at the picture of the painting in her book on the artist. The work was no longer in Venice, she recalled, but she couldn’t remember exactly where. Germany? She shrugged.

How extraordinary that both Zorzo and Cecilia had been aware of her. Her one claim to fame: the mysterious woman that he’d painted over in
The Tempest
. Not that she would ever tell anyone, except Luca, perhaps.

There was a pay-phone on the other side of the square. She left some change on the table for her coffee and strode over to it. Then she dialled her aunt’s number.

‘How’s the sketching?’ Aunt Susan asked.

‘Terrible. Not in the mood for it. Think I’ll pack it in and catch an earlier train. I promised to go and see Luca. I’ll ring you from his flat.’

The train was crowded with university students who commuted to Ca’ Foscari from nearby towns and villages. Fern sat squashed next to an obese nun, who was eating a salami
panino.
The greasy smell slid down Fern’s throat and made her feel sick. She took Aunt Susan’s latest novel from her bag; she was almost at the end and had finished reading it by the time she arrived in Treviso. An hour later, she was ringing Luca’s doorbell.

‘Fern,’ he said, opening his arms.

She went straight into them. ‘How’s Chiara?’

‘Still in hospital.’ He kissed her. ‘Ma’s with her. The operation was a success, thank God. Her leg will be fine. They’re letting her come home tomorrow at lunchtime.’

‘What happened, exactly?’

‘Apparently, she broke up with Federico. They used to meet up at an old farmhouse we own in the foothills of Monte Grappa.’

‘Yes, she told me about it. We were going to ride there and take a picnic.’

‘Well, she’d started to suspect Federico was seeing another girl, so she decided to play a trick on him.’

‘Oh?’

‘She said she wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t meet him yesterday. Then she went to the farmhouse and found him there
in flagrante
.’

‘What a bastard!’

‘Absolutely. This morning, she went for a mad gallop to get it out of her system. Pegasus spooked as a crow flew into his path and that’s when she took a tumble.’

Fern’s heart jumped. ‘I’ve just remembered something. Something beyond amazing.’

‘What?’

‘The first time Cecilia took over my mind, she fell off her horse, Pegaso
,
which is Italian for Pegasus, isn’t it?’

‘It is. What a coincidence!’

‘More than a coincidence. It’s like an echo of the past.’ Fern felt her hands shaking. ‘And it’s scaring me.’

‘Would you like to stay here with me tonight?’ he asked. ‘As a friend, of course.’

She smiled, glad she wouldn’t be on her own; she needed his soothing presence. ‘That would be wonderful. I’ll phone my aunt.’

***

Luca made
spaghetti alla carbonara
and, after they’d eaten, he switched on the television.
‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to watch the
Telegiornale
, then I’ll put on a video.’

The news was full of the repercussions of the Tiananmen Square massacre in China. ‘So many dead,’ Luca said after translating for her. Fern nodded and a feeling of deep sadness spread through her.
Man’s inhumanity to man.
She remembered the well-worn phrase,
So much pain and suffering.
When viewed collectively, the huge number of dead in Beijing was hard to envisage. However, each person came from a family, and that family would be in mourning.

She thought about Harry. The terrible circumstances of his death and a life cut short in its prime. She would miss him for the rest of her own life, of course, and she knew she should accept what had happened, and also the fact that it hadn’t been her fault. No one could predict what was around the corner; it was best to take each day as it came and live it to the full.
Not easy, though.

Luca held up the video. ‘Guess what?’

Fern laughed.
Back to the Future
would make a welcome distraction.

They sat through the film, holding hands and sipping Prosecco.

Afterwards Luca said, ‘It’s getting late. I’ll take the sofa and you can sleep in my bed.’

‘We don’t have to, Luca,’ she said, looking directly into his eyes. She blushed. ‘I’d like you to make love to me. That’s if you want to, of course.’

Luca enfolded her in his arms, and, when she lifted her mouth to his, he kissed her. It was like drinking sweet wine as she kissed him in return, opening herself up to him, her tongue on his. When they pulled back, it was a wrench and they immediately started kissing again.

He led her to his room. They faced each other and she lifted her fingers to his face, tracing the outline of his features, holding his gaze. Then, slowly, Luca unbuttoned her blouse and slipped off her jeans, placing them on the chair by his bed. He pulled off his t-shirt and unzipped his trousers, throwing them onto the same chair. Cupping her face, Luca kissed the tip of her nose, the corners of her mouth, the pulse at the base of her neck. She unclipped her bra and let it fall to the floor. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she gently pressed herself against him and kissed his chest.

‘It’s all right,’ she said, thinking she should reassure him. ‘My doctor put me on the pill because I had irregular periods.’ She let out an embarrassed laugh. ‘Don’t worry. I haven’t been with anyone since Harry.’

‘I’m not worried,’ he said, embracing her again.

He lifted her in his arms and took her to his bed.

They made love slowly, savouring each moment, their kisses long and deep, their coupling unhurried. By an unspoken agreement, it seemed, they drew out the solace of their lovemaking, to arrive at their climax together.

Luca fell asleep quickly, but Fern found it difficult to drop off. The night was warm and a mosquito buzzed by her left ear.
Better put on some repellent.
She got out of bed and padded to the bathroom.
There’s bound to be some here.
She stared at her reflection. A sudden drop in temperature and the image wavered before her eyes.

‘
Lorenza . . .
’

Cecilia was standing behind her. A sick feeling in her stomach, Fern watched as Cecilia lifted her hand and pointed at her. Then the image in the mirror wavered again.

I returned to Asolo six months ago, my heart torn between my daughter and my painter. I’m greedy for the feel of Zorzo’s lips on mine, yet Lorenza’s sticky kisses (after she’s eaten a zabaglione) are those I’m enjoying this morning. That time away from her, only five days, seemed like a year, and I counted the hours during the long, dusty journey from Venice to get back here. Lodovico has not let me out of his sight since my brief escape from him after the Cornaro celebration. I give an inward smile, remembering.

Zorzo shouted through the door that he was busy, and told my husband to come back in an hour. I could hardly believe my own audacity as I pulled my painter towards me. We fell onto the bed; our lovemaking was quick yet satisfying. I reached my joy within moments and he did too. Zorzo withdrew from me so there was no chance of another babe from him, more’s the pity. A dark-eyed son would suit me perfectly. ‘Do not sell my husband that painting you did of us,’ I begged. ‘Or let him see the canvases with my likeness.’

‘Fear not,
dolcezza
,’ Zorzo said, putting on his hose and doublet. He went to
The Tempest
and wrapped it in white cloth. ‘This one is already accounted for, and the lute-player and his true love I shall not part with at any price. I’ll let Signor Lodovico into my quarters after you are gone, but I’ll tell him the Duke of Ferrara is out of luck.’

And so he did. When Lodovico returned to the Cornaro palace, I was back in our room. ‘Where have you been?’ he asked, his voice sharp.

‘Out taking the morning air. I needed to clear my head.’

‘And did your maid go with you?’

‘Of course,’ I lied, thinking I had to remember to bribe her.

I’ve put up with Lodovico’s advances every night since our return to Asolo, lying back and thinking of Zorzo. What else can I do? I’m not with child yet, and have to let my husband rut into me, his fingers bruising my body. Tonight we are to attend a banquet at the Barco for the Queen’s brother, who is visiting. There’s to be a joust before we dine, and then the usual dance. My breath catches with excitement; I know Zorzo will be there.

In the early afternoon, Lodovico and I set off for Altivole. Again I’m to be away from my babe. Except, she’s no longer a babe but a little girl of two. And she’s learning to paint. Even at such a young age, she’s quite a prodigy and has an innate understanding of colours. I’ll persuade Lodovico to let me find a teacher for her when the time is right. ’Tis my heartfelt wish that Lorenza will become the artist I can never be.

Cloud hangs low over Monte Grappa and mist hugs the valleys in between the Asolan hills and the Venetian plain. My lady’s villa of delights is nearly completed now, and ’tis wondrous to behold. Frescoes adorn most of the outer walls, the gardens are fully stocked, the game park bursting with life, and the air perfumed with the scent of late-flowering roses.

The afternoon sunlight catches the tops of the cypress trees near the gates of the Barco as our carriage pulls up outside. Autumn has come early this year, the year of our Lord 1508, and the days are drawing in. We go to our quarters, servants bringing our chest of clothes. I leave my maid to unpack my gowns and set off with Lodovico to the jousting green.

The Queen has spared no expense for the tournament in honour of her brother. There’s cloth of gold everywhere, from the banners, to the curtains, to the tapestries draping her tent. Even the plates and goblets from which refreshments will be served are gold. ‘A great occasion to celebrate the Republic,’ my lady says.

Lodovico and I make our reverences. I drop into the deepest, most elegant curtsey, and my husband bows low. ‘We’re honoured to be your guests.’

‘Your brother is already here.’ She smiles. ‘Somewhere.’

‘I shall go and find him,’ Lodovico responds with another bow.

My lady rises to her feet and claps her hands when a knight bearing the Lusignan colours of silver and red gallops into the yard on a fine black destrier. The colours of the last crusader state of Cyprus, her late husband’s. Her champion’s opponent wears Giorgio Cornaro’s orange and blue. ’Tis but a friendly joust, however, even so I do not like to watch, for I abhor any form of violence. I decide to slip away and go for a walk in the orchard. Coming around the hedge, I hear the sound of voices. Lodovico’s and his brother’s. I have no wish to greet Giovanni yet, so I wait behind the hedge.

‘Any news for me to report to the Duke?’ Giovanni says to my husband.

‘The Venetian army is still in Brescia,’ Lodovico mutters. ‘Is the Duke over his disappointment that I couldn’t procure a Giorgione painting for him?’

‘Already forgotten. ’Twas to be a gift for the Duchess. He’s busy making cannons for the war to come. ’Tis the first time in history that Venice has so many enemies at once.’ Giovanni lets out a laugh. ‘The Republic is far too complacent.’

‘The Doge deems Emperor Maximilian too short of money to finance an army.’

‘Ha,’ Giovanni says. ‘I shall relay that information to the Duke.’

Gesù bambino!
Zorzo was right. My heart thumps wildly against my ribs, and, turning on my heel, I tiptoe away.

The tournament is still going strong; the cheers of the courtiers ring in my ears. Should I say something to my lady? Yes, I should. But, when? She sits so calm and smiles so sweetly at all in her court. How can I break the trust she has in us? The Queen has been through so much. She was married at the age of eighteen to a man she hardly knew. Everyone says she did love him and he loved her back. How terrible he died when they’d been wed only nine months. My chest tightens as I remember my lady’s second heartache. The death of her infant son at the age of one. She must have been devastated. I know how I would feel if my Lorenza were to leave me. How could the Queen have borne the pain of her loss?

The plots and conspiracies to take my lady’s throne must have seemed paltry in comparison, yet she held onto Cyprus for fifteen years, and was well-loved by the people. No surprise there, for we all love her. Her loyalty to the Serenissima has always been unswerving, and she will be distraught that Lodovico has been using his position in her court to spy on her.

I sit through the jousts, looking away each time a
cavalliere
is unhorsed, and I listen to Dorotea chatter excitedly. ‘My lady has an admirer,’ she says.

‘Who?’ I ask feeling pleased for the Queen. She has been without love too long.

‘Pandolfo Malatesta, Lord of Rimini. A great knight and
condottiero
. He’s in the service of Venice so there shouldn’t be any obstacles. Except, her pride at having been the wife of a king has stopped her from taking things further.’

‘My lady deserves to find happiness again. If only there was someone for her.’

Dorotea sighs. ‘And me. I’m fast becoming a
zitella.
’

She huffs and frowns, but I don’t feel sorry for her. A string of lovers has wound its way through her life, and her reputation is sullied. She’ll be lucky to find a protector and become his mistress before her young flesh withers. Perhaps I’m being too hard, and should wish for her to find happiness, if not with a man then by having her own child like I have. ‘There’s time,’ I say gently, patting her arm.

I wish Fiammetta were here, but she’s had another baby, a girl. It was a difficult birth and she’s not yet recovered. Fiammetta would give me good advice about how to carry on being married to a traitor.