Lady of Asolo (24 page)

I can hear Luca’s Alfa coming up the driveway. We’ve been married for six months now, the happiest six months of my life. I love him so much. I know it’s a cliché to say this, but he’s taken all my broken pieces and has glued them back together again. My return to London was only brief. Within a month, I was back in Italy, helping Luca plan the restoration of the farmhouse.

Chiara gave us her blessing, even though she went through the trauma of Federico’s betrayal here. (He’s still awaiting trial; the wheels of justice in Italy grind extremely slow.) The house is a happy place, filled with good memories of childhood picnics that far outweigh the misery she suffered for a few days. She’s back at university, and has changed her course to political science. She’ll fight for Veneto independence one day, she says. As an elected politician. Luca and I moved into the house a fortnight ago and have named it,
Casa Cecilia
.

Luca comes through the door, into the warmth of the kitchen, where I’m stirring a pot of soup, our six-month old black Labrador puppy Zorzo at my feet.

‘You’ll never believe what Ma has discovered.’ He kisses me on the lips. ‘You know that portrait painted by Lorenza of my ancestor? Well, apparently, she married him.’

My jaw drops. ‘What! Married him? How do you know?’

‘Ma’s genealogical research. I had lunch with her at the villa and she told me she’d finally filled in the 16th century branch of the family from which we’re descended. There’s a record of the marriage in the library of San Marco in Venice. Remember she was going to go there before Chiara took that fall? Well, she’s been so busy, she only got round to it the day before yesterday. She didn’t want to tell me anything over the phone, insisting I had lunch with her today, and she showed me the notes she took. Our ancestor was a nephew of the Doge. We always thought we were descended from Doge Goredan, but Ma discovered his son died in the same plague that put an end to Giorgione’s life, so the line passed through the nephew instead.’

‘How amazing! To think our baby will be descended from the great artist himself.’ I place my hand on the swell in my belly; there’s a bubble of movement under my fingers. ‘Feel this.’ I move Luca’s hand to the small bump. ‘Our child is pleased.’

***

The following morning, I take the pup for a walk down to the old chapel. June this year has been wet and chilly, and last night there was a thunderstorm, the sky like the one in
The Tempest
. The house has a lightning conductor, smoke alarms and flashlights in every room, just in case, but my fear of fire still makes my heart quake, albeit much less than before. At least that piece of burnt wood hasn’t made a reappearance in my life, not that I’ve been anywhere near places associated with Cecilia recently.

At the same time as supervising the restoration of the farmhouse, Luca has overseen the rebuilding of Aunt Susan’s place, a bungalow this time. ‘I won’t be able to manage the stairs for much longer,’ she said. ‘And neither will Gucci. He’s getting on in years like me.’ Thankfully, Aunt Susan was fully insured and is delighted to be moving into her new home the day after tomorrow. Also delighted at the prospect of becoming a great aunt in four months’ time. My only regret is my parents live so far away, but flights between the UK and Italy are becoming cheaper; they’ve already visited twice since I left London. They came for the wedding, of course, which took place in Asolo with the reception at the Cipriani, and the second time only last week, to see the house.

The churchyard is up ahead and I let the pup off his leash. There’s a smell of damp vegetation as I reach for my pad. I haven’t been down here since we moved into
Casa Cecilia
; I perch on the low wall in front of the church and make a start on my sketch. At Easter, I had an exhibition of my paintings in Castelfranco. They sold well; now I’m hard at work preparing for the next one.

‘Lorenza!’

Even though I’ve been expecting the ghostly whisper, my heart jumps.

‘Cecilia, your daughter became everything you wanted her to be. I know, for I’ve seen her work. And I’m carrying her descendent. If the baby is a girl, I’ll call her Lorenza.’

A sigh ripples in the cypress trees behind the church. I lift a hand to my eyes. Two figures, their arms linked, stand in the portal. A man, dressed in a short doublet, his dark brown hair reaching to his shoulders, and a woman. Cecilia. The man bows and the woman curtseys. I blink, and when I look again, the figures are gone.

A crow caws in the chestnut tree on the hill behind. I put my sketchpad away, hitch my rucksack over my shoulder, whistle for the pup, and walk back up the road.

Siobhan Daiko is an author of romantic historical fiction and a new series of erotic novellas featuring famous courtesans – strong women who held their own in a man’s world. A lover of all things Italian, Siobhan lives in the Veneto region of northern Italy with her husband and two cats. After a life of romance and adventure in Hong Kong, Australia and the UK she now spends her time, when she isn’t writing, enjoying the dolce vita near Venice. You can find her on
Facebook
, Twitter @siobhandaiko and email:
[email protected]
.

I would like to thank the following people:

Members and professional reviewers of YouWriteOn, the peer review site, for their feedback on the early chapters.

Ann Bennett, my talented beta reader and friend, for her comments on the first draft.

John Hudspith, my inspiring editor, for his highly professional, prompt, and precise editing.

Jane Dixon-Smith for her wonderful work on the cover design.

My family: my late parents, Veronica and Douglas Bland, for their belief in me and for first bringing me to Italy when I was a child; my brother, Diarmuid, and my sister, Clodagh, for their encouragement.

Victor, my husband, for his love and support. Our son, Paul, and his girlfriend, Lili, for their help with technology.

Last, but not least, I thank you, dear reader, for buying this book.

Giorgione, Zorzo or Zorzone, was one of the most enigmatic painters in the history of Italian art. Little is known of his life, which has been romanticised by writers over the centuries.

One of the legends about Giorgione is that his true love was a young woman known as Cecilia. There is some doubt about who she was and if she actually existed. For me, she did exist and was a lady-in-waiting at the Court of Queen Caterina Cornaro. However that is only my interpretation of the myth.

The Tempest
has been called the first landscape in the history of Western painting. I love this work and have enjoyed weaving its creation into my romance.
Lady of Asolo
is a work of fiction, however, and just my view of how things could have been.

The creation of Giorgione’s
Sleeping Venus
has also been romanticised in my novel. Although it’s not obvious from an inspection of both this and
The Tempest
that they depict the same woman, I have used artistic license and imagined that they do so, and that the woman is Zorzo’s true love, Cecilia.

There was a Venetian noble woman, Caterina Cornaro, who was married to the King of Cyprus and became the Sovereign Lady of Asolo. She died in Venice on 10 July 1510, a year after the Barco, her villa of delights, was damaged by a fire set by the League of Cambrai troops. It was there that she had established a court of literary and artistic distinction and where Pietro Bembo set his platonic dialogues on love,
Gli Asolani.

I’m privileged to live with my husband and two cats near Asolo. My home is in a converted artist’s studio next to an old farmhouse, where, at night, I can sometimes hear the sound of a lute playing centuries-old tunes. There is a church at the bottom of the hill, which dates from the 12th Century. The cats will not go down there: they find it too spooky.

I have read the following books for inspiration and information:

Baldassare Castiglione,
The Book of the Courtier

Herbert Cook,
Giorgione

Peter W. Edbury, Joachim G. Joachi,. Terence Mullaly,
Caterina Cornaro Queen of Cyprus

Antonella Gotti,
Caterina Cornaro, Regina di Cipro e Signora di Asolo

Thomas Kabdebo,
Tracking Giorgione

Alberto Ongarato,
Giorgione da Castelfranco, L’uomo, l’artista, il mito

I hope you have enjoyed reading
Lady of Asolo
as much as I enjoyed writing it. Your feedback is important to me and I would love to know what you thought of Fern, Luca, Cecilia and Zorzo. I’ll keep an eye out for reviews on Amazon and Goodreads, or you can drop me a line by email. Please follow
Fragrant Publishing
. I blog about writing and my life of romance and adventure in Hong Kong and Italy
here
. I’d love you to visit
Lady of Asolo’s
Facebook page
.
You can connect with me on Twitter @siobhandaiko or by email [email protected]

THE ORCHID TREE

________________________________________________________________________________

Fifteen year-old Kate Wolseley lives a rarefied life of wealth and privilege in the expatriate community. But when the Japanese take over the colony in December 1941, she’s interned in squalid Stanley Camp with her parents.

Forty miles away, in Macau, Sofia Rodrigues’ suspicions are aroused when her father invites a Japanese family to dinner, an event which leads to a breach between Sofia and her controlling half-brother, Leo.

Enduring cramped conditions, humiliation, disease, and starvation, Kate befriends seventeen year-old Charles – who’s half Chinese - and they give their hearts to each other under the orchid tree. Can their love survive the war?

In December 1948, Kate returns to Hong Kong, determined to put the past behind her. Sofia dreams of leaving Macau and starting a new life, and she won’t let anyone, not even Leo, stop her.

VERONICA: Fragrant Courtesans Book One

So fragrant and delightful do I become, when I am in bed with someone who, I feel, adores and appreciates me, that the joy I bring exceeds all pleasure, so the ties of love, however close they seemed before, are knotted tighter still.

Venice, Italy, 16th Century. Trapped in an unhappy marriage, Veronica uses her wits to escape and takes the only other option open to her. After learning the art of seduction, she becomes a courtesan and gives herself to many rather than being owned by one.

A talented poet and writer, she courts the cultural élite for fame and fortune.

But when disaster strikes and her life begins to unravel, will she finally give her heart to a man? And will she be strong enough to hold her own in a man’s world?

Advisory: Sensuously erotic, 18+

*

Table of Contents

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EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

AUTHOR’S NOTE

ALSO BY SIOBHAN DAIKO