LADY of VENICE

by Siobhan Daiko

  Without warning, my husband is upon me, pinning me down under his weight, and thrusting into me under my nightdress without so much as a kiss or a touch. My sex is dry from the ground nutmeg and it hurts.

  It really hurts.

  It hurts so much that I cry out.

  ‘Shh,’ he says. ‘It is only your maidenhead. Lie still and let me finish.’ Relief fills me momentarily, but then he ruts into me, making the bed ropes creak and the headboard thump against the wall. I lie there and stare up at the ceiling until he groans and collapses on top of me.

  ‘Not bad, for a first time. It will improve. Ah, my wife, I’ve waited so long for this day. I knew I’d have to marry you to bed you.’ He withdraws his “thing” from me and, without so much as a goodnight, turns over and falls asleep. I put my hand between my legs, and when I remove it, Holy Mary Mother of God, there’s blood on my fingers.

  I let out a cry of fear for my baby.

  OH God, oh God, oh God, I’ve lost the baby. Not again. I can’t bare it. I jerked awake, tears streaming down my face. I lifted my hand. No blood. I rolled over in the bed and stared at the sheet. White.

  I hadn’t been pregnant; that had been Cecilia. It had brought it all back to me, though, the shame of what I’d done.

  And the terrible, agonising guilt.

  When I’d found out that Harry and I had conceived a child, I’d been in denial. I hadn’t looked after myself. I’d worked all the hours God had sent and, when I’d come down with the ’flu, I hadn’t gone to the doctor. The infection and the raging temperature were what had caused my miscarriage. I’d been glad at first; I hadn’t wanted a baby. It was too soon, we weren’t married yet, and I needed to get my career established before taking a break to have children.

  I remembered being so angry with Harry for not using a condom that one time. It had been after a party, and we’d gone back to his place a bit tipsy. Maybe I should have kept the contraceptive coil I’d had put in after we’d started sleeping together. But it had made me bleed constantly, which was why I’d had it removed. Then, when I’d missed that first period, I’d barely noticed I’d been so busy at work.

  After my period hadn’t appeared for the second time, and I’d started the most terrible morning sickness, I’d bought myself a pregnancy test kit. When the result had shown positive, I’d cried hot tears of despair and had kept my pregnancy to myself for a week. Then I’d told Harry and he’d been over the moon, suggesting we bring our wedding date forward. I’d argued against that. After all, the church and the reception venue had been booked for the following summer. The baby would have been born by then.

  In the meantime, we’d decided not to tell anyone. We’d wait until my bump was showing. I’d insisted on it, saying I didn’t want to jeopardise my chances at work.

  How selfish of me!

  It was the sight of a mother with her new-born baby at the supermarket that had brought on the guilt. That tiny scrap of human life had seemed so vulnerable, but at the same time so vibrant. I’d wanted to cradle the other woman’s child in my arms and whisper, sorry, as if it had been my own baby.

  Harry had been distraught at the loss of our child. He hadn’t come out and blamed me outright, but I was sure, deep down, that he held it against me. It was the way he’d started being less affectionate toward me, hardly touching me anymore. So, I’d buried myself in my work again, thinking he’d eventually get over it.

  Within me, the guilt festered like a wound that wouldn’t heal. When Harry had died, I was sure it was some form of punishment for what I’d done. Even when the sensible voice in my head had told me not to be silly, divine retribution didn’t exist, I couldn’t help myself.

  I knew I wasn’t worthy of being loved by any man. I was tainted. Harry had been waiting for me on the concourse at King’s Cross Underground and I’d been late. If I hadn’t cared so much about my damn career, we’d both have left the station before the fire started.

  I’ll pay the price for my selfishness for the rest of my life.

  A keening sound escaped from deep within me as I sat up in my bed at Auntie’s house, tears streaming down my face. A knock sounded at the door, and she poked her head into the room. ‘Whatever’s the matter, love?’

  ‘She… she… she’s lost her baby.’

  ‘Who’s lost her baby?’

  ‘Cecilia.’

  Auntie put her arms around me and rocked me. ‘Shush! You’ve had another nightmare. There, there. You’ll be fine now.’

  I wasn’t fine, but I wouldn’t say anything to her. That part of myself I’d keep hidden forever. That hard, ambitious woman wasn’t who I was today. But the festering guilt would always be with me.

  And now Cecilia has lost her baby too…

  I can’t go back there into the past anymore. The pain would be too much to bare.

  ‘Auntie,’ I said. ‘I know you think I’m still suffering from stress and don’t believe I could be slipping back in time. Maybe you’re right. Whatever the case, I can’t stop it of my own accord.’

  ‘Then I think you should get medical help,’ she said, stroking my arm.

  ‘No, not that. Luca’s mother mentioned we could ask the local priest to bless this house. What do you think?’

  ‘Hmm. Not sure about all that mumbo-jumbo,’ she shrugged. ‘But if it would make you feel better, of course.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, pecking her on the cheek.

  ‘How about a nice cup of camomile tea and a chocolate chip cookie?’ Auntie got to her feet. ‘It would help you get back to sleep again.’

  I followed her down the stairs but stopped halfway.

  There was that smell again, the odour of burnt wood, so strong, it almost made me puke.

  I rubbed my nose on the back of my hand and was hit by a chill that raised the hairs on my arms.

  ‘Lorenza,’ the voice whispered right by my ear.

  I flinched and my heart hammered against my ribs.

  Chapter 17

  Luca

  I put the phone down and ran my fingers through my hair. Fern had caught me just as I was setting off for work. Something had definitely spooked her, but what good would a priest do? Cecilia didn’t just come to her at Susan’s place. And why the sudden change of mind on Fern’s part?

  After promising her I’d ask my mother’s advice, I’d tried to elicit more information from Fern, but she was reticent. ‘I’ll explain everything when I see you,’ she’d promised. ‘Please call me as soon as you’ve spoken to Vanessa.’

  I left for the office, where I spent the day trying not to worry about Fern. Then I stopped off at the villa on my way home.

  ‘House blessing is a common enough ritual,’ Mother said matter-of-factly when I’d explained Fern’s dilemma. ‘You’d know if you’d continued in the faith into which you were baptised.’ She bumped my shoulder with a smile. ‘I’ll see what I can arrange. The priest will advise a full exorcism if he senses an evil spirit or demon. But I don’t think we’re dealing with that, somehow.’

  I snorted out a wry laugh— I couldn’t believe I was discussing demonology with my mother. We were in her small study at the back of the villa, her genealogical research spread out on her desk. ‘How are you getting on with the detective work?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, it would help if the family still had any of its palazzi in Venice. The archives from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries seem to have been lost.’

  ‘Shame about that,’ I said. Whenever any of my ancestors had suffered financial difficulty over the years, they’d sold off their Venetian properties one by one and today there were none left. Granted, several were still standing bearing the Goredan name, but the family had no rights to them, and hadn’t for at least two centuries. All we had was this villa, and the old farmhouse on a hillside below Monte Grappa.

  ‘I really should go to Venice and visit the library in San Marco,’ Mother continued. ‘They have records of births and deaths going back hundreds of years there.’

/>   I made strong eye contact with her. ‘Why don’t you let me handle that for you?’

  ‘You could take Fern,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘To see Venice again before she returns to London. A romantic interlude...’

  My mother’s words cut deep. Fern would leave Italy in about a fortnight, and I’d pushed the imminence of her departure from my mind. ‘I’m getting nowhere on the romance front.’ I exhaled a long slow breath. ‘It’s impossible to compete with rivals who’re both dead.’

  Mother put her arm around me. ‘Do you think Fern is doing the right thing?’

  I quirked a brow. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Trying to block Cecilia. That woman seems to be a very determined spirit. She’ll find a way to get through, I’m sure she will.’

  ‘Fern’s adamant she wants nothing more to do with her. She wouldn’t tell me why, except it seems to be connected with the fact that Cecilia has had to marry someone she didn’t love.’

  ‘It was common enough in her day. I’d have thought Cecilia would have been quite accepting. Especially if it meant financial security…’

  ‘She was deeply in love with the painter. But he couldn’t support her in the style to which she was accustomed, as they say, although I’m convinced Giorgione was a womaniser and liked to play the field. Cecilia seems to have accepted this alternative arrangement readily enough, from what Fern told me. I don’t know why Fern should find that so upsetting…’

  ‘My darling boy.’ Mother gave me a hug. ‘I can see how much you love her. It breaks my heart she doesn’t love you back.’

  ‘Mine too,’ I said. ‘Mine too...’

  The next day, I drove to Altivole as I’d arranged. The local priest was standing at Susan’s door. He introduced himself as Don Mario and was about ten years older than me, with wavy dark hair which gave him a charismatic look.

  ‘Buongiorno,’ I said before thanking him for giving up his time and coming to the house so quickly.

  Susan ushered us into the kitchen, where Fern was waiting, her forehead creased with worry.

  ‘Can I get you a coffee?’ Susan asked.

  Don Mario and I thanked her but declined, and the priest unzipped his rucksack.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Susan said stiffly. ‘I’ve got to go out and do a little grocery shopping.’ She picked up the handbag Fern had bought her in Castelfranco, a Fendi no less, and went to the door.

  I shrugged to myself… Fern had told me about her aunt’s disbelief.

  The blessing was a simple enough process, it seemed. Don Mario took a bottle of holy water and a crucifix from his bag, and we progressed from the kitchen to Susan’s bedroom and study upstairs, the priest raising his crucifix, and sprinkling the water in every corner, while he blessed the house in Christ’s name and that of His angels.

  When we reached Fern’s room, however, her eyes assumed that “rabbit in the headlights” expression. ‘I feel sick,’ she whispered. ‘How much longer is this going to take?’

  I took her hand; her fingers felt cold and clammy. ‘Almost done now, I think.’

  White-faced, Fern took her hand from mine and spun around. ‘Please ask him to stop.’ Her voice trembled. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

  I shivered.

  The warmth of the morning had turned into a sharp chill.

  ‘Lorenza!’’

  I’d heard it.

  Jesus, I’d actually heard that voice.

  Incredible.

  Heart thudding, I glanced at the priest, but Don Mario, apparently oblivious, was intoning, ‘Visita, Signore, te ne preghiamo, questa abitazione e creatura tua, respingi via da lei tutte le insidie del nemico; in essa abitino i tuoi santi angeli, Michele, Gabriele e Raffaele, che la custodiscano in pace dagli spiriti immondi.’

  ‘What’s he saying?’ Fern whispered.

  ‘He’s asking the Lord to visit you and your room, to banish all signs of the Devil and he’s intoning the Holy angels Michael, Gabriel and Raphael to take up residence here so that you can be at peace from unclean spirits.’

  The cold was eating into my bones. Fern’s face had turned rigid and her eyes expressionless. Was she about to go into one of her trances? I put my arm around her and felt her body shaking. ‘I think I’m going to throw up,’ she said.

  Electricity crackled through the air.

  Couldn’t Don Mario sense it?

  ‘La tua benedizione sia sempre sopra di noi. Per Cristo nostro Signore. Amen,’ the priest said as he lifted his crucifix. ‘Ho finito. I have finished.’

  ‘Oh, thank God, thank God, thank God.’ Fern held her head in her hands. ‘I thought my brain was about to explode. Cecilia’s voice was in my head, repeating, Lorenza, over and over. I couldn’t bare it.’

  ‘I heard it,’ I said.

  She stared at me, her mouth falling open.

  Don Mario made the sign of the cross on my forehead, asking the blessing of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. However, when the priest lifted his hand to bless Fern, she ducked away, and muttered something about needing the bathroom.

  I thanked Don Mario and gave him fifty thousand Lira for the church. As I saw him to the door, he said, ‘Peace be with you, and with the signorina. I hope my prayers today will be enough to keep the restless spirit away from her.’

  ‘Spero anch’io. I hope so too.’ So, Don Mario had sensed Cecilia’s presence.

  Of course, he had.

  He was a priest.

  Dealt with the supernatural all the time…

  ‘Thanks for helping,’ Fern said when I’d returned to the kitchen. She’d sat herself down at the table, but she still looked terrible– her face pale and her eyes stricken. ‘I wasn’t up to it.’

  ‘No. I can see that. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea…’

  ‘I could feel Cecilia’s misery, you know, more sharply than ever before.’

  I took Fern’s hand. ‘Can you tell me why, all of a sudden, you decided you wanted nothing more to do with her?’

  Her brow furrowed, and she pulled back her hand. ‘I can’t tell you. Not yet. I will, though,’ she said haltingly. ‘Soon.’

  ‘Is the smell of burnt wood still here?’ I asked.

  ‘No. Do you think the priest has managed to send Cecilia away? Part of me wants that, and another part of me, the part that empathises with her and wants to know what happened, is worried she’s gone for good.’

  ‘Then why did you ask for the priest?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’ She had the grace to look flustered and gave my hand a squeeze. ‘You’re a lovely man, Luca, and I really like you.’

  ‘I know you do,’ I said, my arms enfolding her. But you don’t love me.

  She lifted her chin and kissed me.

  Oh, God, how I kissed her back, long and hard, loving her so much I felt as if my heart would break.

  My hands found their way to her hair, then cupped her face and then her firm breasts and then they were around her luscious buttocks, pulling her body against mine.

  I pressed my nose into her luxuriant hair and inhaled her fresh scent.

  We clung to each other, breathless.

  I brought my mouth down and kissed her again, claiming her.

  She nipped at my lips and I tilted my pelvis to accommodate my hard-on.

  Her eyes fixed on mine, she stood back and slipped off her t-shirt.

  The sight of her stole my breath— her smooth fair skin, the dip to her waist.

  She reached behind to unclasp her bra, her gaze still holding mine.

  As if in a trance, she stepped out of her jeans and all that was left were her panties.

  I stood still as a statue, not wanting to spook her. She was so goddamn beautiful.

  Silently, she took a step forward and started unbuckling my jeans.

  Then she ran her hands up inside my dress shirt over my chest. Oh God. A quick kiss and she was undoing the buttons.

  We became frantic, lips on mouths, throats, behind the ears, then mouths agai
n. Together, we pulled off our underwear and I lifted her onto my erection.

  She wrapped her legs around me as I leaned against the table, pushing myself up into her, my soul rejoicing.

  With a throaty moan, she rolled her hips to take more of me, demanding that I bury myself deeper inside her, and I did.

  I held back until she let out a gasp and her body convulsed, then I lost myself inside her. I kissed her and lowered her legs to the floor. With a half-smile, she looked up at me, her hair swinging forward to cover her breasts.

  She stared at me and I stared back at her, trying to discern her thoughts.

  ‘Luca, I’m so confused,’ she said softly.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I tried to keep the anxiety from my tone.

  She bent to retrieve our clothes. Handing me my shirt, jeans and briefs, she said, ‘I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.’

  My heart sank. ‘What idea would that be?’

  ‘That we can be together. There’re things you don’t know about me, and those are things I don’t want you to know. Not now. Not yet. Something’s blocking me, you see.’ She paused. ‘Maybe when I’ve got to the bottom of the mystery of Cecilia.’ She sighed. ‘I just don’t know…’

  ‘Dolcezza. We can take this as slowly as you like.’ I bent and kissed her cheek. ‘One thing I want you to know, I’m in it for the long-term.’

  ‘What did you just say?’ she bit out the question.

  ‘That I’m prepared to wait.’

  She shook her head. ‘What did you just call me?’

  ‘Dolcezza. Italian for sweetheart.’

  ‘Please don’t call me that,’ she said, her tone brittle.

  It was like a slap in the face. My heart in pieces, I dressed quickly and said nothing, keeping my eyes cast down.

  She touched my arm. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so blunt. You must think I’m such a bitch.’ She blew out a breath. ‘It’s what Zorzo called Cecilia, you see.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right then,’ I said unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice. ‘Your long dead lover can call you sweetheart, but I can’t.’