Lady of Asolo

by Siobhan Daiko

  ‘I suppose. Such a tragedy! Shame the Queen couldn’t have bent her rules and allowed Cecilia to take Lorenza to Venice.’

  ‘I doubt it even entered her head there was any danger. The Republic thought itself infallible, and it became so again. I’ve been reading the book Ma found. Apparently, Pope Julius soon realised that the eventual destruction of Venice would be too dangerous.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He needed Venetian support to face up to the Kingdom of France and the Ottoman Empire.’

  ‘The Pope’s alliance with Louis ended?’

  ‘Yep. And Pope Julius also fell out with Lodovico’s duke.’

  ‘Don’t tell me he excommunicated him!’

  ‘Got it in one. That didn’t stop the Duke of Ferrara from fighting back. Then Maximilian switched sides and allied himself with the Pope. He wouldn’t give up the territory he’d taken from Venice, though. So the Republic jumped horses and joined up with the French to combat Julius and Maximilian. Venice and France ended up dividing the whole of Northern Italy between them.’

  ‘And the Republic endured.’

  ‘You could say that. But the events of 1509 marked the end of Venetian expansion.’

  Fern lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes. ‘How long are they keeping me in hospital?’

  ‘Until tomorrow, all being well. A precaution. They advise against returning to London for at least a fortnight.’

  ‘Right. More sick leave. The bank will really be fed up with me.’

  ‘Concentrate on getting better. Your room at the villa is waiting for you. Ma and Chiara send their love and will pop in to visit this evening.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me about the intruder.’

  ‘It was Federico. He tried to force himself on Chiara, but she managed to get away from him, thank God.’ Luca went on to recount the events of last night.

  ‘Federico behaved just like Lodovico,’ Fern said, shocked. ‘I didn’t mention to you how much he reminded me of Cecilia’s husband in case you thought it too far-fetched. But everything that has happened, has been an echo of what happened in the past, and has changed our lives forever.’ She paused. ‘Oh my God! I’ve just thought of something. Lodovico locked Cecilia in her room, but Chiara did the opposite and locked Federico in the stable.’ To Fern’s consternation, she found herself bursting into tears again. ‘I’m sorry. Not normally such a crybaby.’

  ‘Traumatic stress, my darling,’ Luca said, pulling another tissue from the box. He wiped her eyes, held her close again, and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

  The door to Fern’s room swung open and Aunt Susan arrived, a bouquet of pink roses in one hand, and a box of Baci Perugina in the other.

  ‘I’m sorry for setting fire to your house, Auntie.’

  ‘You did nothing of the sort. It was a freak accident. And it’s you I have to thank for saving my life, and Gucci’s. Not to mention my manuscript.’

  ‘Where is Gucci?’

  ‘At the local cattery. I’ll rent somewhere as soon as I can and he can move back in with me. It will take a while to sort out the insurance and rebuild.’

  Aunt Susan perched on the opposite side of the bed to Luca, opened the box of chocolates, and offered them. Luca took one, but Fern declined. Luca handed her the small piece of paper that had been wrapped around his chocolate. She read to herself, in dreams, as in love, all is possible.

  ***

  Fern’s hands were still a vibrant shade of pink, but they were healing, and her lungs were back to normal. Her greatest worry had been that she wouldn’t be able to draw and paint as a result of the accident. She sat in the sitting room at the villa and sighed to herself; she was dreading going back to London next week. She’d used up all her holiday entitlement, but she and Luca had agreed he would visit her regularly by adding a day’s leave to one weekend a month. It would have to do. For now.

  Fern looked up as Chiara hobbled into the room. Luca’s sister had been helping to sort through the old boxes in the cellar; she was constantly bringing Fern rolled-up maps and documents to scrutinise before documenting them. This time she held a small oval painting in her hand. She showed it to Fern. ‘I think it’s of one of our ancestors.’

  Fern slipped on the cotton gloves she wore to protect her hands, and reached for the cloth she’d been using to wipe the dust from the parchments. She could see a signature in the bottom right-hand corner of the picture, covered in mildew. Wiping gently, she revealed the letter L. Then an O, followed by an R. Lorenza. Oh my God! Could it be? Her heart pounding, she carefully uncovered the rest of the signature. Lorenza Gaspare.

  Gaspare had been Lodovico’s surname. How had the girl managed to become an artist? And who was the Goredan ancestor in the portrait? ‘This is fascinating,’ she said to Chiara. ‘Is your mother around? We must show it to her.’

  ‘I’ll go and get her.’

  Fern held the portrait up to the light, marvelling at the fine brushwork. Within minutes Chiara returned with Vanessa, and Fern said, ‘Look at this!’

  Vanessa let out a gasp. ‘Incredible! Who’d have thought? I’ve no idea who the chap in the portrait is. Where did you find it, Chiara?’

  ‘At the bottom of the last trunk. It was under another stack of those boring letters. I’ll go and get them.’

  Fern smiled as she watched mother and daughter search through the correspondence. They’d become much closer. Chiara, no longer under Federico’s sway, had even agreed to go back to university. As for her ex-boyfriend, he was in jail awaiting trial. Fern hoped he would get an appropriate sentence.

  ‘These letters don’t tell us much,’ Vanessa said. ‘They’re mostly about buying and selling spices. Like many Venetians, our family was in the spice trade in the 15th and 16th centuries.’

  Disappointment bowled though Fern. She told herself not to be silly. Just because a painting signed by Lorenza had miraculously appeared, didn’t mean the mystery of her life would be solved all at once. Fern would have to content herself with holding the miniature in her hand; she would use her imagination to fill in the gaps. Lodovico had gone some way towards redeeming himself by allowing Lorenza to pursue her artistic talents. Fern had been haunted by the fear he had repressed the girl like he’d tried to repress her mother. Lorenza had probably twisted him around her little finger, she was that sort of child . . .

  ‘The connection between me and Giorgione,’ Luca said when he’d got back from the office and had seen the portrait. ‘That’s why I dreamed about him.’ After dinner, he put his arm around Fern and led her onto the terrace. They sat sipping Prosecco in the warmth of the late June night. Fireflies flitted across the garden, their lights like tiny lanterns, and the air was redolent with the scent of honeysuckle.

  Fern’s eyes met Luca’s and she knew, she suddenly knew, what she would say next. ‘When I get back to London, I’ll hand in my notice at the bank and put the flat on the market.’

  Luca kissed her. A long, lingering kiss. ‘I love you, Fern.’

  ‘And I love you too. With all my heart, amore mio.’

  EPILOGUE

  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 throu
gh 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.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  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: info@fragrantpublishing.com.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  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.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  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 info@fragrantpublishing.com

  ALSO BY SIOBHAN DAIKO

  THE ORCHID TREE

  ________________________________________________________________________________

  A coming of age story set against th
e background of World War II and changing values in post-war Hong Kong society

  “An evocative and mesmerising read,” RENITA D’SILVA, author, Monsoon Memories

  “Wonderfully atmospheric, beautifully described,” ANN BENNETT, author, Bamboo Heart

  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.

  A young Englishman, James, becomes the link between Kate and Sofia. The communist-nationalist struggle in China spills over into the colony, catapulting the protagonists into the turmoil with disastrous consequences.

  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.