by M C Dulac
THE
ALCHEMIST
OF
ROME
BY
M.C. DULAC
Copyright © 2018 M. C. Dulac
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this work can be reproduced, adapted, displayed, performed, distributed, scanned or transmitted by any form or by any means (electronic, photocopying or otherwise) without the express written permission of the copyright owner.
* * * * *
Cover Design by Adriana Hanganu, adipixdesign.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
CONTENTS
Part One:
Rebecca’s Story: Rome, Italy, Present Day
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Part Two:
Antonio’s story: Naples, Rome, Amalfi &
Malta, 1759 -1761
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Part Three:
Rebecca’s Story: Amalfi Coast & Rome, Present Day
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
PROLOGUE
REBECCA’S STORY:
ROME, ITALY, PRESENT DAY
Rebecca did not know why she had been chosen. Perhaps if she had entered the piazza a few minutes later, the alchemist’s gaze would have fallen on someone else.
Was it because she was a stranger in this city? Did she have an aura of sadness? Maybe it was because she was far from home and tired from jet lag, and the alchemist had thought she was like all the other lost girls of the past.
Did he watch from one of the expensive cars that glided by, or from behind the windows of a restaurant in the square? He would not be touching his food nor sipping his wine, of course, for he had other ways of staying alive. Or was he in a dark room, where his eyes burned with that eerie glow? He must have been somewhere close by, for she felt his decision like an icy wind.
She would be the one.
And just as suddenly, she felt another force - like a bright light.
Not this time.
Rebecca stood on the street corner, her travel bag over her shoulder. It was her first day in Rome. She looked around to see who had spoken, but all she saw was traffic and crowds of tourists.
Angels took unexpected forms sometimes. And Rebecca did not know then what strange forces were gathering in the Eternal City of Rome.
Chapter One
ROME, ITALY, TWO WEEKS LATER
All journeys through the underworld eventually lead up to light, Rebecca thought, as she walked across the terrace in the Pincio Gardens that sunny afternoon.
Below was the magnificent Piazza del Popolo with its fountains and colonnades. The hills of Rome were dazzling in the late afternoon sunbeams, while domes and rooftops stretched as far as she could see.
Her heart soared, but just as quickly she blinked away a tear. It had been three months since she had lost her younger sister, Laura. Those months had been a descent into darkness, emotional and physical. She had felt the despair of knowing things happened when they should not, and the helplessness that the course of life could be snapped like a ribbon. It had taken a long time for the world to feel right again and for the clouds of sadness to lift. Now, as Rebecca gazed across the city of Rome, she dared to hope that she had come through to the other side at last.
The Pincio Gardens were certainly full of sunshine and beauty. Water glittered in the fountains. A busker was singing loudly and enthusiastically, while couples strolled by and children played. A dark-haired young man was working at an easel in the shade. He was strikingly good-looking, like many men in Rome. He raised his eyes and his gaze was smoldering and shy. He smiled and Rebecca felt her cheeks redden.
“Rebecca!”
A woman of around fifty was sketching near the fountain. Jane wasn’t Rebecca’s actual aunt, but as her mother’s best friend, Rebecca considered Jane closer than any relative. At home Jane was a corporate lawyer, although her sketches were as good as a professional artist.
Rebecca joined her on the park bench. Jane put down her pencil. Her blissful expression faded. Rebecca knew the conversation that was coming - the same conversation they had had over the last twenty four hours.
“Now will you be okay for the next two weeks?” Jane said.
“I’ll be fine,” Rebecca said quickly.
Jane began drawing, although her pencil strokes were hesitant, “I can’t believe the contract negotiations have fallen over again. It’s just such bad luck, after all the planning I did for this trip.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I feel terrible leaving you here on your own. I wish you’d come home with me.”
Rebecca’s heart quickened. She couldn’t go home yet. Not now she’d come to Rome and the sun was shining. She had a feeling her journey wasn’t complete. Or maybe she couldn’t face returning to her parents’ house, seeing Laura’s room and Laura’s things, “As you said, Jane, we’ve paid for the hotel. It’s silly to waste all that money.”
“I’ve only booked the hotel until the end of next week. You have to tell the hotel you will need the room at least until the 30th.”
“I told the girl at the front desk today.”
“The manager?”
“The manager wasn’t there,” Rebecca admitted, “But the girl I spoke to said it would be fine. It’s a very safe hotel. And let’s face it, I am old enough to look after myself.”
Jane’s face lit up with a smile that quickly faded, “I want to know you are okay. You’ve been through a lot. Losing Laura was terrible for all of us.”
Rebecca felt a weight in her heart at hearing Laura’s name.
“Jane, please don’t worry. There’s so much to see in Rome. I can go sightseeing everyday.”
“I can book you a tour.”
Rebecca screwed up her face, “I prefer to wander.”
“That’s what worries me. You wandered off in Florence and I found you hours later in that crypt. I had no idea there were so many tombs in Italy.”
“It’s been a wonderful holiday,” Rebecca went on, “Travel is the best way to move on. Dante went through darkness and struggle before he reached Paradise.”
“Dante?”
“Dante, the Italian poet. He wrote Inferno, the poem about descending into the underworld after he lost his wife Beatrice.”
“We shouldn’t have done that Dante tour in Florence,” Jane sighed.
“But we’re in Rome now,” Rebecca said, “How can I be unhappy?”
“I can book you some art lessons,” Jane nodded to herself, “Or a cooking class. And Katie will be here for a few days. Katie - the American girl at the hotel.”
“I’ll be fine,” Rebecca repeated.
Jane paused, “I wish you’d come back with
me.”
“I’ll go shopping with Katie. And I won’t go to any more crypts. Maybe I’ll meet an Italian boy.”
“Maybe you should,” Jane smiled, “I won’t tell your mother.”
Rebecca’s eyes drifted across the terrace. The young man at the easel moved with a fluid elegance. Rebecca wondered what he was drawing. His expression changed from concentration, to sadness, then determination.
He had a way of pulling her attention, as though there was no one else around. A warm feeling rose in her heart.
“I feel things are getting better now,” Rebecca said.
Even though this holiday had been a way to heal, it had taken time for the shadows to lift. The long-haul flight from Sydney, Australia, was a journey through darkness itself, beginning in daylight, then heading into hours and hours of night - eighteen hours in total - before arriving in Italy. There had been the odd feeling in the piazza on the first day, a feeling someone was watching her. Then the first few weeks in Venice, Florence and Sienna had been strange and forlorn - a sort of pilgrimage through tombs and sombre churches. She had felt the weight of history and the solemnity of the past. Even the weather conspired against them. Every day had been overcast and raining.
But in Rome the sun had come out. Everything about Rome was intense, both visual and sensory. The relics of civilisations were built one on top of the other, like a magnificent curiosity shop of antiquity. The ruins of empire were scattered through squares and lanes, overlaid with renaissance and baroque grandeur, and then the gaudy glamour of the modern age. It was a true Eternal City, as though the whole of history had been pushed through a time machine and the pieces shattered so they landed wherever they fell.
Even the stranger under the trees had a timeless look. It was so easy to imagine him in the time of Michelangelo, or the Popes whose palaces dotted the city, or the dolce vita era of the 1960s. As the sunlight rested on her eyelashes, she had an image of the handsome stranger, unchanging through the ages.
He shot her another glance.
Rebecca chewed her lip and gazed over the city. He was beautiful and intriguing. Why didn’t she ever meet someone like that?
“There’s Antonio,” Jane said, raising her hand.
“The boy under the trees? Do you know him?”
“He’s from the art school. I told you, you should take art lessons.”
Rebecca’s heart skipped a beat as Antonio waved to Jane. He placed his pencil on the easel and walked across the terrace. For a brief moment the sunbeams lit his hair and shoulders, and he seemed to fade in the sunlight. Then he reached the shadows and he was solid again.
He sat down on the bench with them, “Hello, Jane,” his voice had a deep, musical quality. He cast Rebecca a curious glance. Up close, his presence was overwhelming. His face was masculine, but beautiful. The muscles rippled under his shirt and he looked far stronger than an artist should be. His hair was jet black and his eyes were dark brown. His skin was pale, as though he should spend more time in the sun, but he had a compelling glow.
“Very good,” he said, as he gently examined Jane’s drawing, “Although this line here - may I?”
Jane handed him the pencil. He furrowed his brow as he gazed across the terrace. With a few strokes he had created perfect lines of perspective.
“You are so talented, Antonio,” Jane’s face had lit up, “This is Rebecca.”
“Your niece?” concern flickered over his face.
“My best friend’s daughter.”
Antonio nodded. Perhaps Jane had told him why they’d come to Italy. Rebecca was the girl whose sister had died.
If he knew, he said nothing, but Rebecca appreciated his kind glance.
“Are you taking art classes this week?” Jane added.
“No, we are finished for the year.”
“That’s a shame,” Jane gave Rebecca a disappointed look. Now Rebecca knew why Jane had enjoyed going to art class.
“Are you also an artist, Rebecca?” Antonio asked.
“I wish I was. I don’t really know what I want to be yet.”
“You have plenty of time to decide,” he smiled with a sincerity that made her heart soar. He turned his gaze to Jane, “Are you leaving today?”
“I’m flying home tomorrow morning,” Jane said.
“It’s a pity that you are leaving so soon.”
“Rebecca is staying,” Jane added, and Rebecca felt the colour rise in her cheeks.
“I hope you enjoy your time in Rome, Rebecca,” Antonio smiled.
“Maybe we could have dinner together tonight,” Jane said, “How about that pizzeria you told the class about, Antonio?”
Antonio ran his hand through his luxuriant hair, “I am afraid I have to meet someone.”
Rebecca felt a stone in her heart. Her reaction was ridiculous. She had only just met him. Knowing that Antonio was taken was a crushing feeling. Even Jane looked crestfallen. But how could someone so charming not have a girlfriend already?
“My boss,” Antonio added with a smile.
Jane nodded with a big smile. Her eyes swung to Rebecca. Rebecca blushed.
“Now show us what you have been working on, Antonio.”
“It is a panorama of the city,” Antonio said, “I haven’t been drawing in daylight for a long time.”
“He usually works at night,” Jane said, “You should see his work, Rebecca. It is amazing.”
Antonio led the way to his easel.
Rebecca did not know what she was expecting, but Antonio’s picture took her breath away. The drawing was detailed and beautiful.
“And you only had a few lines an hour ago,” Jane said.
“It’s amazing. I could never do that,” Rebecca said.
“You can,” Antonio said, “I’ve just had more experience.”
He was barely older than she was. Rebecca’s eyes danced over the charcoal drawing of the Piazza del Popolo. He had captured every detail of the columns, fountains and arcades.
“I’m twenty,” Rebecca said, “How old are you?”
“Older,” he smiled.
“What a beautiful afternoon to say goodbye to Italy,” Jane said, staring at the sunbeams piercing the clouds.
“We came through to the other side,” Rebecca said, “Like Dante through the underworld.”
“Rebecca, no more talk of the underworld.”
Antonio cast her a quick glance. He packed up his bag and slung his folding easel over his shoulder. Together they walked down the leafy path to the Piazza.
“It was very nice to meet you,” Antonio said, gazing at Rebecca with big brown eyes, “Have a safe trip home, Jane.”
He disappeared into the crowds. Jane and Rebecca walked across the cobblestone square towards the Corso.
“I’m going to buy that handbag your mother asked for,” Jane said.
“I’ll meet you at the hotel. I feel like a walk.”
“Don’t get lost.”
Rebecca smiled, “My sense of direction is better than yours.”
“True,” Jane admitted, “It’s a shame Antonio couldn’t come to dinner with us. He’s such a lovely boy. So quiet and respectful.”
“And handsome.”
Jane smiled, “Okay, that too. But he is very talented. He has a gift.”
Antonio’s drawing was exquisite, except for one detail. Rebecca wondered if Jane had noticed. Antonio had removed every sign of the modern age. He had drawn the Piazza del Popolo, not as it was now, but as it was centuries before.
* * * * *
In some cities, it is impossible to feel alone. As Rebecca strolled across the Pont D’Angelo with the evening sun on her back, she felt alive and connected to the whole city. It was not the most direct route to the hotel, but wasn’t that the point of Rome, to wander and lose herself?
Life-size stone angels lined the bridge, wings outspread, arms beckoning, handsome heads bowed. Real men had been the models for these statues during the renaissance. She had read in her guidebook
that centuries ago, young men had gathered in an area of Rome aptly known as the Via Modeli, waiting to be chosen by the artists or sculptors who would transform their image onto canvas or into marble.
The statues reminded her of Antonio. He had such a classical look, it was easy to believe he was a direct descendent of these men.
And then she saw him, standing at the end of the bridge.
She hadn’t realised he had walked this way. Her heart beat fast, but he had already seen her. He waved and smiled. She took a deep breath as she approached.
“Are you staying around here?” he said.
“No, I’m just wandering.”
“That’s the best way to discover Rome. But you are far from home. Aren’t you fearful?”
“I have a good sense of direction.”
“But what if you get lost?”
“If I get lost,” Rebecca frowned, “I’ll always find my way back. Somehow.”
Antonio bowed his head, “I believe you will.”
“Are you meeting your boss?”
“Yes, in an hour.”
“Is he an artist?”
“No,” Antonio frowned, “He’s a businessman.”
Thoughts dashed through Rebecca’s mind. She had assumed Antonio was a full-time artist. He had the talent. But maybe he had a day job. Perhaps he wore a suit. He would look even more handsome in a suit.
“Are you going this way?” he asked.
“I’m going there,” she pointed behind her.
“So you are walking away from where you are going,” Antonio smiled kindly, “Don’t worry. It’s a nice walk along the river and then you can cross the Ponte Principe and return to the city centre.”
The sun slid behind the rooftops and the sky was turning violet. Antonio had a calm manner and was easy to talk to.
“It must be wonderful to live in Rome,” Rebecca said.
“It still amazes me, although I’ve lived here for a long time.”
“Were you born here?”
“No, I was born in Naples. I’m from the south.”