Lady of Asolo

by Siobhan Daiko

‘What do you advise? Should I go back to London earlier than I’d planned?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you, my dear. It’s your decision. Perhaps you should come and stay here for a couple of days? It may give you some respite from Cecilia, and also a chance to reflect. You say she only comes to you in places associated with her?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s very kind of you. Are you sure I won’t be a nuisance?’

  ‘Not at all. I’d be delighted. You can repay me with one of your watercolours. Luca told me how good they are.’

  And so it was decided. Fern went back to her aunt’s to collect an overnight case. Aunt Susan was happy enough for her to stay with the contessa. ‘As long as you’re back in a couple of days,’ she said. ‘Otherwise I’ll feel as if you’re abandoning me.’

  Trust Auntie to be so forthright!

  ‘Luca’s mother wants me to paint her a watercolour of the villa,’ Fern said. It was a good excuse. ‘Shouldn’t take me long.’ She deliberately left her print of The Tempest behind in her room.

  ***

  It took the three days she’d been staying with Vanessa for Fern’s breasts to more or less become normal. She spent the time helping the contessa organise her genealogical research, taking the dogs for walks, riding with Chiara, and painting.

  The Goredan family tree had so many branches, Fern’s head spun as she helped sort through myriad shoeboxes full of notes. Chiara rode with her in the mornings, but after lunch Luca’s sister would leave to spend the rest of the day with Federico, only returning in the early hours of the next day. Vanessa had given up insisting her daughter be home by midnight, but was firm about her coming back to sleep. ‘As long as I’m paying for your upkeep,’ she said. ‘You have to follow my rules.’

  In bed, at night, while Fern lay waiting to drop off, she could hear the ghost of the lute-player strumming a centuries-old tune. And, as the contessa had told her the first time she’d met her at the Cipriani Hotel, the sound wasn’t frightening at all. Quite comforting, in fact.

  Luca was still at his architectural conference, and Fern was glad. He was a complication she could do without. God forbid that he should catch sight of the occasional wetness on her blouses. Thankfully, the leakages occurred mostly in the evenings when Chiara was out; Fern would have found them impossible to explain. Gradually, she had to replace the sodden tissues less often and now she was almost dry.

  Whenever thoughts of Lorenza came into her head, she made herself think of something else, just like she’d done when she’d lost her own baby. The mind was a powerful instrument . . .

  Luca got back from Vienna on Fern’s last evening at the villa. ‘Let me see the painting,’ he said, after he’d greeted his mother. The excuse for Fern’s visit had been given to him as well. He followed her to the covered part of the patio, where she’d improvised her studio. Her watercolour was on an easel in the corner. She’d concentrated on depicting the central part of the building, suggestive of a Roman temple with its Ionic columns. ‘What do you think?’ she said to him.

  ‘Wonderful. I don’t know why you want to go back to working in a bank. You have a huge talent, Fern. You should focus on your art.’

  ‘Wish I could. But I have a mortgage to pay.’

  ‘Rent your flat out and use the income to live off here. You know it makes sense. London rentals are much higher than Asolo ones. You’d probably cover your mortgage and have enough left over to live on while you get established.’

  ‘Hmm, tempting.’ The idea was tempting, but now wasn’t the right time to go into it. Best change the subject. ‘How was Vienna?’

  ‘Beautiful. We must go there together someday.’ He stopped as he caught sight of her frown. ‘I’ve done it again, haven’t I?’

  ‘’Fraid so. I know you mean well, Luca. But you are a bit of a caveman.’

  He laughed. ‘Evolution hasn’t caught up with modern society. Remember our discussion?’

  ‘About tribal instincts. Yes.’ She laced her fingers through his. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief because I’ve missed you too.’

  Fern glanced around the patio. They were alone. She wrapped her arms around his waist and lifted her chin. When his mouth came down on hers, she knew what she was going to say next. ‘Can I take you out for dinner tomorrow night? There’s something I need to tell you.’

  ***

  The dining room of the Cipriani Hotel hummed with the low buzz of conversation. They were sitting at a table next to the picture window overlooking what had to be one of the most beautiful views in the world. The ancient buildings of Asolo marched along the crest of the hill in the foreground, towards an imposing villa that seemed as if it was perched on stilts, the loggia on the ground floor, and cypress trees standing sentinel at its sides. Sunset had caught the clouds, tinging them with pink, and the distant mountains rose up like guardian angels, spreading their wings over the landscape below.

  Luca handed Fern the menu. ‘I hesitate to make any suggestions or you’ll accuse me of being a caveman again.’

  ‘Suggest away, you know this restaurant.’

  ‘The taglierini con prosciutto is excellent, as is the fish. We could have the pasta to start then grilled sole. And a bottle of Pinot Grigio.’

  ‘Perfect,’ Fern said, glancing down at her breasts. Thankfully, everything seemed to be all right in that department.

  The waiter arrived and poured them a Bellini each before taking their order. Fern let out a sigh. ‘I’m going to miss all this so much when I go back to London.’

  ‘Then stay.’

  She shot him a warning glance and he held up his hands. ‘Sorry!’

  While they ate, Luca filled her in with more details about the conference (boring) and the city of Vienna (fascinating). Fern’s chest fluttered with butterflies. Perhaps she wouldn’t tell Luca about losing her baby; he might hate her. She finished her glass of wine and their waiter jumped to refill it.

  ‘Dolce?’ Luca asked when they’d finished their main course. ‘The Tiramisù here is amazing.’

  ‘Why not?’ she said, knocking back another glass of wine.

  It was delicious, but at the same time too rich and now she was feeling queasy. ‘I can’t eat or drink another mouthful.’

  ‘Shall we go for a stroll in the garden? We can have our coffee on the terrace. Then you can tell me about what’s been worrying you so much . . . you’ve had ants in your pants all evening.’

  Fern linked her arm through Luca’s; she felt a little light-headed. He guided her to a chair next to the low wall protecting guests from the drop into the valley below. ‘I’ll fetch you some acqua minerale.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, embarrassed. ‘Didn’t realise how much I was drinking.’

  She watched Luca striding across the garden, then swivelled her gaze towards the castle.

  The plaintive cry filled her head.

  ‘Lorenza!’

  I sit in my lady’s Asolo orchard, watching my daughter crawl towards me. Happiness fills all my empty spaces. She’s a sunny child, with dark eyes like her real father as well as her supposed one. It’s good fortune they both have the same colouring. Her nature is like mine, however; she’s impetuous and always into mischief. Only yesterday, she grabbed one of my brushes, dipped it into my ultramarine blue, and daubed the canvas I was working on, a painting of her. Lorenza’s first birthday will be next week and I’ve drawn and painted each stage of her development. Finally, I’ve been able to study a naked body, albeit that of a babe; I’ve learned much from observing then sketching my daughter.

  Today, I’ve brought Lorenza to visit my lady. I needed to get her out of Lodovico’s way. His brother is visiting, and neither he nor Giovanni have any patience with my little girl. How can they fail to love her? Everyone else dotes on her – from the Queen, to Dorotea, to my sister. And I’m besotted with her; to me, she’s perfection. I open my arms and she comes into them, giggling as I hug her to me. Lorenza’s soft cheek i
s like a peach and I give her a resounding kiss. She nuzzles at my chest; she’s thirsty.

  The court is sleeping the siesta; I glance around to check we’re alone. I unlace my kirtle and pull off my chemise, which I drape around my shoulders. Lorenza still suckles from my breast, once or twice a day. I place her next to me, on the other side of my raised leg, and her mouth latches onto my nipple. A tickling sensation as my milk lets down, and then my daughter sucks greedily.

  ‘Dolcezza,’ comes a voice from behind the cherry tree.

  I give a jump as my pulse quickens. ‘Zorzo! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Searching for you. Your maid told me you were here.’

  I make a move to cover my nakedness.

  ‘Don’t,’ he says. ‘Your babe will not thank you if you stop the feed.’ He delves into his bag, and takes out a rolled up parchment and a stick of charcoal. Then he removes a board and ties the parchment to it. With quick strokes he starts to draw. ‘I’ve a commission for a painting from a wealthy Venetian nobleman, and have been searching for the right Madonna for it. Should have realised I didn’t need to look far.’

  My heart is jubilant at the sight of him; it has been far too long. His theory that I’d have had more freedom as a married woman has come to nothing because of my pregnancy and motherhood. Nevertheless, I don’t regret Lorenza, not for one minute, she’s everything to me.

  I gaze at him while he works. My body has filled out since last he saw me; I’m no longer a nubile girl but a woman who bears the signs of childbirth. I try to pull my chemise around my nether parts, but Zorzo tells me to leave them uncovered.

  ‘Dolcezza,’ he says, his eyes drinking me in and his voice approving. ‘I would have come to Asolo sooner, except work has kept me busy. Your Zorzo is much in demand of late.’

  My Zorzo!

  ‘The babe is delightful,’ he adds. ‘Hidden behind your leg, no one will realise she isn’t a boy. A cherubic Gesù bambino.’

  After a while I need to change Lorenza over to my other breast, but by then Zorzo has finished sketching her and has moved on to roughing out a drawing of my face and body. ‘I don’t need to spend much time on your countenance. For ’tis in my heart and soul.’

  When my babe has drunk her fill, she sits back and regards her father. Neither she nor he will ever know of the relationship, I’ve sworn to myself, yet seeing them together makes me feel proud of them both. I hand her to him to hold while I dress, and he lifts her in the air. ‘Look at you! The reflection of your mother.’

  He whirls her above his head, making her unleash a stream of giggles.

  ‘I think she’s more like her father,’ I say, smiling to myself.

  ‘Talking of which, does he treat you well?’

  ‘Well enough.’ I will not tell him of Lodovico’s rough handling of me in bed, of the many bruises I’ve had to endure. Fortunately, of late, he hardly bothers to visit me at night. I think he must have a woman in Ferrara. He goes there, supposedly on the Duke’s business, more and more often. ‘Although I do wonder why he wanted to marry me,’ I say. ‘There’s no love in him.’

  ‘Granted, you’re the most beautiful woman at the Queen’s court, but I have my suspicions about where Ferrara stands with respect to the Pope’s alliance with the Hapsburg Emperor.’

  I remember the brief visit of Maximilian at the banquet, when I was first introduced to Lodovico. ‘He looks at the Venetian territories with envy,’ the Queen said at that time. My husband has never made any secret of the fact that he’s a ferrarese first and foremost. Could he have married me for my closeness to Caterina Cornaro? She doesn’t get involved in the highs and lows of politics, but her brother, Giorgio, is the Provveditore Generale all’Armata, in charge of the Venetian Army.

  She glanced around for Zorzo, but he’d vanished along with the child. Her head spun and she felt sick. A man was approaching with a glass and a bottle of something in his hand; she’d seen that man before.

  ‘This should help.’ The man froze and stared at her breasts. ‘Fern! Your blouse is damp.’

  She felt the cold wetness seeping through her chemise. Only it wasn’t her chemise, was it? It was her work dress, the white one she’d worn to the opera with Aunt Susan, that she’d put on especially for her dinner date with Luca. Bloody hell! Cecilia wasn’t supposed to come to her here. This villa hadn’t been around in her time.

  ‘Cecilia has given birth,’ Fern said. ‘And my body thinks I have too.’ She took in a deep breath and let it out again slowly. ‘I know who Lorenza is.’

  ‘Cecilia’s daughter?’

  Fern nodded. ‘And I was pregnant once.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I lost the baby.’

  Luca took hold of her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Fern.’

  ‘All my fault.’

  ‘How could it have been your fault?’

  She told him. About her so-called wonderful career, about her ambivalence towards the baby, about her refusal to take care of herself. Then, she told him about the guilt. The dreadful, unrelenting guilt. And how Harry’s death was her punishment.

  ‘You’re being far too hard on yourself,’ he said, putting his arm around her.

  ‘No, no. Don’t you see? It’s why Cecilia chose me. She didn’t miscarry, but she lost Lorenza all the same. I think she’s searching for her.’ Fern felt her lip tremble; she straightened it. ‘I’ve decided I’ll have to follow her story to the end. I need to find out what happened to Lorenza.’

  He rubbed her hand. ‘It’s getting a bit chilly out here. Why don’t we go back to my place for that coffee?’

  She shot him a look and he smiled. ‘No strings.’

  ‘That’s all right, then.’

  20

  Luca’s flat was only a couple of minutes’ walk from the Cipriani, at the top of an old palazzo in Via Canova. The views from the roof terrace stretched as far as the Dolomite mountains to the north and the Venetian plain to the south. ‘It’s stunning,’ Fern said. ‘Have you lived here long?’

  ‘About a year. I moved in just after I split up with Francesca.’

  ‘I’ve been meaning to ask what happened between you, but I didn’t want to pry.’

  ‘The chemistry wasn’t right. Something stopped me from introducing her to the family, so they never knew about her. In any case, we weren’t together long.’ He paused. ‘Are you ready for that coffee?’

  ‘Have you got any herbal tea?’ She rubbed her arms; the evening had become cold. ‘I’ve had my caffeine allowance for the day.’

  ‘We’ll go through to the kitchen.’

  She watched him fill the kettle, and recalled their love-making. It wasn’t that she wanted it to happen again. But she couldn’t help noticing the strength in his hands as he turned the tap, and remembering the feel of those hands on her body.

  Luca reached up to the cupboard for two mugs, his shirt rising to expose his flat belly. Designer jeans, Armani, tight against his buttocks. Swallowing hard, she made herself glance away.

  ‘Sugar?’

  ‘No thanks,’ she croaked.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Fine.’ Except she wasn’t fine; she was burning with the need to press her lips to his, to run her hands down his chest, and for him to do the same to her. And, and . . .

  No, Fern. No.

  ‘Going back to Cecilia,’ she said, making an effort to keep her voice steady. ‘I read in the book Aunt Susan loaned me about Caterina Cornaro, that the Queen was in Venice when the Barco was destroyed.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘The book doesn’t give much information about the whys and wherefores.’

  ‘I’ll try and find out for you, if you like.’

  ‘I’m interested in knowing where Ferrara stood. I mean, if the Duke supported Venice or the Emperor.’

  ‘More likely the Pope. And he had a hatred of the Venetian Republic.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘Because the Serenissima had taken control of several
of the Papal States.’

  ‘The Serenissima?’

  ‘The Most Serene Republic. Venice.’

  ‘And the Pope wanted them back?’

  ‘Got it in one,’ Luca said.

  ‘Zorzo told Cecilia that the Pope had formed an alliance with the Emperor Maximilian.’

  ‘He wasn’t called the Holy Roman Emperor for nothing.’

  ‘I thought the Roman Empire was long gone by then?’

  ‘These emperors were German, but liked to think they held supreme power inherited from the emperors of Rome.’

  ‘Why the “Holy”?’

  ‘Because from the 10th to the 16th centuries the Holy Roman Emperors were crowned by the Pope.’

  ‘I’m beginning to see a connection here.’

  ‘Yep,’ Luca said.

  ‘Although, of course, I won’t be able to warn Cecilia.’

  ‘One thing’s for sure. We can’t change the past.’

  ‘Not like Back to the Future, then?’ Fern gave a nervous laugh.

  ‘Absolutely.’ Luca glanced at his watch. ‘Time to get you home, I think.’ He jangled his car keys.

  Sitting next to him in the Alfa while he drove her to Altivole, Fern wondered if Luca regretted making love to her. The fact that he’d kept his distance while they were at his flat had made her feel torn. Physically, she’d wanted him desperately. If he’d made the first move, she’d have fallen into his arms in spite of her earlier resolve. Yet, at the same time, she’d felt a huge sense of relief that he hadn’t made that move.

  Perhaps he’d had second thoughts after she’d told him about losing her baby? No. Couldn’t be. He’d said you were being too hard on yourself. And she was; she knew she was. Only she couldn’t help it. Part of her personality, she supposed. All her life she’d been told to lighten up.

  ‘Penny for them?’ Luca asked, as he brought the car to a halt outside Aunt Susan’s.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Your thoughts. Penny for your thoughts. One of Ma’s favourite expressions. You’ve been so quiet.’