by J. M. Stengl
I felt his disapproval before he spoke. “Social rank is irrelevant. What does it do for you in this circumstance? It isolates you, that’s what. Right when you most need friends. Look—you’re Gillian, Lady Beneventi’s companion. An upper servant, sure, but for this coming year, you’re part of the villa staff. Why not just go with it? The pool parties would give you some social interaction.”
“A commoner can never understand the cultural gulf between ordinary people and the nobility, so there is no point in arguing,” I said. “The staff members do their jobs, and I do mine. We keep out of each other’s way.”
He sat back on the bench with a sigh, then checked his watch. “I have fifteen minutes. What else has happened this week?”
“Monday was the doorless bathroom, and the poodle explosion was Tuesday.” I ticked off days on my fingers. “Wednesday was . . . a different kind of weird,” I admitted, giving him a wary glance. “A man appeared in Lady Beneventi’s suite. He reminded me of the cocktail-party guests. Kind of . . . unnatural? But I think . . .” Could I really trust this man? Setting my jaw, I locked eyes with him. “Don’t you dare mock me.”
His brows drew together. “This subject is no laughing matter. What happened, Gillian?”
I licked my lips and puffed out a breath. “Fine. I think it was the man from the big painted portrait in the entry hall. Lady Beneventi’s husband. She introduced him to me as Arturo. He was very kind, but . . . it was freaky.” My voice cracked a little. Talking about it brought back that horrid sense of unreality, even there on the garden bench beneath a cloudless sky.
I shifted on the bench to stare directly at Manny. “Was it a ghost, do you think? And the cocktail party guests—you saw them—were they ghosts too?”
Manny shook his head. “I’ve never heard of a ghost that appears in the daytime and vanishes at sunset.”
My tension eased slightly. “Yeah, there is that. And I could touch them when we danced. Arturo shook my hand, and Calvin even kissed it. They all felt solid but . . . not quite right. And they looked strange too. Almost . . . blurry.”
“Like the image in an old photograph,” Manny said, staring out across the garden to the hills beyond.
“Yes, that’s it exactly!” I exclaimed.
He met my gaze, his dark eyes intent. “This is just a theory, but I think they might be memories. Lady Beneventi remembers those people from photographs in her albums, or from portraits on the wall.” He paused. “She would remember her husband best, so he might be the clearest.”
“She was having memory issues that day,” I told him. “Living in the past, I think. She was actually polite to me. Maybe because he was being such a gentleman.”
Manny smiled a little. “Arturo Trefontane was a fine man, I’m told.” After a pause, he asked, “What happened Thursday?”
Relieved to change the subject, I said, “Nothing too awful—I couldn’t speak all day.” I gave him a warning glare. “No comment!”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Was that a twinkle in his eyes? “And Friday?”
I grinned. “You won’t believe it.”
His expressive brows rose. “Try me.”
I settled back into the bench. “Background first: Lady Beneventi likes me to read to her, and most of her books are these ridiculous old romance novels. They pretty much all have the same plot and characters, but she doesn’t care. Yesterday morning, I finished reading a particularly mushy historical novel set in the royal court of Auvers. When I closed the book, she sighed and wished for the hero, Prince Rafael, to visit us.”
Manny’s eyes went wide. “What happened?”
“His Royal Highness appeared right there in the sitting room, gorgeous in doublet and silk hose. He was incredibly flirtatious and spoiling for a fight.”
“He flirted with Lady Beneventi?”
I gave him a look. “Not so much.”
“Ah.”
“His character did a lot of kissing in that book, so I suppose he had no choice. He laughed off a slap to the face, but he got the point when I threatened him with the fire irons.”
“Literally got the point?”
“What do you think?”
Manny laughed outright. “Good for you!”
Encouraged, I warmed to my tale: “The poor fellow was at a disadvantage since the author also described him as chivalrous to a fault. He had a sword but couldn’t fight a woman. So, he escaped downstairs, kissed one of the maids, and challenged one of the gardeners to a duel. I barely stopped him from stabbing Bacio for barking at him, and he talked incessantly in long, flowery sentences.”
“Purple prose,” Manny interjected.
“Exactly! When we finally calmed him down, he complained via backhanded compliments about the food, the wine, and the accommodations. I believe even Lady Beneventi was thoroughly sick of him by sundown.”
Manny chuckled. “I would say that tale is unbelievable, but I know better. Wish I could have met the prosy prince.”
I shook my head. “He might have skewered you.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m not so bad with a sword myself. And how about yesterday?”
“Saturday was the easiest: Lady Beneventi wished for a ruby brooch set with diamonds. She pinned it to her lapel and wore it all day, even when I took her to play Briscola with her friends in the village. It looked like something from a museum! I kept worrying the police would show up and drag her away.”
“I wonder where it came from,” Manny mused.
“Who knows? It is back where it belongs now. Wherever that is.”
Manny was shaking his head as he stood up. “You had quite the week. But congratulations: As of today, you have outlasted all four of the companions hired before you.”
“How encouraging is that?” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll just keep taking one day at a time, thank you.”
He gave me a look. “I have a request. If any more potentially dangerous wishes occur, would you please text me? I can notify the family, if need be, or possibly drop by to help out, if I’m in the area.”
I returned his look with an assessing one of my own. He was far from flirtatious, yet this could be a sneaky way of getting my cell number. I decided to chance it. Pulling out my phone, I asked for his number and sent him a test message: For the record, I’ve decided maybe you’re not a complete jerk.
He smiled briefly while entering my name with the number. “Good to know. But I am going to give unsolicited advice again: Make friends with the cook and steward. Jacopo and Elena Ganza are good people.”
I sighed. “I can handle this without hobnobbing with the hired help.”
His forehead wrinkled. Turning away, he said, “Suit yourself, as you always do.”
I bristled but could think of no snappy response. Why wouldn’t I suit myself? As I watched him walk away, the weight of the world dropped back on my shoulders.
Fifty-one weeks to go.
I drew and released a long breath. I could do this.
Bring it on.
Laughter and splashing from the pool party drifted through the open balcony doors. Lady Beneventi was taking her own sweet time over dinner, so I wandered over to peek out and spy a little. No water volleyball yet, just swimming. Someone jumped off the high diving board, and I shuddered.
Swimming laps in an indoor pool? Yes. Great exercise. Pool parties? No. Almost as bad as beach parties. Blue-eyed strawberry blondes don’t fare well at either kind. I should know; I attended many as a child and teen.
Hiding from the sun in a cabana while everyone else frolicked in the water, getting tossed into a pool or dragged out into the waves by boys, being mocked for my blinding-white skin, early-last-century sunhats, and industrial-grade sunblock? Not one happy memory popped into my mind. Even at Faraway Castle I avoided the lakeside beach in daylight hours whenever possible. A great swimsuit figure was useless to a girl the color of whipping cream. Especially when her best friend tanned like a sun goddess. Which Raquel never let me forget.
Bitter much? Oh, yes. Can you blame me?
It was early Saturday evening. Yes, I had survived another week. My daily duties mostly consisted of escorting Lady Beneventi to a local senior center for activities such as water aerobics, bingo bouts, movie days, and special programs. If she didn’t feel like going out in public, I read her silly romance books aloud, took her for walks in the garden, or looked at my phone while she slept through sappy television shows.
As far as I knew, there had been only two magical incidents. The jam experience had taught her something, because Tuesday morning when she wished for a pie breakfast, it was only for the one meal. Even so, there was enough pie for a party: lemon meringue, coconut cream, chocolate mousse, along with several types of fruit pies. Lady Beneventi took maybe five or six bites in all, then felt queasy. After Maria and I ate our share, I carried them down for the staff to polish off.
Some of the maids debated whether one could get fat by eating magical food. Wouldn’t its effects end at sunset? No such luck—the pies were real. Someone, somewhere, lost half a bakery of pies that day and got the empty tins back at sunset. And I had to run off the calories of three gorgeous pieces of pie. Totally worth it.
Then, on Friday, Arturo came again. I was less frazzled that second time about having my boss’s late husband around because she acted like herself instead of all meek and polite like she’d been the week before. Besides, if one must have a ghost—or whatever he is—around, good manners are a plus, and Arturo’s were particularly fine. The best part? Lady Beneventi sent me out of her suite since she had him to keep her company. I caught up on my laundry, got in an extra workout that afternoon, and took a nap.
Neither event had required a text to Manny, and he hadn’t contacted me all week. Not that I’d hoped he would, but he could at least have let me know he would be at the villa this weekend. I could have told him about the pie and about how Arturo could play the piano. Instead, I watched through a window again while he played with the others down by the pool.
“Why must you keep peering out at the servants’ pool party? I should think an earl’s daughter would have more pride than to associate with staff,” Lady Beneventi remarked in her coolest tone.
“I do have more pride than to associate with staff,” I retorted. “Do you see me out there?”
She raised one wispy brow. “Only because you’re required to be here, I’ll wager.” After a moment, she added, “I suppose it couldn’t hurt anything and might even take you down a peg or two. If you’re going to sigh and pine away, head on out and join them.”
I dropped the curtain and turned just as Lady Beneventi laid her napkin beside her dinner plate and pushed away from the little table.
“I am not pining. I have no interest whatsoever in the servants. But a swim does sound good. I’m used to more exercise than I get here.”
She laughed. “The pool isn’t heated, and the sun is going down. You’ll have to swim fast to keep warm. I expect you’ve got your eye on those handsome Ganza boys. The oldest one is married to one of the maids, so leave him alone.”
I rolled my eyes. “As if I would flirt with gardeners! I do know and respect my place in the world.”
Hearing loud hoots and cheers from outside, I peered out the open doors again, shading my eyes against the sun’s slanted rays.
“Girl, just go. Get out there and swim, if you’re crazy enough. I’m done with you for the night.” She sounded both disgusted and amused. “Maria is puttering around here somewhere, and I want to watch my shows.”
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t forget to return later for Bacio.”
“I won’t.” I never did forget. The threat of cleaning up any accidents was a powerful memory booster.
I changed into a sporty two-piece swimsuit in daffodil yellow, and its matching coverup. It might be too late for a swim by the time I got down there, but just in case . . .
I stopped in the bathroom to brush my teeth, check my reflection, and pick up a towel. My makeup still looked good, and it was waterproof. Okay, so maybe I did plan ahead, just in case. I put my hair up in a high ponytail and wound it into a bun to make it easier to cover with a swim cap. I could let it down after I got out.
Not that I really cared what a bunch of servants thought of my appearance.
I hurried downstairs and used the veranda doors off the sunroom. Even at this hour, the sun’s rays hit my face like a blow. At least I had sunglasses. I should have applied more sunscreen. But the tall, skinny trees along the wall shaded most of the pool, and the sun would set before long. In fact, the view from the veranda was gorgeous, so I paused to take a selfie. I thought I heard Bacio yip, but when I glanced up at the balcony, it was empty.
I entered through the gate at the deep end, dropped my things on a chair, removed my coverup, and pulled on my swim cap and goggles. People were swimming and laughing, but many eyes watched me—I heard the sudden lull in conversation—and I never doubted I looked amazing. I knew without looking that Manny had seen me.
The pool was large, so I easily found a free lane to swim a few laps. When I dived in, the cold was a shock, but I rather liked it at first. However, as soon as I paused to adjust my goggles, my teeth began to chatter.
After three complete laps I climbed out, toweled off, let down and shook out my layered hair—which fairly glowed in the sunset light. The air felt warm, so I left my coverup on the chair and sauntered over to sample the cannoli and hot tea. With food and drink in hand, I tuned into the conversation around me and studied my companions. To my surprise, Manny and the Ganza brothers were now missing, but I recognized several indoor staff members immediately. Others present were strangers to me. They could be vineyard workers or part of the renovation crew.
“Hello, Gillian. I’m glad you joined us.”
One of the housemaids smiled at me. She was pretty, with glossy dark hair and golden-hazel eyes. Married to the oldest Ganza brother, if I recalled correctly. Yes, she wore a wedding ring.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ve been hoping for a chance to swim.”
She shuddered. “Too cold for me. I jumped off the diving board, swam to the side, and called it a day.” A bright grin followed. “But I’m not much of a swimmer anyway. You swim like a racer.”
“Oh, I competed in my school days, but that’s been a few years,” I replied, warmed by her compliment and grateful Raquel wasn’t around to inform her how few swimming races I’d won.
“Will you stay to watch the guys play water volleyball? They just left to suit up. In wetsuits, I mean.”
So that’s where they’d gone. “I might stay around for a while. It’s a fine evening.”
“Come and sit with us.” She beckoned, and I followed her to a group including several housemaids, the cook, and the estate steward. “You all know Gillian, I assume.”
The women all nodded, looking shy or uncomfortable, but Jacopo Ganza rose and extended his hand to me, smiling from ear to ear. “Signorina Gillian.” Without thinking, I accepted his hand, then almost had to tug mine out of his strong grip. The steward was handsome like his sons despite his gray hair—but he had no more idea than they did how to properly address a noblewoman.
“So, at last I meet Lady Beneventi’s companion,” he said. “I’ve heard much about you from Elena and the boys. I’ve seen you in the gardens with the lady, but you are even more beautiful up close. You must call me Jacopo.”
I nodded awkwardly as he stepped away, saying, “Please take my chair with the womenfolk, signorina. I’ve been outnumbered long enough anyway.” With a wink at me, he told his wife he’d be back shortly, then strolled off to socialize with the other men.
There was an awkward silence. Should I sit down or not? I decided to do it. What harm could all these servants do to me anyway?
To my relief, the volleyball players had appeared while my back was turned and were setting up the net. The maids talked over the top of me, and the cook held her tongue. How did one make small tal
k with a cook? Compliment her cooking? “The cannoli are delicious. Did you make them?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Silence. Then a maid said, “Elena is an amazing chef. We’re lucky to work here and eat her cooking.”
“You really are,” I agreed, verbally distancing myself from them. “Vetrician food is my favorite. Whenever Mother and I go on Begaian cruises, I look forward to our stops in Vetricia most of all—especially for the cannoli. The food in Euronyme and Zeitan is good too, of course.”
“Is it? I’ve always wanted to travel to Euronyme,” another maid commented with a tentative smile.
“I’ve been there so many times, I’ve lost count! The views are pretty and the food is good, but the servers are often rude and don’t know their place. When I return home to Roxwell Hall, I believe I will ask Mother to hire us a Vetrician chef. That way, I can eat cannoli every day. It’ll mean swimming a lot more laps and running an extra mile every day, but I’m game.” I laughed lightly, but everyone had already turned toward the pool, where the teams had taken their places.
Had I said something offensive?
I’d been trying not to notice, but I could pick Manny out of the four men at a glance. He wasn’t the tallest or the broadest across the shoulders, but he drew my eye, and my heart gave an extra thump or two. Which was disconcerting, but then, this was hardly my first silly crush on a commoner. I’d had many during my teens. Anyway, this week my hot construction guy was teamed with the youngest Ganza brother, who was tall and lean.
I was cheering along with the maids for a point they’d won when a strange sensation swept over me, briefly blurring my vision. I blinked, but everything looked clear again. Strange.
Feeling a tickle on one shoulder, I reached up to push my hair behind my ear. But something was there. I sat up straighter, feeling around. My ear felt my hand touching it, but my hand felt something spongy, knobbly, and bristly. Curious, I touched the other ear and felt the same thing.