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Back The House by the Sea Save as PDF
Chapters (71)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  69. MORE FROM LOUISE DOUGLAS
  70. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  71. ABOUT BOLDWOOD BOOKS

As I moved around the villa, I couldn’t help picturing Anna moving in the same way, decades earlier. I wondered if she was conscious of the villa’s ghosts, if, perhaps, she felt some connection with Gina here, if she found some comfort. I hoped with all my heart that she did.

65

ONE YEAR LATER

Here’s Joe. Here he comes, my man, tousle-haired and sleepy eyed, in his shorts and sweater with a cat in one hand (we kept all three). He’s tanned now and his hair is longer and he’s reverted to his normal, scruffy ways. He comes and sits beside me, his knees falling open. He kisses the cat and puts her down. She winds around my legs. He’s brought the parcel with him. He yawns; we smile at one another.

‘Well,’ he says, ‘we got it back.’

‘Yep,’ I say. ‘We did.’

He peels off the sticky tape, tearing the newspaper and unwraps the parcel. Inside is a beautifully restored ornate, gilded plaster picture frame. Inside the frame is a small, bright oil painting, its jewel colours glowing as they must have glowed the day it was painted. It’s Guido Reni’s Madonna del Mare.

Joe holds the picture on his lap, admires it at arm’s length – he’s not wearing his reading glasses, so he has to squint a little to see the detail.

Sunlight catches the corner of the frame, illuminates its reds and bronzes. I lean over to study the lovely face of the Madonna, her skin peachy, her expression confident, vibrant and modern. We are lucky to have the painting here. So lucky.

‘That was some good karma that brought the picture back to us,’ Joe says.

‘Ah, Joe,’ I say, ‘we were due some good karma.’

At Easter, when we opened the restaurant in the converted stable block, we opened up the villa, the gardens and the cellars so that people could come and explore. We wanted to let our neighbours in Porta Sarina know what we were doing, give them the chance to ask questions and address any concerns they might have. Amongst the visitors were two young women, university students. They approached Joe and asked if there would be vacancies for seasonal staff during their summer vacation. Joe took their names. One was called Ema Ganzaria. Joe said that was a coincidence: the couple who used to work for his grandparents as caretakers to the villa were also called Ganzaria.

‘Yes, I know,’ the young woman replied. ‘Alberto and Ignazia. My great-aunt and uncle.’