The Long Shadow Of A Dream. Roberta Mezzabarba
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To think of herself on a piece of land surrounded by water, gave her such a thrill.
All the trees were enjoying the scented breeze coming from the lake, a scent of crystal-clear water and resin. Her eyes could see bushes in bloom, colourful butterflies and cheerful birds chirping everywhere.
With all that going on in her head, Greta did not see a refined man, wearing a red livery who was probably waiting for her.
«You must be Miss Greta Capua, the secretary of Mr De Fusco. Follow me , please, the Prince is already waiting for you at the villa.»
Greta noticed that he sounded very distant but she justified him right away in her mind thinking that his master would not allow him to socialize with his guests.
Without even waiting for her acknowledgement, the butler set off on the grassy ground, with his shiny shoes, turning on the left. Once they went past the high bush of the bay tree, a vast Italian garden appeared to their sight: it was rectangular-shaped and was divided into three sections, each of them had a central part surrounded by box flower beds. Beyond the high hedge of the bay tree, there was a very green lawn, delimited by a little wood of alders and tall poplars. Further ahead Greta saw the monastery that had been turned into a villa without making too many changes to it. She read about its bare walls, small doors and windows in a few books at the municipal library in Viterbo. S. Giacomo and Cristoforo Church was the main church of the island and was located next to the villa. It had a simple structure but was magnificent at the same time. A few art enthusiasts see a sobriety and temperance that Vignola then lost. The church had a latin-cross plan with three altars in the upper arms; where they joined together, an octagonal dome rose up, covered with lead slabs on the outside.
A group of old pine trees stood out in front of this majestic building and down below, in between the century-old trunks, the lake was shining in silence.
Greta turned around and saw a great big lawn sloping slightly, where people said that hares and pheasants poliferated. At that sight, she felt a strong urge to wander around the island, she felt the need to dream without searching for anything, nor to know anything about the history or the art on the island.
She just wanted to dream about her own island, without having to think of anything else.
However, the butler’s slightly annoyed voice brought her back to reality, she seemed to be daydreaming the whole time. She was reminded of the papers that the Prince was to sign. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with air and forced herself to think about work , nothing else.
She was still thinking about that when a man in his forties was walking in her direction, after petting the big head on a gigantic St Bernard (his name was Gino, as she later found out). The man was wearing a blue blazer and a perfectly done tie with a snow white shirt. In the meantime, the butler headed back to the villa after taking another good look at her.
«Welcome Miss Capua, my humble dwelling is not worthy of your beauty.»
His voice was mellow, each of the words he said seemed to reproduce the notes of a sweet melody. The Prince Fieschi Ravaschieri del Drago was a real noble man, Greta was impressed right away, well before he raised his right hand gesturing a gentlemanly kiss on the hand.
She blushed.
«I am very happy to meet you, Prince, notary De Fusco sends his regards. I brought with me the sales deeds that we will read together. If you are happy with everything, you will sigh them. I will give you one copy and I will take one with me to be registered at the land registry office.»
Greta said the whole sentence without taking one single breath, looking in the eyes the man who was standing in front of her. He felt a little jealous of him because he owned an island: being able to have a place that she could call her own would be her biggest dream, can you just imagine if that was an island…
«It is a beautiful day today and I do not want to bring you inside the gloomy walls of my dwelling. I would like to go to the beach, where none of my butlers can disturb us.»
Greta nodded as if she was bewitched by the voice of that charmer.
The went past the weeping willows, the scented bay trees, the elms, the white poplars whose swaying branches were making a sound as far as the group of alders which followed the shore, almost plunging their roots into the water. Some of those trees were so bent over the lake as to nearly wet their branches and leaves. The silence was broken only by the frogs’ rare and uneven croaking among the reeds.
In the shade of that paradise there was a round table made of stone and four small stools. They sat down.
* * *
The Prince put back his fountain pen after signing the papers that Greta was turning almost without looking, she knew them so well.
«Our duty is done now, don’t you think that we deserve a tour of the island?»
Greta couldn’t ask for anything better, and told the Prince that she had always been fascinated by the island since the very first time she arrived in Capodimonte.
The doors of that magnificent temple of nature and art were about to open right in front of Greta who realised that her dreams were about to come true.
* * *
Ernesto was lying on the pier while waiting. He had a blade of grass in between his lips which left a tangy taste in his mouth.
He was thinking about Greta. Strange girl.
She looks so introvert at first but she is so chatty when there is water around. She is eager to get news and information, like a child, but extremely beautiful despite her flamboyant simplicity.
Her eyes were so dark, as black as the night, as deep as the lake.
3.
Greta and the Prince moved away from the little table that was used to settle the last details of the notary’s deeds and went back to the villa. It was shaded and scented by the fragrant smell of the linden trees, pine trees, mimosas, would waft in the air, it was time for lunch. The Prince insisted on Greta to have lunch with him. In the afternoon, they would go for a tour of the island as promised.
The girl was torn: from one hand she wanted to see the island so much, thinking that such an opportunity would have hardly come by again in her whole life, from the other hand she feared she would not make a good impression of herself accepting an invitation for lunch from a complete stranger. However, making a good impression had never been her strongest point.
She accepted the invitation.
The Prince went into the villa to attend to something. While waiting for him, she saw some branches of a shrub called “Christ’s thorn” sticking out of the roof of the villa: they climbed from the door of what once was the dining hall as far as the top of the villa, to enjoy the view that must have been magnificent from that height.
On that little island there were all kinds of flowers, Greta noticed that the roses had withered unfortunately. Probably they would have been everywhere in May, with their colourful and scented corollas, gathered in bushes, lined up as hedges, climbing on walls, on tree trunks or pergolas. The person who planted them in such a large quantity surely thought that the wind could carry their scent as far as the shores in Capodimonte or Marta.
Greta wandered around the villa and reached the ruins of the sixteenth-century cloister: the five arcades on each side of the quadrangular plan, were covered too by a beautiful blanket of wisteria, jasmin and honeysuckle. Not too far, next to the pine trees and the cedar trees, stood out probably the most popular tree of the island: a huge plane tree, tall, rugged, old and knobby. Even though it was supported up by sticks, his branches were stretching out over the shore as if to provide it with a cool shade as a good father would do. That old tree had lived for four centuries, four centuries of silent and incomprehensible conversations with the lake, its only and immortal friend.
Looking at the lake reminded Greta of Ernesto who was waiting for her with his little