Chapter 10

10

I lay in bed, waiting until the sun was up enough that I could join the others for breakfast, turning over every aspect of the previous evening in my mind, trying to understand what I had experienced. Jack had surely come to my bed, and when I was readying for the day, I was relieved to find a used condom in the trash, proof that I had not imagined him there. But my fantasies of the woman and of Ignazio had to have been fabrications of my oversexed mind, though I couldn't shake the feeling that they, too, had been real.

"My beauteous Proserpina, come, sit," Dalí said, patting the chair next to him when I arrived in the small salon where breakfast had been arranged.

I followed his instructions, and a servant placed a demitasse cup of espresso before me, which I gratefully downed, then asked for another.

"Not much sleep last night?" Jack asked innocently, nudging me with his foot.

I nudged back. "No, not much."

Paolo also looked tired. "Stai bene?" I asked him.

" Sì , Signorina Lombardi. I am well. But I stayed up too late reading." He gave me a sheepish smile. I wished I could have asked him what he had found in the diary, but that would have to wait.

Gala appeared then, went straight to the window and threw the curtains wide open along with the glass and the shutter. Bright sunlight accompanied by a crisp breeze immediately wafted in. I pulled my sweater closed. "No clothes today, Julia," she said, stopping behind my chair and running her hands through my hair, arranging it on my shoulders. "It will warm up."

"I will capture the goddess within you," Dalí declared. "Proserpina is as beautiful as death. On the canvas, I will show this to the world, your deliciousness offered up from the grave, teasing the rest of the gods."

Ignazio and Jack would both be gazing on my naked body. I often felt naked enough under Ignazio's stare. And Jack had yet to see my body in the light. I groaned inwardly, but I had known this would happen, so I plastered on a smile.

Ignazio entered the room and all eyes turned toward him. Like a magnet , I thought. Gala went to him and linked her arm to his. "How is our handsome host today?" she purred.

But he smoothly untangled himself from her, not bothering to acknowledge her question. Instead, he turned to me. "Julia, Signora Rosati has graciously agreed to let you use the telephone. A servant will accompany you now to her house."

"Who do you have to call?" Gala spit at me, obviously furious. "You have a job to do today."

"Galachuka, darling, let her go," Dalí said. I was glad he was feeling charitable. For all his faults, he was kinder than his wife.

"It won't take me long," I said, praying silently to whatever god might be listening that she wouldn't dock my pay again. I grabbed a pastry off the plate in front of me and followed Ignazio out of the salon before Gala could say anything else.

"Did you have a restful night?" he asked as he led me out of the palazzo.

I took a deep breath, reassuring myself that he couldn't know of my dream. "I did, grazie ."

He didn't follow up on that line of questioning, and I was relieved. Instead, he told me a little about the widow Rosati. She was highly revered in the town and very wealthy but a little doddering and often forgetful. Then he handed me off to a tall and gangly servant, Minos, who didn't spare a smile or a word for me. He led me through the warren of Bomarzo's narrow streets. Stopping at the door to a large medieval house covered in vines, he motioned for me to be the one to knock, then sat down on a nearby bench and stared off into the distance.

I knocked on the door. For a long moment, I was sure no one would answer but was finally rewarded with the sound of a person shuffling through the hallway, then the lock unlatching on the other side of the door.

A man who could have been Minos's twin stood there, in a shabby suit that looked like it must have been expensive long ago. "Signora Lombardi?" he asked. His voice was flat and empty.

" Sì , I have come to use the telephone," I said in Italian.

He guided me down a dark hallway adorned with stately paintings of the family's patriarchs, clouded with a varnish that hadn't aged well. The house smelled old, a mixture of dust, mothballs, and heavy, flowery perfume, and the small salon where the telephone sat seemed to have been cut right out of the eighteenth century. Rich tapestries covered three of the walls and the fourth boasted an enormous fireplace that had just been stoked. The chairs and tables looked expensive, though worn, with scuffed legs and frayed cushions.

"Signora Lombardi, you wish to make a call?" came a voice from the red velvet couch by the largest shuttered window. Moving closer, I spotted a tiny woman dressed in black, with black lace edging her sleeves, hem, and high neckline. Even her hair was black as night, not a single gray to be seen, though her wrinkled hands and face gave away her very advanced age. She was at least ninety, or maybe even a hundred. Rising, she took up the jeweled cane at her side, hobbling over to me with surprising speed for someone so old. The scent of rain clung to her.

" Sì , Signora Rosati. Thank you for letting me into your home. I appreciate your kindness." Her English was unusually clear, which surprised me, and I took it is a cue that I need not speak Italian with her.

But she just looked at me, squinting, a look of alarm spreading across her face. Then she began to shake her head, as though something were agitating her. "Who are you?" she asked in Italian, her voice suddenly becoming higher pitched. The servant who had brought me to the room laid a hand on her shoulder, and her confusion seemed to dissipate instantly.

"Signora Lombardi, pray tell, who are you calling?" she asked, returning to English, all signs of her previous agitation gone.

How odd , I thought, unsure what to make of her. "My roommate in Roma. I need her advice on a complicated matter."

"If you need advice, I would be happy to provide that to you." She smiled, but her eyes were cold.

I couldn't fathom how this strange woman's counsel would be helpful to me or why she would even offer such advice. "Thank you, but I am confident that Lillian can help me."

She raised a thin eyebrow but said nothing, letting the servant lead her out of the room. When she was gone, I went to the black Bakelite phone and hastily dialed the number to our apartment, holding my breath, hoping Lillian hadn't decided to go anywhere before she was due to work.

"Pronto?"

I breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Lily, I'm so glad you are home."

"Julia? Are you all right?"

" Sì , but I really needed to hear your voice." I rushed into the story of the last few days, leaving out some parts because I knew I couldn't stay on the phone long. But when Lillian heard of the fire, she was resolute.

"You could have died, Julia. You can't stay there. You need to come home," she said.

I had been prepared to tell her I wanted to do just that, but now the words would not come.

"I...I can't," I said, still thinking of the flames and the woman who had appeared in their midst. The woman who looked just like me.

Somehow, I knew the ghost was me, but also wasn't. Her clothing was of a style I had never worn, and yet I could picture myself in those same garments.

I gasped with understanding. How had I not realized it before? The ghost didn't just look like me. The ghost was a former me. I was sure of it.

"Jules? Are you there?"

" Sì. I can't come home. You know how much I need the money. I'll be okay. I just needed to hear your voice."

I expected her to try to convince me to return, but she surprised me. "I have a few days off. I'll be there by nightfall."

"What? You don't even have a car."

"There must be a train. It's not like you are in Siberia, Jules."

Though I insisted I would be all right, she refused to listen. "I'll see you soon."

Signora Rosati appeared at the doorway as soon as I set the phone down upon the cradle. "You shouldn't let her come here," the old widow said, shaking her head. "No good will come of it. She is not of this place."

"Neither am I," I said slowly, a shiver creeping across the back of my neck.

"She wasn't invited."

"I just invited her."

She cocked her head and stared at me as though pondering my statement, then abruptly turned around and left the room.

I almost called Lillian back to tell her not to come. There was something in the widow's words that made me wonder if I would regret not heeding them. But I already felt bad that I had intruded upon the old lady and didn't want to further wear out my welcome.

When I departed the room and turned the corner, I ran right into the widow. She let out a horrible scream, raising her cane as though she intended to beat me with it.

"Who are you?" she cried, sliding back into Italian. "Why are you in my house? Giorgio! Giorgio! Help! Someone has broken into my house!" She began swinging the cane wildly, and I barely managed to back away to avoid being hit. She no longer smelled like rain but instead had that peculiar old-person odor that reminded me of the nonna who served me spaghetti at the trattoria around the corner from my apartment in Rome.

The spindly servant appeared. He said a few words that I couldn't hear, and mercifully, she lowered the cane. At the door I looked back. Signora Rosati had sat down upon the couch where I had found her, as though I had never interrupted whatever thoughts she might be having.

Minos stood when he saw me and, wordlessly, led me back through the streets of Bomarzo to the waiting car. As we sped down the hill toward the garden, I felt sure that Signora Rosati wouldn't even remember I had been there at all.

The sun was bright as I made my way up the trail toward Proserpina's bench, and while the light filtering through the trees should have lent the boschetto a less gloomy countenance, I did not like being alone in such a place. I rushed past the stone giants and beyond the fallen mausoleum where I'd first heard the whispers of my name. At the tempietto , I saw Orpheus waiting. I picked him up and cuddled him close, suddenly feeling desperate for comfort. The widow's words had left me with a terrible foreboding and worry about Lillian's arrival. The cat rubbed his face against mine, obviously glad to be held. He climbed to my shoulder and together we went toward the hippodrome, where the others awaited my arrival.

Ignazio saw me first and came to meet me on the stairs near the statue of Cerberus. My heart pounded when he stepped closer. Damn it. I hated the pull he had on me.

"You were able to reach Lillian?"

I nodded. "She is going to catch a train to join me here."

Ignazio's brow wrinkled with concern, but the look was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "It will take her to Attigliano, about seven kilometers away."

Seven kilometers. It would take her an hour and a half to walk to Bomarzo. She couldn't possibly be here before nightfall if that was the case.

"Would it be possible to arrange for a car to pick her up late this afternoon?"

Ignazio shook his head. "Not today. The train only comes once a week—few have need to stop here."

"Once a week?" My hope of seeing Lillian today suddenly fell.

" Sì. Then one must take a ferry across the swamp, and that only runs twice a day as well. It is not an easy thing to arrive in Bomarzo without a car, especially since the War. Now, don't look so defeated."

He put a hand on my shoulder but immediately removed it when I recoiled from his heat. I was trying hard not to cry.

"Worry not. The train arrives tomorrow. I will have Minos retrieve her," he said.

I took a deep breath, willing my tears to retreat. I wouldn't see her for another whole day. My trip would be half over when she arrived. But knowing she was coming to Bomarzo at all gave me courage.

Yet just as I was trying to muster that goodwill, I realized how forward I had been. I was sure there was a room for Lillian in the palazzo, but I didn't know how much Dalí had paid for this wild trip. She was another bed to make up and another mouth to feed.

Ignazio noticed my consternation. "What's wrong, Julia?"

"I...I might have been hasty in inviting her. I never talked to Dalí about it. I'll have them take the money from my pay..." I trailed off, wondering if Gala would even agree to such a thing.

"Don't worry, Julia. I will take care of everything for Lillian's stay. She will be my guest as much as yours."

I looked at him, shocked. "That's...that's very generous," I said, unsure why he would do such a thing but grateful all the same.

"It's nothing."

"I must return to Signora Rosati to call and let her know."

"No, no, give me her number. I will arrange everything," he said.

Although I was hesitant, I gave him our number.

It was only after he'd disappeared into the garden that I realized I had never told Ignazio Lillian's name.