The Echoes of Love (48 page)

Although the thought of what Sir William Aston-Montagu had done to him, and to his own daughter, still twisted a knife in Paolo's gut, the acuteness of the initial anguish had passed, and he knew that the few days he had spent in retreat at the monastery had done him good. Talking about his anger and his hatred for the man had, in some ways, assuaged the pain and made him less embittered; and despite some resentment still remaining, he was conscious at last of a great peace and acceptance he hadn't felt since he had woken up in that hospital bed all those years ago.

Paolo remembered the monk to whom he had opened his heart: how he had listened patiently, attentively, his face as immobile as a carving in stone, his bony fingers clasped tranquilly as if in the habit of perpetual prayer, his blue eyes resting kind and steady on Paolo's troubled face.

The words of the tall bony man, with hawk-like features and a misleading harshness of tone, came back to him: ‘Hate does not cure anything, my son, and it is not for us to sit in judgement on anyone. It is a thousand pities when a parent interferes to this extent, but you see, God in his extreme kindness doesn't leave anybody… life is not ruined so easily… and even if it hadn't come right in the end, as it has, we must forgive. God in His great kindness every day forgives each one of us. It is astonishingly easy to forgive when one understands the motive. I do not think that Venetia's parents' motives were as selfish as they seem, only mistaken.'

Paolo's hands gripped the steering wheel firmly as the road curved back and forth. Thoughts that had plagued him over the last few days returned. Would Venetia be able to trust him again? What if…? Cold sweat rose up on his spine at the thought that he might have lost her…Venetia, the love of his life.

The ancient walls of Miraggio came into view as Paolo rounded the bend. He put his foot down, punching the gas pedal, and the nervy car flew up the hill. In response, his muscles tensed and his pulse rate accelerated. He slowed the car to a crawl as he entered the tall gates and stopped opposite the front door. The glimmering windows of the big house cast their pale yellow light out on to the gravel. In the sky the moon was gleaming, bathing the place in its brightness.

He made his way to La Sirena without thinking. If he couldn't be with Venetia tonight, he wanted to walk through the cottage garden and surround himself with the echo of her presence.

As Paolo drew near the cottage, he saw a figure outlined against the melting dusky-violet of the evening sky. He felt the blood coursing through his veins and the heat building up inside him. For a brief moment he closed his eyes, as if to blink away the mirage.

But when he opened them again she was still there: Venetia, sitting on the slope, her back turned to him, looking out to sea.

The earth, the sea, the woman – his love – all lay transfixed in the flooding glow – the beauty of it pressed on him with crushing strength. The world seemed to spin gently, lost in the depths of utter silence, growing stranger and lovelier with each moment. Everything appeared hushed with ecstasy.

Paolo seemed to be lost in the picture as though standing outside himself in that still scene. His heart was beating heavily: she had come to him. For a moment he saw more clearly how she had always been with him; for years she had been there in the depths of him, lifegiving, but an unacknowledged echo of the past, an echo of a love so pure, so deep that it had survived even the annihilation of its memory. Paolo could not define what Venetia represented to him because it was something beyond and all around him.

An owl hooted twice uncertainly, intensifying the enfolding stillness. After a pause, a blurred answering call came from across the garden, and then the bird flew past on its heavy, shadowy flight, milky-white, almost noiseless. It startled Venetia and she turned, and then his eyes were fixed on hers. For a moment, the silence deepened, and the darkness seemed to deepen too, becoming almost tangible.

Getting up almost as if in a dream, Venetia came to Paolo, her eyes shining with a myriad of emotions. Paolo wondered how people conveyed anything by speech as he watched her approach, himself unmoving. He knew that words would have served him perfectly well not so long ago, for other people, in another life; there are overtones and undertones of understanding which are caught by only those who have had the same experience… but the
words
themselves to express that sole and final espousal he felt for Venetia right now – how inadequate they would be. There was an exquisite silent intensity that hung in the air between them now.

So Paolo said no word as she came to him, but his eyes dwelt on her as she moved towards him in the silence with faltering steps. When she reached him, he gazed down wonderingly. Without speaking, he simply drew her close, holding her with his arms stretched right round her so that their bodies were pressed together. Looking at her, he felt as though she were no longer in herself: she was in him, and he was in her, their beings had become one. The struggle was over.

Paolo's eyes, once serious, impenetrable, and perhaps a little questioning in their depths, changed now, reflecting utter peace. Leaning forward, he bent and kissed her gently, on her forehead first, then on her parted lips. As they stood there close to each other, ringed by moonlight in La Sirena's garden above the sea, he could see her face, always newly mesmerising to him, become more captivating still – so tranquil was it. Then a cloud engulfed the moon, and dark breezes whipped up. It was as though they themselves were not permitted to look on their full delight in case it angered the gods, and so Paolo picked up Venetia and went into the cottage.

That night their lovemaking had an intimacy it had not had before. This new familiarity had nothing to do with the recent times they had made love. Their bodies suddenly seemed to remember things about each other that they hadn't expected. There was a sense of rightness, of coming home, that wrapped around them like a tender embrace.

Life would go on, that was the natural order of things, and there was much to heal in them both; but tonight grief, anger, regret all dimmed and faded to oblivion in the midst of their love.

‘Oh, Paolo, I feel so happy I could die – right here, right now!' Venetia whispered as he held her still-trembling body against his, her eyes starry bright with love and hope and laughter.

‘Don't talk of death,
tesoro mio
– we've been dead long enough. Tomorrow we shall begin to live.'

‘Yes, tomorrow… what a lovely word… we'll have a whole life of tomorrows.'

They were a man and a woman in love. Hand in hand they would follow their silvery path and climb the steps to the moon; Paolo would cherish and protect her for as long as he lived, and Venetia would make a home for him, bear his children, and compensate for the years of misery he had been through. They belonged … nothing else mattered. Finally the echoes of their love had reached the gods, and life became clement because they had proved they deserved their happy ever after.

Night deepened as the moon disappeared, and the inky shadows enveloped their entwined bodies, but all they saw was the miracle of a new dawn in each other's eyes.

Letter from Hannah

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for reading
The Echoes of Love
– I hope that Venetia and Paolo's story touched your heart as much as it did mine. If you did enjoy the story, I'd be eternally grateful if you would write a review. Getting feedback from readers is incredibly rewarding and also helps to persuade other readers to pick up one of my books for the first time.

For news of my next releases, please come and visit me at my website –
www.hannahfielding.net
or join me on
Facebook
or
Twitter
.

Best wishes

Hannah

Also by Hannah Fielding

Burning Embers

On the news of her estranged father's death, beautiful young photographer Coral Sinclair is forced to return to the family plantation in Kenya, to claim her inheritance.

The peace of her homecoming is disrupted when she encounters the mysterious but fearsomely attractive Rafe de Montfort – owner of the neighbouring plantation, and a reputed womaniser who had an affair with her own stepmother. Despite this, a mystifying attraction ignites between them and shakes Coral to the core, as circumstances conspire to bring them together.

It is when Coral delves into Rafe's past and discovers the truth about him, that she questions his real motives. Does Rafe really care for her, or is he hiding darker intentions? Should she listen to the warnings of those around her, or should she trust her own instincts about this man with a secret past?

Set against the magnificent backdrop of 1970s Kenya,
Burning Embers
is an epic tale about forbidden love, family loyalty and taking a leap of faith.

Praise for
Burning Embers
and Hannah Fielding:

‘
An epic romance like Hollywood used to make...
The setting is Kenya in the 1970s, where Coral Sinclair has come to claim the plantation she has inherited. But the handsome stranger she met on the boat from England turns out to be Rafe, the notorious womanizer. But an unlikely love blossoms against a wild and beautiful backdrop. Ahh!'

Peterborough Evening Telegraph

‘
Five stars to Hannah Fielding and Burning Embers…
Have you ever wished to run away from everyday life and leap into the pages of a mesmerizing book that will embrace you with romance, thrill you with suspense and carry you into a new world filled with exotic fragrances and vivid descriptions that will animate your imagination? Well,
Burning Embers
is all that and then some… Hats off to Hannah Fielding on her first novel – and many more I hope.'

Amazon.co.uk review

‘
I would give six stars if I could…
I enjoyed this book first page to last. … As for the romance, it was certainly steamy. Right from the start the chemistry sizzled between Coral and Rafe… a fantastic read and I highly recommend it.'

Amazon.co.uk review

‘
A writing style which draws you into the book…
This is the first book I have read by Hannah Fielding and I will start by saying it won't be my last.'

Amazon.co.uk review

‘
Makes you want to turn the pages…
The writing lifts this book out of the conventional romance genre… Hannah Fielding makes her characters more than two-dimensional figures, making the romance so much more believable and absorbing.'

Amazon.co.uk review

‘
An intense, vivid and passionate love story…
Burning Embers
is a lovely read… with great descriptive flair and sensitive observation evoking successfully the beautiful and exotic African landscape…'

Amazon.co.uk review

‘
A truly cinematic story…
Lush imagery, fascinating characters, and exotic locales…
Burning Embers
is smart, sensual, contemporary fiction with a seamless five-star execution.'

Goodreads.com review

About the author:

Q and A
with Hannah Fielding

A Fine Romance

What are the ingredients of a perfect romance novel?

Escapism with a plausible plot, a little suspense, magnificent surroundings and characters that are real and compelling.

What makes the perfect hero?

Physique matters but charisma and strength of character are more important than looks, in my opinion. I like to see a balance of machismo and kindness, wit to add piquancy and, of course, passion, passion, passion! I love Mr Rochester in
Jane Eyre
because he's so human. I like a hero who is imperfect; that makes the story all the more vivid.

What makes the perfect heroine?

Beautiful, strong but still feminine, intelligent and passionate; a certain amount of innocence and a generosity in lovemaking. My favourite classic heroine is Jane Eyre: assertive but feminine, a passionate nature, a strong sense of her own self-worth and justice; and I admire her integrity and generosity of heart. All my heroines are to some extent naive where emotional experience is concerned (for example, Coral in
Burning Embers
): definitely an element that reflects my own naivety when I was young.

Why do you write romance?

I'm an incurable romantic – a passionate and imaginative dreamer, in love with the beautiful places that I visit on my travels. I write what comes from the heart: romance.

Inspirations

When and why did you start writing?

Stories and writing have always been part of my life. My grandmother was a published author of poetry and my father, a great raconteur, published a book about the history of our family.

My governess used to tell me the most fabulous tales and when I was seven, we came to an agreement: for every story she told me, I told her one in return. The rambling house in Alexandria, Egypt, where I grew up was built on a hill over-looking the Mediterranean. My bedroom commanded the most breathtaking views of the ever-changing sea, which made my imagination run wild. I would dream of princes that flew in from faraway lands on their magic carpets, princesses dressed in gowns made of sunrays and moonbeams, and dragons rising from the waves that crashed against the rocks underneath my windows. Later, at the convent school I went to, the French nuns who taught us sowed in me a love of words and of literature. When I was about fourteen, I wrote short romantic stories that I circulated in class, which made me very popular with my peers but less so with the nuns!

To quote Anaïs Nin: ‘
If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write.
' I do all that. Writing is my life.

Art, culture, food and fashion are key features in
The Echoes of Love
– how do you find that they help tell a story?

I try to convey every detail my imagination is conjuring up – all the senses are involved, so that the reader can form a clear picture of the story's setting and understand the characters and their reactions. ‘Write about what you know' and ‘write from the heart' are my mottos.

My governess was half-Italian and half-French, and my daughter, Alexandra, to whom I have dedicated
The Echoes of Love
, teaches the history of Italian art all over Italy, so I had a lot of inside information for this book. Apart from that, I've travelled many times to Italy, and as background research, I cooked local Venetian and Tuscan dishes, listened to Italian music and watched classic Italian films. As for fashion… I've always been interested in fashion and jewellery, and I do enjoy describing what my heroine is wearing. Italian fashion – wonderful!

Do you believe in Fate?

To a certain extent I believe in Fate but, having said that, I also believe that you make your own destiny. ‘
Aide toi et le ciel t'aidera
' was a favourite saying of my governess: ‘
Help yourself and heaven will help you.
' I definitely believe there are people who have the gift of second sight. Besides, I'm a romantic and, for me, fortune tellers equal mystery and romance. That is why Fate and fortune tellers often feature in my novels in some way or another.

Do you always use exotic locations in your novels?

So far, yes, because that's what I know best and they are places that excite and inspire me. The warm nature of the people, their flamboyant customs and traditions, the vivid colours of their countryside, the lush tastes of their cuisine, the passion in their music and their language… all that helps me paint a rich and vibrant canvas in which to set my romantic plots; not to mention their dark, sultry, brooding heroes who will sweep my heroines off their feet with their passion and virile Mediterranean savoir faire!

If I had to choose the four most romantic places in the world they would be the Alhambra in Spain, which is an Arabian Nights palace, startling in its beauty and impact on the imagination; Oxford in England, where the city overflows with antiquity; Yellowstone National Park in the USA, for its breathtaking
wide expanses left to nature's will; and Aswan in Egypt, where the desert night delivers infinity, eternity, beauty – all those grand emotions that inspire romance.

Nature is present almost like a separate character in your books – why is it so important to you?

I have always been a writer who pays keen attention to setting; to describing sights and sounds, smells, tastes and textures. Place holds such power to colour a story. All my books are borne of my travels; of poking around in back streets and cafes; meeting locals and exploring landscapes – and, of course, reading up extensively on cultures. My aim is to transport readers to places I've visited and loved. In a way, I'm sharing my happy experiences with the person who has done me the honour of reading my book.

For half the year, my home is in Kent, England, and for the other half I live in France, on the southern coast of Provence in the county of Var. At my French home, I see the most breathtaking sunrises and sunsets imaginable. Every time I sit on the verandah and watch nature play out its most magical show, I cannot fail to fall in love with the place, with the world, with the very notion of romance – and from there, the writing flows on to the page.

Your books are full of wonderful proverbs – do you have a favourite?

I have many favourite proverbs and quotes, but the one that has served me best is: ‘
If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.
' My father used to tell me this every time I got frustrated that I couldn't do something or other. Now, when I am at my wits' end and about to give up on something, I hear his encouraging voice and it injects a whole new energy into me.

A Writer's Life

When and where do you write?

One way or another I am always writing – if I'm not actually writing, I'm thinking about it.

In France I write mainly in my room, overlooking the most fabulous view of the Mediterranean, but also in my gazebo. On a sunny day when there are not many crowds around I sometimes escape to one of my favourite places on the coast, sitting for hours dreaming and plotting, or in the many pavement cafes in nearby towns, where I can sip a
café latté
and people-watch to my heart's content. While the English countryside doesn't have the same intensity of heat or colour as the bay of St Tropez, my refuge and inspiration there is our oak-panelled library, where I write surrounded by the works of all my favourite authors, while a fire is roaring in the wood-burning stove and an almighty storm is howling outside.

Who is your favourite living writer?

My favourite writer is usually the one who wrote the latest book I've enjoyed! I read voraciously, and regularly post reviews on my website but here are a selection of writers and their books that I've particularly loved: Penelope Lively –
Oleander, Jacaranda
; Jennifer McVeigh –
The Fever Tree
; Paula McLain –
The Paris Wife
; Lynn Kerstan –
The Golden Leopard
; Meg Cabot –
Ransom My Heart
; Julia Gregson –
Jasmine Nights
; Santa Montefiore –
The Summer House
; Barbara Freethy –
Ryan's Return
.

Who is your favourite classic writer?

My real favourites are the French classic romantic authors of the nineteenth century, whose books I grew up with. I devoured them during my teens and still re-read my favourite stories and poems by Victor Hugo, Théophile Gautier, Balzac, Stendhal, Chateaubriand and Leconte de Lisle, to name just a few. A more contemporary writer, M. M. Kaye, author of
The Far Pavilions
and
Shadow of the Moon
, has also influenced my writing because I so enjoyed reading her highly descriptive books.

If you weren't a writer, what would you do?

I'd renovate rundown period cottages (which I did before I sat down to serious writing), or I'd be an antique dealer. I love rummaging in the
marchés aux puces
of various countries and learning about ancient civilisations.

Find out more at
www.hannahfielding.net