The Visconti House (12 page)

Laura waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t.

Over the next two days, she spent a lot of time speculating about what he was doing, particularly when he did not turn up at school on either of those days. Was it something
to do with his father? Or something else entirely? She was unsettled to discover that she missed seeing him around.

He arrived early on Saturday morning, while Laura and her parents were still eating breakfast. Laura jumped up as soon as she heard his footsteps on the gravel and ran to the door to meet him. She was surprised to see that he was carrying Samson, who was purring.

“I found him rolling in the road,” Leon explained. “I tried to convince him it wasn’t a good idea, but I’m not sure he agrees.”

Laura looked severely at Samson, who purred more loudly and stretched back, rubbing his head against Leon’s sleeve.

“He’d better come searching with us,” she said, scratching under his collar. “We should start in the studio since Mom’s not working yet.”

Leon looked over her shoulder into the kitchen.

“Have I come too early?” he asked, catching sight of her parents at the table.

“No, of course not. Mom and Dad always spend forever over the weekend papers. Come in. Do you want some toast?”

Leon shook his head. He was still hovering uncertainly on the doorstep.

“Come on.” Laura wondered if she would have to drag him in but, after a moment, he followed her. She snatched the half-eaten piece of toast from her plate and headed for the hall. Behind her she heard Leon saying good morning to her parents in his polite “talking to grown-ups” voice. Why was he so apprehensive?

“I hope your mom doesn’t mind,” he whispered as they reached the studio door.

“No, it’s fine. She doesn’t mind at all.” Laura smiled at him reassuringly. “We can’t move the stone and metal, of course, or disturb things she’s working on. That won’t matter, though — it’s not likely anyone would put a cellar in a ballroom, is it?”

Leon put Samson down, and the cat stalked off to the center of the room where the sun was streaming in. He sat down, lifted one leg into the air, and began delicately washing himself. Laura laughed. “He’s not going to be much help.”

They looked everywhere but found nothing. Then they went out into the garden because Leon thought there might have been an outhouse with a cellar.

“Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place,” he said, running his hand through his hair.

Laura’s gaze swept the yard. “You’d
think there’d be some trace of it, if it was here.”

“Not if it was pulled down and the garden grew over it. At least, not a noticeable trace.” Leon scuffed the grass near the back door with his foot. “Maybe it was deliberately covered up.”

“But why?” demanded Laura. “Why would anyone deliberately cover it up?”

Leon dug the toe of his shoe into the ground. “Maybe the outhouse was taken down because it wasn’t needed anymore. It wouldn’t take long for the garden to spread. Grandma says there’s no stopping a garden once it’s let go.”

Laura started scuffing the ground too. By mid morning there were little holes all over the garden. Laura was hot and grumpy but there was still no sign of a cellar or an outhouse. No sign of anything except dirt.

“I think it’s all nonsense,” she muttered. “I don’t think there was ever any cellar. They just got it all mixed up in that article. They probably meant the pantry. We have one of those — let’s go and find something to eat in it.”

Leon followed her back into the kitchen and helped her carry some glasses to the table, but she
could see that he was not thinking about the drinks or the food. His eyes had their faraway, concentrating expression.

“Leon, do you want a cookie?” she asked for a second time, pushing the plate toward him.

Leon took one without answering. “Where would you dig a cellar?” he asked.

Laura rolled her eyes. “Under the ground.”

“Yes, but where under the ground?”

“Near the kitchen,” she said. “Where we’ve been looking. Where the cellar
isn’t.
”

Leon frowned, ignoring the sarcasm in her voice. “So would I. So why isn’t it there?”

“Because it never was, maybe?”

Leon went on staring at the untouched cookie in his hand. “It must be somewhere.”

“Why are you so keen to find it? It would just be an old cellar.”

“An old cellar would be a good place to hide things.”

“What sort of things?” asked Laura.

“I don’t know. Just things. Things you don’t want to destroy but don’t want anyone to see. Valuable things.”

Laura sipped her drink. Was Leon ever going to admit defeat? The cellar obviously wasn’t there. “So should we stop searching?”

Leon didn’t reply. Laura watched him for a while, then said doubtfully, “Maybe we should look inside again. Maybe we missed something.”

“No.” Leon shook his head. “We’ve looked everywhere. We have to approach it in a different way.”

Laura took another cookie and bit into it impatiently. What different way was there? They had tried everything. They sat staring at each other in silence until Laura’s father came into the kitchen, still in his robe, his hair tousled and a coffee cup in his hand. “Have you given up yet?”

Laura turned to him. “If
you
were looking for a cellar, where would you look?”

He stood at the sink, rinsing the coffee infuser and deliberating. “Under the stairs,” he replied at last.

“But there’s nothing under the stairs. It’s all boarded up. Or rather, walled up.” Laura paused, then her eyes caught her father’s and she flashed him a grin.

“No, categorically no.” Her father shook his head. “I know it’s very unexciting of me, but I don’t want you hacking into the paneling under the stairs, just in case there’s a cellar behind it. Things are decayed enough
around here without you dismantling a wall.”

“There might be priceless treasures behind it!”

“And there might not be.”

Laura nudged Leon and whispered, “Let’s go and look,” but Leon shook his head, his eyes on Laura’s father.

“It’s all right.” Laura raised her voice. “We’re just going to look. Come on.”

Her father called after them, “No dismantling, do you hear?”

“I don’t know why he’s so worried about it,” grumbled Laura as they crossed the hall. “The whole place is crumbling anyway.”

“Maybe that’s what’s troubling him,” said Leon.

“I don’t think so. He never usually thinks about it.”

They stood in the entrance area, looking up at the staircase and the stained-glass window above, and Laura remembered her impression of Mr. Visconti slowly
tap, tap, tapping
his way through the shadows to the stairs.

There were no shadows now. The morning light was streaming in, illuminating the dust on the patterned floor and the scuff marks where they had been searching previously. Mr. Visconti seemed a very long way away.

Leon knocked against the paneling at the side of the staircase. “It could have been added later, I suppose.” He looked dubious. “It looks pretty old to me, though.”

Laura ran her hands over it. “There would have been a door,” she said. “And steps behind it.” She too knocked against the wood. “It sounds hollow.”

Leon nodded. “But why would anyone seal it up? It doesn’t make sense.”

They stood staring at the wood as though they expected it to speak. Eventually, Laura said, “I wish Dad would let us pull off just one board. Then we would know if there
was
something there. It’s ridiculous; they both make heaps of mess all the time. Why can’t we make just a little?”

Leon looked uneasily toward the kitchen. “I guess we should leave it —”

Before he could finish, a fanfare from a horn sounded suddenly outside the house. Car doors slammed, and voices echoed down the driveway.

“It’s Harry and Isabella,” cried Laura, dashing out to the kitchen. “They’ve come back!”

Laura entered the kitchen in a rush and then skidded to a halt. A huge bear of a man with bushy eyebrows and an extravagant beard was towering by the door. She took a step backward and trod on Leon, who was just behind her. “This is Hugo,” explained Isabella, laughing as she threw her bag onto a chair. “He’s a singer, too. He knows all about you and this wonderful house. I told him it was a house to sing in and that he had to see it.”

Hugo beamed at them all, and Laura, recovering, threw herself into Isabella’s arms and then Harry’s. “I’ve missed you so much,” she cried.

“But we’ve only been gone a short time,” replied Harry. He swung Laura up into the air as though she were still a little girl, and her arm knocked the herbs hanging by the pantry. “Ah, I see you’ve been using my garlic.”

“Yes, I cooked up tomatoes and they were really
good. I crushed the garlic like you showed me, but it made my hands smell for days.”

“That’s the sign of a good cook.” Harry nodded and winked at Laura’s mother. “You have to suffer for your art, don’t you, Lesley?”

“Especially when you have deadlines,” she said, laughing.

Isabella threw her head back and began to sing about suffering, but stopped midnote — she had caught sight of Leon, standing in the corner, pressed against the wall.

“Who is this?” she exclaimed, waving her arms and all her bracelets toward him. Leon pressed farther back, looking desperate, and Laura felt a sudden rush of remorse. She had been so excited about Harry and Isabella arriving, she had completely forgotten Leon. She could see that he was feeling overwhelmed. It was not just shyness; it was something else. Something she could not put her finger on.

“This is Leon,” she said, turning toward him. “Leon, this is Isabella, the opera singer I was telling you about.”

“Leon.” Isabella regarded him thoughtfully. “I’m very pleased to meet you. Now tell me all about yourself.”

Leon opened his mouth and then closed it, without any sound coming out. Laura saw him dart a quick glance toward the garden, visible through the open door, almost as though he were counting the number of steps between him and his escape.

“Leon goes to school with me,” she said. “We’re investigating this house and the man who built it. We think we’ve found a cellar, but Dad won’t let us look.”

“Why ever not?”

“We would have to take down some paneling. He says it would make too much mess.”

“Andrew,” Isabella called across the room, “why not let the kids look for their cellar?”

Behind Isabella’s back, Laura grinned at Leon, but he did not smile back. “They won’t bite,” she whispered, but he still didn’t smile.

“We’ve got enough mess already,” answered Laura’s father. “Just look at the house.”

“But it’s beautiful,” said Isabella. “And anyway, we’ll help tidy up afterward, won’t we, Harry?”

“I always tidy up afterward,” said Harry, slightly aggrieved.

“It’s not cooking, Harry.” Isabella slid her arm through his. “It’s taking down a wall.”

Harry looked horrified. “But I don’t want to take down a wall.”

Laura giggled. “We do.”

“And I’m saying that we’ll help put it back up again,” explained Isabella.

“No.” Harry shook his head emphatically. “I can’t put up walls.”

“I can,” said Hugo unexpectedly. “I will help.”

Laura nudged Leon and whispered, “It’s a good thing Hugo came.”

Leon did not reply. He was looking at her father, who had buried his head in his hands, muttering, “I don’t want any more confusion. I want order, order . . .”

“You can have order — afterward.” Isabella winked at Laura. “Anyway, you don’t really want order, Andrew. You just think you do. Order is boring.”

“The man who built this house gave a concert in it, Isabella,” said Laura. “He had singers visit. Singers like you.” She turned to Leon for corroboration, but could not see him. He was behind her, edging to the door.

“I think I’d better be going,” he said.

“You can’t go yet.” Laura grabbed his arm. “Come and we’ll show Isabella where we think the cellar is.”

As they walked down the hall, Laura suddenly became aware that she was still grasping Leon’s arm. She dropped it quickly, flushing a little. For a moment she caught a glimpse of the old Leon, one eyebrow raised in amusement. Then Isabella approached and his face went blank.

“So where is this mysterious cellar?” asked Isabella.

“Through here.” Laura pointed. “Under the stairs. All we have to do is take off some of this paneling and shine a light in. Isabella came at just the right time, didn’t she, Leon?” She turned back to Leon and saw him fiddling with the neck of his T-shirt. Again, he did not reply.

Isabella laughed. “Give him time, Laura,” she said. “We take a bit of getting used to. Particularly me. Why do you think there’s a cellar behind this paneling?”

“We read about it in an article about the house. It was Leon who picked it up — the reference to the cellar, I mean.” Laura looked back at Leon, who was now staring at his shoes as though he wasn’t interested. Laura felt like shaking him. “We’ve been searching and searching and this is the first real possibility we’ve found. It would be
so
exciting if it was there. When do you think we should do it, Isabella?”

“Not now,” replied Isabella firmly. “Wait until everyone gets accustomed to the idea. Maybe tomorrow?”