The Visconti House (18 page)

Leon nodded, not looking at her. He finished clearing the grass and stood up, dusting the earth from his hands. Laura swallowed again. The lump in her throat felt enormous. “Why did she die? What happened?”

Leon shook his head.

Despite the heat, Laura felt a chill run through her. She began to trace the letters with her finger.

“If she had lived today, it would probably never have happened, whatever it was,” she said softly.

Leon did not reply. Maybe he had not heard. He was staring at a plain marble headstone a little farther away. “Look at that grave,” he said, pointing. “It’s newer than the rest.”

Laura felt her heart turn over again. “Do you think . . . ? Is it . . . ?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

They crossed to it and there, on the headstone, was the familiar crest. Below it was the other name they had been searching for:
Carlo Visconti. 1863–1938.
Under that was what looked like a poem:

Laura hardly dared to breathe. “So he
was
buried here, near Veronica,” she whispered.

They both stood looking down at the grave, until the voices of the adults approaching broke through the stillness.

“What have you found?” Isabella called. “Are the graves there?”

Neither of them answered. Laura couldn’t comprehend how Isabella could sound so cheerful, so unconcerned, when they had found something so momentous and sad. It seemed wrong that everyday life just continued on. When her mother put her arm around
her and held her close, Laura snuggled in, thinking how glad she was that she had a mother who understood.

“What does it say?” Leon asked his father.

Colin did not respond immediately. Then he read the words in Italian, his voice catching a little. Laura thought they sounded like music.

“It’s a passage from Dante,” he explained. “Dante was a very famous Italian poet. Here he is speaking of his great love, Beatrice. He says: ‘A gentle thought that speaks of you often comes to live with me and reasons about love so sweetly that it makes the heart agree with it.’”

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” sighed Laura. She was not exactly sure what it meant, but the sound of the words made her want to cry.

Leon’s father nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “It is very beautiful.”

“Was that where the statue was?” asked Laura’s father, indicating a small stone pedestal set into the ground.

Mr. Barlow nodded. “We didn’t know it was anything special,” he said. “We just thought it would look pretty in the garden.”

From under her mother’s arm, Laura glared at him. “It was looking after Mr. Visconti’s grave.”

“You should take some photos,” said her mother, giving her a squeeze. “It’s a good thing we remembered the camera.”

While the others sat on a nearby log, chatting, Laura and Leon took pictures of the graves and then wandered around photographing the surroundings. There was an unpaved road running past the cemetery but there were no houses in sight, and Laura was struck by how lonely and isolated it was. Like the story of Mr. Visconti and Veronica, it was being buried in time, buried and forgotten. She felt a tremor of anxiety. Was it right to be uncovering it again? It was a troubling thing, this exploration of the past. She looked at Leon. He had lowered the camera and was just staring out across the graves, as though thinking the same thing.

“How come your father can speak Italian so well?” she asked him later as they were walking back up to the house.

For a moment Leon said nothing. He looked at the brown paddock where the grass was stirring in a light breeze. Finally, he spoke. “My mother was Italian. Well, half-Italian. She was teaching him.”

Laura felt as though all the air had gone out of her. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry . . .” she stammered. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course not. How could you?” Leon gave her a twisted smile.

“This must be awful for you and your father.”

Leon shook his head. “No, it’s not. We’re enjoying it. It’s not our story; it’s a different story. My parents did get married, and they were happy.” He picked a stalk of grass and began to shred it. “That’s why it’s been so hard for Dad. When things are really good, it hurts all the more when you lose them, he says.” He paused and then added, “When Mom was alive, Dad was completely different. He used to laugh all the time. And he had such dreams.”

Laura looked at him uncertainly. “What happened?” she asked.

“It was a car accident. The other driver ran a red light.” Leon tossed the grass away. “Come on,” he said. “We should take some photos of the house and of the statue as well.”

Later, when they stopped for their picnic in a nearby town, Laura saw Leon’s father standing alone by a field, watching a cricket match being played on the dry oval. His shoulders were hunched, and he looked achingly sad. Leon had said that it was not their story, but, looking at Colin leaning against the rail, Laura could not help but think of Mr. Visconti.
They had both had dreams, and they had both lost them. A lump caught in her throat. She started to turn away, afraid that if she were to say anything, it would be the wrong thing. Then she saw Colin brush his hand across his eyes. Hadn’t Leon said that his father found it difficult to be with people? She realized she was just being cowardly. She took a deep breath and walked toward Colin and, amazingly, she did know what to say, after all.

“Thank you for translating the poem.”

He turned, and the sadness slipped from his eyes. “Thank
you
for letting me be part of the discovery,” he replied, smiling. “You and Leon are uncovering a very beautiful story, I think.” After a pause, he said, “And thank you for talking to Leon about the scholarship. I really appreciate it. It will be a good thing for him.”

Laura was wondering how to respond when Harry called out, “Lunch is ready.”

“Come and see our rolls,” she said. “Harry and I made them this morning.”

Together, they walked back to where the blankets had been spread out under a tall pine tree. Laura reached for the basket and, with a dramatic gesture, swept the cover off to reveal the nest of echidnas beneath.

Across the checked tablecloth, she smiled at Leon.

When Laura arrived at school on Monday, she was bracing herself for Maddy’s attack. She fully expected her to have told Kylie and Janie about the outing with Leon in the crazy shark car. She had even planned how she was going to react when they started needling her.

To her surprise, however, no one said anything. When Maddy passed her in the corridor, she looked at Laura rather oddly but continued on. Later in the day Kylie, Maddy, and Janie actually smiled at her as they stood outside the math classroom with a group of students, discussing the end-of-the-year dance.

“I heard Ms. Lee say that it’s going to have a sixties theme,” said Maddy. “If it does, what will you wear?”

“I dunno. Beads and things, I guess,” replied Janie. “What about you?”

“Same.”

“My mom’s got this long skirt with sparkles on it.” Janie spun in a circle, as though the skirt was swirling around her. “Maybe I’ll wear that.”

“I hope it does have a sixties theme,” said Maddy. “It would be really cool.”

“I’d rather have a supernatural theme.” Kylie flicked back her long hair and pouted. “Angels and devils. Something like that. Or pirates. I could do a great pirate costume.”

“Are you going to come, Laura?” asked Jenny Peters, who was standing nearby.

Everyone turned to look at Laura. “I don’t know,” she replied. This was not strictly true. She had no intention of going.

Nevertheless, during class she found herself thinking about the dance like everyone else and wondered what it would be like. She imagined arriving in a beautiful dress, with her hair swept up and her arms swathed in bracelets, everyone turning to look at her and whispering as she passed by, “Doesn’t Laura Horton look amazing?”

But that wouldn’t happen, of course. She would not wear the right thing, and she would not have anyone to talk to. She would just end up standing in
the corner, on her own, being miserable and wishing she had never come. She bit her lip hard. Why did they have to have a school dance? It would all be so much easier if they could just do their tests and finish the year without all the end-of-the-year activities — the sports days, the outings, and the dance. Particularly the dance, she thought crossly, biting her lip even harder.

Leon was waiting for her outside the gate after school. Glancing at him as they set off down the hill, she wondered what he thought about the dance. Probably nothing; he never worried about that sort of thing.

He caught her expression. “What?”

Blushing slightly, Laura replied, “Nothing. Have you started your history assignment?”

The rest of the way home, they talked about schoolwork, and when they reached his house, she went in with him to say hello to Mrs. Murphy.

“Ah,” Mrs. Murphy greeted her, looking up from
the bowl she was stirring. “I hoped you’d stop by. Janet has been trying to get in touch with you. She wants you to call her. Here’s her number.” She wiped her hands on her apron and reached for a torn piece of paper with some figures scrawled on it.

Laura took it gingerly, trying to imagine what it would be like speaking to Miss McInnes on the phone. It was difficult enough face-to-face.

“Why does she want to talk to Laura, Grandma?” asked Leon, leaning over the bowl.

“She didn’t say. She just said she’d remembered something and wanted to tell Laura.” Mrs. Murphy rapped Leon’s knuckles lightly with the end of her spoon. “Keep your fingers out. There are some cookies in the tin.”

“Yes, but they’re not as nice as these. When will they be ready?”

“In half an hour.”

Leon turned to Laura. “Do you want to stay and have some when they come out of the oven? They’re really good. You could call Miss McInnes from here.”

Laura cringed at the thought of calling Miss McInnes, either here or at home. Still, she was anxious to know what Miss McInnes had remembered, so they
went into the sun-room and, while Leon watched, she dialed the number Mrs. Murphy had given her.

“Hello?” Miss McInnes sounded even more irritable on the phone than in person.

“This is Laura Horton. Mrs. Murphy said you wanted me to call you.”

“Yes.” There was a pause. “After you left, I recalled a box of old family papers I’d put away in the cupboard. I’ve found a letter that may be of interest to you and the boy. If you’d like to come over tomorrow after school, I’ll show it to you.”

Laura’s heart started racing. “That would be great, Miss McInnes. Thank you, thank you so much. We’ll come at four o’clock.”

Leon mouthed, “What is it?”

She mouthed back, “Wait.”

“Mind you, don’t be late, then. Good-bye.” Miss McInnes hung up before Laura could reply.

“What did she say?” demanded Leon as soon as she put the receiver down. “Has she got something?”

“She’s got a letter, and she says she’ll show it to us! She wants us to come over tomorrow after school.”

“Wow!” Leon let out a long low whistle. “I wonder what’s in it.”

“She didn’t say. She just said she’d found it with some family papers. I bet she knew about it all the time.”

“Maybe. It doesn’t matter, though. The important thing is that she is going to show it to us. I told you she might be able to help us.”

“I wouldn’t call it helping, exactly.”

Leon raised his eyebrows at her. “Yes, it is. You just don’t want to admit it.”

Laura crushed up the piece of paper with the phone number on it and threw it at him.

“Do you two want to lick the bowl?” called Mrs. Murphy from the kitchen. “I’ve just put the cookies in the oven.”

It was hot in the kitchen, so they took the bowl to the back step and sat there running their fingers around the white plastic basin and talking about the letter and what it might contain.

Suddenly, Laura stopped licking her fingers and looked at Leon. “Thanks,” she said.

Leon stopped licking his fingers, too, and looked back at her questioningly. “For what?”

“For helping to find Mr. Visconti. I would never have discovered all this by myself.”

Leon grinned. “That’s some admission, Laura Horton.”

A little later Mrs. Murphy brought them a plate of warm cookies and two glasses of lemonade. A freight train rumbled by and, in the background, Mrs. Murphy’s chickens clucked contentedly. Laura lifted her face to the sun. She was happy. School, the dance, Kylie, Maddy, and Janie seemed a long way away.