This Haunted World Book One: The Venetian: A Chilling New Supernatural Thriller (6 page)

“How bloody dare you!” Louise yelled. “What do you mean ‘you’ll work on me’? Like I’m some sort of doll without a mind of my own.”

How she’d kept from exploding after Rob had delivered that particular gem, she’d never know. But she’d sat there, a smile plastered on her face, as the conversation had continued over coffee and liqueurs, the waiter serving a round of grappa on the house, clutching at her glass so tightly she’d been amazed it hadn’t shattered in her hands. Around them the restaurant had emptied and finally they’d called it a night, their newfound friends kissing them on both cheeks, as was the Italian custom, before disappearing from sight. They had walked a short way too, to where the archway was, when she came to a grinding halt, unable to keep a lid on her fury anymore.

“The things I said, my reasons for not wanting to go to the island, you just dismissed them completely. You talked over me at every opportunity—”

“I didn’t, I—”

“There you go again, let me bloody speak!”

“All right, all right, go on then,” he replied meekly.

“That couple seem very nice, I’m not denying that, but we don’t know them. It’s a bit odd that they want to take us to Poveglia isn’t it?”

Laughing, Rob put one finger to his mouth. “Shush, I wouldn’t say the ‘P’ word too loudly around here.”

“This isn’t funny!” Besides which, there was no one to hear them, the lane was empty.

She walked a few more paces and then stopped again, determined to have her say, right here, right now. “Look, you go if you want to, but there’s no way I am.”

“Why not? It’ll be fun.” His voice was slurred; he was definitely drunk, little wonder given what they’d consumed.

“Because… it doesn’t feel right, that’s why.”

“’Cos you’re scared they might be axe murderers?” His laughter was such a maddening sound. “Or is it the island itself that terrifies you, the
fantasma
?”

She drew closer to him, hissed under her breath. “I am
not
scared.”

“Then let’s go, it’ll be an adventure, something unusual.”

She was stunned. “So what we do, going away for weekends, working so hard, it’s all a bit ‘usual’ for you is it? You need a few cheap thrills to spice things up.”

He turned deliberately coy. “You’re offering me cheap thrills now are you, Lou, in this alleyway, a bunk-up against the wall? Don’t mind if I do!”

She slapped him around the face – hard.

“Hey!” he yelled, one hand cradling his cheek. “What did you do that for?”

“Don’t cheapen me!”

“What… when… I was joking for God’s sake!”

“Yet another one that’s not funny.”

No longer laughing, he was almost growling. “What the fuck’s wrong with you? Sometimes I really do wonder.”

Exhaling dramatically he started to walk, but she wasn’t done with him yet. She grabbed his arm and threw him against the hard stonework of the wall. He started to laugh again, unable to help himself it seemed, finding her oh so amusing.

“Louise, stop it. Let’s just go to the hotel and get some sleep.”

“You never listen to me, do you?”

He held his hands up in submission. “All right, all right, we won’t go.”

“I’m not talking about that.”

“Look he’s an architect, like me, not a mad man.”

“I said I’m not talking about that.”

Rob looked puzzled. “What are you talking about then?”

“About the fact you don’t listen to me, ever.”

Any amusement in his eyes – whether genuine or forced – fled. He had cottoned on to the true meaning of her words and his expression held a warning:
Don’t go off on one; don’t get hysterical
. He never actually said it but the intimation was there – always. Even if there had been people around, the lane packed, she doubted she’d be able to stay calm. Perhaps he was right: she
was
mad. Certainly, standing there, underneath the archway, madness blinded her.

“I know we can’t have children—”

“Oh for God’s sake, Lou—”

“Just listen to me! I know we can’t have children, that IVF hasn’t worked for us, but there are other ways.”

“We could steal one you mean?” His eyes were steely as he said it.

“We could adopt.” The last word she spat at him.

“You know my feelings on that.”

“
Your
feelings, not mine!”

“Louise, I’m not doing this here.” As he pushed away from the wall, she blocked him.

“It doesn’t matter where we are, you won’t talk about it. ‘Not now’ you say, and come up with some excuse: you’re busy at work, the phone’s ringing, there’s a programme on TV you’re dying to watch, anything to fob me off. Not anymore. I want to adopt.”

Settling against the wall, he uttered one word. “No.”

“Why not, why the hell not?”

“Louise,” – anger was rising in him too she could tell – “we either have a kid of our own, or we… accept the situation. And I thought that’s what we’d done: accepted it. Decided to live a great life, just the two of us, pursue our careers, travel, have fun—”

“We can’t spend our lives running!”

“We’re not running, we’re taking back control. What’s wrong with that?”

Everything
, she wanted to scream.
Everything’s wrong with it!
Instead she forced herself to speak steadily. “Tell me why you won’t adopt.”

“I…” He shook his head, faltered.

“Tell me!”

Still there was silence, he wasn’t even looking at her – he was looking away.

“Rob!”

“Because… I’m happy with the way things are, I’m happy with it just being us.”

And there it was: the truth.
He
was happy. Who cared about anyone else?

Her voice when she spoke was venomous. “I hate you sometimes, do you know that, Rob Henderson? I hate you with every bone in my body! I wish we’d never come here, I wish we were back in England, or I was back in England, you can do what the hell you like. I don’t care anymore. You’re an emotional coward, a selfish bastard. You bury things instead of facing them, and you want me to do the same, put on a happy face, smile and be content. But I can’t, I’m not content. I’m not the one who’s infertile either. I got pregnant once, before I met you, but I miscarried. I kept it secret from you, but not any longer, you need to know, you’re to blame for everything. It’s all your fault.”

So many emotions, from anger and disbelief to deep, deep hurt, played across his face as she spoke. And the words, once spoken, couldn’t be retracted. She didn’t want to retract them, did she? She didn’t know. Her mind felt so clouded, as if time really had slipped away, reality too, as if they were on some dark but dramatic stage, and any minute the audience was going to clap at a fine portrayal of a marital breakup, were going to roar in fact, to stand and cheer their performance. The sound would be deafening, it would bring the house down around them, the house… the one over the archway. She didn’t want to look. Had carefully avoided looking on their way here tonight. But now she couldn’t resist.

Who are you?
The words formed in her mind of their own volition.
What do you want with me?
Her gaze was drawn upwards. She hadn’t noticed a curtain at the window the first time she’d seen it, but there were curtains now – they looked like lace, the fabric thin, so delicate and swaying slightly. Was there someone behind them, reaching out, parting them? If she continued to look would she see a hand – more than that, a figure?

She looked away. “Rob?” He was gone again, but where? She hadn’t seen him leave. “Rob!” She turned on her heel, scanned the distance in front of her. It was empty.

Nonetheless, she darted forward, propelled herself underneath the archway, frantic to be away from there. Where was he? Was she the only one left on the stage? No. She wasn’t alone. She knew that. She hadn’t been since arriving in Venice.

“Rob!” Her throat was starting to hurt from all the shouting she’d done. How come she hadn’t seen him go? Too busy looking upwards, that’s why; entranced.

A flash of someone in the distance, not dressed in white – thank God – but tall and dark, someone she knew. And she
did
know him, his flaws and his attributes. And he knew her flaws too. Yet still he was happy. He’d said so.

Breaking into a run, she forced herself to go faster. “Wait! Wait for me!”

He didn’t wait, he kept on walking but she noticed his pace slowed slightly. Even so, he was in no mood for talking. That was fine, she accepted that. It was enough just to be by his side as he led them away from the archway, towards the hotel and safety.

Even though the lobby lights were glaring, they were a huge comfort – such a contrast to the dark alleyway they’d been in twenty minutes before. So different… except for one thing – the painting – an all too vivid reminder of what had just taken place. Still refusing to speak to her, Rob made his way to the lift and got in. She could have followed him,
should
have followed him, but she had to face what was happening. Steeling herself she went over to the painting. Its execution was cruder than she remembered, the artist having wielded his brush in a slightly random manner. But it was a style of sorts, as Rob had said, the blobs of white meant to be effective from a distance but not close up. Not meant to be defined at all…

“I’ve noticed you looking at that painting. You like it, yes?”

Surprised to hear a voice behind her, she spun round. It was Gisela, the receptionist who’d greeted them with a glass of champagne on arrival. She’d spotted her at the desk when Rob had glided by, but hadn’t heard her come over. Almost involuntarily, her eyes travelled to Gisela’s feet – no longer in high heels, she had black ballet pumps on in the softest of leathers. Perhaps they were allowed to relax the uniform a little so late at night. The woman had asked a question, she had to answer. Did she like the painting?

“It’s… interesting,” Louise said at last. “That particular house, is it significant at all?”

Gisela looked bemused. “Significant? In what way?”

“Because of who lived there?”

Gisela laughed, a pleasant sound, reminding her of the tinkling of bells. “I don’t know who lived there. Venetian street scenes are popular with artists.”

“I know that,” Louise replied, she’d seen many of them in shops around the city, “but this one…” How on earth could she even hope to explain it? “I’ve been there.”

“Yes, it is in the San Polo area, near to some good restaurants. I pointed out several to your husband. Did you go there to eat?”

“Yes, yes, we did.” She told her about the restaurant they’d visited, twice in two nights.

“One of my favourites,” Gisela declared smiling, her red lipstick immaculate. Even dressed down, she looked so elegant.
What does Rob see in me?
Tears pricked at her eyes. She was far from elegant. She was mad at times. Barren. Despite having blamed him, it could be her fault – a suspected miscarriage, especially so long ago, didn’t mean a thing.
None
of it meant a thing.

Gisela placed a hand on Louise’s arm, her touch as light as her tread. “Madam, you are upset, why?”

It would take too long to explain and thankfully Gisela didn’t press her. After a few moments of silence she asked if Louise would like some water.

“No, thanks, I’ll be all right.”

“A glass of champagne?”

“I think I’ve had enough to drink.”

Gisela turned back towards the wall. “What is it about the painting that troubles you?”

Louise was surprised at how astute Gisela was. Should she tell her what she’d seen? Why not? What did she have to lose?

Lifting her hand, she pointed to the window of the house over the archway. “When I first saw this painting I thought I saw a woman standing in the window, staring at me.” There was a slight frown on Gisela’s face but she didn’t interrupt. “That same woman – she’s got some sort of white veil on, a white dress as well – I’ve seen her in the town too, as if she’s following me. And just now, coming home from the restaurant, I was standing below that archway, I looked up and there were curtains at the window where there hadn’t been any before, lace curtains, and they were moving, as if someone was behind them, getting ready to look out. To look at
me
.”

“Maybe the curtains are new.”

It was an explanation – a valid explanation – but still Louise didn’t think so. The curtains weren’t modern in any sense. And they weren’t clean either, you’d expect curtains that had just been put up to be clean but these were slightly grubby. She shook her head. Grubby wasn’t the right word. Like so much in this city, they had an air of decay about them; they
were
decayed. “But the woman,” Louise continued, “what about her?”

Gisela averted her gaze and Louise winced, she really shouldn’t have said anything, but then the receptionist surprised her by taking her arm and steering her away from the painting, back to the desk, a deliberate gesture, as if she wanted to remove her from its influence. Focussing on Louise again, she seemed to think carefully before replying. “Venice has a reputation. It’s supposed to be the most haunted city in the world.”

Louise nodded. “Yes, I saw something about that on the net. Do you believe it?”

“I have lived here all my life and I have never seen a ghost.” She looked so solemn as she said it. “All I will say is, it is a city to inspire the imagination.”

Yes, that was a conclusion she’d come to several times this weekend – her imagination playing havoc with her. Stress too. She’d been under a lot of stress before she’d arrived in Venice, the usual kind, to do with work and clients wanting everything done yesterday, not realising she was only human, that she only had one pair of hands. And the other stress – the stress she’d been under for a few years now. They were proving a lethal combination.

“Poveglia, have you been?” She could hardly believe she’d dared to ask.

Gisela’s eyes widened. “Poveglia? I don’t understand…”

“It’s just, we were talking about Venice being haunted and Poveglia seems to be.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Gisela repeated her sentiment of earlier.
Almost as if she’s trying to convince herself
. But she was right. Of course she was right. Ghosts didn’t exist, there was no need to be afraid, no need at all. As for the Benvenutis, they were professional people, cultured and responsible, with no motive other than to show two English tourists something unusual,
historic
even. And they’d only be there in daylight – Piero had said so. They’d arrive back in Venice in time to find a restaurant somewhere, just the two of them, settle in, discuss what they’d seen – laugh over it, tease each other even, insist they’d glimpsed something when they hadn’t. It would detract from what had happened tonight; the things that she’d said and done – hitting him… actually hitting him. They could put it behind them and pretend it never happened;
bury
it.

Looking at Gisela, a shadow across her face despite the glare of the lights overhead, Louise decided to agree with her. “I don’t believe in ghosts either.” There she’d said it. A bold statement made and believed in. Making a show of looking at her watch, she added, “It’s late, I’d better go to my room. It’s our last full day tomorrow.”

Gisela didn’t reply, she just smiled at her, her face a mask again, a perfect Venetian mask. Backing away from her, Louise turned in the direction of the lift.

The hour was past midnight, but she’d still text Piero, that way he’d get the message when he woke up, nice and early as he’d requested.

Hi, Piero, I hope you’re well. It’s Rob and Louise from the restaurant. We’d love to go to Poveglia with you if that’s still okay. Let me know what time to be ready and where to meet. We’re looking forward to spending time with you and Kristina again.

If Rob wanted adventure, she’d give it to him. As the doors closed and the lift travelled upwards, she continued to convince herself it was the
only
way to make amends.