Authors: Kimberley Reeves
“The moment they laid eyes on each other they were both hopelessly lost.” Nic met Rachel’s gaze. “It happens that way sometimes… two people meet and for reasons they can’t explain they know in their hearts they were meant to be together.”
“Yes,” Rachel said with a soft smile, “I can see how that could happen.”
“At first, Rochelle would only sneak out at night to meet him in the gardens or the woods because she was afraid of getting caught and being sent away. She wanted to be sure of his love before she told him who she really was, but the need to be with him was too strong and they both became a little reckless. Anytime he could catch her alone he’d steal a few kisses or coax her into his room so they could spend a few precious moments together.”
Rachel stopped him to ask a few questions that were puzzling her. “Where were her chaperones? Surely they didn’t condone what she was doing. And what about her parents? Did they know she was living here?”
Nic grinned. “It seems Rochelle was quite adept at getting what she wanted. She gave her chaperones the slip only one day after arriving on American soil, and then sent word to them that she was staying with some friends in the country. She promised to keep in constant contact with them so they’d know she was well, and in return for their silence, they wouldn’t have to suffer the shame of telling her parents they’d failed the task they’d been given to watch over her.
“She coerced them into taking the tour of America as planned and since she knew the itinerary, Rochelle always had a letter waiting for them when they arrived at each location. She also sent them a letter addressed to her parents so they could post it from wherever they were staying and keep up the rouse that she was with them.”
Rachel couldn’t help but laugh. “She certainly had the art of deception down to a science, didn’t she?”
Nic sliced off a piece of steak, nodding thoughtfully as he chewed. “She must have felt pretty strongly about meeting Nicolo on her own terms if she defied her parents the way she did. The only person who knew the truth about everything was Estela. She never even told Nicolo about the chaperones who were probably sick with worry until they received a new letter from her each time.”
“I wonder what happened to them,” Rachel mused. “They had to have known the first time Rochelle missed sending them a letter that something bad had happened to her. It must have been horrible for them to have to admit everything to her parents, not to mention the guilt they had to live with when it became obvious she was gone for good.”
“They come here,” Celia joined the conversation for the first time. “They know her letters come from near here so they come looking for her, but Mrs. Covelli tell them Adalina DiCarlo no come here.”
“No one even suspected she was going by her middle name and using Beaumont as her last name,” Nic added. “I imagine her chaperones never returned to Italy, not with the hostile reception they were likely to get.”
“What about Estela? How could she bear to live here knowing what had happened to Rochelle and not being able to tell anyone? She must have been terrified one of Nicolo’s cousins would find out she’d seen everything and kill her too.”
“It scare her very much,” Celia said solemnly, “but she feel it is her duty to stay and watch over Rochelle’s things.”
“So she passed that duty down to her daughter and then to each successive generation?”
“
Si
. Only when Rochelle’s spirit at rest will my family be free of this.”
Rachel grimaced. “Does that mean you have a daughter who’ll take over when you retire?”
“My first born, Carmela.”
“But… what if she doesn’t want to do it?”
“She have no choice,” Celia said firmly.
Rachel shuffled the food around on her plate. “It seems the ripples from that one tragic event just go on and on, affecting the lives of people that never even knew her.”
“Unfortunate, but true,” Nic replied. “Everything fell apart after Rochelle disappeared. Nicolo was devastated. His mother tried to convince him Rochelle had stolen some of her jewelry to escape the drudgery of being a maid. Of course, Nicolo knew better. She had no reason to steal his mother’s jewelry when her own family was even wealthier than the Covelli’s, but for some reason he chose not to tell anyone. And when his cousins made the mistake of mocking him for having an affair with one of the servants and insisted she’d dumped him for someone else, Nicolo cut them out of his life and forbade them to ever set foot in his house again.”
Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat, her heart growing heavier by the minute as Nic continued.
“Nicolo searched for her for months, but finally returned home a broken man. He gave in to his parents’ demand to find a suitable wife, but he never loved her, and when she died in childbirth he didn’t shed a tear. There was no love in his heart for his son, no love in his heart for anyone, and after awhile it became unbearable to live in the mansion where so many memories still remained. He bullied his parents into moving out of the mansion, then left with his son a short time later; an embittered man who passed his inability to show affection on to his son, Antonio.”
Rachel was surprised to hear Antonio treated Nic’s father much as Nicolo had treated him, but was relieved that the cycle had broken with Nic. She couldn’t even imagine him being anything but a loving husband and father, so maybe the ripples had finally begun to settle after all. As for poor Estela, she grieved over Rochelle’s death until she’d taken her own last breath, but she’d passed a horrible legacy onto her daughter when she’d made her swear to take on the task of protecting Rochelle’s things and keeping the truth of that fateful night a secret.
“I know this sounds silly,” she told them once Nic had finished the whole story, “but I wish there was something I could do.”
“I feel the same, but we can’t undo the past. I’m sorry for what happened to Rochelle and my own family’s role in it. And while I feel a certain obligation to contact the DiCarlo family and let them know the truth, I also feel extremely protective of Celia, and don’t want her or her family hurt by this.”
“I realize that, and it’s not what I meant anyway. I just…I don’t know…wish there was some way to go back in time to warn them, to change something about that night so Rochelle didn’t get murdered.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, but my time machine is in the shop this week, so I’m afraid I can’t be much help to you there.”
Rachel shot him a wilting glare. “Thank you for that smart ass reply.”
“Clever,” he corrected, “it was a clever reply.”
“Okay clever guy, where do we go from here? There has to be a reason I’m having these dreams about Rochelle. I can’t help feeling that she wants me to help her, but what can I do? Since your time machine is on the blink I can’t go back and warn her, so unless I can figure out a way to make Rochelle dream of me so I can leave cryptic messages that make her as crazy as she’s making me…”
“Maybe you can.” Nic leaned back in his chair, an idea beginning to form. “Look, this is going to sound like an insane suggestion, but remember how we talked about lucid dreaming?”
“You mean waking up inside my dream so that I realize it’s a dream?”
“Exactly! If you can learn how to control your dream, you can change the course of it.”
“In other words,” Rachel said, “I could change something that would alter the events of that night, like begging Nicolo not to go the dinner party or agreeing to meet him someplace other than the gardens.”
“You understand it might not make any difference at all.”
Rachel drew in a ragged breath. “Maybe not, but I have to try. You don’t know what she went through in the end… getting shot, the brutal rape, and then being walled up in the dark and left to die. I can’t turn my back on her, not if there’s any chance at all I can change what happened that night.”
“All right then, it's settled. We’ll start practicing tonight.”
“Essentially, a lucid dream can begin in three different ways,” Nic explained as he and Rachel returned to the bedroom. “I won’t bother going into details about all of them because you’ll only be concentrating on the mnemonic-initiated lucid dream.”
Rachel kicked off her shoes and sat down on the loveseat. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to concentrate on doing something I can’t even pronounce.”
His smile was indulgent as he took the spot beside her. “It is quite a mouthful, which is why we usually refer to it as MILD.”
“So how does it work, Doctor?”
“You’ll spend the rest of the day affirming to yourself that you
will
become lucid when you dream. You’ll also take a good half hour before you go to sleep to do the same. The first few times you attempt this I don’t want you to do anything but try to establish just how conscious you are that it’s only a dream. The most important part is to make sure the logical part of your brain is functioning and that you’re cognizant of all your senses.”
“Like being able to smell or feel the texture of something I touch?”
“Exactly. You can test yourself by focusing on something that requires you to consciously use your brain, like what day it is or what we had for lunch. Once you have that part of it down, I’ll want you to start looking around and observing your surroundings; that’s when you focus more on sensory perception. Dreams are often hazy, but if you’re lucid everything you consciously create will look as sharp and vivid as it does in real life.”
“How can I be sure that being able to recall what day it is means I’m lucid? I mean, if I tell myself it’s Tuesday in the dream but it’s really Thursday, I won’t know I wasn’t having a lucid dream until I wake up.”
“There are other methods you can use to test yourself. Try reading something or looking at the face of a clock then turn away and see if it’s still the same text or time. If you’re not completely lucid, something strange will usually happen that wouldn’t occur in reality. Maybe the book will disappear or become a totally different one, or the time will have gone forward or backward or the face of the clock will have changed.”
“But you said I could change anything I wanted if I was having a lucid dream, so how can I tell if it was done on a conscious level or not?”
“Because you won’t be surprised when it happens if you’re doing it consciously. You’ll
expect
the changes to occur because you told yourself it would happen. Look, honey, I don’t want you to worry about doing anything at first except making yourself aware that you’re dreaming.”
“I’m not sure this is going to work,” Rachel said with a wry smile. “Everything that’s happening seems like a dream. It’s just so…unbelievable. Monica would probably have me committed if I told her what I’m doing…or rather, trying to do for Rochelle.”
Nic grimaced. “I’m afraid my colleagues wouldn’t be any more open to the idea than your sister. I have to admit I’m struggling with the concept myself. All my life I’ve been a realist, but lately my beliefs have taken quite a beating. I’m discovering that not everything can be placed in a nice neat box and categorically labeled.”
“Do you like your life that way; neat and orderly with no surprises?”
“I thought I did.”
“And now you’re finding that vanilla ice cream tastes a whole lot better with a few sprinkles on top?”
“Something like that,” he grinned. “You’ve certainly added flavor to my life, Rachel Delacourte. As a matter of fact,” he leaned towards her, “I’m dying to get a little taste of you right now.”
Rachel was grateful for the distraction, and Nic’s lips were most assuredly a monumental one. She didn’t want to think about what poor Rochelle had gone through or how miserable Nicolo’s life was after she’d disappeared. The only thing she wanted was to enjoy the pleasure of being in Nic’s arms and allow the rapturous feeling of being kissed by him to overwhelm her until her mind was blissfully blank. It wasn’t hard to do; not when every kiss, every gentle caress sent her heart into a tailspin and evoked emotions that were so intense she could barely breathe, let alone form a coherent thought.
“I really should get some work done,” she said quite some time later.
“I haven’t been much help, have I? I promised not to keep you from doing your job and I’ve done nothing but monopolize your time since we got here.”
“It’s not as if I’ve been an unwilling participant, but maybe it’s best if you find something to do while I work on my sketches. I thought I could handle having you around, but it’s impossible to stay focused when all I want to do is strip your clothes off and have my wicked way with you.”
Nic’s booming laughter filled the room. “For Celia’s sake I’ll keep my distance. I think she’s been traumatized enough by Rochelle’s spirit without walking in on the two of us doing the mamba on top of the antique serving table.”
“The antique serving table? Sounds like you’ve been giving this some thought.”
“Just thinking of ways to keep each other entertained on Celia’s day off.”
Rachel was smiling like a Cheshire cat as she made her way downstairs. Nic had refused to elaborate other than to say he’d make sure she had a good time. Even after she’d stooped to begging, he’d remain tight lipped, but she’d gotten even with him before grabbing up her sketch pad and sauntering out of the room. Maybe Nic wasn’t willing to divulge any of his fantasies, but Rachel didn’t have any reservations about telling him in great detail just what
she’d
like to do once they had the place to themselves. She could still see the tortured look on his face and it almost made her feel sorry for him. Almost.