1.
Dazzling sunshine made me whip out my sunshades. But not even the dark lenses could dim the moment.
Could there be anything more breathtaking than the pastel colored palazzi and turquoise waters of Italy, where dashing, toga-clad Romans had sped past in horse-drawn chariots, noble ladies had reclined in the garden of their villas, and even today fast cars, beautiful women and a zest for life ruled every inch of this sun-spoilt country?
“Watch your step.” My companion wrinkled her lovely nose. She stared pointedly at the group of scantily dressed women wobbling on high heels who had trouble staying upright as they straggled to the pier.
One of them bumped into me. At the last second I succeeded in dragging my suitcase out of the way.
“Sorry,” the woman slurred and traipsed after her friends who, at two in the afternoon, were boozed up and on the brink of happy oblivion – or searching for the next shrub to be sick in.
We’d run into a British Hen party.
This was not the introduction to the old world that I’d intended for Adriana after a sea journey where I’d relegated her to our cabin as much as I could, but surely things would improve.
They did. Our hotel room overlooked one of the many canals Livorno enjoyed. It had a four-poster bed fit for a queen and a sofa that could easily double as a sleeping space for Adriana.
Not that Adriana did much sleeping, if she nodded off at all.
She stood by the window, every single blonde hair on her head perfectly waved and her evening dress as unwrinkled as it had been when we boarded the ocean liner in Boston.
I, on the other hand, could do with a freshen-up. But then I was only your average 32 year old jewelry maker, whereas Adriana Darling was a glamorous beauty whose charms would never fade.
Literally.
She had died in 1929, when she was a decade younger than present day me.
Adriana was my great-great-aunt, and since she had returned from wherever that was about a month ago, she’d become my constant companion and sometime guardian angel.
She’d also turned my whole existence upside down.
A loud meow interrupted my train of thought. On the small balcony, a cat sat and pressed her paws against the French door.
“Let her in,” my great-great-aunt said.
I hesitated.
“Please?”
“Only if you make sure she respects the furniture,” I said. “My budget doesn’t stretch to paying for scratch marks.”
“She’ll be fine.”
I opened the French door, and the cat streaked in and chirruped at my great-great-aunt.
Adriana stroked her, and the cat chirruped louder. Among her other talents, my great-great-aunt is fluent in cat, dog, and whatever other animal she’s communicating with.
I might be the only human who can see her, but animals notice her with the same enthusiasm mosquitoes show me. Which is a lot.
She said to our visitor, “Don’t worry, my lovely, I’m sure Genie will find something to eat for you.”
Genie is me. My full name is Geneviève, thanks to my Francophile mother, but since hardly anyone could pronounce it to her satisfaction, Genie had stuck.
I had my mother to thank for present company. Aimée (born as Amy, but she’d said goodbye to that spelling before the ink on her marriage certificate had dried and she’d left the Unites States behind) had recently remarried after a long widowhood.
While she was enjoying her honeymoon she’d left me in charge of her cat Cleo and the Darling villa in her home town of Cobblewood Cove. There, murder and mayhem had entered my life, and with them, my great-great-aunt.
Ghost and cat had struck up a fast friendship the moment they clapped eyes on each other. My mother had been a little hurt that her cat appeared to prefer my company to hers when she returned, but since she was oblivious to Adriana’s presence, I decided to keep quiet about the real reason. Our absence should be enough to repair their bond anyway.
Originally I’d hoped that Aimée would connect with Adriana the same way I did and I could come to some sort of time-share arrangement with looking after the family ghost.
It didn’t work that way, though. For whatever reason she’d materialized for me, blood relationship was not the only key. Objects however played a part, which brought us to our two-week stay in Italy.
This wasn’t a holiday. Adriana and I were a team on a mission. We had travelled all the way from New England to chase her old belongings, because as far as we were aware, they held the secret to stabilizing and strengthen her in her current form.
The clothes she wore, her jewelry, and an original brick from the Darling villa in Cobblewood Cove, where Adriana had taken both her first and her last breath, all were connected to her peculiar spectral life force.
It had been a stroke of luck when we discovered that her parents had donated some of her clothes back in 1929 to a young woman. Said recipient had gone on from being brainy but not blessed with wealth, to a scholarship in England, a career as a scientist, and marriage to Lord Taverner, a peer of the realm. Among a townhouse in London and a home in Scotland, the Taverners also possessed a villa in Italy.
The second stroke of luck was the fact that the descendants of Lady Taverner had decided to put some of her stuff up for auction, and that I’d already signed up as a jewelry making tutor on a cruise ship. If five days at sea and teaching a bunch of mature ladies and an historian in his forties counted as a cruise. Still, in return I got free board and three meals a day, so who was I to complain?
The dogs traveling with us had lined up to fill the Cleo-shaped hole in Adriana’s heart. As a result, we, or rather I, became volunteer dog walkers. I now officially owned a sash naming me most popular crew member.
The voyage also gave us opportunity to work on our communication, and on boundaries. Gone were the days when I’d looked like a crazy person because I was talking to what seemed to everyone else to be thin air. And Adriana now let me sleep in instead of waking me whenever something excited her.
I gazed at her. She and her new feline friend lounged on the sofa. The little tabby yawned at me, curled up into a ball and settled in for a nap.
Adriana played with the fringe of her shawl. She’d been surprisingly quiet since our arrival on Italian soil.
Up to then, I could rely on her enthusiasm for everything new to keep her cheerful and chatty.
That had even been the case when our ship and its human passengers didn’t live up to her expectations.
Honestly, I couldn’t blame her for being a little disappointed. I’d seen pictures of ocean liners in the late 1920s, and they were as far removed from today’s run of the mill ships as were the silk frocks and tails of the era from the spandex and shorts most modern passengers preferred.
After Adriana’s initial attempts to join me in every lesson and searching for a handsome man to set me up with, she’d been happy to walk the dogs with me or stay in our cabin and listen to the Jeeves and Wooster novels as audiobooks.
I gave my relative a fond smile. It must have been hard for my vivacious great-great-aunt to restrain herself for my sake during our trip over.
Although she still seemed subdued. Maybe too much so.
“What’s up with you?” I asked. I felt the first stirrings of worry.
What if the change in location didn’t agree with her, and her recent inactivity had deeper causes?
Adriana had such a strong bond with her birthplace we hadn’t considered how a distance of more than 3000 miles might affect her.
I studied her from under my lashes.
Did her skin appear less glowing, her hair less glossy, and her body less real?
I reached for her arm and touched her.
For a heartbeat I could feel the skin contact, which was a good sign.
What was not a good sign, was her lack of response.
Adriana loved to talk, no matter the circumstances, although she also had her merits as a good listener.
“Tell me,” I begged her.
She turned away from the window in a slow, languid movement instead of her accustomed whirling. “I wish Belle was here.”
My heart sank. Poor Adriana. She and her older sister Belle had been the closest of friends, right until she died.
No wonder she found me wanting as a substitute on her first overseas trip. Being not technically alive didn’t help either.
“What would she have wanted you to do?” I asked.
Adriana pondered. A tiny crease appeared on her forehead. “What do people do for fun around here?”
Since I’d read up about Livorno, I had a few ideas. “We could go for a walk on the promenade or explore Little Venice. It’s a really old quarter, with lots of small canals, and supposed to have been created by using the same methods the Venetians employed. There’s also the ruin of a fortress dating back to the Medici.”
I could feel Adriana’s eyes glaze over. No ancient ruins then, for her.
I couldn’t blame her. I also was a lot more attracted by her time period, although I resisted adopting Adriana’s fashion. Her slinky evening dress oozed old Hollywood glamour, which was perfect for her, while jeans and shirts worked for me.
When it came to Genie Darling designs though, they were heavily influenced by the jazz age, Art Deco and Art Nouveau, and I’d planned this trip around museum collections and antique shops.
The cat’s eyes fluttered open. Adriana petted her. The tabby shut her eyes in bliss and purred like a Hoover.
“Come on,” I said. “It’ll be fun. Your first night in Bella Italia."
"What about the cat? She’s hungry."
The tabby licked her lips.
"We’ll bring home a few treats for her, if she’s happy to wait on the balcony.”
Although the auction where Lady Taverner’s belongings would go under the hammer was to be held in the Tuscan city of Montepulciano, where Milady’s grandchildren had done some spring cleaning before putting the house on the market, we wouldn’t travel on until tomorrow.
“She says she wants chicken breast.”
“Fine with me.”
Adriana fussed with her perfectly coiffed hair, and I changed into a fresh pair of jeans.
I watched Adriana closely as we set out. If her languid manner continued, I needed to rethink our plans and head back home with her as soon as I could. I’d never forgive myself if the energy that kept her going fizzled out, forever.
I’d worried unduly. As soon as we were surrounded by palm trees, bars, and the buzz of happy people soaking in the balmy air and beauty all around us, she perked up with every step.
We had barely made it to the promenade, where the black and white checkerboard pavement delighted Adriana so much she skipped from stone to stone, when she froze mid-jump.
Her lips formed a surprised circle.
I had to force myself to breathe. What on earth had happened to her? Would she dematerialize before my very eyes and enter the afterlife or whatever waited at this stage of her existence?
2.
Someone touched my shoulder. I gave a violent jerk as Adriana landed gently on a white stone.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” A broad-shouldered man with an infectious smile, dark eyes and even darker hair, gazed at me with genuine concern.
Adriana batted her eyelashes at him. “Matt,” she whispered in unison with me, except that my voice held no tremor, of course.
Matt Blake, art and security expert and the reason we knew about the upcoming sale of Adriana’s precious clothes in the first place, had the added distinction to be counted among her favorite men.
His most serious rival for Adriana’s affection to date was Cary Grant. She’d fallen for the suave screen legend the second I’d introduced her to “Topper” and the upbeat Hollywood version of a ghostly existence.
I had to admit, Cary Grant in his heydays could also send my heart aflutter once in a while.
For Adriana, watching classic movies with me offered her a glimpse into the near future she’d missed.
For me, they were nostalgic fun and a way to entertain my great-great-aunt. DVDs and audiobooks had proven to be the best way to amuse her without much effort on my side. Those activities also preserved her energy.
After a lot of trial and error we had found out the minimum amount of aids she needed to physically perform a few tasks like drinking a drop of liquid - cappuccino foam was a favorite - or turning the page of an old magazine she used to own. But even dressed in her frock and shawl, with silk opera gloves on and adorned with diamond earrings to give her strength, the effort exhausted her.
Being read to, or having me turn the pages for her, was more to her liking.
Which meant that I got little work on my jewelry designs or my occasional new food blog post done.
Audiobooks were a great compromise, and since we shared a similar taste, I could easily live with listening to Agatha Christie, P. G. Wodehouse, and Dashiell Hammett in the background.
Adriana snapped her fingers at me.
I focused on the man in front of me. “It’s great to see you,” I said. “But what are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.”
“Oh.” I stifled a nervous giggle as I watched Adriana go into leading lady mode. She’d decided that I couldn’t be trusted when it came to flirting and needed to copy her, to make an impression.
What a pity that Matt couldn’t see her making eyes at him in her best Constance Bennett impression. My gorgeous relative tended to identify with the heroines in Cary Grant’s movies. Constance, who shared a strong resemblance with her, was her role model du jour.
I kept my expression friendly, in a non-flirty way.
Matt tilted his face a little to catch the evening sun. “It’s hard to beat Italy, and this weather.”
“Except for France,” I said. After all, my mother had named me for the patron saint of Paris, and I’d spent several happy childhood holidays in the country when my dad’s work had taken us to Europe for several years.
“True,” he said. “But how about we talk about everything over a decent meal?”
Adriana did a little shimmy. “I knew he’s sweet on you.” She blew him a kiss.
Matt wiped his brow.
She tickled his chin.
I quietly signaled Adriana to cut it out, before the poor man broke into a sweat.
He might not see her, but she did have an effect on him. Whenever she got close, he experienced a warm, fuzzy feeling, which was the only thing convincing me to allow a behavior that otherwise might have come close to harassment. Also, I knew she wouldn't go further than that.
Adriana squeezed in between us as Matt took us further down the palm-lined promenade and into a small alley.
On the balconies, flowerpots with jasmine and honeysuckle released their sweet scent into the air. It mingled with the herby smells of authentic Italian cuisine coming from two restaurants opposite each other.
Both had tables outside on the cobbled pavement, and both attracted a crowd of customers inside and al fresco.
My mouth watered.
Matt moved on, veering into yet another alley. “Does this look okay?”
Adriana beamed at him with something close to proprietorial pride as he stopped outside a trattoria straight out of a movie set.
The terracotta walls had just the right amount of flaking and the wrought iron window bars held just enough patina to prove that they were genuinely old and lived-in. Wine barrels flanked the door and served as menu stands.
“You know your way around Livorno,” I said in what must be one of the tritest remarks I’d made in years.
“I could show you around tomorrow morning, if you are free.”
The waiter, a slender young Italian with the requisite good looks, led us to a table, handed us menus and lit the candle.
As the setting only offered space for two, Adriana glowered at the unsuspecting man. He shivered, as if hit by a cold breeze.
She smirked. “Serves him right.”
I gave her a hard stare.
“Sorry,” she said.
Matt gave me a curious glance. Had he noticed my tiny interaction? It couldn’t be helped.
“Per favore?” I asked the couple at the table next to us before I took an empty chair. I placed it so I could put my purse including the vital brick on it, making sure I also left space for my great-great-aunt.
“That’s better.” She wiggled around on the chair. “So, what are we having?”
For someone who couldn’t really eat, she took an enormous interest in food and drink.
I’d learned the hard way that she could get tipsy just by taking a deep sniff of wine, and that having a noseful of kale made her burp.
She studied the menu over my shoulder.
I held it so it shielded my face from Matt. That way, Adriana and I could have a cautious discussion about my order without anyone noticing.
Since this dialogue consisted on Adriana making suggestions and me shaking my head in disagreement, Matt chose an inopportune moment to move my menu and hand. He caught me as I just made it clear to Adriana that I would not have oysters, or lobster.
I stopped my head in vigorous mid-shake. “There was a mosquito. In my hair.” Another head-shake emphasized my words.
“Stop flicking strands into my face,” Adriana hissed.
“Shall I ask for another table? I don’t want you to be eaten alive.” Matt’s tone held a solicitous note but his lips twitched.
I waved his offer off. “The critters find me anywhere. I think the first one sends out invitations to friends and family the second I arrive. But you wanted to ask something else?”
“Only what you’d like to drink. Vino rosso, like the last time we had dinner?”
I mulled this over. As much as I enjoyed a glass of wine with my dinner when eating out, having a soused ghost by my side had its drawbacks.
Adriana twisted herself so we were nose to nose. She practically salivated.
“Sure.” To prove that I was not, I repeat not, a pushover, I ordered a mixed salad and vegetable lasagna, in defiance of Adriana’s preference for spaghetti carbonara. Considering that she only feasted on the aroma while I did the real eating, she could count herself lucky that I allowed her input at all.
She sighed.
I ignored her. We could dissect my decisions later. The first rule of Ghost Club was, we only chat or act silly when we’re alone.
“Smile at him,” Adriana said. “Or he might take another woman out the next time.”
I felt an unexpected pit in my stomach. Despite my great-great-aunt’s romantic notion, as far as I was aware, Matt was only an acquaintance, although one who might be useful when it came to buying back what had once been my great-great-aunt’s.
“You still haven’t told me why you’d come to look for me,” I said. “Or how to find me.”
“Easy. The Schuyler sisters told me when you would be arriving. They thought you would like a pre-viewing before the auction.” He pulled a face. “Darn. I should have impressed you and said it was my superlative skills of deduction.”
“How considerate of them. I’d love a tour of the auction house,” I said as the waiter served our first course and filled our glasses.
Primrose and Dahlia Schuyler were two lovely septuagenarians who ruled the social register in Cobblewood Cove with a sweet smile and a strict code of etiquette.
They also ran the local museum, which housed items from the slightly less than illustrious history of the town.
Matt had helped me convince them to let me replace items of Darling history which had a connection to Adriana, with other historical stuff.
I’d claimed I wanted them for sentimental reasons, for my mother. If he’d ever doubted my word, he had the decency not to show it.
“To a successful trip.” He clinked his glass with mine.
I took a sip and put my glass to the side.
Adriana practically had her nose in it. “That’s so good.” She sniffed again. And again, like a bloodhound on the trail.
An ecstatic smile spread over her face.
Something had to happen, fast, before she went overboard and became reckless.
The answer to my prayers snuck up from behind in the form of a half-grown kitten. It probably belonged to the restaurant, or at least counted as a regular, because two bowls with meat scraps and water stood next to one of the wine barrels.
Adriana made soft noises and the kitten threw herself at her feet.
“The kitty looks hungry,” I said pointedly and arranged the chair with the purse on it so there were no big obstacles in the flightpath between the brick and the food bowl.
We’d figured out that Adriana’s independent range from me and the brick covered between five and ten yards.
She took my hint and made her way over, where the kitten meowed at her.
I snapped a picture. Although I could see Adriana as clear as day, the camera only showed the cat and the barrel.
It would still be a nice souvenir from Adriana’s first night in Italy.
The kitten kept her entertained long enough for me to enjoy my meal and Matt’s company without having to watch over her wine sniffing.
The sunset tinged the sky in ribbons of orange and gold as I put down my fork and Adriana returned without the kitten.
She breathed in the smells from the small bite I’d left for her.
“That was delicious,” I said. I stifled a yawn. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”
I’d asked the waiter for a little bit of chicken, to take away, and he’d appeared with a few pieces so succulent they might make our new friend renounce ordinary food now and forever.
Matt and I split the surprisingly moderate bill on my insistence. Adriana gave me a questioning glance. I assumed in her days the man always footed the bill.
He said, “If you want to, I’ll arrange the viewing and pick you up tomorrow. Is ten okay?”
“Perfect.”
The promenade teemed with people as we strolled back. I took most of them to be tourists, judging by the pale skin, ubiquitous shorts, and lack of Italian.
Adriana weaved back and forth to evade them and to admire the glowing ripples of the sea.
For once, she seemed completely lost in the moment, in a good way. I crossed my fingers our good luck would hold.
“Earth to Genie,” Matt said.
I realized with a start that he had said something before without it registering. Watching my great-great-aunt while holding a normal conversation was a skill I needed to improve, fast.
“Sorry, what did you just say?” I asked.
“Only that it would be best to have a bidding strategy ready for the items you’re interested in. I’ve seen too many people get carried away in the heat of the moment.”
“You mean like a poker-face?” I’d never attended an auction before, so I welcomed any advice, especially since my budget had its limits.
As much as I loved handcrafting my sterling silver and gold plated jewelry, the gems didn’t exactly bring in a fortune. Neither did my food blog, although combined they paid my bills.
“We can practice tomorrow,” he said.
We lingered outside the hotel. A handshake would be too formal to say goodnight, I decided, whereas a hug might be a bit much. It would only give Adriana the wrong idea.
In the end, I settled on a winning smile. “Thank you for a great evening. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The cat waited on the balcony, to be allowed in. The moment I switched on the light in the room, she sat upright, licking her lips before I could do so much as put down my purse.
She guzzled her feast outside, while Adriana perched on the railing and dangled her legs.
I used the opportunity to take a few pictures of the full moon hanging over the terracotta tiled roofs.
Mission or not, I intended to make the most of our stay in Italy.
***
I had breakfast alone, in the small hotel restaurant. Around me, German, Dutch and American voices rang out. They expressed the usual mix of happiness to find themselves in Italy and the annoyance at the lack of language skills that put most of them at a disadvantage in many shops.
I counted myself lucky that I could get by in several languages, although an adolescence spent in several countries had left me with an accent and vocabulary that was all over the place in my native tongue. I could just as easily pretend to be Canadian, Australian or Irish.
The buffet mollified everyone. Flaky pastries and fresh bread, cheese and cold cuts, fresh fruit as well as scrambled and boiled eggs and thick rashers of bacon tempted me back for a second helping, and the caffé latte made me fuel up with more caffeine than doctors recommended.
I did my best not to worry about my companion upstairs. I’d left Adriana with the audiobook of Agatha Christie’s “The Mysterious Affair at Styles” and the brick.
We hadn’t been this far apart since leaving Cobblewood Cove. On the ship, our cabin had been right below the room where I taught my students.
I only hoped I hadn’t miscalculated the strength of her bonds to material objects. But there was only one way to make sure I could leave her alone at all outside the Darling villa. Otherwise, I had to completely rethink my own existence, and the amount of sacrifices I was willing to make for her to be able to finally live her best life.
When the lift reached the fourth floor where our room was situated, my stomach tied itself in a knot.
What if the experiment had failed? What if she drew most of her strength outside the Darling villa from being with me and not her material belongings?
No. I had to stop being silly. She’d be fine. All I needed to do was enter the room and see for myself.
I paused outside the door straining my ears to hear the audiobook playing.
Nothing.
With a trembling hand, I swiped the key card and rushed inside, stumbling over the chair with the brick.
It crashed to floor, and Adriana let out an anguished cry. “Nooooo.”