Runaway Love (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Genie was almost halfway up the staircase that lay beyond the locked door when she realized Lorenzo and Domino were not following.  They remained at the foot of the stairs.

“Aren't you coming?” she asked.

He nodded.  “You go.  We will follow.”

She turned back to examine the closed door at the head of the stairs.  “Why?  What's wrong?”

“Nothing.  Tutto va bene...everything is okay.”

Was there something up there that made them wait and see what happened?

Was it his demented wife?

The hackles on the back of Genie's neck broke out into an Irish Jig, triggering an involuntary shiver.

She turned around to face Lorenzo and study his face.  It didn't show anything - hope, fear, anticipation - nothing.  He did smile but it wasn't very uplifting.

Okay.  So there might be a good reason for Lorenzo to want her to go on but, what about Domino?  What was his reason?  He hadn't moved.  Usually he goes where she goes.  Why wasn't he going where she was going right now?  Instead, he just sat there, leaning against Lorenzo's leg, and staring - eye wide and unblinking.

Was Domino seeing something that she couldn't?  A cold blanket wrapped itself around her.  Were his canine, ultra-sharp senses seeing...a ghost? 

She secured her courage in both clenched fists and slowly turned to stare at the door with squinted eyes.  Perhaps a fuzzy vision will reveal a hovering ectoplasm.

It didn't work.

That didn't mean the ghost wasn't there.  It only meant that fuzzy vision wasn't the way you saw ghosts.

Until that moment, Genie would have dismissed the idea of ghosts out of hand.  But now...the locked door, Lorenzo and Domino frozen to the spot, “Not hiding anything
exactly
,” he'd said.  It all helped to pile one wild imagination onto another in Genie's mind and turned up a ghost - or two. 

And all routes in or out blocked by an avalanche only made things worse.  They couldn't even get a Priest to come and exorcise the darned thing.

Stop it...stop it...stop it.  Ghosts don't exist.  And, if they did, a locked door wouldn't hold them.  And if it didn't, she was bound to have received a visit during the night.  Ghosts are just as curious about living people as living people are about ghosts - so she'd heard.

Now her hackles were practically springing free and impaling themselves on the surrounding walls.  They signalled that she might be wrong and it would be prudent not to offend ghosts by believing they didn’t exist.  They’re probably sensitive about that sort of thing.

“I believe,” she muttered, maintaining her vigil on the door.  “Lor...” She licked her dry lips.  “Lorenzo, is this place haunted, or something?”

“Cosa?”

“Upstairs,” she said, without taking her eyes off the closed door.  “Do you have a ghost?”

He frowned.  “Una fantasma?  Is that what you mean?””

Genie shrugged.  “Whatever.”

“Do you believe in fan...ghosts, Genie?”

Genie shook her head energetically - which, almost instantly, cross-dissolved into an energetic nod.  Then after another few seconds she stopped all head movement and shrugged largely. “Not sure - now.”

“I suppose there is a ghost - in a way.”

“
In a way
?  What way?”  Genie flung out her arms in despair and turned back to look at him. “Lorenzo, you keep doing this.  Not hiding anything -
“exactly”
, you said.  Upstairs is haunted,
“in a way”
, you said.  What do you mean?”

He sighed.  “I think, Genie, we should go up.  It'll become clear when you see inside.”

“Really?”  Genie was not convinced.  “Well, I'm not going to take another step without you.”

“There are no ghosts - at least, not the kind you're thinking of.”

“There you go again. Are there any other kinds?”

“Oh yes.  Abbondante.eme...plenty.  And they haunt also.”  He indicated with his hand for her to go ahead.  “Andiamo,” he said, offering a smile.

Genie swung her arm in a sweeping arc.  “You go first.” 

He laughed, bounded up the stairs and squeezed past her.

Genie hesitated for a moment or two, watching Lorenzo's broad shoulders and allowing them to inject her with an espresso cupful of courage.  Then she fixed her gaze on the target door and set her jaw. 

She aimed herself resolutely at the door. “Of course there aren't ghosts,” she mouthed silently, with her fingers firmly crossed behind her back,  

It appeared that, with Lorenzo on the move, Domino felt free to join the expedition.   He barged his way past both Genie and Lorenzo.  The fact that he didn't howl when he reached the door and scamper back down the stairs eased Genie's fears a little.

When they reached to door Genie noticed an odd odour.  She repeated the sniff test.  It was oily - an oily smell.  Did ghosts have a smell?  And if so, did they smell oily?

  Either way, something was in there.

As if to provide answers to Genie's pressing questions, Lorenzo swung open the door and stood to one side. 

Genie's curiosity was too strong.  It dulled her fears and encouraged her to take a peek through the doorway. 

A portrait, propped up on an easel in the centre of the room instantly seized her attention.  Ghosts and things that go bump in the night didn't matter anymore.  The face in the portrait drew her in completely, wiping away all other thoughts and imaginations.

It was a breathtaking face, almost angelic set against a brilliant, glowing, pure white background.  Large green eyes followed Genie as she stepped across the threshold and moved to one side to allow Lorenzo through.  The full, perfectly formed lips were the kind every woman would kill for and the high, classical cheekbones complemented the natural features that delight photographers and artists.

But when Genie stepped closer, she was stunned by the fact that the image consisted only of eyes, nose, mouth and some strategically placed shadows, set in the white space.   There was no facial outline.   But it was so creatively painted that Genie automatically filled in the gaps.

“Fascinating,” she said, breathlessly.

Pulling her gaze away from the painting, she scanned the rest of what was obviously an artist's studio.   It stretched almost the full length and breadth of the house, with picture windows set in the walls on both sides reaching across the length of the room.  The ceiling consisted of a string of skylights, flooding the room with light.

A long table in the centre was covered with a veritable rainbow of paint splashes and overspills.  Tall jars with brushes stood upright in holders, or lay flat on the table.  A vast quantity of tubes and jars of paints took up the remainder of the space.

“Of course,” she said. “Oil paints.  That's what I could smell.”

Okay, so ghosts don't smell oily.

Domino trotted around the room, occasionally crossing to Genie and brushing against her leg. 

“Good boy, Dom.” Genie said and patted him on his head distractedly every time while continuing her survey.   

Lined up on the floor beneath the picture windows, leaning against the walls, were a variety of painted canvases.   She recognized different styles of paintings of the village in the valley below - from realistic to impressionistic to original styles she could not even begin to identify.  Four of them depicted the village in different seasons.  Others were of portraits of various people, scenes of mountains and forests and finally six demonstrating ultra modern art. 

“What lovely paintings, Lorenzo,” she said, turning to locate him.  He was standing at the picture window just inside the studio, watching her.  “Are these anything to do with you?”

“Si.”

“You're a painter?”

“Si.”

“All these beautiful paintings.  They're amazing.” She rounded on him.  “And you said you painted houses.”

“I didn't say that.  You did.” He flicked his eyebrows. 

“You agreed.”

“I said, “sort of”, if you remember.  As you can see, I do paint houses, as well as people, scenery--”

“Very funny.”

“Actually, I didn't paint them all” he said. “Anna painted sometimes, too.”

“Why are they all up here?  Shouldn't you make an exhibition, or something?”

“Not anymore.”

“Why not anymore?”

“Long story.”

Genie stared at him for a moment.  It was clear that he regarded the subject to be off limits.  Okay, she'd accept - for now.  There's time enough to persuade Lorenzo to tell her his 'long story'. 

“And this one?” Genie said, indicating the 'centrepiece' portrait. 

When Lorenzo didn't answer immediately, she turned to look at him.  She saw his expression changing.  It exposed a depth of vulnerability she hadn't seen in him before.  She glanced at the painting briefly, and then back to Lorenzo. 

“This is Anna, isn't it?”

He nodded.

“She's so beautiful, Lorenzo.”

“Si.”

Genie's mouth filled up with words she knew she mustn't say - but she did anyway.  At least, she started to.  “Where is--”

“She died almost three years ago,” he said, brusquely.

“Oh, Lorenzo, I'm so sorry.”

“Cancer.”

Genie's heart reached out to Lorenzo's.  All she wanted to do at that moment was comfort him.  Now she began to understand his reclusive lifestyle, his evasive answers, his intensive work attitude on the farm.  It must have been his way of dealing with the pain of loss. 

Even now, Anna's death still hurt him.  Despite all his efforts, he still hadn't fully come to terms with it.  Perhaps there had been no way of getting closure because the memory of Anna - her very presence - still loomed large in his life.

“I'm so sorry, Lorenzo.  I shouldn't have been so nosey to want to come here.”

“No.  I wanted you to see.”  He crossed the room towards her and placed his hands on her upper arms.  Rivulets of mild electric shocks undulated all the way down to her hands.  

Genie looked up at his profile.  “But this has upset you, Lorenzo.”  Only his Italian machismo was holding him together. 

She had no machismo and let her own tears run for Lorenzo. 

“I needed to do this,” he said. “I have never showed this portrait to anyone.  Nor have I talked to anyone about Anna since...”  He turned to Genie with a wan smile.  “You are here...made me remember...made me realize that I must not keep her close to me anymore, I must let her go.”

“Lorenzo, I--”

“I know it's silly,” he said as if he hadn't heard, “but I come up here to talk to her.”  He released one of her arms and pressed against the other to turn them both to face Anna's portrait. “You'll probably think I'm crazy - talking to a painting.”

“I think it's lovely.”

“Sharing this with you is important.  I am coming out into the sunshine, finalmente.”

Genie clasped his upper arm in both hands and hugged it tightly.  “I don't know what to say, Lorenzo.  I didn't mean--”

“I know you didn't mean anything.  You did not do anything.  You were here.  Someone else here - that was sufficiente.”

Genie stared at the face of Anna.  It looked almost real.  She understood how easy it was for Lorenzo to talk to her.  The expression was open, welcoming, concerned.

Then she saw something in the face that almost sent her into a dead faint.  She tore away her gaze quickly.

It can't be.

Wishful thinking, Genie Hamilton, she told herself.

She plucked up the courage to look again.  There was something else in Anna's expression.  Something she hadn't seen before. 

Something she was sure wasn't there before.

Something that stopped her breathing dead.

She glanced at Lorenzo to see if he was bowled over by what the Anna's face said.

Daring to look at the portrait again - the expression was even sharper now.

She could have sworn that Anna smiled.

A painting smiled?

Maybe her ghost was...

Genie shivered.  “Please can we go now, Lorenzo?”

Chapter Twenty-Three

“That was good timing,” Genie said when Lorenzo returned from settling down the animals and making sure the farm was secure. “Dinner's almost ready.”

“And I am almost ready to eat it.”

"So, how's the farmer-artist this evening - or is it the artist-farmer?”

Lorenzo made a big show of sniffing at the sauce Genie was stirring. “Mmm, that smells nice,” he said.  He scooped a little with his finger and tasted it.  “Meraviglioso!”

“That's one fingerful less on your pasta tonight,” Genie scolded. “And, I flatly refuse to be flattered into changing the subject.”

“What was the subject?”  He flicked up his eyebrows questioningly.

Genie laughed. “I suppose there wasn’t one really.”  She stopped stirring the sauce.  “It’s just that I’m excited to learn about your secret.”

“Secret?”

“That you're such a wonderful artist.”

“Your sauce will cook too much if you do not pay attention.” He aimed his finger at the sauce once again.

Genie brushed his hand away.  “Later.  You keep dipping like that and we'll have none left for dinner.”

“How bossy.  I should have left you in the snow.”

“That’s the second time you’ve threatened me with that.”

“Then I would have had my freedom.”

“Then you would have to cook your own meals,” Genie said. 

“Perhaps it would have been better if I had left you in the barn.”

“I will not allow you to change the subject.” Genie planted her fists on her hips to show how determined she was.  “I can't get your portrait of Anna out of my mind.  Tell me about it.”

He looked away briefly.  “There is nothing to tell.” He shrugged “It is just a portrait”

“Oh no, Lorenzo, it's more than
just
a portrait,” Genie said. “I can see how much love you put into it - and I can see, in it, how much she loved you.”

He forced a wan smile.

“But, more than that...it seemed to... I don't know...”  She looked up at Lorenzo and engaged his eyes.  “It's almost as if--”

“As if her face changes?”

“Isn't that weird?”

“The painting doesn't actually change, Genie.”  He said.  “It's not a female version of the 'Dorian Gray'.  You don't stay young and beautiful the more you stare at it.”

“Now that is a pity.  I could do with some of that.”

He delivered a short laugh.  “No.  What I...what we see in Anna's face is what we want to see.”

“I don't know about that.” Genie frowned.  “It's almost like the painting is haunted and she really is trying to tell you something.”

“Perhaps.”  He looked up at Genie. “But I think we haunt ourselves.”

“Now that's true,” Genie said with feeling.  Didn't the ghost of mistrust haunt her continually?

Wasn't being paranoid about fortune hunters a kind of haunting?

“So, what did you see?” Lorenzo said, aiming his finger once again at the sauce.

“See?” Genie brushed his hand aside.  “Stop it, Lorenzo.  We're going to need some left over for dinner.”

“What did you see in Anna's face?”

Genie hesitated.  It seemed so foolish really.  But Lorenzo appeared to be taking it seriously.  Nevertheless, there was no way he was going to know about the 'approval' look. “Well, I thought I saw her smile.”

“Si, I have seen that.”

“Okay.  The smile, I understand.  But, there's something else.”

“What?”

“When I think about it, for some reason, I feel...sad.”  She turned to him.  “Does that make sense?”

He leaned back against the counter on which Genie was working and studied his feet.  “I painted the portrait just after she died.” 

Lorenzo's brief pause felt like as though it lasted an hour.  His face bore witness to the wrestle with the internal turmoil in which he was engaged. 

Genie rested her hand lightly on his to comfort him.

“If there is an afterlife,” he continued, “and I want to believe that there is - she is there.”  He sighed heavily. “The portrait is my interpretation of Anna alive in death.”

“Oh, that's lovely.” Genie said.  She tried to blink away the moistening in her eyes.  “If you can paint like that, people will flock to buy your work.”

He shook his head. “I do not paint anymore.”

“Oh, you mustn't give up, Lorenzo.  You paint so beautifully.”

“No.  I have finished with that part of my life, Genie.  But I thank you for your kind words.”  He reached up and placed his hand feather-like on her cheek.  “And, I'm glad you stumbled into my barn that day.”

“Me too,” she whispered.  She wanted desperately to plant her hand on his and press it hard against her cheek.  It felt so warm and comforting and creating a link - a connection - a belonging.  Loved. 

  Her legs weakened under the tender gaze from his dark chocolate brown eyes.  She struggled against the intense desire to fling her arms around his neck and draw him close. 

He cocked his head to one side, continuing to regard her in a way that made her heart dance with excitement.  Her breathing was shallow and fast.  She felt as though she was poised on the edge of an abyss.  Lorenzo had it in his power to prevent her from falling into it.  All he had to do was wrap her tightly in his arms.

Suddenly, his eyes closed and he drew back.  He allowed his arm to fall away and nodded at the pasta sauce.  “I will shower, and then we will eat, vero?”

“Vero,” she said, quickly turning her attention to the sauce to hide her disappointment. “Be back in fifteen minutes, or else,” she commanded, somewhat relieved that she'd manage to stop her voice from breaking.

“Si Capo.”

She placed a pan of water on the hob, fighting to regain control of her emotions.  Her heart and breathing took some time to get back into sync.  Lorenzo's presence continued to be so strong, if she closed her eyes, she could believe that he was still in the kitchen with her. 

Genie took a deep breath and tried to dwell on his presence.  However, Anna's portrait interfered.  It seemed impossible to separate them.

“Now I'm being haunted by Lorenzo's painting,” she said.  “And you're still smiling at me, Anna, aren't you?” She made a quick smile in response.  “It won't work in the long run, you know - Lorenzo and I...so, you'll have to haunt somebody else.”

In response, the smile in Anna's image appeared it grow stronger.

“Why don’t you haunt Lorenzo, Anna?  Get him to paint again.” Abruptly, a eureka moment hit Genie between the eyes. “Anna, what a great idea.  We'll do it.  ‘We’ll get Lorenzo back to his paints and canvases.  Won’t that be fun?” 

The water on the hob started to boil and she threw in the spaghetti.   “About ten minutes to al dente,” she muttered, checking the wall clock. 

On her second check, some four minutes later, Domino emitted an ominous growl.  I was more like a snarl - a sound unlike anything she had heard from him before.

“What's going on, Dom?” she said, crossing to the kitchen doorway.  “Where are you?”

She tracked him by ear to the front door.

“What's wrong?”  She looked at the door.  “Is there something outside?”

He demonstrated his agitation by pawing at the door and woofed an angry woof. 

“Is there something after the chickens?”  She opened the door. “Go get 'em Dom.  Sort 'em out.”  She peered through the door after Domino scooted out.  Although it was not yet fully dark, she could not see what might be worrying Domino.  No doubt, when he found the intruder he would see it off.

However, she had barely stepped foot back in the kitchen when she heard some more worrying snarls.  She frowned at the sound.  This time they didn't sound like Domino at all.  An itch of foreboding began to wriggle its way over her scalp.  

She peered through the frost-encrusted window.  She couldn't see Domino, or movement of any kind.  However, the snarling continued, increasing the intensity of her scalp itch.

Something was very wrong. 

She ran to the entrance hall, pulled on a padded jacket and fought her way into her snow boots.  

The air chilled her through her layers of clothing, and even penetrated her snow boots.  She paused in front of the door to try to locate the source of the snarls.  Since there was nothing in sight, she surmised that whatever was going on, was going on at the rear of the barn.  

She ran across the open ground and.  And as she rounded the corner, the dusk-illuminated scene sent an even icier chill to her stomach.  

Two large wolves were circling Domino, challenging him, looking for an opening as he turned in unison.