singing.
“Good. Three o’clock. And bring the boy with you.” She looked down at Marco whose hand she still held firmly. Amazingly he hadn’t tried to wriggle his fingers free of captivity. In fact, he appeared fascinated by this lady who spoke with such authority to his mother. “You will come to visit me with your madre, Marco.”
“I could have him minded,” Gina quickly suggested, anxious not to have her audition disturbed by any mischievous behaviour from her unpredictable son.
That earned a stern glare. “You will not.” As though realising her tone was too sharp, she smiled, firstly down at Marco, then at Gina. “He is quite an endearing little boy. I shall enjoy watching him at play. We will have afternoon tea in the loggia and let him run free in the grounds.”
“That’s...very kind. Thank you.”
“Go to your madre now, Marco.” She released his hand and lightly patted his curls. “And do not ride your bike in the street again. It is not the place to play.”
He obediently trotted over to Gina’s side and took her hand.
“How old is he?”
“Two and a half.”
“He rides very well for his age,” came the astonishingly approving comment. “The tricycle is by the door.”
“Thank you.”
“Three o’clock Sunday,” she repeated imperiously.
“We’ll be there, Mrs. King. And thank you once again.”
Ten minutes to three...Gina slotted her little Honda Swift under one of the bougainvillea and vine-laden pergolas that flanked the steps up to King’s Castle. This was the visitors’ parking area, and apart from her own car it was empty, which made her feel all the more nervous.
For the umpteenth time she checked that the backing tape for her songs was in her handbag. It might not be needed. She had no idea if she was expected to sing with or without music for this audition. At least she had it if it could be used. The driving mirror reflected that her make-up was still fine, not that she wore much—a touch of eyeliner, mascara, lipstick. Her hair was freshly washed and blow-dried to curve around her shoulders. She hoped she looked like a professional singer.
Marco had fallen asleep in his car seat. She’d dressed him in navy shorts and a T-shirt striped in red, green and navy—navy sandals on his feet. With his dark curls and eyes, such strong colours really suited him and he looked very cute. For herself, she’d chosen a sleeveless lemon shift with a navy band edging the armholes and scooped neckline. Teamed with navy accessories, it was an outfit that always made Gina feel smartly dressed— a much-needed boost for confidence today.
Having unbuckled Marco’s safety harness, she gently woke him then lifted him out. Luckily he was never grumpy after a nap. It was like, “Hi, world! What’s new?” and he was all bright-eyed, ready to go and discover it.
“Are we at the castle, Mama?”
“Yes. I’ll just lock the car and we’ll walk up to it.”
“I can’t see it.”
“You will in a minute.”
As they walked up the steps his gaze was trained in entranced wonder at the tessellated tower that dominated the hill. It was said that Frederico Stefano Valeri, Isabella’s father, had built it so his wife could watch the boats coming in from the sea and the cane fields burning during the harvesting.
“Can we go up there, Mama?”
“Not today, Marco. But we will see the ballroom. It has huge balls covered with tiny mirrors hanging from the ceiling, and a wooden floor where the boards have been cut into fancy patterns.”
The steps were flanked by rows of magnificent palm trees and terraces with lushly displayed tropical flowers and plants and ferns. At the top of the rise, they moved onto a wide flagstoned path with beautifully manicured lawns of buffalo grass on either side. Ahead of them was a colonnaded loggia which prefaced the entrance to the castle. It covered a very spacious area. In the centre of it was a fountain, around which were casual groupings of
“Good. Three o’clock. And bring the boy with you.” She looked down at Marco whose hand she still held firmly. Amazingly he hadn’t tried to wriggle his fingers free of captivity. In fact, he appeared fascinated by this lady who spoke with such authority to his mother. “You will come to visit me with your madre, Marco.”
“I could have him minded,” Gina quickly suggested, anxious not to have her audition disturbed by any mischievous behaviour from her unpredictable son.
That earned a stern glare. “You will not.” As though realising her tone was too sharp, she smiled, firstly down at Marco, then at Gina. “He is quite an endearing little boy. I shall enjoy watching him at play. We will have afternoon tea in the loggia and let him run free in the grounds.”
“That’s...very kind. Thank you.”
“Go to your madre now, Marco.” She released his hand and lightly patted his curls. “And do not ride your bike in the street again. It is not the place to play.”
He obediently trotted over to Gina’s side and took her hand.
“How old is he?”
“Two and a half.”
“He rides very well for his age,” came the astonishingly approving comment. “The tricycle is by the door.”
“Thank you.”
“Three o’clock Sunday,” she repeated imperiously.
“We’ll be there, Mrs. King. And thank you once again.”
Ten minutes to three...Gina slotted her little Honda Swift under one of the bougainvillea and vine-laden pergolas that flanked the steps up to King’s Castle. This was the visitors’ parking area, and apart from her own car it was empty, which made her feel all the more nervous.
For the umpteenth time she checked that the backing tape for her songs was in her handbag. It might not be needed. She had no idea if she was expected to sing with or without music for this audition. At least she had it if it could be used. The driving mirror reflected that her make-up was still fine, not that she wore much—a touch of eyeliner, mascara, lipstick. Her hair was freshly washed and blow-dried to curve around her shoulders. She hoped she looked like a professional singer.
Marco had fallen asleep in his car seat. She’d dressed him in navy shorts and a T-shirt striped in red, green and navy—navy sandals on his feet. With his dark curls and eyes, such strong colours really suited him and he looked very cute. For herself, she’d chosen a sleeveless lemon shift with a navy band edging the armholes and scooped neckline. Teamed with navy accessories, it was an outfit that always made Gina feel smartly dressed— a much-needed boost for confidence today.
Having unbuckled Marco’s safety harness, she gently woke him then lifted him out. Luckily he was never grumpy after a nap. It was like, “Hi, world! What’s new?” and he was all bright-eyed, ready to go and discover it.
“Are we at the castle, Mama?”
“Yes. I’ll just lock the car and we’ll walk up to it.”
“I can’t see it.”
“You will in a minute.”
As they walked up the steps his gaze was trained in entranced wonder at the tessellated tower that dominated the hill. It was said that Frederico Stefano Valeri, Isabella’s father, had built it so his wife could watch the boats coming in from the sea and the cane fields burning during the harvesting.
“Can we go up there, Mama?”
“Not today, Marco. But we will see the ballroom. It has huge balls covered with tiny mirrors hanging from the ceiling, and a wooden floor where the boards have been cut into fancy patterns.”
The steps were flanked by rows of magnificent palm trees and terraces with lushly displayed tropical flowers and plants and ferns. At the top of the rise, they moved onto a wide flagstoned path with beautifully manicured lawns of buffalo grass on either side. Ahead of them was a colonnaded loggia which prefaced the entrance to the castle. It covered a very spacious area. In the centre of it was a fountain, around which were casual groupings of
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