Peacock Room , livre ebook

RedDoor Publishing - Merryn Corcoran

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161 pages

English

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When Allegra O'Brien discovers her husband's infidelity, her world is shattered and she seeks solace in the sanctuary of her family. Her Italian grandpapa's tales of legendary Mama Cosima and the mysterious Peacock Room reawaken her love of historic, interior architecture, inspiring Allegra to take a trip to Tuscany to learn more about her heritage.While a dangerous encounter throws her off course, a handsome stranger helps Allegra discover there is more to her family history than she could ever imagine. With her new-found confidence, and in the wake of her grandpapa's illness, Allegra makes an unexpected discovery, and finally commits to the promise she made to solve a family mystery. Richly laced with the colours and contours of Tuscany and the kaleidoscopic beauty of Sammezzano Castle, this full-bodied romance will captivate you to the very end.

Informations

Publié par	RedDoor Publishing
Date de parution	16 mai 2019
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781839780660
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0150€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

MERRYN CORCORAN
The
PEACOCK
ROOM
Published by RedDoor
www.reddoorpublishing.com
© 2019 Merryn Corcoran
The right of Merryn Corcoran to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the author
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Cover design: Patrick Knowles
www.patrickknowlesdesign.co.uk
Typesetting: Tutis Innovative E-Solutions Pte. Ltd
Also by Merryn Corcoran
The Silent Village
The Paris Inheritance
Dedicated to the memory of Michelle Amass and Clark Boustridge

Prologue
It is my nature to appear arrogant, and I can confirm I am ostentatious and take great enjoyment in displaying my splendour. However, there is documented reason for my conceit. It has been an honour to be hailed as a symbol of good fortune. Throughout history I have been associated with royalty, glory and resurrection. Early Christians believed my blood could dispel evil spirits. The ancients believed my flesh did not decay after death, and so I also became a symbol of immortality.
In ancient Greece I was the patron bird of the goddess Hera. She believed the ‘eyes’ on my plumage symbolised all-seeing knowledge and the wisdom of the heavens – that if you wove one of my plumes into a necklace of amethyst, it would protect you from witches and sorcerers.
To invite me to take residence in your garden will enhance your estate with the aura of luxury and wealth. I have appeared in the grounds of palaces in India, castles in England, and in chateaus and castles all over Europe. Images of my plumage have been painted and woven into fabrics, and my name is always associated with objects of outstanding beauty.
Whilst you may have one of my exquisite plumes as your personal talisman, it is imperative you never put my actual feathers on display within your four walls. As the king of all birds, I, the Peacock, the most regal and powerful totem of all my kind, decree you leave my poignant, silken, colourful feathers as they were found.
One
Fulham, London 2011
I t appeared to be one of those rare perfect days when Allegra had the opportunity to be self-indulgent; both children had left for school without any of the usual teenage angst or guilt-fuelled parental torment. She had also cleaned and groomed the house to the minimalist standard that her husband Hugo expected. Making the most of her unaccompanied day, she pulled on her much-loved colourful Bibi vintage dress and slipped into a pair of comfortable flat black pumps.
The Wallace Collection beckoned. The preserved eighteenth-century stately home in Manchester Square just off Oxford Street was a special place where Allegra loved to lose herself. The inspirational mansion offered charisma, beauty and mystery of what had gone before. She appreciated the manner in which the rich furnishings framed the massive rooms; the opulence of the furniture and lavish paintings, encased in their luxuriant frames, always reignited her love of art from the past.
As she locked her front door the fragrance of the potted lemon grass nudged Allegra’s deliberations over lunch. The delicate smoked salmon they served in the conservatory café, a modern addition to The Wallace Collection, was one of her favourites. Then she remembered the dry cleaning. Hugo’s suit! Shit, he’ll be mad if I forget that again! She rushed back up the stairs and grabbed the suit along with her Missoni silk dress. As she walked out to the car, she instinctively checked through the suit trousers and jacket pockets and was about to discard what looked like a scrappy receipt when she spotted ‘Hilton Hotel’ on the crumpled paper.
Throwing the clothes onto the back seat of the car, Allegra clasped the paper as she sat down at the wheel. It was clear a room had been paid for on March 12 at the Hilton Hotel, Park Lane. The itemised list showed the customer had a room service dinner for two, as well as an in-house adult film and room service breakfast, also for two. There was no doubting the recipient. Hugo O’Brien’s name leapt out from the paper where he had swiped his Amex card.
Allegra reached for a tissue and wiped her forehead then took the battered leather Filofax from her handbag. Her hands trembled as she frantically flicked the pages back to March, hoping like mad this was all some mistake and it wouldn’t be one of those nights her Hugo had been away on business. There it was, written clearly in blue pen. H. away in Birmingham .
Rushing back inside, she just made it to the downstairs cloakroom before she fell onto her knees on the cold tiled floor and vomited into the loo. After rinsing her mouth, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her mascara had run. There were grey flecks showing in her jet-black wavy hair. Hugo had always said alongside her wide, brown Italian eyes that her hair was her best feature. Both those attributes seemed to have abandoned her. Her weight gain probably hadn’t helped, either. She was ugly. Past it. By the time she reached the landing at the top of the stairs, she was sure her heart would break.
Clutching her head in her hands, she sat on the edge of the bed, their bed, the one she had shared with Hugo for twenty-two years. Home had always been under Hugo’s roof. She had never once considered being with another man. The children, Kirsty and Harry, gave her all the happiness she expected. Had that all not been enough for Hugo?
A numbness set in. Her instinct was to call her best friend, Julia, but realising she’d be at work, it would have to be second choice – her mother.
All thoughts of her day out abandoned, Allegra barely registered the road as she drove the short distance to her mother’s house.
‘Allegra, I wasn’t expecting you. I have to be at my yoga class soon. Why are you crying? What’s happened?’ Her mother put down her coffee cup and embraced her daughter.
‘It’s Hugo. He’s having an affair.’
‘What? Hugo! Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure, Mum. Look at this.’ Allegra handed her the receipt.
‘The bastard! All the support you’ve given him, and all you gave up for his career, not to mention your two beautiful children—’
Allegra stopped her.
‘Mum, I know all that, but clearly I’m not getting it right. I think maybe I’ve let myself go. Maybe it’s my fault.’ Her eyes welled up again.
‘Well, yes, the weight is becoming a bit of an issue and your hair definitely needs updating.’
Allegra let out a huge sob.
‘Oh, sorry, my darling, that came out all wrong. I know you think I’m vain and spend too much time and money on myself, but I do have my admirers!’ Her mother smoothed her hair, sucked in her cheeks and widened her eyes as she caught her reflection in the window. ‘However, a lapse in grooming is no excuse for Hugo to go off and shag someone else.’
Maria, Allegra’s mother, gave birth to her only child aged nineteen after a shotgun wedding. Allegra’s father passed away when Allegra was only twelve, so she was familiar with her mother’s need to be seen in a youthful light. With the aid of Botox, a great hairdresser and a disciplined exercise regime, as well as inheriting some wonderful Italian genes, Maria was confident she safely passed for a woman in her early fifties.
Their conversation was interrupted by a bell ringing.
‘Oh, I do hope Grandpapa didn’t hear me!’ Allegra sniffed and wiped her eyes.
‘He’s so deaf these days, he won’t have even heard our voices,’ Maria said as they followed the sound of the bell up the stairs to his bedroom.
‘Look who’s here, Papa. It’s Allegra come to say hello.’ Maria exaggerated her condescending tone as she entered the room and straightened the rug on her father’s lap.
The ancient, stooped man with his grey moustache and wiry hair motioned for his granddaughter to sit on the chair next to him and offered her a toothless grin. At ninety-nine, he had lost most of his teeth and couldn’t walk, but he still occasionally spoke a few words. Grandpapa wore his days like a faded suit – an empty man whose passion arose from thoughts of a magical folly he knew many years ago. A rather tatty peacock feather lay on his lap. It had been his talisman ever since Allegra was a tiny girl, when he would enchant her with stories of the Peacock Room in a faraway Italian castle.
As Allegra planted a kiss on her grandpapa’s unshaven cheek, she inhaled the familiar scent of Novella Melograno cologne. Her mother at least allowed him that indulgence, and would visit the Santa Maria fragrance boutique in Walton Street every few months and buy him a bottle.
Grandpapa viewed Allegra through his thick-lensed spectacles with an intense stare. She recalled that he had always played the major parenting role in her life. Her mother was mostly preoccupied with some new man and her social life. When Allegra was at university, Grandpapa would happily spend time listening to her latest view of interiors and the use of colour in the fourteenth century.
He waited till his daughter had left the room before he spoke. ‘My precious Bellisima Allegra, every day you grow more like my Mama Cosima. For someone with only a quarter of Italian blood in your veins, I can see all the passion and artistic temperament of a full-blooded Italian woman from Donnini.’ He touched his constant companion, the peacock feather, with his wrinkled hand and looked intently at his granddaughter. ‘Why have you tears in your eyes, my sweet Allegra?’
‘Oh, Grandpapa, I feel so betrayed. Hugo has been cheating on me.’ Allegra took the old man’s free hand as tears rolled down her cheeks.
‘I’m so sorry, my precious girl… But let me tell you something. We all have it in us to let others down. I chose to marry your grandmama against the advice