Wychwood - The Return

One

Much later, Sandy would wonder whether the scream she heard had been hers or someone else’s. But that would only come after she woke in Lady Eleanor’s bedroom in Wychwood. ‘Am I dead?’ was her first thought. The second was that if this was heaven, she could cope with it. 

She turned her head and was surprised to see Samantha sitting in a chair beside the bed, wearing a white shirt and trousers, reading a book. She must be an angel, Sandy thought, then realised she didn't have any wings and giggled out loud at the silly idea, making Samantha look up in surprise. That’s when the pain started. She winced as the torture began, a deep, pulsating ache mixed with sickening stabs that racked her body. This can’t be heaven, she thought. So it must be hell. 

“She’s awake,” Samantha said to someone. A woman in a white dress appeared at the bedside, checked Sandy’s pulse, then took her temperature.

“Alessandra, on a scale from one to ten, how bad is the pain?” she asked in a broad Scottish accent.

“Am I in hell?” Sandy asked, making the woman in white smile. 

“I’ve been called a devil once or twice, lassie. But no, this isn’t hell,” she said. “Now, how bad is the pain?”

The question confused Sandy. Who knew pain had numbers? “Um, seven,” she said. Seven was her lucky number, so it was as good as any, she thought. The woman in white nodded, seemingly satisfied. Sandy thought she looked somehow familiar.

Sandy felt someone take hold of her other hand, and she looked up to see Samantha wiping away a tear. “Welcome back, Alessandra,” she whispered. What a strange thing to say, thought Sandy. Back from where? What on earth was going on? she wondered. Why was she in Wychwood? Why did she hurt so much? Who was the woman in white? Was this another terrible dream? Sandy struggled to sit up, but the woman in white gently pushed her back down, held a glass to her lips, and Sandy gulped the cool water. The woman in white popped a couple of pills into her mouth and told her to drink some more. Then, nothing.

Two

Sandy couldn’t tell how many times she had woken and fallen asleep again. She had vague memories of people standing by her bedside, but everything seemed hazy and confused. Eventually, she woke and stayed awake. She still ached, but the stabbing pains had subsided. However, a headache throbbed metronomically at the base of her neck.

“Hello, gorgeous.” A familiar voice came from above, and she looked up to see Annabelle standing by the bed. “How are you feeling?” Annabelle asked.

Sandy looked up and shook her head. “Not sure. Like a bad tequila hangover, I guess.” She rubbed her face and felt something rough under her fingers. “Annabelle, why am I here?” 

Annabelle gently took her hand away from her face. “You’ve got some superficial cuts that are healing, but the doctor says they’ll be fine in a few days. How much do you remember?” 

Sandy frowned as she tried to think, but it was like trying to find her way through thick fog in the dead of night. She closed her eyes and, with effort, clawed back memories: a bright light, a wind, someone screaming. Then it all came back to her in a frightening rush: Venice, Carnevale, the ball, dancing, the light, the bang, Overstrand. She sat bolt upright, her headache forgotten. 

“Robert!” She shouted, “What’s happened to Robert?” 

“He’s fine, Alessandra. He’s here too.” Annabelle laid a hand on her arm. “You can see him soon.” Sandy sank back onto the bed. 

“What happened?”

“You were at the Doge’s Ball. Do you remember that?”

Sandy nodded. “Yes, I was dancing, then talking to Robert. I remember a bright light and a noise. Someone screamed, but that’s all I remember.”

“Sandy, please don’t get upset, but a bomb had been planted behind the bar. You, Robert, and about twenty others were caught in the blast. One of the waiters behind the bar was killed, and several people were badly injured. You were blown against a wall and knocked unconscious.” She paused, squeezing Sandy’s hand. “Luckily, a pillar partially shielded Robert, so he wasn’t as badly hurt as you. He picked you up, carried you outside, and then took you in his boat to the hospital. The doctors told him that if he hadn’t got you there so quickly, it might not have turned out so well.”

She fell silent and blinked back tears. “I’m so sorry, Sandy. This was all my fault. If I hadn’t given you that invitation, none of this would have happened.”

Before Sandy could say anything, a voice came from the door. “My dear Annabelle, that is pure, unadulterated horseshit.” Overstrand had slipped into the room without either of them noticing. “The only people responsible are the bastards who planted the bomb and those behind it.” He smiled at Sandy. “Hello, Alessandra. I’m so glad to see you awake at last.” He wore a large plaster over his right eye, making him look cock-eyed. She wanted to giggle, but thought better of it. “We have all been worried about you.” 

Sandy tried to smile. “I’m so glad to see you, Robert. That looks awful. Does it hurt?”

Overstrand shrugged. “A scratch. It’s nothing.”

This time, it was Annabelle who interrupted. “Now that’s horseshit, Robert.” She turned to Sandy. “He had glass blown into his head and needed about a billion stitches.”

Overstrand grumbled. “Don't be so melodramatic, Annabelle. I’m fine. Now, finish the story for Alessandra. If she wants to know, that is.” 

“Please, Annabelle.” Sandy had to know what had happened. 

Annabelle glanced at Overstrand, then back at Sandy. “There's a picture of him, blood all over his face and clothes, carrying you in his arms. It made the front pages around the world and was shown on TV. It’s made Robert even more famous, but the media are desperately searching for the identity of the person he was carrying.” Seeing Sandy's face drop, she quickly added, “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe.” 

“Annabelle…” growled Overstrand. 

“Okay, okay. You were diagnosed with a bleed on the brain after being blown against the wall. They operated on you immediately to relieve the pressure. The operation went well, but you were still very ill, so they put you into an induced coma. After a couple of weeks, they agreed to let Overstrand fly you to London and then here, where you’ve been for the past five days.”

Sandy sank back onto the pillow, her mind trying to process what she had just heard. 

“Robert, can you please come over here?” Sandy gestured to him. 

Overstrand walked to the bed, and Sandy grasped his hand. Her voice thick with emotion, she said, “Thank you for doing all this for me. It sounds like you saved my life. Thank you, Robert.” To Sandy and Annabelle’s total surprise, Overstrand blushed. He tried to laugh it off, but it was clear he was moved.

The woman in white appeared and shooed them both out, announcing that visiting time was over. Sandy found it funny to see Overstrand being bossed about. The woman checked Sandy’s pulse and temperature again, then asked whether she wanted more painkillers. Sandy declined, thinking she needed to get up and about as quickly as possible to get back to Venice. As the woman in white closed the door on her way out, Sandy heard her say, “Make it quick. She needs to rest.” Samantha’s face appeared at the door, and Sandy smiled at her and gestured for her to come closer.

“Hello, angel,” said Sandy. 

Samantha raised an eyebrow. "Angel?"

”When I woke up before, I thought I was in heaven, and you were an angel.” They both burst out laughing. 

“It’s so good to see you feeling better, Alessandra.”

“I’m glad to see you, too, Sam. I owe you so much. Come on, give me a hug.” Samantha wrapped her arms around Sandy and whispered in her ear, “Thank you for everything. I think you’re a real angel.” Sandy kissed her cheek just as the woman in white returned. 

“Samantha. Out. Now,” she ordered.

Samantha leaned closer and whispered, “She’s Mhairi’s sister. Can’t you tell?” She giggled and winked at Sandy as she was being pushed out of the door by the woman in white, who returned and said, “I suppose all the giggling was that wee minx telling you who I am?”

“Are you really Mhairi’s sister?”

“Aye. Her younger sister, mind you. I’m Catriona, and right now I’m in charge of your care, so everyone else better keep out of here unless I say so, hen. And that includes Sir Robert if you’re thinking of sneaking him in here.”

Sandy’s eyes widened as she realised what Catriona meant. “What? Oh no. We’re not… well, you know.”

“Lassie, anyone who has eyes in their head can see what he thinks of you. Now get some rest.” 

“Catriona, when will I be able to get up?” Sandy could at last stop referring to her as the woman in white.

“Doctor is coming tomorrow, and he will decide. My guess is he’ll say you can be up and around tomorrow.”

Her words about Overstrand rolled around in her mind until she finally fell asleep.

Three

The doctor arrived the following morning. After consulting Catriona, he said Sandy was well enough to get up, but she had to take it easy and follow Catriona’s instructions. Catriona told her to stay indoors for the next couple of days. If that went well, she could go outside, but if she felt dizzy or unwell, she was to let Catriona know immediately. 

The first time Sandy got out of bed and tried to stand, her head spun for a few seconds, but it cleared, and she heaved a sigh of relief. Catriona handed her a robe to cover the rather plain nightdress she had been wearing, then followed Sandy to the top of the stairs. Sandy walked gingerly, but with the help of the bannister she managed the stairs well enough. She headed straight for the kitchen, ravenously hungry and desperate for a coffee. She pushed the kitchen door open to find Allegra and Samantha sitting at the table. Allegra jumped up and hugged Sandy so hard that Sandy feared a rib would pop. 

“Miss Sandy, I'm so glad to see you,” she said and began to cry.

“Grazie, Allegra. Sto bene, I’m fine.” Allegra wiped her eyes on her apron, but looked as if she might burst into tears again at any moment. Samantha hugged Sandy more gently and helped her sit on a chair.

“I’m not made of porcelain, Sam,” Sandy grumbled.

Samantha pulled a face. ”Easy for you to say, but we have Nurse Ratched to deal with.”

”I heard that, Samantha.” Catriona had entered unnoticed behind Sandy, and she glowered at Samantha.

“Sorry, Catriona.” Sandy was amused to see the normally cheeky Samantha so contrite.

“Where is everyone?” asked Sandy.

“Mhairi is with Sir Robert, sorting out domestic stuff, and Annabelle is filming in London,” said Samantha. “She’ll be back soon. She’s concerned about you.”

“Can I get something to eat? Oh, and a coffee, please?” Sandy almost pleaded.

Allegra leapt up and ran to the fridge. “How about eggs scrambled, with bacon, tomato and chives?” 

“Pefertta, Allegra, grazie.”

Samantha made the coffee, and as Sandy ate, she had an odd feeling that she was back home. No, that’s not right, she thought. Venice is my home now. Thinking of Venice reminded her of something. “My flat in Venice. There’s nobody there to look after it.”

“No need to worry, Alessandra.” Mhairi’s voice came from the doorway, and everyone turned to look at her. “Sir Robert had someone check it out, and it’s fine. They will take care of it.”

“That's very generous of him.” Sandy felt a wave of affection for Overstrand. He had done so much for her that she hadn’t even known about.

Mhairi went on. “Sir Robert said that if you feel up to it, he would like to see you. He’s in the library.”

The library had been her favourite room in the house, largely because of the time she had spent there working on the diary. It was a pity that Overstrand hadn’t found someone else to finish it. 

“I can’t see him like this,” Sandy said. “And I don't have any clothes here.”

Everyone laughed.

“What?” said Sandy.

Samantha laid a hand on Sandy's shoulder. “It wasn’t a problem the last time you were here.” Sandy blushed, and Samantha said, “Come on, let's get you sorted out.”

Four

Samantha let Sandy go up the stairs first, hovering protectively behind her in case she needed a helping hand, but Sandy managed with just one stop to catch her breath. Samantha busied herself in the dressing room for a while, emerging with three dresses still on their hangers. She laid them on the bed and asked, “Which one do you like?”

Sandy sighed at the sight of the gorgeous dresses before her. The first was a beautiful, sleeveless Dolce & Gabbana floral dress of large pink roses. The second was a midnight-blue Oscar de la Renta lace dress with thin straps that bared her shoulders. But the third took her breath away. It was a Gianni Versace dress in shimmering ivory silk, underlaid with a delicate baroque design in pale green. Sandy turned to Samantha, her eyes shining with delight. “This is the one, Sam,” she said, pointing to the Versace. 

Samantha grinned. “That was my choice, too. It's perfect for you.” Sandy stripped off the robe and nightdress, slipped on a pair of Agent Provocateur knickers, then stepped into the dress. She sat on the bed, slid her feet into a pair of heels, then stood to look at herself in the mirror.

“Will I do, Sam?” she asked nervously. 

“Oh yes, you’ll do all right. You look stunning.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Sandy kissed her on the cheek. “You always make me feel great.”

“Well, that’s odd,” said Samantha, looking out of the open window with a puzzled look. “Can you hear that?”

Sandy listened. “All I can hear are the rooks.”

Samantha nodded. “That's what I mean. When you left here, they disappeared. Went somewhere else, I guess. Now they’re back. Bit of a coincidence.”

Sandy smiled to herself. She didn’t believe for a moment it was a coincidence. They had played such a big part in her time at Wychwood. She didn’t know how or why, but she and the rooks were somehow connected on a level she hadn’t known before coming to Wychwood. If there really was such a thing as a spirit animal, the rook was hers. 

Five

Sandy took a deep breath before raising her hand to knock on the library door. Somehow, she couldn't shake the feeling that Overstrand would be upset to see her dressed like this. She finally knocked on the door and heard him say, “Come in.”

He stood as she entered the room, watching his eyes widen as he looked at her. He quickly recovered his composure and leant forward to kiss her on the cheek, the scent of his cologne making her giddy.

“Sandy, please sit down,” he said, pulling out a chair for her. “How are you feeling? You certainly look better.”

“Thank you. I’m feeling better, though a little tender. It’s made a big difference to be up and about.”

She noticed the plaster had gone from his face, leaving a white scar a few centimetres long on his forehead. He saw the look of concern on her face, and his fingers instinctively reached for the scar.

“Annabelle says I should get plastic surgery, but I’m not so sure. What do you think?”

“Me? I don’t know.” She thought about reaching out to touch the scar, but instead tilted her head, smiled, and said, “Although it does give you a piratical look.”

He grinned. “Mm hmm, that could be useful sometimes.”

Sandy laughed, then paused, looking at Overstrand. “Robert, I haven’t had the chance to thank you properly for what you’ve done for me.” Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “I mean, not only for saving my life, but for everything else you’ve done, bringing me here and all the care I’ve received.” A tear slid down her cheek, and Overstrand leant forward to brush it away with his finger. His touch set off butterflies in her tummy once more. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you,” she said, wiping away another tear.

“Sandy, it was the least I could do, and no more than anyone else would.”

She doubted the last bit was true, but she was puzzled. “What do you mean, the least you could do?”

He didn't answer for a few seconds, then took her hand. “Remember when I told Annabelle that none of what happened to us was her fault? It’s true. It wasn’t her fault, but I didn't know the full story. By the way, can I get you anything? Water, tea, or coffee?”

Exasperated, she almost shouted, “Robert, please just tell me.”

“Okay. At first, the anti-tourist activists took the blame for the bomb. You can imagine the impact of a bomb at the Doge’s ball was catastrophic for Venice’s worldwide image. They threw everything at the investigation: Polizia, Carabinieri, Anti-Mafia, Interpol, and the Italian Secret Service. I had a briefing from the Italian ambassador yesterday, and from what they have found out…” He paused, and Sandy thought he looked shaken. 

“Robert, what is it? Tell me, please.”

He carried on in a rush of words. “It appears that I was the target of the bomb. They wanted to kill me and lay the blame on the anti-tourist activists.”

Sandy’s hand flew to her mouth. ”Oh my God, Robert. Why?”

He shrugged. “Because I was making some influential people nervous with my campaign.”

“Jesus, Robert. Are you serious?”

He nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. They’ve advised me not to travel to Venice until they’ve rounded up the suspects.” 

“Do they know who they are?”

“It’s Italy, so everyone is avoiding using the word ‘mafia’, but they’re the most likely suspects,” said Overstrand. 

“What will you do?”

“I’m not going to let them drive me out of Venice, that’s for sure. But it will be prudent to let things settle and to hope they make some arrests soon.”

“I’m so sorry, Robert.”

“There’s no need to be sorry, Sandy. But because you got caught up in something aimed at me, that’s why it was the least I could do for you.”

“Oh, Robert.” Sandy stood and walked to Overstrand’s chair, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I am so glad we both came through it. I would never have blamed you for what happened to me. Wrong place, wrong time.” Overstrand turned to face Sandy, their heads close together. She looked into his eyes, as clear and blue as the Mediterranean on a summer day. Sandy's head buzzed as she slowly moved her face towards his, when a discreet cough came from the door. 

“Lunch is ready, Sir Robert,” said Mhairi. 

Sandy blushed, then giggled as Overstrand looked embarrassed. Over lunch, Sandy told Overstrand about her life in Venice. He seemed fascinated to hear about a part of the city he had never visited, and as she spoke of her love for the city, a thoughtful look crossed his face. They had moved to the drawing room, where Samantha was serving coffee. 

He leant back in his chair and casually said, “Sandy, I have an idea I would like you to think about.”

Sandy caught her breath, thinking about the last time Overstrand suggested an idea, and look where that had taken her.