‘Forest of Shadows’ by Matthew Hughes

Valladio was a fattoria — an olive-growing farm — on a steep hillside, rows of olive trees climbing to a wire fence separating the land from a mass of trees that continued far beyond and above. Iron gates led to a dirt driveway winding up through the trees to end at a marble-paved courtyard ruled by two palm trees.  The two-story house stood brilliant white in the sunlight, with a separate, smaller structure off to one side.

The bottom of the villa was a thirteenth-century farmhouse, with a second story added in the 1920s. The palms were said to be a present from Mussolini, who used to come to shoot boar in the Foresta Umbra.

“Foresta Umbra?” Magda said.

Cecelia Chapman, the Englishwoman for whom Magda and Derek had come to housesit gestured to the trees upslope. “The ‘shadow forest’. A survival of the ancient forest of southern Europe, never clear-cut.” She shivered a little.  

She had them put their bags in the small building, once a mediaeval dovecote, now a tiny, two-story apartment. They would live there while the main house would be rented out to tourists, once the season began.

They came out to find Cecelia joined by a ruddy-faced fellow just entering middle age and a little boy of perhaps five.  

“Gregory,” the man said.  “How’d you do?”

The boy was not introduced, nor did he appear to wish to be. Magda thought him odd:  a triangular face, coppery curls, and pale, oddly shaped eyes. He regarded her with a detached air.

Downstairs, the villa had high ceilings and smallish rooms with tiled floors and a modern kitchen.  Upstairs was a grand chamber leading to French windows and a balcony that overlooked a view of the trees, adjoined by a lounge, master bedroom, and bathroom.

“Beautiful,” Magda said, surveying the long dining table and the fine old cabinets with good china on the shelves.

“We’ve liked it,” said Gregory.

Magda couldn’t help asking, “Then why are you leaving?”