The Warrior’s Princess. Barbara Erskine

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      Steph put the phone down and turned back into the kitchen where Kim was frying onions and tomatoes. She was frowning. ‘I’ve been trying all evening but there is still no reply from either phone.’

      ‘Perhaps she’s gone out.’ Kim threw some sliced zucchini into the heavy pan and added more oil. With her dark hair and eyes and her plump figure – a testament to her fondness for her own cooking – Kim looked every inch the Italian mamma in the making for all she had been born in Romford and attended the same college as Jess and Steph. ‘And she’s forgotten to take her mobile.’

      ‘That’s probably it. I’ve reported the line at Ty Bran. They checked. It is broken.’

      ‘Well, presumably someone will go and mend it.’ Kim reached for her wine glass and took a sip before turning her attention back to the sauce. ‘So, you can stop worrying, Steph. Jess is a big girl. She doesn’t need you checking up on her all the time. In fact you never have before, so why now?’

      Steph shook her head wearily. ‘I don’t know. I’ve got a strange feeling, that’s all.’

      ‘What sort of strange feeling?’ Wooden spoon in hand, Kim paused in her stirring to gaze at her friend’s face. ‘You two aren’t twins, are you?’

      ‘You know we’re not!’

      ‘Then stop worrying. Go and see to our guests. Make sure everyone has got a drink. If you really want to know what is happening with Jess ask Carmella. She reads the cards. You’ll find a deck in Stefano’s old bureau.’

      Steph wandered through the apartment towards the front door. From the grand reception room she could hear the sound of voices. Kim’s penchant for cooking frequently led to these impromptu parties where her guests marvelled at the talent of their English hostess who could cook Italian food better than any of them.

      Steph resisted the urge to mention the cards, but as they sat in the salotto later savouring their dolci and coffee Kim brought the subject up again.

      ‘Steph needs some info about her sister, Carmella. Would you read the cards for her? Tell us what is happening over there in Wales?’ She levered herself out of the deep sofa and went to the bureau, rummaging around in the drawers.

      There was a general murmur of interest from the other guests at the suggestion as she drew out the small box she had been looking for.

      Carmella, a tall, elegant woman in her forties, held out her hand languidly and took the box. ‘I haven’t seen these since Stefano died. Do you remember how often we would read them?’ She smiled at Kim, raising one of her startlingly black, fly away eyebrows.

      Kim nodded, suddenly wistful. ‘He loved to watch you do it, but he would never let you do a reading for him. Perhaps if you had –’

      ‘No!’ Carmella started shuffling the deck. ‘No, don’t think of that. What was to be, was to be.’ She flicked her dark hair out of her eyes and leaned forward to take a puff from the cigarette lying in the onyx ashtray near her coffee cup. ‘Now, let me see what the cards have to say. This is about your sister, Steph?’

      Steph nodded.

      ‘Tell me her name.’

      ‘Jess.’

      ‘And do you have anything of hers with you? Perhaps a letter? A piece of jewellery to make the connection.’

      Steph thought for a moment. ‘I have a scarf of hers. I liked it so much she gave it to me.’

      ‘That is good. Get it.’

      Steph watched amused as Carmella cut the pack and then laid out the cards on the coffee table. It was years since she had seen anyone read the tarot. Probably not since she had been a student and done it herself. Carmella did it with superb style, she had to give her that. She lay back in her chair and sipped her coffee, watching as Carmella turned up the first card, Jess’s scarf lying on her knee, a splash of emerald against the black of the woman’s skirt.

      ‘Ah, il fante di denari. The page of coins; pentacles you call them, si? This is Jess. A page can represent a woman, you know that?’ She glanced round. Turning back to the table she ran her finger thoughtfully over the card. The eyes of every person in the room were fixed on her hands as she turned up the next and sat staring down at the layout in front of her. She was frowning. ‘Non capisco,’ she murmured to herself. ‘This is very strange. There are two different people here. We have two women. You see? Il fante di bastoni, the page of wands. But this one represents una ragazza. A much younger woman. Very important in the reading. They are linked in some way.’ She turned a third card. ‘And here with them we have СКАЧАТЬ