Whispering Wind

Lexa Dudley

Description

The Whispering Wind is a moving story of two lovers, set on the beautiful island of Sardinia, where Elise goes on holiday to escape a loveless and violent marriage. Whilst there, she meets and falls in love with Beppe, a local Sard. Despite religious and cultural complications, they embark on a romantic and passionate affair. Beppe shows Elise his island and introduces her to the welcoming culture of the Sardinians and Elise soon falls under the spell of both the island and its people. But after weeks of blissful happiness, Elise has to return unexpectedly to England to face all the problems she had been so desperate to leave behindThe Whispering Wind is a work of fiction that will appeal to women who are romantics at heart. Finalist in the Romance category of the 2014 Next Generation Indie Book Awards, and both the Romance and Literary Fiction categories of the 2014 National Indie Excellence Book Awards!

Sujets

• Contemporary romance

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 01 avril 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781780886213
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE WHISPERING WIND
Two lives, one heartbreaking story
Lexa Dudley
Copyright 2013 Lexa Dudley
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
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ISBN 9781780886213
Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd
For Kit
To all who love the island of Sardinia And those who will fall under her spell in time.
Contents
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Introduction
Prologue
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Part Two
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Epilogue
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank everyone who encouraged me to finish this book.
To Charlie Wilson for her excellent editing and understanding.
To Mel for her friendship and all her help when everything crashed.
To my friends in Sardinia for all their patience with my unending questions about their island over the years.
And finally to my husband, Kit, who has lived the book and taken me back to my island every year for research.
Thank you.
Lexa
Dedication
Su Fischidu de su Bentu
To the Spirit of Sardegna :
In some other place and in some other time people have lived and loved. Their lives touched by those who have a profound effect, the one upon another, where souls and kindred spirits entwine for eternity.
Season s Love
Softly on a heavy blossom laden morn
when fragrant breezes did gently blow,
warmed by a sun s silent fiery glow
their love, on a whispering wind, was born.
Spring wooed their tender love to flower,
a bloom with divine enchanted power.
Summer gave her early sun at dawn
kindling the flame of passion to ignite;
nurturing it under her dazzling light,
turning fields of green to golden corn.
Amber autumn brought warm languid days
spent together in winsome, carefree ways.
But winter sent only icy winds to mourn
for cherished dreams once more to bring
the sweet return of their awaking spring.
INTRODUCTION
People who have grown up with mobile phones and the Internet have no concept of what communication was like in the late 1960s. Phone calls had to be booked through the exchange, taking hours if not days. The Italian post, never known for its reliability, was only marginally better than in Sardinia. The fact that one local postman was imprisoned on the island for hiding some letters for seven years because, he didn t know where to deliver them, gives some idea of the problem.
Sardinia has always been known as the forgotten island , and perhaps that is still true today. Certainly, in 1969 it was well off the tourist route. It can become an itch that can t be scratched, as it gets under your skin. The Sards call it Mal di Sardegna ; an illness which is helped by regular visits to the island, which has a wild magical beauty all of its own.
The Sards themselves are a fiercely independent people who have survived continual occupation of their homeland with a tremendous dignity and pride. If I can convey to the reader a small amount of the charm and magic of this island and its people, then I will be more than happy. In the words of my late and dear friend:
I have one ambition or rather hope: to communicate to others my faith in Sardinia, my loving solicitude for this land to which many people have applied the much abused but still accurate title of the unknown island, this land which so few people really try to know and to understand. But anyone who looks beyond certain off-putting or banal aspects of this island will finish up loving it. Marcello Serra
Barumini is a large Bronze Age monument known as a Nuraghe for which there is no parallel anywhere in the world, and is described as I first saw it, but since then the authorities have adopted a scorched earth policy to stop the grass from growing between the stones, creating a rather grey and bleak monument. It was inscribed on the UNESCO list of World Heritage Sites in 1997 as Su Nuraxi di Barumini.
Many of the roads travelled on by Elise and Beppe are now motorways, thanks to EU funding. But if the traveller moves off these roads, he will still discover the old Sardinia , with its small villages and friendly people.
All places are as I describe them, except for Santa Cella, and the villa at Pula which are imaginary along with all the characters. Any likeness to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.
I first visited Sardinia in 1972. It was love at first sight, and I still feel the same way about the island and its people after all these years. To me, it will always be the enchanted island , and long may it remain that way.
Lexa Dudley, 2012
PROLOGUE
A gentle breeze fluttered through the peach grove, but gave no respite from the midday sun. The rows of peach and lemon trees offered no shade, and the branches of the tall cypress trees surrounding the orchard seemed to trap and intensify the relentless rays, creating an overwhelming heat that pervaded everything. Only the strident call of the cicadas broke the unnerving quiet that descended over the parched land.
One exception to the dryness was a small area at the end of the garden where an old standpipe dripped, making the ground damp. This area was bordered by giant prickly pears, and growing through their great spines were masses of pink and white wild roses, together with honeysuckle; their strong sweet scents mingling languorously in the oppressive air.
The rows of peach and lemon trees, planted with military precision, gave way to a mantle of green vineyards, which in turn blended into fields of golden barley, before finally fading into the hazy, distant mountains that rose from all sides of the Campidano.
This hard-baked Sardinian soil, that has drained the strength of all who have worked it since pre-Carthaginian times, produces men as tough and durable as the ancient land itself, and the two brothers working in this grove were no exception. The elder of them leaned heavily on his shovel and surveyed the work that the two of them had done. He watched his younger brother as he put the finishing touches to the hoses and turned on the water from the huge standpipe in the centre of the grove, allowing the water to gush into the newly dug trenches before being swallowed up by the thirsty earth.
He had promised to help in the peach grove today, but now he was tired, having lain awake most of the night listening to music, drinking whisky and trying to fight the demon depression that lurked in his mind. He had kept his promise to his brother, but now he needed to sleep.
Are you alright? You look awful. asked his younger brother looking concerned.
He didn t reply. He was busy undoing the rough bandaging on his normally well manicured hands. His mind went back to the time when, as a child, he had worked beside his father in this same grove; when he returned home at night his mother had bathed his hands in salt water to harden them and ease the pain. He shoved the bandaging into his pocket and sighed as he put his hands up to his brow to try to stop the relentless pounding in his head.
I don t know how the hell you stand this heat all the time.
Probably because I don t drink like you do and, I am used to it.
The elder brother shrugged and walked to the bottom of the grove to collect his shirt. Nearing the hedge of prickly pears, he became aware of the suffocating, heavy scent coming from the roses and rampant honeysuckle. The sun dazzled between the leaves of the overhanging lemon trees and the ever-changing light was mesmerising. The summer heat closed in on him and he felt weak. His feet turned to clay as he became rooted to the spot and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead as an icy chill ran down his spine. He felt unable to breathe and a dull, sick feeling welled up in the pit of his stomach.
Coming toward him through the now blurred lines of trees, and moving slowly, as if in a dream, was a young woman, her arms outstretched to greet him. Her long, golden hair flowed over her shoulders, glinting in the sun, and her white cotton dress seemed to intensify the bright light. He put his hands up to shield his eyes from the glare as the girl came nearer. He turned to see if his brother was there, but seeing no one he looked back and was surprised to see that the young girl now appeared to be beside him. He knew her. He knew her so well that all his senses cried out as he stared at her once familiar face.
Stirred memories and lost dreams rushed in on him from days long gone, and a deep yearning filled his soul. He found it difficult to catch his breath with his heart pounding as if it would burst. The world about him began to spin and tears sprang to his eyes.
I ve come back, darling, she whispered, laying a soft, cooling hand on his fevered skin.
Everything fell out of focus as he reached forward, in despera