PodCastle 809: The Woman on the Balcony

* Author : Dorothy Quick

* Narrator : Valerie Valdes

* Host : Matt Dovey

* Audio Producer : Eric Valdes

*

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Previously published by Weird Tales

Content warnings for murder and references to torture

Rated PG-13

The Woman on the Balcony

by Dorothy Quick

Sherry thought she had never seen anything more beautiful than the Villa del Quisce.

White and shining it nestled halfway up one of the Italian foothills like a snowy flower sheltered by greenery. The glass glistened in the sunlight. Its marble columns were perfection and at its foot was the violent blue of a lesser lake than Como but having the same intense loveliness. Green lawns, lemon trees, oleanders and flower beds sloped down from the Villa to the sandy shore. Tall cypresses outlined the road that curved upwards. Small spring flowers grouped around the roots of the trees. Violets sprinkled the grass in abundance.

“It looks like some heavenly stage set designed by Bel Geddes,” Sherry thought, “ too beautiful to be real.” Then, suddenly looking at Gio sitting tall and straight beside her, “But it is real, and its ours — our honeymoon house —”

Just at that moment Gio slowed the car and turned to her. “Do you like it, my darling?” he asked.

The soft musical tones of his voice that held the depths of his love for her filled her with glory as it always had from the moment of their first meeting. “Oh, Gio, yes. I couldn’t like it more. It’s . . . it’s . . .” She searched for the right word. “It’s heavenly.”

He pressed his cheek against hers and the usual thrill that any contact with him gave shivered through her. “I am happy that you like it, my loved one, and behind those walls are American bathrooms, which I assure you is something to treasure. The brochure said the last owner renovated it quote ‘for modern comfort without disturbing the ancient charm’ unquote. It looks as the brochure said. At first I was nervous taking it sight unseen as the price seemed low.” He exerted pressure and the car shot forward at a good speed again, eating up the steady incline of the road with no effort.

“Is it very old?” Sherry asked.

“It belonged to the Quisces in the thirteenth century. One of them, Cardinal Alessandre de Quisce, built it. The family enjoyed it for several hundred years; then the strains petered out. Twenty-four years ago there were no de Quisces left except a cousin who descended from a female de Quisce who had married an Englishman in 1760. Her heirs had never been to Italy and the family villa meant nothing to them.

“So they sold it through the agent I got it from. It’s passed through several hands since then. Mostly rentals. The man who bought it and made the improvements didn’t stay here long to enjoy them. He was called back to America and then the war came. It was a Nazi headquarters at one time, then was rented again. Fortunately it was free so I took it — for you, my darling. You won’t be bored here?”

“Oh no, Gio — never with you — and the villa is so . . . heavenly.” As she repeated the adjective the look on her face was aesthetic.

The villa, on close inspection, was even more enchanting than it looked. The Quisces had sold the family furnishings along with the estate so the furniture was authentic, as well as charming.

“They are museum pieces — with comfort,” Sherry exclaimed. Indeed, the whole place was ravishing.

Gio nodded.