Read Online The Biographer by Virginia Duigan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Virginia Duigan
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mementoes in studies and
sitting rooms around the world. Rollo and Guy liked to tell their guests they
lived in such a backwater that the instructions for locating them had not altered
a jot in three decades.
The driver passed an acute-angled turn to the right, on a bend in the road and
concealed by two massive cypress trees, immediately realised his mistake and
executed a smart U-turn. He repositioned the map on the steering wheel with
one hand and headed inwards along a bumpy road that wound through an unruly
scrub of turkey oak and strawberry trees, hawthorn bushes and ilex, the glossy
evergreen oak.
Ignoring two rutted laneways off to the right and a narrow intersection, he proceeded steeply upwards until, at precisely 2.3 kilometres from the turn-off, a second pair of sinuous cypresses flanked a well-used gravel track to the left. He was in among the vineyards now, the vines still bare and skeletal, marked by the proprietorial symbol he recognised: the leccio , acorn, fruit of the ilex tree. Another kilometre further and, just as the map depicted, a white gate and the sign: Castello di Monte Leccio.
The driver unlatched the gate and drove in, pausing again to shut it behind him.The track meandered across the slope of the hill through more vineyards, these ones slightly more advanced and coming into bud, and then an extensive olive grove. There were signs of activity, men with trucks and a bonfire.A short distance ahead,at the crest of the rise, he saw clearly the first of the group of buildings that comprised the hamlet.
He drove through a second gate, propped wide open, and followed the track around to a large gravelled area bordered with showy rows of purple iris.A two-storey stone house faced him, with a low wing extending out to the right.An iron roof was attached to this wall,with three cars parked in its shade.A fourth car and another truck stood in the open. He pulled up next to the truck, switched off the engine and opened the driver's door. But instead of getting out he removed a small dictaphone from the back pocket of his jeans and at once began speaking into it.
'April fourteen. First impressions. I reach the Castello at 5.15 pm. It's a two-hour
drive from Pisa, quite hidden away until you get there, invisible from the
road except for occasional glimpses of the watchtower from about 5 miles back.
(NB Check with Mischa: the cypresses guarding the entrance gate are the ones
in the Guardians picture in Tate Modern?) I can see the three handsome stone houses and an artistically
ruined tower – which must be Mischa's studio – all well separated from each other and grouped around a wide central courtyard.
A parking lot at one side and a number of outbuildings, well maintained, including
a barn-like structure attached to the right-hand house, which could be the
winery.'
He climbed out of the car and continued to speak while walking forwards.
'On my left is a bigger house facing the other two.This would be Rollo Sonabend's.
It's square with fine, almost Georgian proportions, tall windows below, shorter
ones above, all with dark green shutters, walls artistically clad in a spidery
climber – Virginia creeper? – still bare but a few buds. A vine-covered terrace extends the full length of
the house and a good 20 feet beyond.There's a long rustic table under the terrace,
a bunch of chairs, a small lawn and a luxuriant garden at the side, with pergolas
on all sides.'
He came closer.
'It's a longer house than I thought. It has a side building stepped down, joining it to the vestry maybe, and a small attached church which would be Sonabend's studio – yeah, next to a neat little war memorial. The whole set-up is pretty damn gorgeous. House opposite must be Svoboda's, with masses of blue wisteria coming out on the wall facing me, and scarlet geraniums and other plants in pots on the side steps and window boxes.The sun on the mottled stone walls and terracotta roofs, the crumbling tower
sitting rooms around the world. Rollo and Guy liked to tell their guests they
lived in such a backwater that the instructions for locating them had not altered
a jot in three decades.
The driver passed an acute-angled turn to the right, on a bend in the road and
concealed by two massive cypress trees, immediately realised his mistake and
executed a smart U-turn. He repositioned the map on the steering wheel with
one hand and headed inwards along a bumpy road that wound through an unruly
scrub of turkey oak and strawberry trees, hawthorn bushes and ilex, the glossy
evergreen oak.
Ignoring two rutted laneways off to the right and a narrow intersection, he proceeded steeply upwards until, at precisely 2.3 kilometres from the turn-off, a second pair of sinuous cypresses flanked a well-used gravel track to the left. He was in among the vineyards now, the vines still bare and skeletal, marked by the proprietorial symbol he recognised: the leccio , acorn, fruit of the ilex tree. Another kilometre further and, just as the map depicted, a white gate and the sign: Castello di Monte Leccio.
The driver unlatched the gate and drove in, pausing again to shut it behind him.The track meandered across the slope of the hill through more vineyards, these ones slightly more advanced and coming into bud, and then an extensive olive grove. There were signs of activity, men with trucks and a bonfire.A short distance ahead,at the crest of the rise, he saw clearly the first of the group of buildings that comprised the hamlet.
He drove through a second gate, propped wide open, and followed the track around to a large gravelled area bordered with showy rows of purple iris.A two-storey stone house faced him, with a low wing extending out to the right.An iron roof was attached to this wall,with three cars parked in its shade.A fourth car and another truck stood in the open. He pulled up next to the truck, switched off the engine and opened the driver's door. But instead of getting out he removed a small dictaphone from the back pocket of his jeans and at once began speaking into it.
'April fourteen. First impressions. I reach the Castello at 5.15 pm. It's a two-hour
drive from Pisa, quite hidden away until you get there, invisible from the
road except for occasional glimpses of the watchtower from about 5 miles back.
(NB Check with Mischa: the cypresses guarding the entrance gate are the ones
in the Guardians picture in Tate Modern?) I can see the three handsome stone houses and an artistically
ruined tower – which must be Mischa's studio – all well separated from each other and grouped around a wide central courtyard.
A parking lot at one side and a number of outbuildings, well maintained, including
a barn-like structure attached to the right-hand house, which could be the
winery.'
He climbed out of the car and continued to speak while walking forwards.
'On my left is a bigger house facing the other two.This would be Rollo Sonabend's.
It's square with fine, almost Georgian proportions, tall windows below, shorter
ones above, all with dark green shutters, walls artistically clad in a spidery
climber – Virginia creeper? – still bare but a few buds. A vine-covered terrace extends the full length of
the house and a good 20 feet beyond.There's a long rustic table under the terrace,
a bunch of chairs, a small lawn and a luxuriant garden at the side, with pergolas
on all sides.'
He came closer.
'It's a longer house than I thought. It has a side building stepped down, joining it to the vestry maybe, and a small attached church which would be Sonabend's studio – yeah, next to a neat little war memorial. The whole set-up is pretty damn gorgeous. House opposite must be Svoboda's, with masses of blue wisteria coming out on the wall facing me, and scarlet geraniums and other plants in pots on the side steps and window boxes.The sun on the mottled stone walls and terracotta roofs, the crumbling tower
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