Free This Haunted World Book One: The Venetian: A Chilling New Supernatural Thriller by Shani Struthers Page B

have followed him, should have followed him, but she had to face what was happening. Steeling herself she went over to the painting. Its execution was cruder than she remembered, the artist having wielded his brush in a slightly random manner. But it was a style of sorts, as Rob had said, the blobs of white meant to be effective from a distance but not close up. Not meant to be defined at all…
    “I’ve noticed you looking at that painting. You like it, yes?”
    Surprised to hear a voice behind her, she spun round. It was Gisela, the receptionist who’d greeted them with a glass of champagne on arrival. She’d spotted her at the desk when Rob had glided by, but hadn’t heard her come over. Almost involuntarily, her eyes travelled to Gisela’s feet – no longer in high heels, she had black ballet pumps on in the softest of leathers. Perhaps they were allowed to relax the uniform a little so late at night. The woman had asked a question, she had to answer. Did she like the painting?
    “It’s… interesting,” Louise said at last. “That particular house, is it significant at all?”
    Gisela looked bemused. “Significant? In what way?”
    “Because of who lived there?”
    Gisela laughed, a pleasant sound, reminding her of the tinkling of bells. “I don’t know who lived there. Venetian street scenes are popular with artists.”
    “I know that,” Louise replied, she’d seen many of them in shops around the city, “but this one…” How on earth could she even hope to explain it? “I’ve been there.”
    “Yes, it is in the San Polo area, near to some good restaurants. I pointed out several to your husband. Did you go there to eat?”
    “Yes, yes, we did.” She told her about the restaurant they’d visited, twice in two nights.
    “One of my favourites,” Gisela declared smiling, her red lipstick immaculate. Even dressed down, she looked so elegant. What does Rob see in me? Tears pricked at her eyes. She was far from elegant. She was mad at times. Barren. Despite having blamed him, it could be her fault – a suspected miscarriage, especially so long ago, didn’t mean a thing. None of it meant a thing.
    Gisela placed a hand on Louise’s arm, her touch as light as her tread. “Madam, you are upset, why?”
    It would take too long to explain and thankfully Gisela didn’t press her. After a few moments of silence she asked if Louise would like some water.
    “No, thanks, I’ll be all right.”
    “A glass of champagne?”
    “I think I’ve had enough to drink.”
    Gisela turned back towards the wall. “What is it about the painting that troubles you?”
    Louise was surprised at how astute Gisela was. Should she tell her what she’d seen? Why not? What did she have to lose?
    Lifting her hand, she pointed to the window of the house over the archway. “When I first saw this painting I thought I saw a woman standing in the window, staring at me.” There was a slight frown on Gisela’s face but she didn’t interrupt. “That same woman – she’s got some sort of white veil on, a white dress as well – I’ve seen her in the town too, as if she’s following me. And just now, coming home from the restaurant, I was standing below that archway, I looked up and there were curtains at the window where there hadn’t been any before, lace curtains, and they were moving, as if someone was behind them, getting ready to look out. To look at me .”
    “Maybe the curtains are new.”
    It was an explanation – a valid explanation – but still Louise didn’t think so. The curtains weren’t modern in any sense. And they weren’t clean either, you’d expect curtains that had just been put up to be clean but these were slightly grubby. She shook her head. Grubby wasn’t the right word. Like so much in this city, they had an air of decay about them; they were decayed. “But the woman,” Louise continued, “what about her?”
    Gisela averted her gaze and Louise winced, she really shouldn’t have said