Free The Visconti House by Elsbeth Edgar Page A

the fence, hoping that no one would appear. She tried to imagine what Leon would make of Mr. Visconti’s house. It was so different from Mrs. Murphy’s cottage.
    As she watched him walk toward her, however, she realized that she was interested in his reaction. At least she felt certain he would not make jokes about ghosts and spooks. But then she remembered Samson, and a little pang of anxiety shot through her. Would he have appeared by now? She didn’t know what she would do if he hadn’t.
    To take her mind off Samson, Laura tried to decide how much of the house she would show Leon. The studio and the murals? Surely that would be enough; she didn’t need to show him anything else. She glanced sideways. Leon was so quiet, just walking along, staring at nothing in particular. She supposed that she would have to offer him a snack, but would there be anything suitable in the cupboard? Her parents had probably forgotten to do the shopping, as usual. Then she remembered a recipe for pancakes that Harry had once shown her. If all else failed, she could try making that.
    At the gate Leon stopped, looking up at the house andthe monkey puzzle tree in front of it. “It’s big, isn’t it?”
    Laura could not tell if this was a statement or a criticism. “It’s not as big as it looks,” she said defensively.
    “It’s big when you’re used to a tiny apartment.”
    “But you don’t live in a —” She stopped just in time, realizing that his father probably did. She watched him anxiously but Leon did not appear to have heard. He was still gazing up at the house, his expression inscrutable.
    Laura pushed the gate open and led the way into the garden. It was heavily scented with freesias and lilacs. The fruit trees were struggling into blossom, too, white petals opening on the gnarled branches, and there were a few roses still clinging to the old bushes. The grass around them had gone to seed, and the garden beds were full of weeds.
    Leon drew a deep breath and said, seemingly to himself rather than to Laura, “Wow.”
    “In the library there are photographs of the garden not long after it was planted,” said Laura. “It was very neat then, very new.”
    “Imagine planning it all,” replied Leon. “Thinking about what it would look like long after you’re gone. Grandma always says a garden is a very hopeful thing.”
    “I don’t suppose Mr. Visconti imagined it looking like this,” said Laura.
    “But I like it like this.”
    “So do I.” Laura smiled at him. She liked that he liked the garden as it was.
    As she led Leon around the side of the house and under the trellis to the kitchen door, Laura looked around for Samson. He usually appeared from the garden when she arrived home from school, stretching sleepily and mewing for the small snack that he was not supposed to have (but often did). Her heart sank when he did not come; it sank further when she realized that he was not in the kitchen either. She longed to go and look for him but instead took two glasses from the cupboard for Leon and herself. In the pantry she found a box of cookies and decided she would make the pancakes later, if it seemed appropriate.
    Leon had not said anything when they entered the kitchen, but Laura could see that he was fascinated; his eyes examined everything. As she put the cookies on a plate, he went over to the window and ran his hand over the solid wooden ledge.
    “If I designed a house,” he said, “I would put in windows like this.”
    “Would you like to design houses?” asked Laura,watching him with interest. Was this one of the secrets he had spoken of?
    Leon turned and looked at her, considering. “Yes,” he answered at last.
    Laura felt somehow as though she had been judged and passed the test. “What sort of houses?”
    “All sorts. Houses that would be fun to live in. Wild houses.” He paused, frowning. “Mathematical houses.”
    “This is not a mathematical house.” Laura gave a wry smile. “None of the