Chapter 1: A Summer in Scotland.
The images were repeated like hundreds of times before. The snow was falling and a thick blanket covered the whole forest, the trees with their bare branches clothed with snow and on the floor accumulating a thick layer that grew with the falling of the flakes and in which the feet already plunged far above the ankles.
Even though he knew it was not real, he could almost feel as if the cold were wrapping him again. He could almost see his icy breath in front of himself. As on all previous occasions they were walking painfully through the forest, making their way with difficulty. And suddenly it was hell...
Outbursts, bursts of light, loud noises, cries of fear, authority and pain... the bodies that ran and fought, the desperation to survive. And suddenly a definite outburst, at least for him...
And then the feeling of being lying again on the frozen ground, the sight of blood covering and fouling the snow, that red corrupting the pure white of the white mantle that had descended from the skies... The image of his friend lying near him, with his body shattered, irreparably dead.
Then the tiredness, the pain, the cold, the numbness with which he has to fight, and the fear, the fear of death... And inevitably comes the moment when he is about to surrender, he has reached the limit of his strength and thinks to surrender to the dream, to that final and irreversible dream. But then, as always, she appeared... as arising out of nothing, as if her had materialized in the air.
A celestial image, like an angel. A vision of another world and another time. With her clothes as strange, as of another time. Her unmistakably feminine body, surely beautiful, beneath those long, relatively wide clothes. That ethereal, supernatural aura that seemed to surround her. And that face... what tormented him most, the certainty that he had seen her face clearly that time, but now it was only a fuzzy, almost blurred image that he could not discern.
And then the climax, the voice of her, speaking to him, a sweet voice that seemed full of love and compassion:
- Resist you, William! You have to resist... You have to wait for me, you have to be here for me.
The man woke up startled, as he always had that dream or nightmare. He sat up in bed. He was sweating cold and his breathing was agitated, and he felt his heart beating fast. He ran palm of a hand over his face, and then as it was a routine in those cases, he pulled his legs out of the sheets and put his bare feet on the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He reached out and opened a drawer of the small table beside his bed. He extracted a chain with a crucifix, held it to his lips and kissed it, then closed the palm of his hand and pressed the crucifix.
- I'm here mother... I'm here guys, for all of you - the man said quietly, almost whispering, with weariness and sadness.
After a short time, he put the chain in place and lay on his back, and saw the ceiling a few moments, until he fell asleep again.
The next day the man was having breakfast early and when the coffee was finished, he heard knocks on the door. He went to the door of the house and opened it, to meet the postman, a middle-aged man with a good-natured look.
- Good morning, Mr. Melbourne - the postman said with a friendly smile.
- Good morning, Mr. Johnson - said Mr. Melbourne.
The mailman showed him a medium-sized package, wrapped in brown packing paper, and written in large letters: "For Mr. William Melbourne", accompanied by the address in smaller letters. Mr. Melbourne signed the acknowledgment of receipt, and after a short conversation with the postman, they gently dismissed each other.
Melbourne tore the paper from the wrapping, and watched with interest the book, which was what contained the package. "The Last Dream of Colonel Lamb" was the title, and on the back cover was a succinct description of the novel, and a very short biographical synthesis of the author: William Melbourne.
Melbourne thought it was just the kind of editing he liked, and he took note in his mind that he should call his editor to tell him and thank him that he had listened to his wishes.
But then came the recurring nightmare back to his mind ... a nightmare that had been a reality, a damn reality already distant in time.
"20 years, more than 20 years," thought Melbourne with a mixture of grief and surprise, as he fixed his eyes on an almanac hanging on the wall and proceeded with a pen to mark the date of that day: Thursday, July 1 1965. So many years, and it seemed that it had been practically yesterday. And how could it not be an experience close to death?
He had had so many times that dream in those two decades, which he no longer cared about. But that day, for some reason, the images of the dream did not want to leave his head. And that woman... his "protective angel", of whom he had spoken so often with his friends, for some a simple hallucination, a product of his mind, the materialization of his will to fight and his desire to live, an instrument of his subconscious... and for others a supernatural phenomenon, a paranormal manifestation, perhaps those famous ethereal ladies or angels who came to the aid of soldiers wounded to the brink of death on the battlefield.
He had long ago opted for the most logical, most rational, skeptical explanation that it had been a hallucination, a trick of his psyche. But even sometimes he had doubts, when that image so lived came to him in memories and especially in dreams.
He shook his head and tried to dismiss it as the foolishness it had to be, having much more important things to do. He bathed and changed his clothes, he groomed, getting ready to leave, since at noon he intended to go to lunch at his friends' pub. Before, he had time to sit at his desk and move ahead with some of his work, and check his schedule. And then he saw his engagement the next day. He had to go to the nearest railway station to pick up his friend Frederick's niece, who when he learned that he needed an assistant for his summer job, offered him his niece as a trainee.
Fred told him that the girl was very intelligent, disciplined and hardworking, that she wanted to be a writer and that she was a great admirer of the writer William Melbourne, from whom she had read all his novels. Although at first Melbourne had been a bit skeptical and would have preferred someone older, he finally surrendered to the recommendations of his friend Fred and decided to give the girl a chance. After all, he too had been young and had suffered because of the skepticism of the older people over their ability and commitment. So now he was waiting for the arrival of a young woman whom he did not know and that he prayed for her to be even though even half as good as her uncle described her, and at least she was skilled and serious enough to do the job.
He was finishing up his preliminary notes and putting some papers in a folder, when he heard the sound of a car that seemed to be approaching a greater speed than usual within the limits of the town. He heard the car stop with a strong braking, in the quiet street, and he was tempted to look out the window, but he finally desist doing it. Surely it would be some foolish youngster with his parents' car or some parishioner with a few more drinks. A few minutes passed, and then he heard knocks on the door, and he was surprised, because when he was there he usually did not receive visits from anyone and the few people who came for reasons of work (such as the postman), should not come that day and at that hour. He stood up and went to the door hoping that whoever it was would not take much time because he wanted to go to lunch early.
When he opened the door he took a surprise... in front of him was a thin and rather short girl of stature, wearing a lightweight blue cloth dress that came down a little below her knees and had straps in shoulders. The girl had flat shoes, similar to those of a ballet dancer, and she wore no stockings. Around her head the girl had a large multicolored scarf knotted under her chin, as if it were a veil, and she wore dark sunglasses. A woman's bag was hanging from her shoulder, not too big.
The girl took off her glasses, revealing beautiful brown eyes. The young woman also seemed a bit surprised or intimidated, and that was reflected in her face. But before Melbourne asked who she was and who she wanted, the girl reacted...
- Mr. William Melbourne, I am the niece of your friend Frederick Atterbury... Victoria Atterbury - Victoria said, with a sweet smile, a little shy.
- It's a pleasure, Miss Atterbury - Melbourne replied with a friendly smile and reached out to shake Victoria's small hand - Excuse my surprise, but I was not expecting you until tomorrow.
- Ha, that! - Victoria said with a distressed smile - I thought: why wait another day? So I decided gain time and to come in my car.
Mr. Melbourne lifted his head to see over her the street and he saw a 1963 MGB Roadster Convertible, red.
- The MGB is yours? - asked Melbourne with a tone of admiration or praise.
- Yes! It's pretty, is not it? - Victoria replied with joy and pride.
-Yes, very pretty... Then the braking was you? - said Melbourne funny.
- Yes, it was me... sorry, I almost passed by - Victoria apologized.
- Sorry! I forgot my manners... please - Melbourne said, suddenly remembering that they were at the door and he had not invited her in.
Victoria came in and Melbourne closed the door, and walked in front of her, and then pointed to an armchair.
- Please, have a seat - said Melbourne very kindly.
- Thank you - Victoria replied, undoing her handkerchief and taking it off, exposing her hair.
Melbourne stared at her, her smooth, dark brown hair collected in a hair bun for back. He admire her beautiful childish face, her pretty lips, her elegant nose... he also realized that she looked more like a child, a teenager girl no older than 16 years.
- Do you want some tea, or some coffee? I can prepare it fast - Melbourne said gently.
-No thanks. A glass of water, please - Victoria replied, a slight blush.
Melbourne went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water, and Victoria took two drinks. She saw that he studied her with interest, with some doubt reflected in his face.
- You're wondering how old I am - Victoria said with a charming smile.
- Excuse me... is I so obvious? - Melbourne asked with a nervous giggle, with a charming gesture - It is that you look so young.
- I'm 18, and I will be 19 in a few months. Remember I came driving, so I have a driver's license - she said funny.
- Where did you come from? - asked Melbourne.
- From Inverness - said Victoria, referring to the town of Inverness in the Highlands region of Scotland.
- It's a road trip of at least two hours... and to Inverness, did you drive too?
- Yes, from Edinburgh - Victoria said with satisfaction.
Melbourne saw her with some admiration, realizing she was a daring girl for her age.
- Victoria, I was going to lunch at a pub of some friends... I'd like to invite you to lunch, to continue this conversation - said Melbourne.
- Yes, of course - said Victoria, being unable to avoid being delighted.
-When we return, we can install your luggage in the hostel where I have reserved a room for you. It is not exactly a five star hotel, but it is very nice, clean and comfortable. And it's close at here, about five houses - Melbourne replied.
- Of course! Delighted!
After a while they were at a table in the pub, and Melbourne pulled a chair back for Victoria to sit on, a chivalrous gesture that she loved and made her blush a little. After ordering the food, they began to chat.
- And what makes you spend the summer with an old man like me? - Melbourne asked mockingly.
"If all the old men were as handsome as you, I would work haunted in a nursing home! Besides, you're not old, fool" Victoria thought.
- I'm an admirer of your work, I've read all your novels and I love them. And I want to be a writer, and I thought maybe I could learn something from you, and in any case, no harm could make me spend the summer with one of Britain's most popular writers in recent years - Victoria said.
- It seems reasonable... are not you studying at the University? - asked Melbourne.
-No. I decided to take a sabbatical to be sure of what I want to do with my life. Then I could study Literature, History or Art... although my family would like me to study something more practical, like Law... or better yet, that I devote myself to look for a husband of the high society and to became a typical married lady of the aristocracy - answered Victoria, unable to avoid anger and resentment in her last words.
- Forgive my curiosity... Was your father an earl? - said Melbourne.
- Yes, it was Lord Edward Atterbury, Earl of Tyneside. He died when I was four years old, so I practically did not know him, I remember almost nothing about him. But the heir to the title was my brother Carl, he is the Earl, I do not have any title - Victoria replied, as if it were a slightly embarrassing subject for her.
- Like your uncle Frederick, who was the youngest son and your father was the heir of the title - replied Melbourne sympathetically.
- Exactly - Victoria said.
- Your uncle speaks wonderful things about you... he's your best public relationsist -Melbourne said, smiling.
- Do not believe everything he says! - Victoria replied with amusement.
- In your case, I am tempted to believe that he has even fallen short - he answered sincerely and gallantly.
Victoria blushed flattered.
-Well Victoria, my next novel will be set in the Jacobite rising of 1745, so I'll have to do a lot of historical research work, although I've already come a long way. You would have to help me in that and also organize my notes, transcribe my manuscripts... Are you good at typing? - said Lord Melbourne.
- A lot, in fact, I'm writing my stories with a machine. I brought my typewriter in my luggage, I never left it - she replied.
- Well, I have one at home, but if you'd rather use yours, no problem - he said.
They continued to talk during the meal, rather lively, and felt the strange feeling that they had known each other for a lifetime. Then as he had promised, Melbourne helped her settle into her bedroom in the hostel, and when they finished, she accompanied him to the door of the hostel.
- You can come to my house for dinner tonight, I've been told I cook very well - said Melbourne.
- Delighted - Victoria said.
That evening they again had a pleasant time at dinner, chatting and laughing with some Melbourne jokes and Victoria's anecdotes. Then he took her to the hostel.
- Well, then we'll start tomorrow, as we agreed. It was a pleasure to meet you, Victoria - said Melbourne charmingly.
- For me, too, William - she said with a dazzling smile while she held out her hand to him.
To her surprise, William did not shake hands, but kissed the back of her hand gallantly.
- I have some aristocratic blood, too - he said mockingly.
They both laughed. That night Melbourne went to bed in a good mood, as it had not in a long time, perhaps in years. But after a long time of sleep he returned to having the recurring nightmare, and at the end of the nightmare, as always, the words of his protector angel, the mysterious lady: "...You have to resist... You have to..."
Not far from there, in her hostel room, Victoria slept peacefully, with a slight smile on her lips. But suddenly she began to murmur, evidently speaking in her sleep, and said in a sweet and reassuring voice:
- ...wait for me, you have to be here for me.