The House on Lake Maggiore

Nestled into the green hillside by beautiful Lake Maggiore in northern Italy, there is a dilapidated villa. Even in its current state of disrepair, those who find it know that there is something magnetic about the place. They imagine the villa in its prime surrounded by sculpted topiaries, white peacocks frolicking among sprawling cypress trees, and stone figures standing guard-a more prosperous and mysterious past. Diana Marshall, an American designer traveling in Italy in the hopes of finding inspiration after the death of her husband, is captivated by the structure. In the lines and shadows and secret places of the abandoned relic, she sees a chance to capture her passion again-for life, for art, for beauty. She throws all caution and sense to the wind and commits to breathing life into the grand old home. With the help of a cunning financier with an agenda of his own, she makes plans to give the abandoned structure a complete renovation. As the project progresses, tantalizing hints of the villa's past begin to emerge. Layer by layer, the residue of another lifetime dares Diana to dig deeper for the truth. Visitors to the villa bring morsels of information that, when pieced together, begin to tell a story of its involvement in the darkest part of twentieth-century history. As she learns more about the building's nefarious past and the reality of those former inhabitants, Diana begins to fear the worst.

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THE HOUSE ON LAKE MAGGIOREBy K. S. HANSENiUniverse LLCCopyright © 2013 K. S. HansenAll rights reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4759-9859-7 CHAPTER 1I am a testament to the fact that there are variant types oflove affairs. I've had my share of the usual, been approachedand invited to the not so usual, but it is a much moreextraordinary love affair I am thinking about tonight. Thelove affair of a place—a place so profound, so inconceivablybeautiful that your eyes and heart become prey to defenselessenraptures. My encounter and involvement devoured me andaffected me so deeply that I was left feeling as though I had justbeen through the turmoil one might experience being part ofan all-encompassing, heart rendering and at times, tumultuousaffair with the love of your life—one that was stimulating andbreath taking at the onset, but if unhappily ending, leaves youdevastated and wallowing in a debilitating sadness. I put myselfthrough an emotional wringer and I was physically and mentallyexhausted. What was to be a wonderful experience eventuallybecame convoluted and swallowed into a dark sorrow.My experience with Lake Maggiore in Northern Italy sentme onto a very long journey. The voyage there was not all thatlong, but my experience there and journey back was an arduouseffort. I fell in love with this beautiful place that is the closest Ibelieve one can get to paradise on earth. After my first visit, thememory stayed so indisputably in my mind that I could think oflittle else. The beauty of this place could not leave my mind andI had too many pensive moments thinking about Lake Maggioreand before I knew it, those pensive moments began to controlmy life to the point of impeding my normal work functions.When I began to work, or picked up a book to read, or sipped aglass of wine, my mind wandered back to not only that beautifulplace, but one lonely, neglected, shamble of a house that sitson the shore. I felt as though I had left a part of me there andI was no longer complete. Just thinking about it and knowing itexisted made me feel a need to be there, and to perhaps rescueit, and maybe make it love me back. I had to return and satisfythe magnetism that drew me to that beautiful place; the paradiseI found seemed to have a hold on my heart.When I sit and think about it, I can pinpoint the beginningof this journey, the very moment when my mind told me it wasto begin. I was no longer going to ponder a decision to return, orrationalize over the logic. It was a certainty that I would return.Somehow I was going to go back and experience what it wouldbe like to live there, to be within the walls of that pathetic villaand to cry with it. There was clearly one particular momentwhen the continual niggling in my mind finally pushed at me soendlessly that I knew I had to do something and I was about tomake a decision that would change the course of my life. Whenthat reality finally hit me, I accepted it with open arms, becauseit was a time in my life when I had reached a cross road. Mydirection became blurred and I was at my most vulnerable. Ineeded something the help me set new goals and create a cleardirection.I awoke one morning and realized my life was tooprogrammed, predictable and lonely. My husband passed awaythree years prior and it was a long recovery for me to get beyondthat. We had been married twenty-three years. My daily effortswere a routine mechanization of processes: working, going hometo a lonely house, dinner alone, another glass of wine, mindlesslywatching late night TV with my thoughts elsewhere, and then thenext day begin it all over again. I may have wanted my distancefrom people for a while and preferred to be alone, but when I feltlike it was time to reach out to someone, it was almost too lateand too much time had passed. Time had created a schism in myfriendships, left me with a life of solitude and it was difficult tofigure out how to change it. Finally coming to terms with John'sdeath and perhaps being over the mourning, I realized lonelinesswas my nemesis. My daughter lives on the east coast and we talkoften by phone, but only see one another about twice a year. Shealone would fill that void if only she were near, but she has herown life to pursue and we are as much a part of one another'slives as possible, but she is there and I am here.I realized that my life was no more than a footnote to thoseothers that were supposed to love me and to care about me. I hadbeen pushing the thought away and in my mind made excusesfor everyone because they were busy. They all seemed to beentrenched in their own lives and problems and for one reasonor another, all were wallowing in their own pathos. The pathosthen became mine and I noticed that no one ever called to seeif I was fine, or inquired about my wellbeing, but called insteadto tell me about what was going on in their life. If I initiated thecalls, I became their audience and their support system and ifmy calls became a little overdue no one was beyond scoldingme about it. All my conversations with family and friends werealways about them, never about me. I had my own struggles,trying to keep my business afloat, earning a living and strivingto make ends meet somewhere in a comfortable and reasonableplace and keep my head above water. No one cared and I feltdownhearted and disappointed. I realized that with John'spassing, I was truly alone and my struggles were my own. I hadno one in the wings giving me encouragement or showing theycared about me or giving me reinforcement. It was always justJohn that did that, and that was one of the many things I noticedthe most after his passing because we were so connected to oneanother's life. I felt a tremendous void with his absence.I was always strong and independent and maybe that wasthe reason; everyone knew I could take care of myself and therewas nothing to worry about so they chose not to be concerned,but in doing so, they showed me they also did not care. Perhapsthat was my fault because I gave the impression that I was a rockand would never falter. However, at that time in my life, I wasfeeling much more uncertain about my place in life and neededsomeone to understand, and moreover, needed someone to talkto—to listen to me.This feeling of being abandoned left me feeling sullen andtoo reflective. I had to stop thinking about my situation and dosomething about it. I believed that perhaps an adventure waswhat I needed to get me out of my funk. And so, I booked atrip to Northern Italy to give me the divergence I needed and tohopefully lift my spirits.That first trip to Lake Maggiore served the purpose, but gaveme so much more. I truly fell in love with Northern Italy and allthe disappointments in my personal life seemed to just fade away.I was far enough removed from my dismal existence at home.My discoveries took precedence and I became absorbed in allthe beauty and culture that is the essence of Italy. I spent severaldays in Milan and then went on to the little town of Stresa onLake Maggiore and there, I found paradise.My thoughts of Lake Maggiore and how much I loved myvisit there that summer never left my mind. After returninghome my old problems were still there and when they began tomake me feel a bit down, I thought of that beautiful place andthose thoughts made everything bright and cheerful again. Ibecame overwhelmed with the thoughts of being there andfound myself staring into space daydreaming about it. Soon itbegan to cause me many sleepless nights and pushed everythingelse aside.I took many weekend getaways to my cabin in the San JacintoMountains near Palm Springs, two hours from Los Angeles. Oneparticular weekend I recall sitting in my cabin at the top of themountain, waiting for the snow to begin, stoking the fire in thefireplace to rid the cabin of the chill it acquired in its idlenesssince I was last there. I kept walking to the window to see if thesnow had begun to fall, as was predicted. I was relieved that ithadn't begun while I was making my drive up the serpentine roadcarved into the mountain. I thought about what I should havebeen doing because of the approaching holiday season, and yet,I reminded myself that I came there that weekend to escape thatthought—to rid myself of the guilt I felt by not doing the tedioustasks of shopping, addressing Christmas cards, decoratinga Christmas tree, and baking cookies. I was ignoring it all andnone of that was going to happen for me. Since my daughter wasunable to get away long enough to come home for the holidayand I couldn't take enough time from my work to go visit her, weboth decided Christmas that year was lost.A melancholy had come over me and I was overcome withvexing thoughts of the day in June of that year and my trip toStresa when I sat on the terrace of my hotel room looking out atthe placid Lake Maggiore. Perhaps it was the juxtaposition of thesituation that made me remember. In reality that night I was afterall, sitting alone waiting for a pending snow storm, dark winterskies hanging low, and dampness all around, about to be snowedin for days looking at nothing but the inner walls of that cabin.I studied the painting over my fireplace, which I believedto be a scene from somewhere in the Alps—tall snow coveredmountain tops reaching into a flaming chatoyant sky, greenvelvet canyons flowing into a frothy creek cascading rapidlyover large boulders, and a small cabin nestled into the side of amurky cliff, with a veil of water falling next to it gently, minglingwith the rushing creek below. A stream of smoke climbs fromthe chimney of the cabin, windows luminous with a glow frominside, and all mingling in the amber and mauve dusk settlingover the scene. The imagined life inside that cabin wasn't muchunlike mine at that moment, I was certain, with candles and thefire in the fireplace lighting the interior. I was mentally takenaway and I recalled visions of that other, most beautiful day inItaly. My thoughts of Lake Maggiore brought sunlight into mymind's eye, reflecting the Alps onto the mirrored surface of thebeautiful lake, with the heady fragrance of camellias and wisteriain the gardens all around me. Perhaps it all existed just beyondthe mountains in my painting, on the other side of the Alps.My biggest conflict in life was always dreaming of anotherplace, always finding comfort and satisfaction waning all tooquickly from a current situation, and then planning my nexthouse, and even when I was young it was the next love affair,another trip or adventure to feed my impatient nature. Myrestlessness brought too much confusion into my life. I couldnot be complacent, idle or bored—I just would not allow it. Butafter marrying John, I felt more grounded and somehow he wasreinforcement that the restlessness I felt was energy that couldbe redirected and be a positive thing. With his death I lost myever constant reinforcement and the direction in my life becameskewed. In order to deal with the void I was feeling, I had to havea list of things in front of me, waiting to tackle, things to learn,things to pass along and be archived in my past and stepped overto get to my future. Being busy kept me from thinking too much,but I was running in too many directions and not accomplishinganything. So I would go to the mountain cabin and try to unwindand rethink my life, to dissolve all that restless nature and sit stillfor a while, and enjoy the present. It became my sanctuary whereI would be compelled to just relax, listen to the silence and letmy thoughts run wild in my mind until they were exhausted andmy head finally cleared.As it was, weekends were all I could take. Come the thirdday, I found myself bored and feeling shut in and then I closedthe house and headed back down the mountain and onwardto my condo in Los Angeles and again engaged in my hecticlife there as an interior designer. There I would once againbe intermingling with the thousands of other people on thefreeways, rushing from one place to the next, juggling my timeonly to fall into my bed at night exhausted, but somehow I feltnatural living that way, as unhealthy as I knew it probably was,and also as life shortening.Perhaps it was my big mistake of the year: going to Stresaon Lake Maggiore. My soul found a new home and my lifemade a drastic change. My soul and my heart stayed in Italyand I sat there one weekend in that mountain cabin in SouthernCalifornia and felt as if I was an empty vessel—just a body—noheart, no soul, no more me. I missed those parts of me and mysought after solitude became overwhelming and I felt too cut off,and much too alone. I found peace and quiet especially difficultto adjust to and I realized I wished for the company of anotherhuman being, another voice, someone to spend time with and tocook dinner for and share time, but that night it was me I wasmissing. And yet, I asked myself: did I really want to reel it all inagain and be that person I was before experiencing the emotionsthat stirred within me when I sat on that terrace of my hotelroom in Stresa, looking at that magnificent body of water andthe Alps? It changed my life and it was that night rememberingall that while in my mountain cabin in California that I realizedI was truly a different person, void of my heart, the engine thatmade the channels of my arteries pulsate that kept this bodyseeking another breath to keep me alive yet one more day.I felt I must rejoin myself and in order to do that I mustgo back to Italy and Lago Maggiore. Only then could I hopeto understand what it was that pulled me back to that place,that confused my mind and would not allow me to forget itsbeauty and why it seemed to call me. I was not able to returnto my usual and predictable life, as it was before I set eyes onits magnificence, and I needed to know what power that placehad over me. I knew I would have to go back to Lake Maggioreagain. I wrestled endlessly with the idea, but there was more tothe decision.There was a business opportunity that presented itself, butas time passed it seemed more unrealistic and I wasn't certainhow to pursue it. I was so driven and my imagination got thebest of me trying to figure out how to make it happen. The moretime that passed, the less likely it was that this could happenand the opportunity would have to belong to someone else. Thechallenge in my mind was the magnitude of the adventure and Ihad a reasonable fear of the unknown. I was fearful and anxiousas to what this venture would entail, if I could indeed make ithappen.As wonderful as it is to live on the peak and view the worldfrom that mountain and sleep among the treetops, I wonderedif that cabin in the woods was what I still wanted. That cabin onthe mountain was my ultimate dream a year prior and I was notin want of anything else. And then I visited Lake Maggiore andmy inner self set higher standards of what I must see to witnessthe glory of God's most incredible accomplishments. My visionof the tall cedars and pines of the San Jacinto Mountains becameclouded and altered with the vision of the Alps and the SavoyMountains on the other side of that Italian lake, dotted with theenchanting Borromeo islands with their beautiful Italian gardens.It was all wonderful and beautiful, but it was much more thantrees and beautiful gardens. It had an aura about it, just hoveringover the lake, mingling in the sweet smelling blossoms of thegardens, an aureole that wraps itself around you and you notonly see the beauty, but you feel it almost in a spiritual way.My love affair with Italy had gone on for several years. Ourfirst trip to Italy only made me want more. After John died,I took a short trip alone to Italy, but it was a rather sad tripbecause I was overcome with thoughts of how much we enjoyedseeing Italy together. I visited the northern lake area and sawLake Garda, Lake Orta, Lake Como and Lake Maggiore, Italy'ssecond biggest lake. The area lies within the two regions ofLombardy and Piedmont. The northern tip of Lake Maggiore isin Switzerland and the Alps reflect so beautifully on the lake'ssurface. Centuries ago the dynasty of the Borromeo family ofMilan, brought their wealth to that area and built palaces andgardens and it eventually came to be known as Lake Maggiore.Ernest Hemingway used it for the background of his story"Farewell to Arms." Napoleon visited, Byron wrote poemsabout it, artists painted it, and through the centuries it becamea favorite stopping off place for royalty. It has the reputation ofbeing an unforgotten paradise because when you first see it, youcan never forget it. (Continues...)Excerpted from THE HOUSE ON LAKE MAGGIORE by K. S. HANSEN. Copyright © 2013 K. S. Hansen. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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