A gentle breeze fluttered through the peach grove, but gave no respite from the midday sun. The rows of peach and lemon trees offered no shade, and the branches of the tall cypress trees surrounding the orchard seemed to trap and intensify the relentless rays, creating an overwhelming heat that pervaded everything.
Only the strident call of the cicadas broke the unnerving quiet that descended over the parched land. One exception to the dryness was a small area at the end of the garden where an old standpipe dripped, making the ground damp.
This area was bordered by giant prickly pears, and growing through their great spines were masses of pink and white wild roses, together with honeysuckle; their strong sweet scents mingling languorously in the oppressive air.
The rows of peach and lemon trees, planted with military precision, gave way to a mantle of green vineyards, which in turn blended into fields of golden barley, before finally fading into the hazy, distant mountains that rose from all sides of the Campidano.
This hard-baked Sardinian soil, that has drained the strength of all who have worked it since pre -Carthaginian times, produces men as tough and durable as the ancient land itself, and the two brothers working in this grove were no exception.
The elder of them leaned heavily on his shovel and surveyed the work that the two of them had done. He watched his younger brother as he put the finishing touches to the hoses and turned on the water from the huge standpipe in the centre of the grove, allowing the water to gush into the newly dug trenches before being swallowed up by the thirsty earth.
He had promised to help in the peach grove today, but now he was tired, having lain awake most of the night listening to music, drinking whisky and trying to fight the demon depression that lurked in his mind. He had kept his promise to his brother, but now he needed to sleep.
‘Are you alright? You look awful.’ asked his younger brother looking concerned.
He didn’t reply. He was busy undoing the rough bandaging on his normally well manicured hands. His mind went back to the time when, as a child, he had worked beside his father in this same grove; when he returned home at night his mother had bathed his hands in salt water to harden them and ease the pain.
He shoved the bandaging into his pocket and sighed as he put his hands up to his brow to try to stop the relentless pounding in his head.
‘I don’t know how the hell you stand this heat all the time.’
‘Probably because I don’t drink like you do and, I am used to it.’
The elder brother shrugged and walked to the bottom of the grove to collect his shirt. Nearing the hedge of prickly pears, he became aware of the suffocating, heavy scent coming from the roses and rampant honeysuckle. The sun dazzled between the leaves of the overhanging lemon trees and the ever -changing light was mesmerizing. The summer heat closed in on him and he felt weak.
His feet turned to clay as he became rooted to the spot and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead as an icy chill ran down his spine. He felt unable to breathe and a dull, sick feeling welled up in the pit of his stomach. Coming toward him through the now blurred lines of trees, and moving slowly, as if in a dream, was a young woman, her arms outstretched to greet him.
Her long, golden hair flowed over her shoulders, glinting in the sun, and her white cotton dress seemed to intensify the bright light. He put his hands up to shield his eyes from the glare as the girl came nearer. He turned to see if his brother was there, but seeing no one he looked back and was surprised to see that the young girl now appeared to be beside him. He knew her.
He knew her so well that all his senses cried out as he stared at her once familiar face. Stirred memories and lost dreams rushed in on him from days long gone, and a deep yearning filled his soul. He found it difficult to catch his breath with his heart pounding as if it would burst. The world about him began to spin and tears sprang to his eyes.
‘I’ve come back, darling,’ she whispered, laying a soft, cooling hand on his fevered skin. Everything fell out of focus as he reached forward, in desperation, to embrace his long-lost love, crying out as he fell to the ground.
‘I always knew you would!’
The Whispering Wind Description:
‘Elise sighed again; she was truly at peace at last. Her world, she thought, could never bring such divine tranquillity. This man had a tender quality; he was gentle, caring thoughtful and romantic, and what was more, he was hers in this brief moment of time.’
The Whispering Wind is a moving story of two lovers, set on the beautiful Mediterranean island of Sardinia, where Elise goes on holiday to escape a loveless and violet marriage.
Whilst there, she meets and falls in love with Beppe, a local Sard. Despite religious and cultural complications, they embark on a romantic and passionate affair.
Beppe shows Elise his island and introduces her to the welcoming culture of the Sardinians, and Elise soon falls under the spell of both the island and its people.
But after weeks of blissful happiness, Elise has to return unexpectedly to England to face all the problems she had been so desperate to leave behind…
Two lovers, one heartbreaking story.
