Read The Secret of the Villa Mimosa for Free Online Page B

One woman looking to absolve her past; the other seeking it.
    Phyl breezed through the door, carrying a huge bunch of mimosas. Today was the day of the experiment. “It’s the first thing that really triggered a memory,” she said, setting the flowers on the table. “Maybe it will help.”
    She drew the curtains and sat opposite the bed in the darkened room. “Are you nervous?” she asked, patting her hand comfortingly. The girl nodded. “No need to be. Just relax. Empty your mind and listen to my voice.”
    She did as she was asked. Phyl’s voice was low, soothing, rhythmic. The girl’s eyes closed on command, and she was taken back in time, such a long way, such a long time ago….
    “Where are you now?” Phyl asked gently.
    The girl drew in an amazed breath. “Oh, it’s a lovely place, so beautiful. It’s the place I love most in all the world.” Her voice was light, childlike.
    “And where is that?”
    “A long, long way. Oh, yes, it’s a long way away. It’s so peaceful….”
    “Do you know where it is?”
    Her voice faltered. “Where, I don’t—I’m not sure….”
    Phyl saw she was disoriented and said quickly, “Tell me what you see in this lovely place.”
    “I see a child, sitting on the steps of a wonderful pink villa. I hear the sound of a hundred songbirds. I feel the coolness of the marble against my legs and the warmth of the sun on my face. And oh … I can smell the mimosa…. There’s just the sound of the birds and the rustle of the tall trees in the breeze … and—and something else.”
    Phyl leaned closer. The girl’s expression had changed from innocent happiness to frozen fear.“What is it?” Phyl said urgently. “You can tell me, you can trust me with your secret….”
    “Footsteps on the gravel. Someone is coming up the driveway. Getting closer, closer…. A great dark cloud is looming over me, stifling me, shutting out the lovely pink villa and the light…. There’s only the scent of the mimosa….”
    Tears flowed down her cheeks, and Phyl watched her quietly for a moment. “Poor child,” she whispered. “Do you know who it is coming up the drive?”
    The girl shook her head, crying silently.
    “Is the child you?”
    She shook her head again. “I don’t know. I just don’t know who it is.”
    “Do you know how old the child is?”
    “
Non, je ne connaît pas.
”
    Phyl blinked in surprise. “You answered me in French. Do you speak that language fluently?”
    “
Oui. C’est le même pour moi, français ou anglais.
”
    “And can you tell me where you learned to speak French so well?”
    “I—I don’t know.”
    She was distressed again, and Phyl asked one last question: “Do you have a French name?”
    “My name? I have no name…. I don’t know …”
    “It’s all right. Don’t distress yourself. But I want you to remember everything you have told me about the pink villa. You can wake up now. Come, open your eyes. Look at me.”
    The girl’s eyes flew open. She put up her hand to touch the wetness on her cheeks. “Tears?” she said wonderingly. “Why was I crying?”
    “
Peut-être vos mémoires sont triste?
”
    “
Triste?
” She stared in astonishment at Phyl. Then she said, “My God, I spoke to you in French.
What does
it mean, Phyl?” She stared pleadingly at her. “Please tell me.”
    Phyl went over what she had recalled about the villa. “Do you remember anything like that happening to you?”
    The girl shook her head angrily. “Oh, God, I wish I did.”
    “Don’t be upset. It’s progress. Quite a breakthrough, I’d say.”
    “Really? You mean that?” She looked pathetically pleased at the small ray of hope Phyl offered. “Did I tell you my name?”
    Phyl laughed. “No, not yet. But we can’t go on calling you Jane Doe forever. Why don’t you just go ahead and choose a name? Any name you please. Think of all the famous redheads throughout history.”
    “Beatrice,” the young woman said thoughtfully after a while.