Once upon a time a beautiful woman tried to tell my fortune. I sat in her drab little sitting room in Plymouth and watched her as she struggled to contact the other side. At that moment this was idle curiosity on my part. I liked her and she had insisted.
Beads of perspiration collected on her forehead as she muttered: “it’s odd, all I’m getting is voices saying lemon trees and roses; find them and be happy.” Walking out into the grey November gloom, this seemed a foolish prediction.
Yesterday evening I walked through the formal garden at Villa Pisani. It has rained and green has returned to the garden. The lemons are plump and yellow. The fortune teller’s words hung in the air. “Find lemon trees and roses, you will be happy.”