Dear Diary,

Another wet giorno so I’m sitting in the biblioteca to write this, not that I mind so much because I do Amore books, after all. They’re such an escape when this place gets dreary o the atmosphere stuffily unbearable. Anya is in a huff again; about goodness knows what. Ferdinand says she’s getting far too haughty and Derek says she’s getting too big for her boots. I’m inclined to agree with both of them. I don’t know what’s got into her lately. She’s changed from the girl I used to know. I think it’s something to do with the fact that our parents favour her over the rest of us.

Belle hesitated, wondering if that last line sounded too...whiney. But she’d known for ten years that Anya was the “golden girl” of the family. Throughout her life, she had witnessed her parents lavish praise and devotion upon Anya, whilst she and her brothers had watched from the sidelines. They weren’t so neglected that they were forgotten altogether, but sometimes they were overlooked and Belle was certain that that wasn’t the way families were meant to work.

Yet, she could never bring herself to hate Anya. She loved all her family members equally and Anya was no exception. True, she could become irritated with her at times, but never hateful towards her.

She hadn’t been exaggerating about the rain either; now outside the biblioteca it was blowing up a storm. Rain lashed against the windows and the wind whipped the branches of the albero outside so hard that they creaked, eerily. Belle shuddered. She was reminded of a passage in a Shakespeare play: “Blow winds and crack your cheeks!” It certainly seemed to be doing that today.

She went back to her book. It was “Wuthering Heights” da Emily Bronte and it was all about a young woman named Cathy and her adopted brother Heathcliff who lived on the wild, rugged moors in England and the tragic Amore story that took place between them and which drew in all around them like moths to a flame, creating a spider’s web tangle of misery and fear...

Something hit the window suddenly and she gave a start, dropping her book at once. Recovering, she looked up to see something flop off the window pane and onto the ledge below.

“Oh, poor thing,” Belle murmured, getting to her feet. A bird Lost in the storm, perhaps? She was just opening the window when a voice detto “Oh, boy! Ow! I tell te what, ow!”

Belle stared down. Sitting on the windowsill was a tiny white bat. She blinked at it for a few secondi and then as it rubbed it’s snout, she found her voice. “Are te ok?”

The bat looked up at her. “I don’t think anything’s broken,” it replied.

Belle held out her hand. “Here, come inside. te don’t want to be out in a storm.”

The bat flew up into her hand and she pulled the window shut. “Thank you,” it said. “That’s very kind of you.”

Belle liked bats; they were cute little things, but she had never come across one that talked before. “My name’s Belle,” she said, walking over to the fire. The poor little creature must be soaked to the bone, she thought. “Do te have a name?”

“It’s Bartok.” The bat drew himself up to his full height. “I was just out in mid-flight, minding my own business when that storm struck up; and that window is mighty clean! I thought it was open until I flew into it!”

Belle smiled. “Well, you’re welcome to stay here as long as te like. It doesn’t look like the storm will die down for a long while yet.”

“Thank you,” detto Bartok, looking around the library. “Wow! I tell te what, wow! This is a very big library!”

“Well, mansions need large rooms, for some reason,” Belle smiled.

“Oh, this is a mansion?” Bartok turned to her. “I haven’t ever ventured this far out before. I got turned around in the storm.”

“Yes, this is a mansion,” Belle sighed. “Though sometimes I wish it wasn’t.”

“Oh? You’re not happy with your life here?”

“How did te guess?” Belle smiled. “It’s just that, well, all my life I’ve been in my sister’s shadow. She’s always been the favourite of the family.”

“Is she the oldest?”

“Oldest girl.”

“Hmm.” The bat frowned. “So, te have an older brother?”

“Two, and they’ve never been the favourite. We’re overlooked, really.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” detto Bartok, comfortingly.

Belle shrugged. “We’re used to it.”

“Well, sometimes big families can be like that,” Bartok said, thoughtfully. “I came from a family of eighty.”

“Eighty?”

“Yeah! I moved out as soon as I could fly; it was too crowded in that cave!”

Belle giggled. “I wish I had wings. If I did, I’d fly anywhere and everywhere. I barely get out of this place. My life’s so provincial here.”

Bartok nodded. “I know the feeling.”

They sat da the fuoco talking until late evening. It was nice to have someone to talk to, besides her diary and her brothers; someone outside of her family. Belle hoped in her cuore of hearts that Bartok might stay permanently. She loved bats, they were so fascination, and she had always longed to be able to keep one as a pet; although she did think that Bartok might not appreciate the term “pet” since he seemed pretty intelligent. She already had a cat, a dog and a horse; why not a bat to add to the menagerie?

Even as she was thinking this, a tiny black and white kitten crept into the biblioteca and snuck quietly towards the pair of them. Seeing what looked like a tiny white topo, mouse with wings, she wriggled her back end in the air, poised to jump and then sprang and pounced up onto Belle’s lap. Bartok took off at once as the kitten took a swipe at him.

“Pavlova!” exclaimed Belle, catching the kitten before she could hurt Bartok. “Naughty kitten! Shame on you!” She gave Bartok an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s ok.” Bartok fixed Pavlova with a look. “I am not edible, ok? I’d make te sick.” Pavlova turned her head on one side, curiously. “I’m all crunchy and full of tiny little bones,” Bartok insisted, landing in front of her. “You don’t want to eat me.” Pavlova licked him and he spluttered. “Pur-pah! Pah!”

Belle laughed. “Oh, Pavlova!” She cuddled the kitten. “No eating Bartok; he’s our guest.”

Bartok grinned. “It’s ok; I think she gets the message.”

Pavlova purred and hopped off to explore the library. Belle smiled. “I think she thought te were a mouse.”

“That’s alright.” Bartok looked over at Pavlova who was walking along beside a bookcase, looking for topo, mouse holes. “Do te have any other animali here?”

“Well, we all have a kitten each after our friend Lady Adelaide’s cat Duchess had kittens; my brother Ferdinand has one like Pavlova but it’s a boy and he called it Figaro; and Derek, my other brother, had an arancia, arancio one called Oliver. My sister Anya’s is white and called Marie. Then there’s my dog Angel, I adopted her from the streets; and we’ve also got our hunting dogs, Bruno and Copper and our old family Cani Sultan and Colonel. And we’ve each got a horse; mine’s called Philippe. Oh and we have a fishpond with Cleo, Flounder, Nemo, Dory, Marlin, Oscar and Angie in it.”

“So, not many, then,” Bartok joked.

Belle laughed. “There’s always room for one more.”

“Well, I might take te up on that,” Bartok replied, stretching. “What I wouldn’t give for a warm fuoco and soft pillow; I’m fed up with being outside so much.”

“I thought bats were supposed to like being outside?” she asked.

“Maybe I’m just different to the rest.”

“Yeah,” Belle agreed, with a sigh. “That makes two of us.”

Meanwhile, in Ferdinand’s room, he was preparing for bed. Derek, already in his nightclothes, was sitting on his bed. “I heard Mama talking to Papa earlier.”

“Oh, yes?” Ferdinand said.

“She detto something about Anya.”

“When does she not?”

Derek smiled. “Just listen. I didn’t quite catch all of it, but she did say something like...it’s going to be time soon. And that she’d better be ready.”

“Who, Mama?”

“No, Anya.”

Ferdinand stopped in the middle of unbuttoning his collare and frowned. “Ready for what?”

“I don’t know; but I think it’s something to do with her always being their favourite. No doubt about it.”