Chianti Classico (21 page)

The second house was above the grocery near the terminal. Again Sister Angela dismounted while Silvio lagged behind.

“I know this family,” he said. “Are you sure it’s them?”

“Perhaps it’s better if you didn’t come in. It might be embarrassing to both you and the family.”

A woman opened the door and led the nun up the steep stairs. “Hello, Sister. Are you asking for alms? I can give you what I have, though I’m afraid it isn’t much.”

“No, no.” said Sister Angela, beginning to huff and puff as they neared the landing. “I’m here because of a police report from four years ago.”

The woman stopped in her tracks. “Sorry? I didn’t know the church would be involved with the police.”

“I’m not here representing the church, Signora Ussi. I came to this house trying to find out why a two year old was left off at the local convent four years ago. The police came to your home then because of a domestic dispute. I was wondering if the child belonged to this family.”

The woman held her chest like she was going to swoon. “Four years ago, the police came here because my son and I were arguing. He wanted to work in town instead of continuing with his schooling.”

“I’m sorry to bring it up. He didn’t have any children?”

“Now he does, but not then. He works for my husband in the shop downstairs in order to have an income for his wife and child. Excuse me, but I don’t think it’s right that four years later the police want to visit the situation again.”

“No. It doesn’t sound right. The child involved was recently kidnapped, and we’re trying desperately to find out where she came from. I’m so sorry to interrupt you, Signora Ussi. I’ll report to the police that your family isn’t involved.”

When the nun stepped outside in front of the grocery, Silvio revved his engine and sped out from between two buildings on the opposite side of the street. “Now for the farmhouse?” he asked.

Silvio kept driving well past the last houses of the village. The hilly countryside spread before them—yellowing grassy fields with lines of cypress and beautiful estates.

“There was a domestic dispute out here?”

“You don’t have to be poor to have problems, Silvio.”

“How would you know that?”

Sister Angela let the warm breezes glance off her face. “Only God knows.”

Suddenly the motorbike slowed to a stop.

“What’s the problem?”

“I’m not sure if we’re in the right place,” he said.

“There’s a postbox up there. Let’s check the number.” As he slowed the motorbike, she checked the number on the box with her list. “This is it, Silvio. You’re better at this than even you know.”

Silvio pulled the bike up to the gate and pressed a button.

“Who are you?” a scratchy voice through the tiny speaker squeaked at them.

After waiting for the gate to open, Silvio let the nun off at the front door. Sister Angela knocked and waited until a woman came to open it.

“Signora Colletta?” the nun asked.

The woman stepped aside to let her enter. Signor Colletta’s in his study. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Just let her in, Dona,” he spat. “Of course I know she’s here. If you’d done your job and answered the intercom, then I would’ve
needed
to be told. He approached the door. “Please come in, Sister. You’ll have to forgive the help. They’re all hopeless. I don’t know why I pay them.”

The nun entered and sat down on the soft loveseat. “Signor Colletta, I’m here concerning an incident that resulted in a police report four years ago.”

He gave her a withering stare, but Sister Angela didn’t shrink away. “So the police are checking up on me now? For God’s sake, you’re seriously reexamining a case that happened four years ago? Why’s the Church involved, Sister? Did something happen to my ex-wife?” He lit a cigarette and paced the room like a wild cat.

“So Signora Colletta and you are divorced.”

“We settled just a few months after the complaint. The witch married me for my money and figured out a way to take much of it with her.”

“Were there children?”

“No, thank God. She was well past her prime when I married her. She came from a supposedly affluent family. She’s a Brit. Her father made his money in industry, but I think she made her fortune through all her marriages. She’d been married four times before. The whole relationship was a joke. I must have been out of my mind. It lasted less than a year.” He stopped to snuff out his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table in front of the nun. “I suppose you disapprove.”

“It sounds terrible, Signor Colletta. I’m sorry you had to go through that,” she said, rising from her comfortable throne.

“So tell me why you’re here. Is she dead?”

“I’ve no idea. I’ve never met her. I’m investigating the kidnapping of a young child for the police. If there were no young children involved in the separation with your wife, it doesn’t concern me. I can see myself out. Thank you for your help.”

Viviana braced herself against the top of the marble headstone to look closer at the picture of Mara. She’d been so alive just weeks earlier.

Viviana didn’t hurry when she first heard Mara had taken ill but immediately visited her when she was told her mother was in the hospital. Mara was already unconscious. Had her mother realized she was there or was she already preparing to leave this world? Was Nonna’s death so hard on Mara?

Aunt Clarissa and Aunt Lucilla hadn’t even bothered to show up at the funeral in Roma. They said they were too busy selling Nonna’s house. Isabella, Viviana’s elder sister, couldn’t leave her new family in Malta, but she too was devastated.

The young woman stood up, wiped her eyes, and walked toward the small hotel just blocks from the cemetery. She felt very tired and needed to lie down. In the morning, she would catch the train to Corsa Pietra and her husband. At least Mara had seen her younger daughter married.

It was all very romantic. Giulio and Viviana were wed in a grassy field where more grape stalks were to be planted. Mara and her sisters were present as well as more De Capuas than Viviana had ever met. Included were a few members of the community, but overall the group was small. Ermanno was the best man, and Isabella, her sister, was her matron of honor. There was plenty of wine shared among the guests, and the outdoor table just outside the farmhouse offered several dishes.

Viviana was lovely. Before the ceremony, Mara took Viviana into Corsa Pietra, but there were few gowns so they visited towns and villages all over the area in search of something that was appropriate for such an illustrious occasion. Most of the local stores had old-style dresses with antique lace, buttoned-up bodices, and long veils. Viviana wanted to look more fashionable.

In Firenza, they finally found a striking gown that emphasized Viviana’s slim lines, though soon those lines would disappear. It had wide silk gauze straps and a low-cut front. The waist was high. The skirt, brocade of white and gold, wrapped her long thighs and glowed when the sun hit it.

On her head, she wore a tiara, and on her feet, gold shoes with four-inch heels, something that would catch the groom’s eyes.

Her bouquet wasn’t timid. Vivid purple bougainvillea poured out of her hands in long strands, while Isabella, in a purple gown, carried white mums.

Giulio looked happy. Surprisingly, Ermanno seemed to be enjoying himself too. They both ushered their mother to a seat in the front row. But Giulio was still unable to take his eyes off his beautiful bride.

The priest from the church in town married them and then blessed the couple. The two were driven into the city offices in Corsa Pietra to make everything official while the guests raided the food and wine.

As soon as the bride and groom were seated at a long table under an equally long awning that flapped in the late autumn breezes, Ermanno stood to give the toast. “Welcome everyone. We’re sorry to pull you away from your businesses at such a busy time of year. My brother has always had trouble timing everything. Thankfully, he and his lovely bride have agreed to put off their honeymoon until winter and help with the fermentation. I just want to make sure Viviana understands that she isn’t expected to get up and serve wine to you all. This is the couple’s big day, and we all want her to relax and enjoy it.”

Viviana was relieved when it was over. The newlyweds retired to Giulio’s boyhood bedroom. She was so exhausted she fell asleep in his arms right away. The two were awakened at six the next morning by a persistent buzz.

“Hand me my phone, Giulio. I suppose it’s your brother, telling us to get to work.” She put the phone to her ear. “Hello?” Seconds later, she dropped the phone onto the mussed sheets and rose to grab her clothes.

“What’s wrong? Surely that wasn’t Ermanno.”

“No, it was Mamma. Nonna died during the night. Since she couldn’t come to the wedding, I should’ve gone to the nursing home and shared our day with her. I have to go to Clarissa’s.”

Giulio remained silent. “Am I expected to go too?” he finally asked. “Ermanno wants me at the winery.”

Unsuccessfully trying to button her slacks over her growing belly, she let out an exasperated sigh. “You don’t have to come with me. I know you’re expected to work. I hope Ermanno doesn’t require my help too.” Tears made their way down the side of her nose.

Giulio rose and put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Viv. I know you’re hurting. It’s just that we’re trying to make this place viable. The competition’s tough, and we’re just a little winery. No one will notice if we fail—except our suppliers, who’ll probably go down with us. I promise I’ll try to make it to the service when your family decides on a date and time.” He kissed her on the nose.

Viviana turned back to find some looser clothes in his overcrowded closet.

“Maybe Mara can take you shopping for maternity clothes. At least you’d be more comfortable.”

“Do you think they’d go with my five-inch heels? I don’t believe you’d let me serve customers without my heels.”

“We’ll get someone else to serve customers. Business will be light until spring. Then you won’t be able to wear heels anyway.”

Giulio showed up at Nonna’s funeral in the old church in Corso Pietra. When his exhausted wife had trouble standing at the burial site, he stood behind her and let her lean against him. Mara stood next to her daughter, sobbing. Viviana was surprised her mother cried so hard. After all, Viviana had come to Corso Pietra in the first place because Mara wanted to work rather than come care for her mother.

Afterward, the small group of mourners gathered in the parish hall to eat and talk. Clarissa dabbed her eyes as she flitted from one group to another. Mara sat down and hardly uttered a word to anyone. Viviana tried to speak with all present but soon sat down beside her mother.

“Are you all right?” asked Viviana. “It isn’t like you to be off on your own. Your uncle even came. Have you spoken to him?”

“I’m sorry. I’m very tired.”

“Have you seen a doctor? I noticed you have a little cough. How long have you had that?”

“It’s nothing, Viv. I’ll be fine when I get back to Roma. The work there’s piling up.”

“I confess I don’t want you to go. Why can’t you stay here with me?”

Mara finally smiled. “I’m flattered but until you have the baby, I’ll have nothing to do. When’s the appointment to find out if it’s a boy or a girl? You do want to know, don’t you?”

“In a few weeks, Mamma. Yes, I want to know.”

“What about Giulio? What does he want?”

Viviana bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “I suppose he wants a boy, but he doesn’t say much about it.”

Viviana never got the opportunity to tell her mother about the sex of the baby. Two weeks after Mara returned to Roma, a friend found her unconscious in her apartment.

The hot summer sun poured in through the open window. Viviana could feel the sweat trickling down her back and quickly got up to turn on the air. It was late. She showered and headed for the kitchen. As she passed the front room, she noticed her mother-in-law in a chair, knitting.

“I’m sorry I’m up so late. Have you had coffee?”

“No,” said the older woman. “I haven’t eaten either.”

“I’ll get you a cup right away,” said Viviana, rubbing her back as she waddled into the kitchen.

When breakfast was on the table, she helped the old lady to her chair.

“Have
you
eaten?”

“I have a roll, but I’m not really hungry,” said Viviana. “Please don’t wait for me.”

“Why are you dressed up? Are you going somewhere? You aren’t allowed to mingle with the customers when you look so big.”

Viviana smiled. “No. I want to speak with Ermanno. It was my understanding that Giulio would be back for his child’s birth. It’s in two weeks, and I haven’t heard a word from my husband.”

“He has work to do, Viviana. You shouldn’t expect him to be here. Husbands are no use with women in labor. As long as you have a doctor, you’ll be fine. Let the men get their work done.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said.

“My room’s a mess. The bed hasn’t been changed. I’m sure that’s on your agenda today.”

“Yes, of course, Mamma,” she said, putting the cup to her lips but still unable to take a sip of espresso. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll get to work directly.”

Standing, she slipped out the door and toddled toward the winery. The truck was in the drive as she rounded the corner. Stopping to catch her breath at the back of the truck, she watched the strong men, their arms glistening in the heat, slowly carry inside the boxes. Suddenly she felt a searing pain in her side. She sat down on the truck ramp next to a box to wait for the pain to subside. It was then she noticed the writing on it. “Fine wine from the Amalfi Coast,” she read aloud.

Rubbing her belly, she made her way into the shade of the large building. In back of Ermanno’s desk, the young woman, recently hired to temporarily replace Viviana, gathered the receipts and began to file them. Viviana shuffled up to greet her.

“Oh, hello,” the woman said. “I’m Donata. By the looks of it, you must be Viviana. I was just neatening Ermanno’s desk before he returns.”

“What about the customers?”

“There’s a lull between tour buses. You look hot. I’m so glad there are fans all around here.”

“Ermanno doesn’t usually like people cleaning up his desk.”

“Really? I’ve been doing it for weeks. He hasn’t complained.”

“And the paperwork for the delivery outside?”