Lake Como (13 page)

“That’s a huge job,” she said finally. “It would take months.”

“And Hallie would love to do it,” Portia broke in. “She has nothing but time.”

“It’s a tremendous opportunity,” Hallie murmured. “But I didn’t plan on staying that long.”

“Will you think about it?” Angus asked.

Hallie watched a couple walk by sharing a slice of pizza. She saw a boy and girl fight over an ice-cream cone, two scoops falling on the cobblestones. She watched a young man in a leather jacket buy a dozen roses at a flower stall.

Hallie turned to Angus and nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

“I’ve got your card.” Angus pushed his chair back, smiling. “I’ll call you.”

“Did you forget that I have a job and a boyfriend at home?” Hallie asked when Angus disappeared down the alley to the boat dock.

“You’ve been saying for years you want your own design firm,” Portia replied. “If you have the Villa Luce on your resumé, clients will line up to work with you.”

Hallie pictured showing Libby Taylor or Patsy Mane photos of Villa Luce. She imagined them clamoring to use the same drapes and furniture in their Pacific Heights mansions.

“What about Peter?” Hallie demanded.

“You can Skype him every night.” Portia shrugged. “If he wants to see you, he can hop on a plane and be here in ten hours.”

The young man in the leather jacket approached their table. He presented Hallie and Portia with two red roses and murmured,
“Ciao, Bellissima.”

Portia picked up her rose and grinned. “It looks like you have a new admirer.”

*   *   *

Hallie sat at the desk in her room, waiting for the dinner bell to sound. After they returned from Varenna, she took a long bath and slathered her skin with Acqua di Parma. She put on a navy silk dress with Gucci pumps and a white leather belt. Glancing in the mirror she felt young and sophisticated, but her stomach was filled with butterflies.

She opened her laptop, suddenly missing Peter’s boyish smile. She clicked on Facebook and saw photos of Peter cycling, drinking a beer with his buddies after a race.

She clicked through to Kendra’s page and saw pictures of the Symphony Summer Ball. She saw Patsy Mane and her new husband, Libby Taylor sporting a baby bump, Kendra wearing vintage Dior.

She scrolled through photos of San Francisco’s young elite: Mark Zuckerberg and his fiancée, Marissa Mayer and her husband, Jennifer and Gavin Newsom. Suddenly she froze. There was a picture of Kendra and Peter, their heads tilted toward each other.

Hallie searched through the photos faster. There were pictures of Kendra with a dozen men, all in the same intimate poses. She flipped back to the picture of Kendra and Peter to see if she could read some signal in their eyes. They both looked directly into the camera, smiling clean white smiles.

Hallie shut the computer and paced around the room. Of course Peter had been at the ball, it was packed with Silicon Valley techno-celebrities. She inhaled sharply, trying to erase the seed of doubt that formed hard and jagged as a diamond.

She wanted to call Peter but it was five in the morning in San Francisco. Her phone buzzed and she answered, not recognizing the number.

“Hallie?” a man asked. “It’s Angus. I wondered if you thought about the job.”

Hallie walked onto the balcony. The lake was forest green and the villages hugged the shore like colored Lego sets. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with cool, alpine air.

“I can’t say no.” She hugged her arms around her chest. “It sounds wonderful.”

chapter nine

Hallie put down her tape measure and tapped notes into her computer. She had worked at the Villa Luce for a week, arriving each morning as Angus set out two cups of steaming hot espresso. She showed him her sketches and then he disappeared into the endless rooms of the villa. Hallie was left alone to mull over fabric and wallpaper swatches, to draw pictures of marble fireplaces and crystal chandeliers.

The ideas came so fast; Hallie had trouble getting them down. At night she kept a pad by her bed, scribbling designs before she was fully awake. She rose before Sophia or Pliny appeared downstairs and walked to the ferry terminal. Pliny offered to take her in the motorboat, but she loved the delicious quiet of the lake in the morning. She sat in the back of the ferry, straining to see Villa Luce as the mist cleared.

*   *   *

Constance had been distraught when Hallie called to tell her she was staying in Lake Como.

“Six months,” Constance’s voice wavered. “You’ll miss the fall season. Who will I take to the opera?”

“You can ask Francesca,” Hallie replied. She sat at her dressing table, brushing her straight, blond hair.

“Francesca won’t see any opera that’s performed in Italian.” Constance sighed. “It sounds wonderful, but are you sure it’s what you want to do?”

“You told me to come to Como and be with Portia,” Hallie argued.

“But she’s seeing Riccardo again,” Constance replied. “Does Peter know you’re staying so long?”

Hallie put the hairbrush down. “I’m going to call him next.”

“I’ll ask Peter to the opera,” Constance decided. “We can discuss the wedding. We’ll have to move quickly, if you want to get married next summer.”

Hallie looked in the mirror, picturing a scooped neckline and a white gauze veil. “The villa is like a siren,” she explained. “I have to do it.”

“Then I’m proud of you,” Constance replied. “Send me lots of pictures.”

Hallie hung up, feeling guilty for not telling Constance that she still had doubts. Peter and the apartment on Russian Hill seemed so far away, as if they were part of a movie she had watched on the plane. When she closed her eyes to picture the Bay Bridge, she saw speedboats zipping across Lake Como. She craved paella and risotto instead of cheeseburgers and enchiladas.

“You’re doing what?” Peter demanded. “Hallie, are you crazy?”

“Any designer would kill for this job,” Hallie replied with more bravado than she felt. It took two cups of Lea’s strong dark coffee for Hallie to get up the nerve to call him.

“You live in San Francisco,” Peter snapped. “The job is in Italy.”

“Would you turn down writing a biography of Bill Gates because he lives in Seattle?”

“Italy is another continent, another time zone,” Peter pleaded. “I can’t be without you.”

“If you saw it you’d understand; it’s a magnificent canvas and I can choose the materials.” Hallie brushed her hair with slow, methodical strokes.

“I will come,” Peter insisted. “Next month, after I wrap up my exposé of Apple.”

Hallie couldn’t sleep, thinking she had made a terrible mistake. But lying in bed staring at the angels painted on the ceiling, she knew that six months apart would be good for them. She would discover if she truly missed Peter or just the idea of him.

*   *   *

“Am I interrupting?” Angus poked his head in the door.

Hallie started. She never saw Angus during the workday. He was usually directing the staff or running errands in Tremezzo or Menaggio.

“I’m choosing colors for the anteroom,” Hallie explained. “Powder blue walls and black-and-white marble floors.”

“I like it.” Angus nodded. “I wondered if you wanted to have lunch with me. The cook made shrimp paella, and it smells delicious.”

Hallie hesitated. She planned a buying trip to Milan and was anxious to complete her sketches. But she hadn’t eaten lunch and her morning espresso carved a hole in her stomach.

“I’m starving,” Hallie admitted. “And I’m addicted to shrimp paella.”

Hallie followed Angus out to the balcony. A table was set with a checkered tablecloth and white china. Silver tongs rested in a ceramic salad bowl. There was a loaf of bread, a jar of olive oil, and a plate of mixed berries.

Angus returned from the kitchen with two plates heaped with shrimp paella. Hallie ate greedily, mopping up rice with crusty bread and sprinkling brown sugar on the berries.

“This is delicious.” Hallie put down her spoon. “I’ll have to ask the cook for her recipe.”

“I’m actually the cook.” Angus tore off a chunk of bread and dipped it in olive oil. “When Bella has a day off, I love messing around in the kitchen. Max is a vegetarian, and I make too much food for one person.”

“This is a curious place to be a vegetarian.” Hallie gazed at the fishing boats out on the lake. “Am I going to meet Mr. Rodale?”

“Everyone asks that.” Angus poured a glass of sparkling cider. “He’s not the hunchback of Notre Dame, he’s just very private.”

“How did you meet him?” Hallie asked. All week she had wondered about her employer, searching the villa for clues to his personality. But there were no family photos, no worn books on the bookshelf, no framed awards or diplomas.

“On a train from Naples to Rome,” Angus replied. “I grew up outside Boston, studied archaeology at a tiny New England college, and joined a dig in Athens. When that ended, I moved to a dig in Cyprus and then Pompeii. That’s how I learned to cook. At the end of the day, it was every man for himself.”

“I’ve always been fascinated by Pompeii,” Hallie said. “All those children frozen in ashes.”

“Archaeology is more fun in textbooks than in real life.” Angus shrugged. “It’s years of living in tents and sifting through dirt. If you’re lucky you find one gold coin. I started craving indoor plumbing. Mr. Rodale was looking for an estate manager and I accepted.”

“It must be an interesting job.” Hallie glanced at Angus curiously. He seemed too educated, too intense, to spend his life picking up another man’s laundry.

“Is that a nice way of saying I’m wasting my degree?” Angus grinned. “In Lake Como I’m surrounded by history. Lenno has churches that date back to the twelfth century.” Angus paused. “How about you? Have you wanted to be a designer since you were a little girl in pigtails?”

“I used to draw on all my schoolbooks,” Hallie said, smiling. “Lake Como is so beautiful, every villa is a work of art.”

“It’s Shangri-la.” Angus nodded. “The mountains keep out the world, and the lake is bursting with life. You could eat locally grown foods every day.”

“If I’m not careful, I’ll get fat.” Hallie pushed away her plate. “I should get back to work. Would you like to see what I’ve done?”

Angus cleared away the plates and Hallie turned on her computer. She clicked through plans for each room: ceilings the color of Wedgwood china, drapes like spun gold.

Angus was quiet and Hallie glanced up, nervous that he didn’t like her designs. But when she saw his face, his red hair swept over his forehead, his hazel eyes and sharp nose, she realized he wasn’t looking at the computer. He was staring at her. Hallie turned quickly away, and described how she was going to hang the Botticelli.

*   *   *

Portia called as Hallie waited for the ferry. It was early evening and the ferry terminal was full of families returning from the beach, carrying buckets full of sand.

“Meet me at the Hotel du Lac for dinner,” Portia demanded before Hallie could say hello.

“When?” Hallie asked.

“Now,” Portia replied. “I’m waiting in the bar.”

“I’m not dressed for dinner.” Hallie glanced at her cotton skirt and leather sandals. “And I ate too much shrimp paella at lunch.”

“Please, Hallie, I need to talk to you.”

“Where’s Riccardo?” Hallie frowned. Hallie had barely seen Portia all week. Portia and Riccardo spent two nights at the Gritti Palace in Venice. Portia returned with new diamond earrings and a bottle of expensive perfume.

“He’s going to meet me after dinner,” Portia replied.

“Can we talk at home?” Hallie sighed. “I’d love a hot bath.”

“I’ll order you a drink.” Portia hung up before Hallie could protest.

*   *   *

Hallie entered the Hotel du Lac and glanced around the room. Women wore skimpy cocktail dresses and stiletto heels. Their skin was golden brown and their mouths were dark shades of red. She found Portia at the bar, sucking down a martini.

Portia spun around on the barstool. “I saved you a seat.”

“It looks like you’re on a liquid diet.” Hallie pointed to the empty glasses lined up on the bar.

“I got a head start.” Portia giggled. “But you can catch up.”

“Is that a new dress?” Hallie asked. Portia wore a gray silk dress with an ivory sash. She had silver sandals on her feet and a diamond bracelet around her wrist.

“It’s vintage Valentino.” Portia caressed the folds of the skirt. “We spent one night at the W in Milan. Riccardo gave me the dress and the bracelet.”

“You’re running out of hotels.” Hallie sipped an apple martini. “You should live together, like most married couples.”

“Riccardo wants to live together.” Portia glanced at Hallie with big, liquid eyes.

“And give up Veronica?” Hallie asked.

“I don’t know. But he doesn’t want a divorce.”

“That’s wonderful,” Hallie said tentatively.

“Sophia and Pliny will be very happy,” Portia mumbled.

“You don’t look happy.” Hallie frowned. “Maybe Riccardo’s mistress does bother you. You’re not as European as you think.”

“I just lock Veronica up in a compartment that I don’t let myself open.” Portia shrugged. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”

“You have a dashing Englishman who’s going to carry you off to a remote castle on the moor?” Hallie giggled.

“You read too much Charlotte Brontë.” Portia rolled her eyes. “Let’s get a table. I need a plate of pasta.”

Hallie and Portia sat at a table on the terrace. Hallie watched couples stroll along the promenade. The men smoked cigarettes and the women clicked narrow heels on the gravel.

Hallie ordered gnocchi in a cream sauce and Portia ate tagliarini with prawns. They shared a bottle of red wine and a loaf of garlic bread.

“It’s hard to be unhappy with such good food and wine,” Hallie mused.

“
La dolce vita.
” Portia raised her glass.

“May you and Riccardo live happily ever after and have many bambinos.”

Portia put her glass down abruptly. She stabbed the pasta with her fork and looked at Hallie.

“Riccardo left me because I’m afraid of having children,” Portia murmured. “He’ll only stay married on the condition that we have a baby.”