Lake Como (23 page)

“Only Angus knows our employer personally,” Alfonso concurred.

“You have to tell us about him,” Portia purred to Angus.

“I rarely see Max, he travels constantly,” Angus explained. “When he’s at the villa he sequesters himself on the third floor.”

“Was he disfigured in some terrible accident?” Portia’s eyes twinkled.

“He’s just very shy,” Angus replied, dipping a breadstick in olive oil. “He’s devoted to art.”

“He must have suffered a tragic love affair,” Portia continued. “Like Antony and Cleopatra or Tristan and Isolde.”

“Not all great loves are tragic,” Angus mused. “Some of the greatest partners in history have been husband and wife: Pierre and Marie Curie, Queen Victoria and Prince Albert.”

“Love makes one capable of climbing the highest mountains,” Alfonso agreed, draping his arm around Portia.

“Alfonso has a list of impossible places he wants to travel together.” Portia giggled. “The Himalayas, Machu Picchu, Kilimanjaro.”

Alfonso nodded. “I have always wanted to explore the world, like Christopher Columbus.”

“I used to think Alfonso was a bookworm who only liked to add up numbers,” Portia said. “I’m glad he proved me wrong.”

Hallie watched Alfonso kiss Portia softly on the lips. She turned to Angus, wanting to change the conversation to something light: Milo’s antics or crazy Italian drivers. But he was studying Hallie intently, his fingers wrapped around his wineglass. Hallie stabbed a tomato with a toothpick and stared at the lights twinkling on the lake.

The waiter brought out another bottle of wine and served entrees on white ceramic plates. Hallie ate fresh salmon, roasted vegetables, and mounds of fluffy white rice. She sipped the red wine and slowly the knot in her stomach unraveled.

Hallie told a story about a castle she visited in Tuscany, where the owner greeted her in a bathrobe. She described the modern design stores in Milan, and the dusty antique shops in Florence. She felt Angus’s fingers brush against hers, sending an electric shock through her body.

By the time the waiter cleared the plates, everyone talked at the same time. Angus told stories about Pompeii, Alfonso regaled them with tales of demanding clients, and Portia described her students’ flawless arabesques. Angus put his arm around Hallie and left it there, his fingers stroking her back.

Driving back to Bellagio, Hallie sat close to Angus, her knee pressed against his. She hadn’t felt the weight of another man’s thigh against hers since Peter, and suddenly her body stiffened. She watched the road intently, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach.

Alfonso and Portia urged them to join them at a disco in Como, but the thought of loud music and thick smoke made Hallie’s head ache. Alfonso dropped Hallie and Angus off at the villa, kissing them both on the cheek.

Hallie walked up the gravel path, listening to Angus’s footsteps beside her. She wanted him to kiss her, like he did in the rain. But as they approached the front door her steps faltered. It was as if she was stuck on a moving walkway that inexplicably slowed down. She opened her mouth to invite him inside, but no words came out.

“Portia is a whirlwind,” Angus said when they reached the twelve-foot front doors. “And Alfonso is like a Roman orator, talking to a huge crowd.”

“Portia seems very happy,” Hallie said tentatively. “He treats her like a queen.”

“It was a wonderful evening.” Angus stroked Hallie’s cheek.

The touch of his hand on her face was so gentle, her hesitation melted away. Hallie felt his mouth on hers, his hand traveling over her breasts. She remembered how wonderful it felt to be kissed, to smell aftershave and male sweat.

“I should go,” Angus stepped back. “Milo has never been left alone this long. He’s probably chewed up the rug and some eighteenth-century furniture.”

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Hallie whispered.

“I’ll practice my new recipes.” Angus grinned. “We’ll have a feast.”

Hallie walked up to her bedroom and hung her dress in the closet. She climbed into bed, remembering dinner, Angus, their kiss. She lay in the dark and reached for her cell phone. There were no voice mails from Constance, no messages from Francesca. She put the phone on the bedside table and drew the comforter around her shoulders.

chapter eighteen

Hallie knelt in the front pew of the tiny chapel and drew her hands together. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been to church. When she was a child she attended Sunday school, but she wasn’t allowed in the main sanctuary. She and Peter joined Constance for Christmas services, but St. Dominic’s was so full of familiar faces, it felt like a cocktail party.

All night she had stayed awake, tossing in bed. Everything was new: her home, her family, her job, and now Angus. She needed advice and didn’t know where to turn. She slipped on a pair of pants and a turtleneck and crossed the lawn to the chapel.

Hallie and Angus had been on a few of dates since dinner with Portia and Alfonso. She enjoyed his stories about his family, the places he’d been in Europe. She loved the way he moved around the kitchen, how he roughhoused with Milo.

But when they sat together on the sofa, she didn’t know whether to jump in his lap, or run from the room. Her body wanted him, but her mind couldn’t decide. When he kissed her good night she didn’t want him to stop, but when his hands probed too deep she pushed them away.

Hallie wished she could call Constance, but Constance would be appalled she’d moved on. Hallie even missed Francesca’s input. When Hallie was in high school, Francesca would wait up with a carton of ice cream and two spoons, and critique Hallie’s dates.

Hallie had tried to talk to Portia, but between the ballet school and Alfonso, she moved at light speed. In the morning, Portia ran out the door in her leotard and tights, clutching a thermos of coffee. No matter how late Hallie stayed up, Portia came home later. Hallie could hear her singing downstairs but by the time she ran up to bed, Hallie was already asleep.

“Dear God,” Hallie intoned, shifting her knees on the stone floor.

“Hallie!” a voice interjected.

Hallie turned and saw Portia crouching in the back pew. She wore black tights and a green leotard. She clutched her thermos of coffee in one hand and a gold cross in the other.

“I thought you were at dance school.” Hallie slid into the pew beside her.

“I’m playing hookie.” Portia held the cross tightly. “I needed some guidance.”

“You could have come to me,” Hallie murmured.

“You’ve been wrapped up with the Villa Luce and Angus.”

“You’ve been busy with Alfonso and the dance school!” Hallie exclaimed. “I didn’t think you had time for me.”

“We really are sisters.” Portia laughed. “Too proud to ask each other for help.”

“You go first, before you rub the gold off the cross,” Hallie offered.

“Alfonso invited me to his niece’s first birthday party,” Portia said. “I’m terrified.”

“First birthday parties are easy,” Hallie replied. “They don’t have magicians or scary clowns.”

“I’m frightened of Alfonso’s mother and sisters.” Portia grimaced. “They’re going to measure my hips to see if they’re suitable for childbearing.”

Hallie waved at Portia’s spandex tights. “Your hips are perfect for anything.”

“I’m serious,” Portia said, frowning. “In Italy, when you meet the family it’s as good as a proposal.”

“Do you love Alfonso?”

“He’s gentle and caring and has a heart as big as the lake.” Portia turned the cross over in her hand. “I would love to spend my life with him.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Pliny and Francesca loved each other and she deserted us.” Portia’s eyes were wide. “Maybe Francesca got back to San Francisco and realized she was happier without us. Some women aren’t cut out to be mothers. What if I’m just like her?”

“I thought you got over that.” Hallie frowned. “In Capri…”

“Capri was madness,” Portia interrupted, her eyes flashing. “I was under Riccardo’s spell.”

“Have you talked about it with Alfonso?” Hallie asked.

“He’s mentioned he wants a little Portia,” Portia mumbled. “A girl with curly black hair he can spoil with rainbow gelato.”

“He wants you more.” Hallie touched Portia’s hand.

“What are you doing here so early in the morning?” Portia demanded. “I thought Americans didn’t attend church till noon.”

“Angus wants to cook dinner for me tonight,” Hallie murmured.

“He’s an excellent cook, he makes you lunch all the time.”

“In his rooms,” Hallie replied. “I’ve never been up there. Max is in London, the villa is empty.”

Portia raised her eyebrows. “You’re afraid of having sex?”

“I like Angus.” Hallie nodded. “I just don’t want to jump into anything.”

“Angus is gorgeous and available,” Portia replied. “What are you waiting for?”

“It’s like diving off a high-dive board.” Hallie sighed. “I don’t know what will happen when I hit the water.”

“You can’t know unless you try,” Portia said decisively. “I bet it will be sexy and delicious and you’ll be pining for more.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of,” Hallie said, smiling.

“I’m getting claustrophobic.” Portia got up, opened the heavy oak doors, and stepped into the sunshine. “Don’t you think it’s odd that I’m frightened of having children and you’re afraid of making love?”

“We’re not giving Tesoro a very good name.” Hallie followed Portia back to the villa.

“Worse than that”—Portia linked her arm through Hallie’s—“we’re not enjoying life.”

*   *   *

Portia ran upstairs to choose an outfit suitable for a child’s birthday party and Hallie went into the kitchen to find something to eat. She took a loaf of bread and a jar of strawberry jam from the pantry and sat at the long oak table. She poured a glass of orange juice and spread the bread thickly with jam.

“That’s not breakfast without a cup of espresso,” a voice reprimanded her.

“My stomach is jumping around like a grasshopper.” Hallie turned and smiled at Pliny. “I don’t need any coffee.”

“All Italians drink coffee in the morning.” Pliny stood at the espresso machine. “Have you been walking in the gardens?”

“I was in the chapel.” Hallie blushed. “Having a chat with God.”

“I thank him every day for bringing you home to me.” Pliny made two strong cups of espresso. “If you need something, I have God’s ear.”

“Just working a few things out,” Hallie said, nibbling the slice of bread.

“Tonight the mayor and his family are joining us for dinner.” Pliny sipped his espresso. “The dedication of the statue is in two weeks.”

“Sophia must be excited!” Hallie exclaimed.

“It is impossible to tell when Sophia is happy.” Pliny shrugged. “You should join us. The mayor’s son studied at Oxford. He is a banker in Milan.”

“Are you trying to set me up?” Hallie laughed.

“I am a traditional father,” Pliny admitted. “I want my daughters to have good husbands. If I had been stricter with Portia, she would not have ended up with Riccardo.”

“Trying to stop her would have been like trying to get a bull to avoid a red flag,” Hallie said.

“She was a Tasmanian devil,” Pliny agreed. “But I still failed.”

“She’s happy with Alfonso,” Hallie replied. “He’s good for her.”

“Portia needs a strong man.” Pliny nodded. He wore black slacks and a white shirt rolled up to the elbows. “Shall I tell Lea to set an extra plate for dinner?”

“I have a date,” Hallie confessed, buttering another slice of bread.

“A young man?” Pliny raised his eyebrows. “Where did you meet him?”

“He’s the estate manager at the Villa Luce,” Hallie replied. “He’s American.”

“You must introduce me.” Pliny finished his espresso. “I have to make sure he deserves you.”

“I’m lucky you weren’t around when I was a teenager,” Hallie teased. “I’d never be able to bring a boy home. They’d be terrified of such a strict father.”

Hallie walked to the fridge to get a carton of milk and heard a crash behind her. She turned around and saw Sophia holding a silver tray. A ceramic mug and a crystal pitcher lay in shards on the stone floor.

“What is this?” Sophia’s face was white and she gripped the tray as if she was holding on to a life preserver.

“We were having breakfast,” Hallie stammered. “I woke up early and I was hungry.”

“I heard every word,” Sophia hissed. “What is this talk about fathers and daughters?”

Hallie looked wildly at Pliny. He sat rigid at the table, his fingers curled around his espresso cup. Hallie waited for him to say something, but his mouth formed a surprised
O
.

“I’m so grateful to you and Pliny for letting me stay,” Hallie began, her legs shaking. “It’s like having another family.”

“We are family.” Pliny stood up. “Hallie found diaries Francesca wrote when we were married. Hallie is my daughter, she is your granddaughter.”

“Are you mad?” Sophia whirled around. “She is a sorceress sent by her mother to steal our jewels.”

“Francesca wrote that she was barely allowed to see her children,” Pliny continued. “She was angry at me for not being a better husband. She discovered she was pregnant, and escaped to San Francisco.”

“Francesca caused enough trouble, and now she has sent this girl to stir it up again!” Sophia spat.

“Francesca didn’t tell anyone,” Hallie said slowly. “She kept her secret to herself.”

“Mama, it is not your fault.” Pliny touched his mother’s quivering shoulders. “You ran the Villa Tesoro the way it has been run for centuries. Francesca was so young; she didn’t understand the way things are done. It is my fault, I should have listened to her more closely.”

“Francesca married an Italian prince.” Sophia’s blue eyes flashed. She wore a beige silk dress with a wide gold belt. Her hair was knotted in a bun and she wore ruby slippers on her feet. “She lived a life of luxury.”

“I will bring the diaries.” Pliny walked toward the door. “You will read them yourself.”

“Stop.” Sophia held up her hand. “I don’t need to see the diaries.”

“Have you read them?” Hallie asked. She wondered if Sophia knew they were hidden in the library the whole time.