Lake Como (25 page)

She didn’t know why she was crying: Angus instead of Peter, Sophia instead of Constance, the green of Lake Como instead of the blue of the bay. The silent tears kept falling, until she was exhausted and spent. She closed her eyes and felt something wet lick her face. She opened her eyes and found Milo hunched on the bed. She hugged him tightly and the tears started again.

chapter twenty

Hallie wrapped herself in a silk robe and sat at her desk. She had spent an hour in the bath, soaking in lavender bubbles. Her skin tingled and her hair was wet and clean. She flipped through a magazine and sipped a cup of hibiscus tea.

In the morning she and Angus had made love again. It was better, slower, and afterward she slept. When she woke up, they got dressed and strolled into Lenno.

Angus chose a café that served scrambled eggs and bacon. The owner was an ex-cowboy from Wyoming. He joined them at the table, laughing about the differences between Americans and Italians.

“I married a girl from Como.” The cowboy rolled his eyes. “I opened a restaurant because I couldn’t get a decent meal at home. Now I can put ketchup on my eggs without anyone making a fuss.”

“Hallie’s from San Francisco,” Angus said, grinning.

“You’re smart to choose an American girl.” The cowboy winked. “They know how to cook a burger.”

After breakfast they browsed the shops of Lenno. Angus insisted on buying Hallie a tin of hibiscus tea, a box of Swiss chocolates, a leather bracelet.

“I haven’t bought anything for anyone in years.” He filled a bag with dangling earrings, a silk scarf, a small sketch of Lake Como.

Angus drove her home in the motorboat. Hallie sat next to him, her new scarf wrapped around her head. When he dropped her off at the dock, he kissed her slowly. Hallie drifted up to the villa and submerged herself in the bath, feeling lazy and luxurious and decadent.

Hallie’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and picked it up.

“Hallie, dear!” Constance exclaimed. “I’m glad I caught you.”

“I’m sitting at my window, gazing at the lake.” Hallie smiled.

“As I remember Lake Como becomes dreary in the fall,” Constance mused. “Maybe it’s time to come home.”

“It’s even more beautiful,” Hallie said. “The tourists are gone and the colors are stunning.”

“Your mother joined me for Sunday dinner,” Constance announced.

Hallie hesitated, suddenly anxious. “That’s wonderful.”

“Do you know the last time Francesca came to dinner?” Constance demanded. “Christmas, and only because she loves Louisa’s bread pudding. She’s worried about you.”

“Why would she be worried about me?” Hallie asked.

“She’s been calling you for weeks with no reply. Francesca may not be the most involved mother, but she cares about you deeply.”

Hallie felt something hard lodge in her throat. She stood up and paced around the room. “I’ve been busy with the design, and Portia.”

“How is Portia?” Constance’s voice softened.

“She finally found someone who deserves her. Alfonso is perfect.”

“That is good news,” Constance replied. “Dr. Michaels gave me permission to go to the opera gala.”

“I bet you were the belle of the ball,” Hallie replied, tying a knot in the belt of her robe.

“I saw Peter at the bar at intermission,” Constance continued. “He was on the arm of a ravishing redhead.”

“If you are trying to make me jealous it’s not working.” Hallie pulled the knot tighter. “I’m glad Peter is happy.”

“I think you should come home,” Constance said. “You belong in San Francisco, you can’t just pick up and move to Italy.”

“The Villa Luce is going to be gorgeous.” Hallie pretended she hadn’t heard her. “Pliny is lovely and I’m having a wonderful time exploring the villages.”

“Then call Francesca and tell her all about it,” Constance insisted, hanging up before Hallie could answer.

*   *   *

Portia walked in as Hallie put down the phone. She wore a white sundress that made her skin look golden brown. Her hair snaked down her back and she wore diamond drop earrings.

“Why are you wearing a robe on such a beautiful day?” Portia threw herself on the bed.

“I took a bath,” Hallie mumbled, still flinching from Constance’s harsh tone.

“A bath in the afternoon?” Portia asked suspiciously. “Your skin is glowing and you smell of sex.”

Hallie sniffed her wrist. “I smell like lavender bath salts.”

Portia’s eyes narrowed. “Did you spend the night at Villa Luce?”

Hallie blushed. “I might have.” She didn’t talk about sex with women in San Francisco. Kendra was more interested in Queen Anne furniture, and her married friends wanted to talk about weekend homes and ski vacations.

“I knew it!” Portia jumped off the bed. “You look like Maggie in
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.
”

“When do you see old American movies?” Hallie laughed.

“Pliny watches them late at night.” Portia perched on the desk. “Did Angus cook you a delicious meal and ply you with alcohol, or did you just fall into his arms?”

“Angus made lasagna,” Hallie recalled. “And we drank amaretto and walked out on the balcony.”

“And…” Portia leaned forward like a sparrow testing its wings.

“I wanted him so much, I almost stripped naked,” Hallie replied. “But when we got to his bedroom it felt wrong.”

“Is he a bad kisser?”

“Angus is a wonderful kisser.” Hallie sighed. “He just wasn’t…”

“He wasn’t Peter,” Portia scoffed. “And Alfonso isn’t Riccar-do. All men are different, that’s what’s wonderful about being a woman. Sex is like a smorgasbord, you’re allowed to sample more than one thing.”

“Riccardo’s smorgasbord didn’t work out well,” Hallie reminded her.

“You’re single,” Portia insisted. “Now is the time to have fun.”

“In the morning it was better.” Hallie hesitated. “We ate breakfast in Lenno and he bought me tea and chocolates. We strolled along the shore and watched the fishermen.”

“That sounds so romantic.” Portia hugged her chest.

“I like being with him.” Hallie wrapped her robe more tightly around her waist. “I just don’t want to move fast.”

“Alfonso is already picking out our gravestones.” Portia rolled her eyes. “He wants to be buried together in the Diamante family plot.”

“Did he propose?” Hallie asked.

“I’m not even divorced,” Portia replied. “I did meet his whole family.”

“Tell me everything,” Hallie insisted, grateful not to talk about Angus.

“His grandmother is ninety-nine. She kept poking her cane at Alfonso’s sister and telling her she’s fat. His sister is four months pregnant. Alfonso has three sisters and two sisters-in-law and they were all pregnant! It was like sitting in a room of prize cows.”

“They couldn’t all be expecting.” Hallie laughed.

“Maybe a couple of them had babies on their breasts or toddlers tugging at their ankles,” Portia conceded. “I counted thirteen children, not including the guests.”

“That takes the pressure off you,” Hallie said, grinning.

“The first thing his grandmother asked is what age I got my period,” Portia said. “Then she wanted to know if I had any childhood diseases. I told her I’d send her my physician’s chart.”

“She couldn’t have been that bad.”

“She made Sophia look like a fairy godmother.” Portia sighed. “I almost ran away.”

“But you didn’t,” Hallie said seriously.

“We stayed for birthday cake.” Portia sat cross-legged on the bed. “Alfonso’s niece was afraid of the candles and Alfonso helped her blow them out. After the cake, he took the boys outside to play soccer.”

“Sounds like he’d be a great father,” Hallie murmured.

“Later we went to Hotel Metropole for a drink,” Portia said. “All he talked about was how one nephew had grown six inches, and another would be a star soccer player.”

“Did you tell him your fears?”

“We shared a bowl of oysters and a bottle of Dom Pérignon,” Portia continued. “I went to the ladies’ room and sat in the stall, trying to muster my courage.”

“What happened?”

“I couldn’t tell him then, not after the birthday party. I tried to sneak out the back door, but he found me,” Portia replied. “He made me drink another glass of champagne and tell him what was wrong.”

“What did you say?” Hallie prompted.

“I told him everything.” Portia’s eyes glittered. “That sometimes I am so angry at Francesca, my blood boils. That I try to imagine braiding my daughter’s hair or putting a Band-Aid on my son’s knee and I get a hard feeling in my chest. I can’t do it; I can’t risk ruining my children’s lives. I’m so afraid I’d be a terrible mother, and run away like Francesca.”

“What did Alfonso say?” Hallie asked.

“He said how much he loves being an uncle, walking into a house with presents and having his nieces and nephews attack him. But he’s been a bachelor for so long, he doesn’t know if he wants children,” Portia said slowly. “He wants to travel: go to Peru and India and see the Great Wall of China. He doesn’t think we can do those things with a baby.”

“But you said he wanted a little girl.”

“He thought that’s what I wanted,” Portia whispered. “He thought all women want babies.”

Hallie had never seen Portia cry: not when she found out about Riccardo’s mistress, not when she was nine years old and got her ears pierced at a tattoo parlor in Haight-Ashbury. Now Portia sat on the bed and let the tears roll down her cheeks. Her shoulders heaved and her thick eyelashes were wet.

“You should be happy.” Hallie walked over to the bed.

Portia flung her arms around Hallie. “Is it wrong to have good fortune when so many people suffer?”

“That doesn’t sound Italian,” Hallie rebuked her. “God wants you to be happy.”

“Will you come to the chapel and pray?” Portia wiped her eyes furiously. “Then we’ll go into Bellagio and eat fettuccine Alfredo.”

“Let me change.” Hallie dislodged herself from Portia’s arms and went into the closet.

“There’s a man wearing a straw hat tying a boat to the dock,” Portia called from the balcony.

Hallie joined Portia on the balcony. She saw a tall man wearing a checkered shirt and a broad straw hat jump off an old rowboat. He scooped something out of the boat and trudged toward the villa.

“It’s Angus and Milo,” Hallie murmured.

“Hi!” Angus stood under the window, like Romeo courting Juliet. “Milo and I want to know if you’d like to go fishing.”

“I have plans with Portia,” Hallie called down, smiling at Angus’s suspenders and blue jeans.

“Go,” Portia interjected. “Catch a fish for me.”

“Are you sure?” Hallie asked.

“Angus just crossed Lake Como in a rowboat!” Portia exclaimed.

“Okay.” Hallie squeezed Portia’s hand. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Hallie changed into a pair of jeans and a wool sweater. She slipped on a pair of tennis shoes and ran down to the lawn. Milo struggled out of Angus’s arms and bounded toward her.

“You look like Tom Sawyer,” Hallie said, giggling.

“I’m dressed for fishing.” Angus grinned. “We haven’t explored the west shore. There are some great fishing spots near Varenna.”

“You rowed over from Lenno in this?” Hallie climbed into the peeling green boat.

“You said you wanted to take things slow.” Angus shrugged. “I brought ham sandwiches and a thermos of hot chocolate. And a copy of
Anna Karenina
and
The Great Gatsby
in case the fish aren’t biting.”

“I thought you said there were great fishing spots.” Hallie sat on the wood bench.

“Great for the fish.” Angus sat beside her. “Sometimes frustrating for the fishermen.”

“It’s lovely.” Hallie glanced at the books, the thermos, the bag of dog treats for Milo.

“I don’t mind how slow we take it.” Angus laced his fingers through Hallie’s. “As long as we’re together.”

Hallie bent down and stroked Milo so Angus wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. She glanced up at Portia waving from the balcony.

“Let’s push off.” Hallie smiled. “We’ll never catch anything tied to the dock.”

chapter twenty-one

The day of the statue dedication dawned crisp and sunny. Hallie and Portia wore silk Armani dresses they bought in Milan. Portia’s was emerald green and matched the glittering choker she wore around her neck. Hallie’s was turquoise and made her eyes gleam like sapphires.

Hallie teetered on the cobblestones in her narrow heels, feeling nervous and overdressed. But she glanced at Pliny wearing a pinstriped suit, at Sophia in red satin with the Tesoro ruby on her finger, and knew she and Portia had chosen wisely. The people of Bellagio expected the Tesoros to dress up for the occasion.

*   *   *

Marcus and Angelica had arrived at the villa the previous evening. Angelica was already five months pregnant, her dark skin stretched tight over her stomach. Lea served a four-course dinner of mozzarella and melon, homemade raviolis, veal parmigiana, and butterscotch tiramisu.

Pliny sat at the head of the table, making sure everyone’s champagne glass was full. When the last bite of tiramisu was eaten and the champagne had been replaced by a hundred-year-old brandy, he pushed his chair back and cleared his throat.

“I am fifty-six years old.” Pliny ran his hands through his pepper-colored hair. “And I have the good fortune of having my mother and children at the same table. My life has always been rich. Our ancestors gave us the Villa Tesoro and business interests that allow it to run smoothly. But I didn’t know how truly rich I am, until Hallie appeared at our door.”

Hallie froze. She glanced nervously at Sophia and Marcus. Portia squeezed her hand and Hallie gulped, trying to calm her churning stomach.

“Hallie, I have discovered, is my third child, my second daughter, my baby,” Pliny said, almost shyly. “She is beautiful and talented and as poised as a princess. I am blessed she found her way home.”

“What’s going on?” Marcus asked. He had close-cropped black hair and round owl-like glasses.

“Hallie discovered Francesca’s diaries,” Portia explained. “Francesca was pregnant with Hallie when she left Lake Como. Hallie is our sister.”

“Wow.” Marcus blinked. “I’m gone for the summer and miss everything.”