Lake Como (27 page)

“Angus would have said if he went to Stanford.” Hallie handed the book to Portia. “It’s one of the most prestigious universities in the world.”

“Here’s another photo.” Portia gazed at the page. Then she looked at Hallie strangely, as if she’d witnessed some terrible accident.

“What is it?” Hallie asked.

“It lists the names of the members of the team,” Portia whispered. “Angus’s name isn’t on here.”

“I told you.” Hallie’s shoulders relaxed.

“It says ‘Max Rodale, Class of 2001.’”

“What are you talking about?” Hallie ripped the book from Portia’s hands. Her heart hammered in her chest. She stared at the photo of the crew team smiling in their burgundy shirts. Paul Johns kneeled in the front row, and behind him Angus stood tall and proud, a gold medal draped around his neck.

“‘The crew team was led to victory by senior Max Rodale. New members to the team include sophomore Paul Johns and junior Alex Green,’” Hallie read aloud.

“You said Peter was Paul’s roommate.” Portia frowned. “He would have known Angus.”

“Peter didn’t meet Paul till junior year,” Hallie replied. “Angus would have already graduated.”

“It doesn’t make any sense.” Portia twisted her ponytail around her finger. “Why would Angus lie about his name?”

“I don’t know.” Hallie’s hands trembled. “Max Rodale is a billionaire.”

“Did you ever look him up on the Internet?” Portia asked.

“I felt it would be intruding.” Hallie walked over to the desk. “Angus said Max’s privacy was so important to him.”

“Now would be a good time to start,” Portia replied. “There must be an explanation.”

Hallie searched Max’s name and came up with one short paragraph.

“Max Rodale started the Web site Connect while a senior at Stanford. Connect helped adopted children find their birth parents, even in the cases of closed adoption. Rodale sold the site to Yahoo! for an undisclosed amount, reported to be in the high eight figures. Rodale disappeared from Silicon Valley soon after. Rumors flew that he started an ashram in India, but they were never substantiated.”

Hallie walked to the balcony. Her teeth chattered and her body shivered. She remembered the stories Angus told her about Max: his trips to Venice and Florence, his passion for art. She recalled the tales of Angus’s childhood: the big family in Boston, the small house with not enough bedrooms.

Hallie walked back to the computer. She typed in Angus Barlow and searched for an Angus Barlow from Boston. She looked for an Angus Barlow who had gone to college in New Hampshire, who was an archaeologist. She came up with nothing.

Portia peered over her shoulder. “You need to talk to him.”

“Talk to him!” Hallie exploded. “I never want to see him again.”

“Maybe Angus is afraid people would only like him for his money,” Portia floundered. “Maybe he was about to tell you.”

“He said he loved me!” Hallie’s eyes flashed as if she was possessed. “But he didn’t trust me enough to tell me his name.”

“He must have a reason,” Portia insisted. “You don’t want to throw it all away.”

“Don’t you think I’ve heard enough lies!” Hallie snapped the computer shut.

“You said you’re falling in love with him,” Portia implored.

“I don’t want to see anyone.” Hallie wrapped the robe tightly around her. “I’m going to bed.”

“Hallie…” Portia hesitated.

Hallie threw off the covers and climbed into bed. She drew the comforter over her head, trying to stop her body from trembling.

“Please turn the light off when you leave,” Hallie whispered.

Hallie waited until she heard the door close and the room was dark. Then she turned on the bedside light and picked up
Paul Johns Unplugged
. She flipped through the pages to the photo of Angus. She flipped back to the beginning and read Peter’s dedication. Then she closed the book, turned off the light, and cried.

chapter twenty-two

Hallie stayed in her room for a week. She kept replaying her conversations with Angus: how he met Max on a train to Rome, how Max was so shy. She thought about Max’s private rooms on the third floor of the villa, Angus’s quarters on the second floor. She pictured the bed she shared with Angus and her whole body screamed.

Portia appeared in the mornings before dance school, insisting she eat a piece of toast or soft-boiled egg. Hallie waited till Portia left, then she put the breakfast tray in the hall for Lea to take away. She got up long enough for Lea to change the sheets and fluff the pillows, then she climbed back into bed.

Hallie lay awake at night, wondering what to do. She couldn’t go back to the Villa Luce. With no references, she wouldn’t find other work in Lake Como. She could return to San Francisco, but she had left Kendra in the lurch. Kendra wasn’t likely to welcome her back, and jobs at design firms were scarce.

Hallie imagined occupying the tiny bedroom in her mother’s apartment, or her old room in Constance’s mansion. She pictured Constance’s disappointment that there would be no wedding, that Hallie had thrown away her golden future. She imagined having to confront Francesca about Pliny.

Hallie remembered their long lunches on the balcony, Angus’s delicious polenta and risotto. She pictured Angus showing up in the fishing boat, promising they could take things slowly. She wondered what other women he brought to the villa, who else he lied to, if any part of his history was true.

Portia knocked on the door on Friday afternoon. She was dressed in a sweater and matching skirt instead of her usual leotard and tights. Her hair was held back with a diamond clip and she wore narrow Gucci pumps.

“You look like you’re going to a job interview.” Hallie smiled weakly. Her cheeks were drawn and her eyes were a pale, washed-out blue.

“Alfonso and I are having dinner with his grandmother,” Portia patted her hair. “Then he’s taking me to Venice. We’re going to spend five nights at the Danieli!”

“Sounds like you’ll return with a ring on your finger.” Hallie got out of bed and walked to the balcony. In the afternoons she stood there for hours, drinking in the lake. She kept waiting for its beauty, the green of the water, the reds and yellows of the villages, to bring her back to life.

“I don’t know.” Portia shrugged her slim shoulders. “Hallie, I…”

“You don’t have to be glum because of me.” Hallie turned back to the room. “I’ll be thrilled if you and Alfonso get married.”

“What are you going to do?” Portia asked.

“I keep going over my options.” Hallie sat on the bed. “But I can’t get further than this room.”

“I’m sure Pliny and Sophia would love for you to stay as long as you like,” Portia murmured.

“I need to work,” Hallie retorted. “I can’t just sit here and stare at the walls.”

“You could take a break,” Portia suggested.

“Coming to Lake Como was a break!” Hallie jumped up. “I was trying to figure out what to do about Peter. I could travel, see Italy and France, but what would I come back to? I don’t belong anywhere.”

Hallie heard a knock at the door. It was probably Lea with afternoon tea. Every afternoon she tempted her with jasmine tea, shortbread cookies, and crustless cucumber sandwiches. Hallie spooned honey in the tea, stirred it with a silver spoon, and let it sit until it was cold.

Angus entered as Hallie stepped onto the balcony. He wore corduroys and a bulky black sweater. His hands were jammed in his pockets and he shifted nervously from foot to foot.

“What are you doing here?” Hallie demanded.

“Portia said it was okay,” Angus stammered.

“You let him in!” Hallie spluttered.

“He’s been prowling the villa for days,” Portia explained. “He said he wouldn’t leave until he talks to you.”

“Both of you get out!” Hallie stormed. “I don’t want to see anyone.”

“Hallie, give him a chance to explain,” Portia pleaded.

“Explain three months of lies!” Hallie’s eyes flashed. “Inventing a whole other person, hiring me under false pretenses, doing anything to get in my pants.”

“I should have told you the truth,” Angus said slowly. “I wanted to tell you, I was trying to find the right time.”

“How about the moment you met me?” Hallie roared. “Before you claimed you were an archaeologist from Boston.”

Angus ran his hands through his hair. He glanced at Portia as if asking for her help.

“I’m going to go,” Portia murmured, closing the door before Hallie could stop her.

Hallie stood across the room from Angus, her body shaking. She remembered standing in his arms when she was upset about Peter and Kendra. She remembered losing herself in his kiss when she found Francesca’s diaries. She thought how tall and handsome he looked, like a soldier sent to heal her wounds.

“There’s a reason I lied,” Angus began.

“I’m sure you were protecting yourself from the hordes of women after your money,” Hallie spat. “I wasn’t one of them.”

“That’s not it,” Angus said plaintively.

“Was any of it true?” Hallie’s voice shook.

“The part where I was falling in love with you,” Angus replied, gazing at her steadily.

Hallie thought how she had trusted him, how she had told him everything. She remembered how his shoulders were so strong; his embrace was so comforting.

“Do you think I’d waste my time on someone who can’t tell the truth?” Hallie demanded, throwing open the door. “Get out, before I call Pliny and tell him to toss you in the lake.”

After Angus left, Hallie walked out to the balcony again. It was late afternoon and the lake was quiet. Indian summer was almost over and the air was frigid. She saw a lone ferry cross the water, and a couple riding bicycles along the promenade.

She gazed at the inlets and coves and thought how she had arrived with such high hopes. Lake Como was a playground and she was going to reap its pleasures. She was going to sit in the piazzas and eat pizza and sip lemonade. She was going to explore the churches and magnificent gardens. She was going to stay up until midnight and sleep until noon. She had done all those things, and had never been so miserable.

Hallie remembered when she was eight years old coming home from school. Alice Ferris had taunted her for not having a father at the May Day performance. All the other dads had been there, watching their daughters dance around the maypole. Hallie had only had Francesca, clapping loud enough for two.

Constance had found Hallie in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. She had still worn her May Day costume: a yellow and white dress and white Mary Janes. Her hair was in two pigtails tied with bright yellow ribbons. Hallie had buried her face in the bowl, wiping away the tears.

“What’s wrong?” Constance had asked. She had worn a brown cashmere dress with a matching Chanel bag.

“Alice Ferris said I’m a changeling.”

“What do you mean?” Constance had sat at the table.

“She said my parents are fairies, and Francesca is borrowing me. She said soon I’d have to go back to fairyland.”

“Why would you have to go back to fairyland?” Constance had smoothed Hallie’s pigtail.

“Because I don’t have a father. Alice said all little girls have fathers. I can’t be real.”

“You have a father,” Constance had insisted. “He’s just not here.”

“I’ve never met him.” Hallie had gulped. “I never will meet him, because I don’t know who he is.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re a fairy. It means your mother and I get to love you twice as much as other children.”

Hallie remembered burying her face in smooth cashmere. She remembered going to bed and praying that she wouldn’t be sent back to fairyland; she wanted to live in Constance’s mansion with her mother and grandmother. Now she didn’t feel like she belonged anywhere. She wished Alice Ferris had been right and she was a fairy, so she could just disappear.

Hallie walked back inside and pulled on a pair of kneesocks. She slipped off the robe and put on a turtleneck and a pair of jeans. She added a wool sweater and a striped scarf.

Suddenly she felt like a lion, trapped in its cage. She wanted to go outside and run along the lake. But she was afraid that Angus was still lurking around the villa, like a phantom in the night.

“Hallie, I…” Portia opened the door cautiously.

“What are you doing here?” Hallie said icily. “I thought you left with Alfonso.”

“He’s waiting downstairs.” Portia walked into the room. “I couldn’t leave without seeing if you were all right.”

“How dare you allow Angus in this house.” Hallie tried to keep her voice steady. “I told you I didn’t want to see him; even you betrayed me.”

“He’d been standing outside for hours,” Portia explained. “He brought Milo. I thought he should have the chance to explain.”

“Where’s Milo?” Hallie murmured.

“Angus left him in the kitchen with Lea,” Portia replied.

Hallie wanted to run downstairs and hug the smooth brown puppy. She wanted to feel his leathery tongue against her cheek. “Tell Lea to send Milo back.” Hallie swallowed. “I don’t want anything from Angus.”

“What did Angus say?” Portia asked tentatively.

“What does it matter what he said?” Hallie demanded. “He’s lied about everything, I don’t want to hear any more lies.”

“He told me he loves you,” Portia replied.

“I don’t need a man like you do!” Hallie exclaimed, feeling the blood pump through her veins. “And I would never be with someone who lied and cheated.”

Portia gazed at Hallie with sharp, black eyes. Suddenly she resembled Sophia. Her face was hard, her shoulders were narrow and erect.

“I forgot that Americans are so strong,” Portia said slowly. “You don’t need anyone. You certainly don’t need a sister.”

Portia ran out of the room and down the staircase before Hallie could stop her. Hallie raced after her, slipping in her socks. She reached the entry as Alfonso and Portia drove away, the wheels of the Peugeot spinning on the gravel.

Hallie walked back inside and closed the door. She went into the kitchen and found Milo asleep next to the fireplace. She picked him up and held him close, his small heart beating against her chest.

*   *   *

Hallie spent the next two days running along the lake, chasing tennis balls with Milo, climbing the hills above the villa. While before she couldn’t get out of bed, now she couldn’t stop moving. She rested only to grab a ham sandwich in the kitchen while Milo ate a bowl of dog food.