Lake Como (9 page)

“There are many ways to be happy.” Pliny guided the boat between two sailboats with bright billowing sails. “I was devastated when your mother left. But my children made me happy; my home, Bellagio, Italy.”

“I’m sure Portia will make the right decision,” Hallie murmured.

“It must be the right decision for the Tesoro name,” Pliny insisted, guiding the boat into a small harbor.

Hallie shivered under the hot sun. She couldn’t understand how Sophia and Pliny cared more about the Tesoro name than the members of the family. She remembered how Sophia refused to allow Portia and Marcus to go with their mother. She pictured Marcus, a small boy with his father’s blue eyes and Portia practically a baby, forced to stay when Francesca returned to America.

“I want you to enjoy your holiday,” Pliny said, smiling. “Lake Como in August is for lovers and dreamers. Sophia is holding a feast tonight in your honor.”

Hallie watched the village of Bellagio appear beyond the curve of the lake. The promenade was lined with olive trees and the villas were surrounded by gardens as large as parks. Hallie saw the Hotel Metropole perched above the dock, and a string of cafés where smartly dressed tourists ate shrimp and paella.

Hallie turned to Pliny. “I’d be happy with a plate of antipasto and a bowl of fresh berries.”

“There will be antipasto and prosciutto and every kind of fruit. The cooks have been preparing for days and Sophia sent Lea to the market twice this morning.” Pliny steered the boat into a small cove.

The chatter of tourists and the
put-put
of motors were replaced by silence. A fish poked its head above the water and dived back under the surface. Hallie glanced up at the Tesoro villa and saw grand balconies with wrought-iron railings, stone walls covered in ivy, and glimpses of marble through open windows.

“Sophia has invited Riccardo and all their friends.” Pliny tied the boat up at the private dock. “He wouldn’t dream of refusing the invitation. Sophia is hoping for a reconciliation.”

“Hallie!” a young woman with raven black hair and large green eyes ran down to the dock. She wore an orange chiffon skirt and a white halter top. She had gold hoop earrings in her ears and leather sandals with colored ribbons on her feet.

“Portia.” Hallie hugged her sister. Hallie felt sharp bones through the halter top and could see the outline of Portia’s ribcage.

“Infidelity is wonderful for the diet.” Portia laughed. “I look like a prison camp survivor.”

“You’re gorgeous,” Hallie replied. Even with the skin pulled tight on her cheeks and the sharp angles of her hips, Portia was strikingly beautiful. Her hair was glossy as paint and her mouth was an invitation to be kissed.

“Sophia hired a hairdresser and a masseuse.” Portia grimaced. “She wants me to look my best tonight. I’m like a can of meat trying to push back its sell-by date.”

“In America you’d be a supermodel.” Hallie followed Portia up the winding path to the house.

“Apparently Riccardo likes more buxom women.” Portia shrugged. “His mistress has the hips of a Venetian courtesan.”

“Pliny told me that Sophia wants you to take Riccardo back.” Hallie put her hand on Portia’s arm. “You don’t have to settle, you can have any man.”

Portia was about to speak, but looked up and saw her grandmother appear on the balcony. Sophia was dressed in black silk and her white hair framed her face like a helmet. She stood with her arms on the railing, a diamond-and-ruby bracelet glinting in the sun.

Hallie saw a flicker in Portia’s green eyes, like a flame trying to ignite. Portia slipped her arm through Hallie’s and skipped toward the house.

“I feel better already,” Portia whispered as they approached the stairs. “After lunch we’ll go to the garden. I’ll show you my new archery set.”

“Sounds dangerous.” Hallie giggled. “I wonder who’s the target.”

*   *   *

Hallie and Portia climbed the stone steps to the balcony, where Sophia waited to greet them. Sophia was petite like Portia, with a tiny waist and small hands and feet. Her face was lined and blue veins covered her wrists, but her eyes belonged on a Siamese cat. She looked at Hallie closely, as if inspecting a new couture gown.

“You are a true beauty,” Sophia said finally. “I see little resemblance to your mother.”

Hallie bit back a reply and smiled graciously. “Francesca says I take after my grandmother.”

“Constance is a formidable foe but a fine woman.” Sophia nodded. “I haven’t seen her since she and her husband stayed at the villa years ago. Theodore liked to play cards and Constance was fond of a glass of drambuie after dinner.”

Hallie tried to keep her face expressionless. She knew Constance had visited Lake Como when Portia and Marcus were young, but she never said she stayed at the villa. Hallie imagined Constance and Theodore dining with Sophia and Pliny and shivered.

“I gather Constance never told Francesca she was our guest.” Sophia smiled as if she could read Hallie’s mind.

“Hallie’s been on a plane for hours,” Portia interrupted. “Let her shower and change.”

“Lea has prepared brunch.” Sophia moved toward the house. “We will eat and then you can take a siesta before the evening’s celebration.”

Hallie followed Sophia through the double glass doors into the foyer. She had forgotten the scope of the house: the sweeping marble staircase, the intricate murals painted on the ceiling. Every chair, love seat, and ottoman was covered in thick gold brocade. It was like standing inside a jewelry box.

“Portia tells me you have taken up interior design,” Sophia said.

“I work for one of the premier designers in San Francisco,” Hallie replied.

“Maybe you can teach Portia.” Sophia walked through double oak doors into the family dining room. “If she had an interest she wouldn’t concern herself with Riccardo’s peccadilloes.”

“Veronica is not a peccadillo. She’s a twenty-two-year-old actress with breasts like hot-air balloons and the hair of Medusa,” Portia muttered, putting a celery stick and a baby carrot on a dessert plate.

“Riccardo will tire of her.” Sophia shrugged. “They always do.”

The table was covered with a burgundy tablecloth and set with inlaid china. Crystal pitchers held fresh juice and stone platters overflowed with fruits and vegetables. There were eggs simmering under silver domes, whipped mashed potatoes in warming trays, grilled mushrooms and tomatoes.

“It is healthy to eat a large midday meal.” Sophia handed Hallie a plate. “Tonight you will dance it off.”

Hallie felt the jet lag return, crushing her like a boulder. She filled the plate with melon balls, strips of ham, and green olives. She poured a glass of cranberry juice and sat in one of the ornate brocade chairs. She tried to bring the fork to her mouth but suddenly she grew dizzy.

“I’m sorry.” Hallie gulped, trying to stop the room from spinning. “The jet lag caught up with me.”

“Are you feeling ill?” Pliny appeared from the foyer. He walked over to the table and touched Hallie’s arm. “My mother has never been on an airplane, she doesn’t understand how travel can affect you.”

“I could use a glass of water,” Hallie murmured.

“You need to put something solid in your stomach,” Pliny insisted. “I will fix you a plate.”

Portia ran to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Pliny strode quickly around the table and set a full plate in front of Hallie.

“Eat, you will feel better,” he prompted.

Hallie’s head tipped forward and she knocked the plate on the floor. Eggs and prosciutto spilled onto the ceramic tile and the plate shattered into pieces. She slumped in the chair, and the stained-glass windows, the plastered walls, and the gold drapes disappeared. She let the cool blackness swallow her up like Alice falling down the rabbit hole.

chapter six

“How am I going to go to the feast with a lump the size of an Easter egg?” Hallie lay back against the pillows in Portia’s bedroom.

After Hallie fainted, Pliny had carried her upstairs and laid her on the canopied bed. Hallie woke up with a cold cloth pressed against her forehead and a brandy snifter held under her nose.

“Alcohol is the last thing I need.” Hallie pushed the snifter away. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a train.”

Portia set the glass on the bedside table. “We’ll put some powder on the bump and you’ll be brand new.”

“Will Sophia forgive me?” Hallie groaned. “I ruined brunch and broke a family heirloom.”

“You distracted her from worrying about me.” Portia sat on the edge of the bed. “All day long she plots how to get Riccardo and me back together.”

“Do you want Riccardo back?” Hallie asked, flinching as she reached for a glass of water.

“I’m almost thirty years old and I’m living in my childhood bedroom.” Portia shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I used to play this guitar when I was seven, and this is the lacrosse stick I used at boarding school in Switzerland. That was a terrible year.” Portia shuddered. “I smoked a whole pack of Virginia Slims on the roof of the chalet before they sent me home.”

“You never told me you smoked.” Hallie frowned.

“I didn’t.” Portia swung the lacrosse stick in the air. “I missed Lake Como so much I tried everything to get expelled.”

“I would love a bedroom like this,” Hallie mused. The floor was covered in a thick white carpet and the walls were yards of yellow silk. A king-sized canopy bed occupied the center of the room and a satin love seat sat near the window.

“I told Sophia I wanted an
Arabian Nights
theme.” Portia grimaced. “I think I was six at the time.”

“We could redecorate,” Hallie said excitedly. “I’d love to prowl around the furniture stores in Milan.”

“I don’t want to live in this room or this house,” Portia said, and sighed. “Riccardo and I have a gorgeous villa in Menaggio, and a high-rise apartment in Milan.”

“Why don’t you stay in your villa?” Hallie asked.

“If I live there alone, everyone will know Riccardo deserted me. Sophia has told people I moved home because I was ‘overworked’ and ‘needed rest.’” Portia chuckled.

“You can’t worry about what other people think.” Hallie shook her head.

“Spoken like an American,” Portia said, smiling. “If the truth gets out, the whole family will be shamed. I can’t do that to Sophia.”

“That doesn’t sound like the girl who wore her father’s suit to get into a disco.” Hallie grinned.

“I made you wear one of Sophia’s gowns,” Portia exclaimed, her face breaking into an impish smile. “We pretended we were newlyweds.”

“We stuffed socks in my bra because my chest was flat as a board,” Hallie said, laughing.

“I was sixteen.” Portia grew serious. “Now I have to consider the Tesoro name.”

“You agree with Sophia?” Hallie asked.

“Remember before my wedding, you asked how I could think about other men? I said in Italy you always think about other men, even after you’re married. I don’t want a lover.” Portia sighed. “But Riccardo has hot Italian blood. One wife was not enough.”

“Then take him back.” Hallie shivered. She flashed on Kendra pressed against the column at City Hall, and Peter’s hands on her skirt.

“That’s what Sophia doesn’t understand,” Portia replied. “Riccardo is in love with Veronica. He wants to divorce me and marry her.”

“What are you going to do?” Hallie swung her legs off the bed.

“I’m going to let the hairdresser tease my hair and the masseuse massage my neck.” Portia spun around the room like a dancer on top of a music box. “Then I’ll put on my low-cut Elie Saab gown and try to seduce my husband.”

“Kendra was all over Peter at Patsy Mane’s wedding,” Hallie said, walking out on the balcony.

Hallie gazed at the villa gardens. Fountains dotted the lawns, and stone benches sat under ivy-covered trellises. Hallie saw a large sundial on the main lawn, decorated with roses. The afternoon air was warm and fragrant and Hallie wanted to slip on a swimsuit and sit by the pool. She wanted to forget about Peter and Riccardo, and dip her feet in clear blue water.

“You didn’t tell me!” Portia joined Hallie on the balcony. “I can’t imagine Peter cheating on you; you’re like Grace Kelly.”

“He says Kendra was drunk and attacked him,” Hallie replied. “When I saw them, he was trying to pull away.”

“Do you believe him?”

“He was very upset.” Hallie’s stomach twisted in knots. “He took me out to dinner and gave me an oval diamond ring.”

“Peter proposed?” Portia’s eyes grew wide.

“I didn’t say yes.” Hallie walked to the railing. “I told him I was going to come here and think about it.”

“Do you love him?” Portia asked.

“Peter asked me to move in with him two months after we met. We never even went on a date.” Hallie hesitated. “Constance is dying to plan my wedding and all my friends think he’s perfect for me. But I don’t know if I can trust him.”

“In Italy it is different.” Portia grabbed the railing, bending into a deep plié. “You trust your heart that you are in love, that’s all that matters.”

“
La dolce vita,
” Hallie said, smiling.

“Let’s go for a swim before the party,” Portia said grimly. “We need to forget about men.”

Hallie gazed at the sun dancing on the lake. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

*   *   *

Hallie and Portia descended a flight of white marble steps to the pool area. The pool was pale blue and surrounded by marble busts. A pool house was equipped with a sauna, exercise room, granite bar, and giant flat-screen television.

“Sophia won’t allow television in the villa,” Portia explained, grabbing robes and towels. “It’s okay for Riccardo to cheat, but she thinks television is immoral.”

“I would love to redo this room.” Hallie glanced at the bamboo furniture. “I’ve always wanted to decorate a pool house in greens and blues, with shag carpeting and windows shaped like portals.”

“You think too much about work,” Portia said, shaking her head. “That’s almost as bad as obsessing about men.”

“When I was eight I sat in my room every afternoon”—Hallie followed Portia to the pool—“sketching my dream house with a box of colored pencils.”

“When I was nine I packed my overnight case with three pairs of ballet shoes, two leotards, and my diary.” Portia adjusted the straps on her bikini. “I left a note for Sophia and Pliny that I was going to join La Scala. My plan was to take the bus to Milan and become a member of the ballet school.”