The Last Promise

by Richard Paul Evans

  “Twenty, forty, sixty.”

  “You gave me too much.”

  Her brow furrowed. She didn’t understand.

  “You gave me too much money back.”

  “It is not too much money. It is reasonable rate.”

  “You gave me too much change,” Ross said in Italian. “You only owed me fifty thousand.”

  “Mamma mia, you speak Italian,” she said in relief, raising a hand to her breast. “Why didn’t you speak Italian to begin with?”

  “You were doing fine in English,” he said.

  “No, my English is awful.” She looked at her register. “I did give you too much.” She took back the bills then handed Ross a fifty-thousand-lire note. She reached behind her for a key. “Thank you for being honest. The owner is such a miser he probably would have fired me.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  She handed him a key. “Our best room is on the second floor. It is bigger than the others and quieter. It’s being used tonight, but if you come down after checkout time I will give it to you for the rest of the week at no extra charge.”

  “Grazie.”

  “Tonight you have room three, zero, seven. I am Valentina if you need anything,” she said, flirtatiously twisting the last word.

  “Grazie, Valentina.”

  “Grazie to you. See you later.”

  Ross went to his room. He tried the television but found that it didn’t work. So instead he wrote in his journal then lay in bed. All he could think about was Eliana.

  The days passed slowly for Ross, but he extended his stay for the full week. He slept in later each day, stayed up each night, his mind too filled with thoughts to sleep. When he did leave the hotel, he went to great efforts to avoid the crowds that flocked to Pisa. He traveled only by foot, walking more than ten miles a day. In his wanderings he took in a few sites, the smaller attractions that the tour buses pass over, the Tower of Hunger and the Church of St. Stefano dei Cavalieri, with its beautiful inlaid ceilings representing the deeds of the knights. He didn’t shave; he ate only one meal a day and that was taken at the hotel’s restaurant.

  The one person he did talk to was Valentina, who was not only the hotel’s counter help but cook and bar-maid as well. She mostly just flirted with him. And though he felt some obligation to flirt back, his heart wasn’t in it. His heart ached. Still, the longer he was away from Rendola, the farther away it seemed to him. The more he doubted that Eliana would let him back.

  It was thirty minutes past midnight, Friday. Ross was on the lobby’s couch watching a retelevised soccer game when Valentina called to him from the bar. “I’m closing up, Ross. Would you like a cappuccino?”

  “No, grazie.”

  She finished wiping down the coffee machine, threw the cloth into the sink and took off her apron. A few moments later she came around the bar. She sat down on the arm of the couch a few feet from Ross. She looked at the screen. “Who is winning?”

  “Roma.”

  “Sempre.” Always. “They won this morning too.”

  Ross grinned. “That’s the game I’m watching, it’s just retelevised. You just spoiled the ending.”

  “Sorry,” she said without meaning it. She slid off the arm onto the couch itself. “Would you like something to eat? You are getting too skinny.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You don’t eat enough.”

  “I eat enough.”

  “May I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you lonely?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anch’io,” she said wistfully. Me too. She watched the game for a while. Then she asked, “Would you like to come home with me tonight?”

  Ross looked into her face. “Yes. But I better not.”

  She frowned. “What are you doing here? In Pisa?”

  “I came to think.”

  “You came to the wrong place. No one thinks in Pisa. You are thinking about a girl?”

  “How did you know?”

  “What else do men think of?”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Maybe I can help you. Tell me about your problem.”

  Ross considered her request. “I fell in love with a beautiful woman in Florence.”

  “Ah yes, that’s good. But she doesn’t love you?”

  “No, I think she does.”

  “Better still. Then what’s the problem?”

  “She’s married.”

  Valentina’s face twisted. “That package comes with too much pain. Especially when there are so many other options.” She cocked her head just in case Ross missed that she was speaking of herself.

  Ross smiled at her. “There’s something special about this one.”

  “I suspect her husband thinks so too.”

  “I’m not sure that he does.”

  “What is he like?”

  “Gone, mostly. He’s home less than a week out of the month.”

  She nodded. “Recipe for disaster. One part neglect, two parts attraction. Is she unhappy?”

  “Abbastanza.” Enough.

  “I don’t understand married people. They neglect their partner’s most basic needs then wonder why they go somewhere else to have them met, blaming everyone but themselves. It is the stupidity of the ages.”

  “True.”

  “Can you give this woman what she needs?”

  “I would cherish her.”

  “Then she would be a fortunate woman. So what is holding you back? Besides her husband.”

  “I don’t know. Fear of the unknown. I haven’t had the best luck with love.”

  “Capisco.” I understand.

  Just then the hotel’s front door opened and an older couple walked in. Valentina met them at the counter and registered them for a room. When she came back, Ross was immersed in the game. For a while she watched as well. Then she said, “The thing about soccer is that whenever someone takes a shot they don’t really know if it’s going to score or not. But they miss every shot they don’t take.”

  Ross’s eyebrows rose.

  “If you’re not going to try because you’re not sure of the outcome, then you might as well not even play.”

  “That’s the wisest thing I’ve heard since I came to Italy.”

  “Someday they are going to bury me next to Marcus Aurelius. There’s more to me than meets the eye.” She rested her chin on her hands. “And there’s a lot to meet the eye, isn’t there?”

  He smiled. “So tell me, why is such a beautiful woman, who knows so much about love, alone tonight?”

  “I’m one of those who learns the hard way. I have the scars to prove it.” She suddenly stood up. Sighed. “I’m going home now. Last call.”

  He took her hand, kissed it. “Sorry.”

  “Me too. We’d have fun. Buona notte, Ross.”

  “Good night, Valentina. Thank you.”

  “It’s nothing.” She stopped at the door. “Oh . . . and if the shot doesn’t go in, I’m sure that I’ll still be here.” She winked. “Ciao.”

  The door shut behind her, leaving him alone in the lobby. It was pure Italian, Ross thought: beauty and truth where you least expect it. He knew what he wanted. Each day away from her had confirmed it to his heart. His only question was, would her heart concur?

  CHAPTER 23

  “D’amor nel regno non v’è contento, che del tormento non, sia minor.”

  Love is not content to merely reign, but it must torment.

  Nothing else satisfies.

  —Metastasio

  “So what’s the matter with you?” Anna asked. Eliana was preparing dinner as Anna sat on a nearby stool watching her.

  “Nothing’s the matter.”

  “You walk around like a ghost. Where’s the American?”

  “Why do you call him that? You know his name.”

  “I like the sound of it,” she said. “Where is he? I haven’t seen him for a while.”

  “He’s gone.”

&nbs
p; “So you’re acting differently because he is gone.” Then she raised her finger. “No, actually you are not different, you are the way you used to be.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “It is. Where did he go?”

  Eliana looked back at her. “I sent him away.”

  Anna looked surprised. “For good?”

  “No. Just until I figure things out.”

  “And what have you figured out?”

  Eliana sighed. “Only that I miss him. I miss him terribly.” She turned off the stove and came around the counter. “I’ve never met a man like him before. He hasn’t asked a thing of me, yet he gives me a whole new world. I feel love and hope again. Even Alessio is happier.” She sat down. She frowned. “You should have seen him when I asked him to go. It broke my heart.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I honestly don’t have any idea. I wish he would tell me what to do. I’d do it. I don’t think I could deny him anything.”

  “Well, one of you better figure something out.” She went to the refrigerator for a drink. “Is Maurizio home?”

  “Yes.”

  Anna made a face. Eliana went back to her cooking. “As soon as I finish making dinner, I’m taking Alessio out shopping for school clothes.”

  “Mamma mia, is it time for school again already?”

  “Sì. Next week.”

  “Have you forgotten I’m leaving this evening to see Andrea?”

  “I’m sorry. I forgot. How long will you be gone this time?”

  “I don’t know, a week or two. Until I get tired of him.” She smiled. “Why don’t I go shopping with you and afterwards you can drop me off at the train station? My train doesn’t leave until the nineteenth hour.”

  Eliana smiled. “I’m so pleased that you have someone.”

  Anna walked to the door. “I’ll finish packing. And I hope to say the same about you someday.”

  CHAPTER 24

  “Una piccola scintilla può bruciare una villa.” A little spark kindles a great fire.

  —Italian Proverb

  Maurizio sat alone in his den, his legs crossed at his ankles, newspaper in his hands, La Nazione. The lights were off and the drapes were drawn, leaving the room lit by what light illuminated the silk curtains. The smoke of a cigarette rose from a glass ashtray within arm’s reach. Eliana walked in on him.

  “I’m going now.”

  “Where?” he asked without taking his eyes from the paper.

  “I’m taking Alessio into Florence for school clothes.”

  “Va bene.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  “No.” He lowered the paper. “Thank you. What time will you be home?”

  “I’ll be back around dinnertime. I have dinner all made; I just need to heat it up when I get back.”

  “Okay. Shut my door on the way out.”

  “Ciao.”

  He went back to his paper. Fifteen minutes later Luca knocked on Maurizio’s door, then pushed it open. “Ciao, Maurizio.”

  Maurizio looked up.

  “Ciao, Luca. What’s going on?”

  “I have the report from the lab.” He stepped into the den and handed the papers to Maurizio. Maurizio studied them, then looked up. “We did well. Almost twenty-five percent premium. Five percent better than last year.”

  “Our total volume is nearly one hundred and thirty tons. That is five tons more than the last harvest.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” He handed back the papers. “Anything else?”

  “I just heard from Steinco. The new bottling machine will be delivered tomorrow.”

  “Very good. What time?”

  “In the morning.”

  “Call me when they arrive with it. I’ll come down and meet them with you.”

  Luca walked away but lingered near the door. His brow furrowed. “Maurizio, I have a concern.”

  “Cosa?”

  “You trust me to look over your things while you are gone.”

  “I trust you implicitly.”

  He swayed nervously from foot to foot. “This American, he is family of Eliana’s?”

  “No, he’s only a tenant. Why?”

  “Perhaps she just misses her country.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “He is often with her.”

  Maurizio tensed. “How often?”

  “Maurizio, Eliana is a friend. I don’t mean to make something of nothing.”

  “Just tell me what you know.”

  “The night of the vendemmia, when Alessio had the asthma attack . . .”

  “Yes, when Eliana was gone . . .” His face reddened.

  “She was with him?”

  “Yes.”

  Maurizio was quiet, his mind sorting through the evening. “What else do you know?”

  Luca was breathing heavy. He was now wondering if he had done the right thing. “Last week I walked in on them . . .”

  The blood drained from Maurizio’s face. “In bed?”

  “No, no. Eliana was painting him.”

  “She’s painting his picture?”

  “. . . and they were kissing.”

  Maurizio looked straight ahead, emotionless, but his thoughts grew both angry and panicked.

  “Thank you, Luca. You are a loyal friend.”

  “I hope so, Maurizio. To you and Eliana.”

  He walked away, leaving Maurizio alone with his jealousy. Maurizio’s imagination raged, producing a vivid cinema of his wife and her lover’s liaisons—their touching, kissing and lovemaking, their whispered plotting of betrayal—and his imaginings became his reality. He had to know everything about their affair.

  He climbed the stairs to Eliana’s studio and saw the portrait for himself, and it validated every thought he had. He considered putting his foot through the picture but restrained himself: there were answers to be had first.

  He went to their bedroom and foraged through Eliana’s drawers for letters, jewelry, new lingerie—any clues of their relationship. He found nothing but a necklace that he vaguely remembered giving to her himself. He went to her computer and pulled up her e-mail, but found it password protected. He tried for nearly an hour guessing at what she might have used as a password, but without success.

  Then his rage turned toward his enemy. He wanted to know more about Ross Story. Still on the Internet, he went to the Minneapolis phone book and found nothing. Then he went to the Minneapolis public records and input Ross’s name. To his surprise not one entry, but hundreds, came up. He read a dozen or more of the entries, read them until he understood, and then he printed some of them. The more he read, the more his sense of power grew. He had discovered what Eliana had failed to—he knew why Ross Story had left America and what role his fiancée had played in his leaving. He alone knew why Ross Story had come to Italy.

  CHAPTER 25

  “Meglio il marito senz’amore, che con gelosia.” Better a husband without love than with jealousy.

  —Italian Proverb

  “Sorry I’m late,” Eliana said, walking into the house, her arms full of boxes. “I had to see Anna off at the train station and the traffic downtown was brutto.”

  Maurizio looked over at her from the living room couch, his expression cold and hard.

  “I’ll get dinner right on, honey. Alessio, go get into your pajamas.”

  Avoiding Maurizio’s glare, she set the packages down near her laundry room then retrieved the rest of the packages from the car. Then she went to the kitchen and heated everything up. She guessed that Maurizio was angry at her because he had to wait for his supper. It was a pet peeve of his that particularly annoyed Eliana since he never gave a second thought to being late for dinner himself.

  Within fifteen minutes Eliana called everyone to dinner. She brought out a steaming dish of tortellini with basil and cooked ham, a second plate of chicken cacciatore, and an arugula salad with pears and pine nuts. Alessio came down first, then Maurizio. Pecu
liarly he brought his briefcase to the table.

  They ate mostly in silence. Maurizio would not look at her, his anger simmering beneath a thin veneer of control.

  The tension at the table was thick and nobody spoke until Maurizio asked Alessio gruffly, “Come va la scuola?” How is school?

  Alessio looked at his father blankly. “I don’t have school.”

  “School doesn’t start for another two weeks,” Eliana said.

  Maurizio said nothing but went back to eating.

  Alessio asked, “May I be excused?”

  “Yes,” Maurizio said.

  “It’s time for bed,” Eliana said. “And don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

  “Can I read in bed?”

  “Yes you may. For a little while.”

  Alessio left the table, leaving the two of them alone. After a few minutes Eliana tried to make peace. “I’m sorry I was late with dinner. I didn’t mean to be. I thought I would be back earlier.”

  “Where were you?”

  “I told you. I was shopping for school clothes with Alessio. And I had to drop Anna off at the station.”

  His gaze darkened. “Really?”

  “What does that mean?”

  Maurizio pushed back a little in his chair. “You were right, I know too little about how you spend your time. Or with whom.” There was a bend in his last sentence that disturbed her. “Tell me about that portrait you are working on. The one of the man.”

  “You went in my studio?”

  “The man in your picture looks just like our tenant, the American.” Maurizio’s eyes narrowed. “Have you been seeing him?”

  Eliana didn’t answer. She knew Maurizio. This was his way, asking questions he already knew the answer to, coaxing you into a trap until you had sealed off all your escape routes.

  “Or I should say former tenant. I’ll be kicking him out when he returns.”

  Eliana just stared at him. Her throat was dry.

  “Do you want to know why?”

  “No.”

  “Because you already know why, don’t you?” He pushed back in his chair.