Lake Como

by Anita Hughes

  “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.

  “I have not read them.” Sophia turned to Hallie. “Lea told me Francesca wrote diaries, but she could not find them.”

  “Well, I found them,” Hallie said defiantly. “What Pliny is saying is true, I can show you.”

  “I know it is true,” Sophia said shortly.

  “You know?” Pliny stepped back.

  “I suspected it when Hallie visited as a teenager,” Sophia replied. “I was certain when she returned for Portia’s wedding.”

  “How did you know?” Pliny demanded. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Follow me.” Sophia waved her jeweled hand at Hallie and Pliny.

  They climbed the stairs to Sophia’s study and waited while she unlocked a cabinet. Hallie’s heart beat so quickly she felt like a racecar driver preparing for a race. She glanced at Pliny but he was in a daze. He sat on the leather sofa with his head in his hands, tapping his feet on the wood floor.

  “This is how I knew.” Sophia took a framed photo from the cabinet and handed it to Hallie.

  Hallie glanced at the faded photograph. It was of a woman wearing a cream satin gown, pulled tight at the waist and secured with pearl buttons. The high collar framed her face and she held a parasol in one hand. Her eyes smiled at the camera and she wore a feathered hat on her head.

  It was her eyes that made Hallie gasp. They were large and blue and shaped exactly like her own. The woman’s nose was a replica of Hallie’s. Even her cheeks seemed to have the same planes. The hair that escaped from her hat was a fine honey blond.

  “Valentina Bottecci,” Sophia said. “My mother. She died of diphtheria when I was twelve.”

  “I always thought I looked like Constance,” Hallie murmured.

  “Constance shares the same blond hair and blue eyes,” Sophia replied. “Perhaps that’s why I thought we could be friends, though her daughter is the devil.”

  “Her daughter is Hallie’s mother,” Pliny said sharply, studying the picture. “She is the mother of all my children.”

  “She would have taken them away if I hadn’t stopped her,” Sophia said bitterly. “If I had known she was pregnant, I would have put bars on every window in the villa.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me I was your granddaughter?” Hallie interrupted. She felt like she was riding a carousel and couldn’t jump off.

  “I spent years fixing the Tesoro name after Francesca ran away.” Sophia’s eyes glittered. “I didn’t want a new scandal. You were raised an American, it was best you stayed in America.”

  Hallie felt a chill run through her body. She wished she could walk through the study door and be in Constance’s library, like the children in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. She missed Constance’s grace, the way her fingers danced on the piano. She missed the Pacific Heights mansion with its cozy kitchen and intimate garden. She missed the views of the bay and the fragrant cherry blossom trees.

  “I can leave.” Hallie’s voice shook. “I can rent a room until I finish the Villa Luce.”

  �
�I will never forgive Francesca for what she did to my family.” Sophia walked around the desk and stopped in front of Hallie. “You may be my granddaughter by blood but you will never be a true Tesoro. I don’t want to see you!”

  Hallie watched Sophia stride out the door. She felt Pliny put his arms around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. She waited until Sophia’s steps receded and then she let the tears roll down her cheeks.

  chapter nineteen

  Milo met Hallie on the gravel driveway, his tail thumping against the ground. He was a rambunctious puppy with golden fur and a white mark on his nose. He stopped and let Hallie rub his stomach, his tongue lolling happily in his mouth.

  Hallie wore pencil-thin pants and a Stella McCartney sweater, and her hair was tied in a low ponytail. She clutched a tin of Lea’s lemon cake and a small bottle of amaretto. She heard Alfonso and Portia roar down the driveway, and wanted to stop them and beg them to take her home.

  * * *

  After the scene in Sophia’s study, Hallie retreated to her room and curled up on her bed. When she closed her eyes she saw the photo of Valentina Bottecci, another link to the past she never knew existed. She pictured Sophia’s venomous eyes, her hateful words.

  More than ever, Hallie wanted to call her mother and tell her everything she learned. It was as if she was discovering hidden details in a painting: her father, grandmother, great-grandmother. Francesca had painted over all of it and given Hallie nothing except an imaginary Phillip Elliot.

  Portia had found Hallie hugging a pillow to her chest, and insisted she dry her eyes. She had waited while Hallie shrugged on a pair of pants and a sweater and tied her hair with a blue ribbon. She had raided the pantry and insisted Hallie take the cake and a bottle of amaretto. Then she had piled Hallie in the back of Alfonso’s Peugeot and dropped her off at the Villa Luce.

  “You’re beautiful and you have your whole life ahead of you,” Portia had said, turning to Hallie in the backseat. “Angus is waiting to cook you dinner and rub your shoulders.”

  “I just want to go to bed,” Hallie had moaned.

  “Then go to bed.” Portia’s eyes had twinkled. “But eat first. Sex on an empty stomach can be dizzying.”

  “I meant by myself,” Hallie had protested. “I don’t want to make conversation.”

  “That’s why you’re bringing the amaretto. A few sips and the evening will be a pleasant blur. Forget Sophia and Francesca, enjoy yourself.”

  Alfonso had turned the car around and Portia had waved gaily out the window. Hallie trudged up the path to the villa, listening to the crickets chirp in the dark. She and Milo reached the entry and Angus flung open the doors.

  “I’m glad you came.” Angus kissed Hallie on the cheek. “I would have picked you up.”

  “Alfonso and Portia were on their way to a birthday party,” Hallie said. “Milo met me at the gate.”

  “I baked lasagna all afternoon,” Angus said, grinning. “He’s dying to have someone to play with.”

  “You didn’t have to go to any trouble.” Hallie held the cake tin like a shield.

  “I’m trying a new recipe,” Angus replied. He wore a checkered apron over khaki slacks and a navy T-shirt. “Come upstairs, I’ll show you my rooms.”

  Hallie followed Angus up the circular staircase, then down a long narrow hall. At the end of the hall, the space became open and bright. The floors were mosaic tile, and the walls were painted yellow. Palm trees in terracotta pots lined the room and the French doors opened onto a stone balcony.

  “This doesn’t look like Versailles.” Hallie glanced at the open kitchen, the leather sofas, the glass dining-room table.

  “I spent so many years working with ancient treasures, I craved twenty-first-century furniture.” Angus opened a bottle of wine. “Max let me decorate the rooms myself.”

  “You’re very talented.” Hallie smiled. “I should hire you as my assistant.”

  “I’m a one-note wonder.” Angus poured two glasses of wine. “I like leather and glass, and plants to help a room breathe.”

  Hallie remembered the cake tin pressed against her chest. “This is for you.”

  “You didn’t have to bring anything.” Angus placed it on the counter.

  “Portia insisted,” Hallie replied. “She made me come. I was curled up on my bed.”

  “Hallie, I…” Angus began.

  “Sophia found out I’m her granddaughter,” Hallie continued. “Apparently, she’d suspected all along. I look exactly like her mother.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Angus replied.

  “She was furious, she hasn’t spoken to me since.” Hallie’s voice trembled. “Pliny says she will come around, but I’m terrified she’ll throw me out for good.”

  “Sophia is a very proud woman.” Angus frowned, taking a salad bowl from the fridge. “But she’ll realize she’s missing out on having a beautiful granddaughter.”

  “I’m so angry at Francesca.” Hallie’s eyes filled with tears. “She could have told me when I was a teenager, or when I turned twenty-one. I missed everything, my whole history.”

  “It’s all here.” Angus put the bowl down and wrapped his arms around Hallie. “Bellagio, your family, me. It’s waiting for you.”

  Hallie rested her head on Angus’s shoulder. She felt his fingers press into her spine. She wanted him to unzip her slacks, slip off her panties, make everything disappear. Then she felt something nip at her ankles, and saw Milo nuzzling her shoe.

  “Milo is not being a good host.” Angus scooped up the puppy.

  “He’s smarter than he looks.” Hallie laughed, admiring the colored rugs thrown over the floor. “This reminds me of lofts in San Francisco.”

  “The previous owner created it for his mother-in-law.” Angus set a loaf of bread on the table. “He built her her own kitchen, and rooms big enough so she wouldn’t venture downstairs. Max broke down a few walls and modernized the appliances.”

  “What are Max’s rooms like?” Hallie asked, suddenly curious.

  “I don’t know.” Angus turned back to the fridge. “I never go upstairs.”

  “Portia’s right.” Hallie sighed, sitting at the table. “It is mysterious. Maybe we should storm the third floor.”

  “I’d rather have dinner with you,” Angus replied. “The only mystery I want to solve is sitting right here.”

  Angus cut thick slices of bread. He tossed the salad and placed a pot of butter on the table.

  “The butter is from a nearby farm and the vegetables are from the garden.” Angus waited for Hallie to take the first bite.

  “It’s delicious,” Hallie murmured, touched by Angus’s effort. Suddenly she flashed on Peter’s sunny-side up eggs and homemade waffles. She pictured reading the Sunday New York Times in bed with a mug of milky coffee.

  “If it’s so good, why do you look like you’re about to cry?” Angus asked.

  Hallie blushed. “The room, the food, they remind me of San Francisco.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  Hallie nodded. “I miss little things. The sound of the cable car on the street, the fog horn late at night. And I miss Constance.”

  “Are you going to go back?” Angus clutched his fork tightly.

  “I love Lake Como,” Hallie replied. “I love the Italians’ sense of beauty, the pace, the joy for living.”

  “I haven’t been back since college.” Angus ate his salad. “America is like a sleeping giant. When it wakes up, hell is going to break loose. I don’t want to be there.”

  “America has a lot of great qualities,” Hallie protested. She pictured the first time Peter came into the design store, looking like an overgrown Boy Scout. She remembered his heavy backpack, his easy smile and boundless optimism.

  “I don’t mean to be a wet blanket, America is just not for me,” Angus said, sensing her mood. “I love the history of Europe, the knowledge that people have been making mistakes for centuries.”

  “I shouldn’t have come.”
Hallie put down her fork. “I’m not very good company.”

  “Hallie.” Angus pulled her to her feet and kissed her on the lips. “You were in a serious relationship. We can go slow, I promise.”

  “How did you know?” Hallie mumbled.

  “It’s one of the things I love about you.” He stroked her hair. “You’re transparent. We haven’t even eaten the lasagna. If we don’t watch it, Milo will devour the whole thing.”

  “I don’t want to be responsible for his stomachache.” Hallie laughed, sitting back at the table. She wiped her eyes and waited while Angus replaced the salad bowls with platters of lasagna and grilled vegetables.

  Slowly her tension evaporated. Angus told a funny story about Milo wrestling a garden snake. He described a neighbor who played opera music late at night, windows wide open so everyone could hear.

  By the time they finished the lasagna, Hallie had relaxed. She stroked Milo while Angus cleared the dishes. Angus put the cake on the table and poured them each a shot of amaretto.

  “We used to sit around a campfire for hours on digs.” Angus cut two slices of cake. “Drinking bourbon and playing games.”

  “What kind of games?” Hallie tasted the sweet liqueur.

  “Charades, truth or dare. My favorite was the question game. Would you like to play?”

  “As long as there’s no penalty for losing,” Hallie said, smiling.

  “I’ll go first.” Angus stretched his long legs in front of him. “Favorite book?”

  “Anna Karenina,” Hallie replied quickly.

  “Favorite movie?”

  “The Great Gatsby.”

  “Favorite food?”

  “Your lasagna.” Hallie grinned, taking another sip of amaretto.

  “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

  Hallie put her shot glass down and petted Milo. “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll answer first.” Angus looked at her closely. “I’d like to run tours in Lake Como: show tourists the historic sites they can’t find in guidebooks. I’d like to live in a villa with my wife and two children. I’d like to have a boy I can teach to fish, and a blond, blue-eyed little girl who plays with Barbies.”