Lake Como

by Anita Hughes

  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.

  Pliny begged her to drive with him to Lecco, to share a pizza and a bottle of red wine. But Hallie had to keep going, like a toy whirring in circles until its battery died. She tried calling Portia, but her cell phone was off. She felt terrible for what she had said, but she was still furious at Portia for promoting Angus’s cause. If she kept running, hiking, and walking, she wouldn’t have to think. At night she snuck Milo upstairs and crawled into bed, hoping Sophia wouldn’t hear the puppy’s yelps.

  Hallie stood in the garden on Sunday afternoon, throwing Milo a tennis ball. He bounded across the lawn and dropped the ball proudly at her feet. Hallie scooped up the ball and saw a figure walk up from the boat dock. It was a woman in slim black pants and a red jacket. She had close-cropped dark hair and wore sneakers on her feet.

  “Francesca?” Hallie dropped the tennis ball and waited while her mother crossed the lawn. She had a nylon bag slung over her shoulder and carried a large pink box.

  “I almost didn’t get this past security.” Francesca handed the box to Hallie. “The security guard said the cake had a liquid filling. Then I let him try a piece and he slipped me through. It’s a butter-rum cake.”

  “What are you doing here?” Hallie demanded. She was so surprised for a moment that she forgot how angry she was. She held the box, smelling the sweet, buttery scent.

  “Pliny called me a couple of days ago and said you were ill,” Francesca replied.

  “Pliny called you?”

  “I left him a few messages,” Francesca explained. “I called everyone. I didn’t hear from you for weeks. He said you came down with a terrible flu and hadn’t left your room for a week.”

  “I’m better now,” Hallie mumbled. “You wasted a trip.”

  “You don’t look better.” Francesca frowned. “Your skin looks like sandpaper. You should be in bed.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me, you can go home.”

  “I’ve been on a plane for fourteen hours,” Francesca continued. “Is that any kind of welcome?”

  “Does Pliny know you’re here?” Hallie asked suspiciously.

  “No. When I hung up with him, I decided I had to come see for myself.”

  “You haven’t been in Lake Como for thirty years,” Hallie said stiffly.

  Francesca gazed at the lake, at the bare trees and autumn colors. “It’s still gorgeous.”

  “I don’t want to talk to anyone right now.” Hallie started toward the villa. “I’d like to be alone.”

  “Pliny told me you found my diaries,” Francesca called out.

  Hallie turned around and stared at her mother. “He told you?” Her body tensed like an elastic band about to snap.

  “I need to explain.” Francesca put her hand on Hallie’s arm. “Those diaries don’t say anything. I was never good at writing. I always felt like Constance or one of the nuns was looking over my shoulder.”

  “The diaries tell everything.” Hallie pulled away. “You deserted your husband, your son, your baby daughter. You didn’t tell me for twenty-nine years that I had a father. You deprived me of my family, my history, my country.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Francesca pleaded. “Walk with me along the lake.”

  “I’m going inside.” Hallie walked faster toward the villa.

  “Please, Hallie.” Francesca ran after her. “Give me an hour. If you’re still angry, I’ll go.”

  Hallie stood still. That frenetic energy that had consumed her evaporated. She couldn’t face her mother and she couldn’t turn away. She was too tired to make decisions. She wanted to drop down on the grass and bury her face in Milo’s chest.

  “Please, Hallie,” Francesca begged.

  Hallie looked at the woman who had raised her. She glanced at the large dark eyes, the fine lines on her forehead. She saw the hands that made her school lunches, that washed her filthy sports socks, that wrote out checks when she needed them.

  “Okay.” Hallie nodded. “An hour.”

  They walked through the gardens to the promenade. The olive trees formed a halo over their heads and Milo bounded along at their side. Hallie walked with her head down and her hands in her pockets. Francesca skipped beside her, breathing in the crisp arctic air.

  “I forgot how wonderful the air is,” Francesca mused. “So far from a city. It’s so quiet, no cars or buses or cable cars ringing their bells.”

  “If you came to sightsee you should find another partner,” Hallie said shortly.

  “I started the diary because all the other girls at Madame Lille’s kept one,” Francesca began. “I kept writing at the villa, because I didn’t have any friends. It helped to read and write in English, but I was never good at expressing myself. The only way I can show my feelings is with flour and frosting.” Francesca paused, stealing a look at Hallie. “The minute I met Pliny, I fell madly in love with him. He was so handsome, so beautiful, I craved him. When I stood close to him, my body was on fire.”

  “I don’t need to hear this,” Hallie murmured.

  “You do,” Francesca insisted. “I wanted to be a good wife and mother, but living at the Villa Tesoro became intolerable.”

  “You could have insisted Pliny move to a villa nearby!” Hallie stopped in the middle of the promenade. “You didn’t have to take me seven thousand miles away from my father and siblings.”

  “Pliny would never have moved out from his mother’s house,” Francesca replied. “I was so young and so alone. Sophia dictated my every move and Pliny did nothing to support me.”

  “You just picked up and left,” Hallie insisted. “How could you desert Marcus and Portia?”

  “That’s what you don’t understand, that’s what I couldn’t write,” Francesca implored. “Those last few weeks, I made myself ill. The thought of leaving my children was intolerable. I loved Marcus and Portia so much, but I was not allowed to be with them.”

  Hallie stumbled, as if the urgency in Francesca’s tone slowed her down. She glanced at her mother and saw her eyes were wide and her arms were wrapped around her chest.

  “If Sophia had known I was pregnant with you, she would have kept me under lock and key. You don’t know how hard it was to get on that train, on that plane. When I reached San Francisco, I stayed in bed for months. Constance thought I had morning sickness, but really my heart was breaking.”

  “You lied to her, too,” Hallie said quietly. “Constance thought Phillip Elliot was my father.”

  “I couldn’t tell anyone. I was terrified Sophia would appear and take you back to Lake Como.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me when I was older?” Hallie asked, her tone softening. She glanced at her mother and saw the pain that had been missing in the diary. Francesca’s eyes were big
as saucers and her body looked shrunken with misery.

  “I was afraid you’d go to Italy, and then I’d lose everything.” Francesca hung her head. “I know that was selfish, but you loved Constance, St. Ignatius, UCLA. Then you had your career and Peter. You weren’t missing anything.”

  “I missed my father,” Hallie retorted.

  “We didn’t communicate for a long time.” Francesca hugged her chest. “When Marcus was four, Pliny started sending me photos of Marcus and Portia. I lived for those photos, I kept them in my bedside drawer.”

  “I still don’t understand why you didn’t try to bring Marcus and Portia to America,” Hallie said, frowning.

  “Constance hired a private detective, the best lawyers. I sent letters to Sophia, begging her to allow them to visit,” Francesca replied. “They were returned unopened. Constance finally went to Lake Como. She made Sophia agree to let Marcus and Portia visit every summer.”

  “How did she accomplish that?”

  “Constance never told me.” Francesca shook her head. “But Marcus and Portia came once a year. I was happy.”

  “Why did you come to Lake Como now?” Hallie asked warily.

  “I thought you were sick.” Francesca gazed at the lake. “If anything happened to you, I’d be devastated.”

  Hallie remembered the nights during high school when she came home from a date, certain the boy would never call again. Francesca fed her chocolate cake and sat with her by the phone, willing it to ring. When it did, when the boy told her what a good time he had, and nervously asked her out again, Hallie and Francesca would do a little dance around the living room.

  “I know I should have told you sooner,” Francesca repeated. “I lied with the best intentions, I loved you so much.”

  Hallie stopped walking, tears filling her eyes. She bent down and petted Milo, trying to stifle her sobs. Her whole body shook, like a tidal wave reaching the shore. Francesca put her arms around her and Hallie cried against her mother’s shoulder.

  “Somebody else just said the same thing,” Hallie said finally, pushing away.