The Winemakers

by Jan Moran

  When she reached the room, Santo had arranged a pot of coffee with pastries on a little tile mosaic-topped table on the balcony.

  “Darling, I’m back,” she called.

  Santo emerged from the bathroom, towel-drying his dark, curly hair. He had another towel wrapped around his waist, and his chest was bare. Caterina caught her breath at the sight of him. With his water-dappled bronze skin gleaming against the white towel, he could have been a god of ancient Rome.

  He paused, admiration evident on his face, too. “Just look at you, cara, you’re the picture of summer in Paris. I want to remember you like this, always.” He took the flowers from her and placed them into a vase and then slipped a strap from her sundress. “We’ll add water later,” he said, lifting her onto the tangled, unmade bed.

  She tossed his towel aside, enjoying the sight of him, now fully aroused. She shed her dress, and they made love again as the sounds of Paris filtered through the open doors.

  “We’re so decadent,” she murmured as he flung himself onto the rumpled white sheet beside her, breathing hard.

  “And why not?” He raised himself on one elbow and gazed at her with hooded eyes. Slits of azure blue were framed with dark lashes.

  What a beautiful man he’s become. He still took her breath away. “I only wish it could last,” she said before she could catch herself. She hadn’t planned on talking about their future. Not now, not yet.

  “I don’t see why it can’t,” he said lazily. He trailed a finger from her nose, past her mouth, between her breasts, and down her stomach, sending chills through her. “This is real, cara. It always has been.”

  He sealed his lips over hers, drawing out his kiss with slow, passionate intensity. Finally, he dragged his mouth from hers and pulled back, his eyes blazing with emotion. “Marry me,” he said, his words sounding so certain. “Come back with me.”

  If only it were that simple. Then again, why not? This is what she wanted, not just in Paris for a few stolen day, but forever. Regardless of what her mother might think, this was the man she wanted to spend her life with. This is how she wanted to wake every day until she died—which might be sooner rather than later once he discovered her secret. Every fiber of her being screamed yes, yes, yes, but she couldn’t say that. Not yet, not until she told him about Marisa.

  “I love you, Santo, and I want nothing more than to spend our lives together.”

  “Is that a yes?” He tilted her chin and kissed her.

  She teased his lips with her tongue. “I can’t give you my answer yet.”

  “Even after this?” he asked playfully, rubbing his nude leg alongside of hers.

  Caterina tousled his hair, dying to ask him the question that had nagged her for so long. “What about your fiancée?”

  “What fiancée?”

  She smacked him with a pillow. “You lied to me?”

  Turning serious, Santo caught her gaze. “No, your mother told you that, remember?”

  He was right; after their first night together, they hadn’t spoken again. Caterina dropped the pillow, curious. “Why didn’t you set the record straight?”

  He lifted a shoulder with a half shrug. “Didn’t think it mattered. Maybe it helped me get over you at the time.” He fixed her face between his hands. “I’m asking you again. Say yes, cara.” His deep voice reverberated in his chest.

  It would be so easy. But not yet. “You’ll understand soon, I promise.”

  “Please don’t tell me you want me to ask your mother for her approval.” He sat up, shaking his head. “I’ve already tried that once.”

  She stared at him. “So you were telling the truth.”

  A sad smile crossed his face, and he nodded. “It was right after we’d made love the first time. But Ava set me straight; she told me I had nothing to offer you.”

  “And she really threatened Raphael’s employment?”

  “She was dead serious. I couldn’t endanger his livelihood. Forgive me.”

  Caterina knew her mother’s wrath all too well. Now she understood why Santo hadn’t returned her calls.

  He drew up a corner of his mouth in a wry expression. “But I’m not asking her. I’m asking you. Will you marry me?”

  “Know that I want to, darling.” She kissed him softly. She pulled away and gazed into his eyes. “But first, will you come back to Montalcino with me? I have something to show you.”

  * * *

  “Can you imagine hiding something so valuable for so long?” Santo said, staring at the small, exquisite painting. They were at the Musée du Louvre now, having spent the day strolling around Paris sightseeing.

  Marisa immediately sprang to Caterina’s mind, and she began choking at his words.

  “Are you okay?” He patted her on the back.

  Caterina nodded, catching her breath. “There are so many stories about this painting.” They talked about how the Mona Lisa painting had been stolen from the Louvre by a worker. The painting remained missing for more than two years.

  They’d had such a pleasant day shopping at boutiques and stopping for coffee or a glass of wine and enjoying the sights for which Paris was famous. Caterina had been pleased that Santo had wanted to visit the Louvre as much as she did.

  Caterina went on, recalling lessons from her art history class. “The Mona Lisa also went missing again during the second war. Nazis looted the Louvre, crated up the Mona Lisa, and stored her in the dark dungeons of the Altaussee salt mine in the Austrian Alps. They stole more than eighty wagonloads of art from here, as well as from the Uffizi Palace in Florence, and thousands of other works from private collectors.”

  “Terrible place for such a lady.” Santo squeezed her hand.

  Caterina inclined her head, studying Leonardo da Vinci’s famous work. “But there’s another mystery surrounding her. Some say a copy was sent to Altaussee instead. I’ve heard the Louvre managed to send her to the Château de Chambord in the Loire Valley with other art before the Nazi invasion. Some say she was transported to Chauvigny in a sealed ambulance.”

  “That was creative.” Santo looked closer at the painting.

  “No kidding. From there, it’s said she was moved to Montauban, then Montal, and finally, she was returned here.” She shook her head, thinking about what her parents had lived through during the first war and the more recent ravages of the second war. “Just imagine what it was like here then.”

  “Dark days, indeed, and not that long ago. My relatives in Tuscany suffered a lot.” Santo slid his arm around her and pulled her close to his side. “So who was Mona Lisa? She has such a mysterious little smile.”

  “Good question. The painting is also called La Gioconda. Most believe she was Lisa del Giocondo, the wife of a wealthy man from Florence, but opinions differ. She was painted in the early 1500s. Time has a way of misting the truth.” Nervously, she lowered her gaze. They were leaving tomorrow morning. Her own truth would soon be revealed.

  “Ah, a Tuscan woman.” He winked at her. “Maybe a distant relative.”

  She responded with a mysterious little smile of her own.

  After they left the Louvre, they strolled through the nearby Jardin des Tuileries, stopping in the gardens to watch a young boy and his little sister playing with sailboats at a pond. When one of the masts on the toy broke, Santo knelt and helped the boy repair it with a length of string.

  He gave it back to the boy and mussed his hair. When the girl flung her arms around Santo’s neck in gratitude, Caterina transposed Marisa’s face over the girl’s and felt as if her heart would burst. Seeing him with children made her love him even more.

  At the end of the Tuileries, Santo hailed a taxi to take them from the Place de la Concorde to Pont Neuf. “We have to walk across the oldest bridge in Paris to visit the Île de la Cité,” he insisted.

  Caterina was happy to explore the little island in the middle of the river Seine with him. She’d always wanted to see the Notre-Dame de Paris. Santo was curious about everything, and
she loved that about him. Yet even as they explored, Caterina felt an internal clock counting down the minutes to the inevitable appointment she had with the truth.

  The sun was setting as they strolled across the bridge, stopping here and there to watch the array of colorful boats that plied the narrow river.

  Santo pulled Caterina into a semicircular stone alcove built into the bridge, where they had a stunning vantage point of the Louvre on one side and the Eiffel Tower on the other. He pulled her close to him, and they sat watching the city, enjoying the moment.

  “We have so much to celebrate,” Santo said. “Winning the competition, but most of all, finding each other again.”

  “That’s the best part,” she replied, nestling into him. She’d become addicted to the feel of his body next to hers.

  He kissed her on the nose. “This might be our last night in Paris, but I don’t want our relationship to end here.”

  “It won’t,” Caterina promised. And it never would, not once he met Marisa. But would he accept his daughter or shun her? She gazed at his strong profile, which was silhouetted against flickering evening lights. Their meeting would be a true measure of the man he was.

  Santo leaned in to kiss her, and she felt herself falling under his spell again. “Why must I wait until we return to Montalcino for an answer, Caterina?”

  She smiled to hide her anxiety. “You’ll see.”

  He leaned back and draped his arm around her. “Whatever your reason, it won’t change my feelings for you. I lost you once, I can’t lose you again.”

  26

  MONTALCINO, ITALY

  After a long journey from Paris, Santo and Caterina arrived at the train station in Siena and saw Giovanna waving from the platform. Caterina had called her from the hotel to tell her that Santo would be returning with her. She’d asked Giovanna not to speak about Marisa in front of him.

  Giovanna threw her arms around Santo as soon as he stepped onto the platform. “Santo, it’s been so many years. What a handsome man you’ve become.”

  “And you haven’t changed a bit, Giovanna,” he said, hugging her.

  “Nonsense, but I’m glad you’re back.” Giovanna kissed him on both cheeks. “With the two of you here, the villa is becoming such a happy place again.”

  They chatted as Giovanna drove to the villa. After they arrived, Caterina led Giovanna into the salon, calling back to Santo, “Wait there, we’ll just be a moment.”

  Caterina dropped her voice to a whisper. “How is Marisa?”

  “She’s been such a sweet baby.” Giovanna smiled. “And no trouble at all. She’s upstairs taking her nap. My sister Alma is with her now.”

  Caterina’s heart pounded at the thought of Santo and Marisa under the same roof. It wouldn’t be long before she’d know where she stood with him. But whatever happened, he’d know about Marisa at last. “Giovanna, I have to tell you something,” Caterina said, pressing her lips together before she continued. “Santo is Marisa’s father, but he doesn’t know yet.”

  “I suspected that when you called.” A sad smile spread across her face, along with a worried, pained expression. “She has his eyes, of course. Santo is a good man. He’ll do the right thing for both of you.”

  Caterina was surprised at the strange emotion etched on Giovanna’s face, but she hurried on before Santo could overhear them. “I didn’t want him to marry me out of duty. And I want to have Marisa there when I tell him so he can see her.”

  “Wait until she wakes up so she’ll be in a good mood. She went to sleep right before I left. She’ll probably sleep another hour, maybe two.”

  Caterina exhaled. “I’ve waited so long to tell him, what’s another couple of hours?” Shivering with anticipation, she hugged Giovanna. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

  “No need to thank me.” Giovanna kissed her cheek. “You’re all family.”

  They walked back to the entryway, where Santo was just closing the front door. He held up two keys in his hand. “A man just dropped these off for you, Giovanna. He said the work at the house was done.”

  “Those are the keys to the house I inherited,” Caterina said. “We couldn’t get in before because the lock was stuck.”

  Santo jingled the keys. “Then let’s go see it now.”

  “Now?” Giovanna shot a glance at Caterina.

  “We have some time,” Caterina said.

  Santo had already opened the door. “Come on, I’d like to see it, too.”

  “Are you sure?” Giovanna touched her temple with seeming uncertainty.

  “I’ll be right back,” Caterina said, sensing reluctance from Giovanna, though she didn’t understand her hesitation. “I have to freshen up. I’ll only be a moment.” She ran upstairs. She opened a door, careful not to make a sound, and tiptoed across the room to the crib.

  As Marisa slept, her pink lips moved in a suckling motion, and she tugged her knees under her belly, thrusting her diaper-clad bottom into the air. Caterina stifled a giggle. She whispered to Alma, and then kissed Marisa on the cheek. She’d let Marisa have her nap. It wouldn’t be long before she met her father.

  Caterina went downstairs, still wearing the peach-colored dress and jacket she’d worn from Paris on the train back. It wasn’t exactly what she should be wearing to look at the dusty old cottage, but they were only going to be there a short time.

  * * *

  A rush of excitement spiraled down Caterina’s spine as Santo slid the key into the front door of the stone cottage that was now her property. The wooden door creaked open under her hand, and a musty smell assaulted her nose. Particles of dust floated in the air, highlighted by long shafts of summer sun slanting through windows scored with streaks of rain-speckled dirt.

  When Caterina stepped through the door, it was as if the decades fell away.

  “Nothing has been touched in years,” Giovanna said to Caterina and Santo, who followed her inside. “La signora inherited it from her family, and she always rented it furnished, so most of the furniture you need should be here. I haven’t seen it in a long time.” Santo held a kerosene lantern, which Giovanna had insisted they bring. “Years ago, I motored over some boxes and papers to store, though Violetta wouldn’t let me go inside. Said she was rearranging things.” She flicked dust from a chest. “Needs a good cleaning.”

  Caterina wrinkled her nose at the musty odor. “And a good airing out.”

  “Signora Violetta is the only one who has been in the house since—” Giovanna stopped, her attention riveted on a large window in the main living area. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she began to back away.

  “Since when?” Caterina rested her hand on Giovanna’s arm and followed her gaze. The sun’s rays outlined a series of handprints on the window. A torn, bedraggled drapery framed the window, and rustic furniture was shoved against the wall, which showed signs of damage. Someone had hastily straightened the scene, perhaps many years ago. What happened here?

  Giovanna’s wide eyes swung from Santo to Caterina. “Since a good man and his wife died here.” She clutched Santo’s arm. “Some people say their spirits still live here.”

  “Why do they think that?” Caterina asked. People often died at home in their beds, surround by loved ones.

  Giovanna didn’t answer. Instead, she made the sign of the cross. “I’ll wait outside,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “It’s all right, Giovanna.” Santo rubbed her shoulders in an effort to put her at ease.

  Giovanna shuddered and hurried from the house, glancing back at them with a brave smile. “You’ll be fine,” she said, as if to reassure herself.

  “Wonder what happened to them.” Caterina took a few more steps, waving cobwebs from the air as she did. She wished she’d changed clothes—her dress would likely become soiled from the accumulated grime that covered every surface.

  “Let me go first.” Santo edged closer to her, brushing cobwebs from her dress and hair. “This house has been closed for a long time
.”

  “Giovanna is acting strangely.” As excited as she was to see the cottage, Caterina felt an odd undercurrent, an uneasiness she couldn’t quite place. “Think the place is haunted?”

  Santo hesitated, his eyes roaming into every corner. “I don’t believe in ghosts, if that’s what you mean. But something doesn’t feel right here.”

  A scratching noise in the dining room made them both jump. “What’s that?” Caterina exclaimed.

  Santo pushed a hutch aside, and a rat scurried across the wood plank floor for cover.

  “How did he get in here?” Caterina pressed a hand against her chest.

  “Relax, it’s just a rodent. He’s more frightened than we are.” He peered around a corner. “Come on, follow me.”

  The kitchen wasn’t much to see, although the old-fashioned stove was charming in an antique sort of way. “Guess I’ll have to make do with that,” Caterina said.

  “Did you plan to live here?”

  She hesitated. He’d asked her to marry him, but what would he think of Marisa when she told him? “I can fix it up, maybe rent it out. The vineyard is in great shape; wait until you see that.”

  Santo stared at her for a long moment. “Let’s see the rest of it,” he said, his voice subdued.

  They turned into a darkened hallway.

  “Hold up while I light this lamp.” Santo struck a match. He adjusted the flame, and the hallway came into view. Slits of daylight shone from under three closed doors.

  Caterina wrinkled her nose. The scent of sulfur was almost a welcome diversion from the dust. Santo led the way with the lamp, so she stayed close behind him. She slid her hand through the crook of his elbow.

  Their footsteps thudded in the hall, the sound echoing against the walls. They stopped at the first door, and Santo opened it. A bed with a once-white embroidered coverlet stood ready to receive guests. A layer of dust and cobwebs covered the furniture. The room was a scene mired in the past. Santo turned to her. “Let’s keep going.”

  Caterina nodded. Every nerve ending was on high alert. They walked on to the next door and opened it. She gasped. “Why, it’s a nursery. Look at the toys, the little crib.”