by Belle Ami
“I get paid well for doing what I do.” He shrugged with a half-smile. “I like fine things, but I wouldn’t say I’m extravagant.” He keyed in the ignition and the beast came to life.
She should have known by his home that Alex Caine settled for only the best, but she couldn’t help herself from gaping at the growling tiger of a car. If this wasn’t extravagance she didn’t know what was.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to suggest you’re a rich, playboy type.”
He laughed at that. “Well, if spending most of my time in my garage fixing old cars makes me a playboy, then I’ll buy that.”
“How fast does this car go?”
“Fast. Wanna try?” His eyes lit with his challenge.
“No way! I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“It looks like I have one more thing to teach you. Bringing you up to speed on cooking and driving Ferraris could take years.”
“Years, huh?”
“The nuances and details might even take a lifetime. Here, allow me.” He reached across her for the seat belt strap, and in one smooth move, pulled it and snapped it into place. His proximity and the way he stared at her lips made her catch her breath.
God, I wish he’d just kiss me already. He’d been her husband and lover in two past lives. Would she throw caution to the wind and let fate take its course once again?
“You’re feeling fairly cocky and sure of yourself today, aren’t you?” She steadied her breath, hoping their banter would calm her nerves.
He grinned. “That’s what a car with coglioni does to a guy. It makes him brave.” He winked and settled back in his seat.
She laughed and shook her head at his antics. He had a silly and fun sense of humor—something that had been sorely lacking from her life. It was refreshing. She enjoyed his teasing.
“I have something for you.” He reached behind his seat and grabbed a leather satchel. Pulling out a goldenrod envelope, he handed it to her.
“What’s this?”
“Gerhard’s letters that I translated. You can read while I drive. It’ll keep you busy while I break the sound barrier. There’s twenty-five of them, the most relevant are about the painting and Sophia.”
“I can tell you from my vision of her, Sophia was aptly named,” Angela mused. “She reminded me of her namesake Sophia Loren, sizzling hot and sexy.”
Alex backed the Ferrari out of the parking space and zoomed for the exit. “I’m glad I missed that part of your illustrious past life. I wouldn’t have enjoyed seeing you make love with another man.”
“That other man was you, Alex.”
“I suppose you’re right, but I have no interest in competing with some past version of myself. Besides, the new one is a vastly improved model.” His brows waggled provocatively.
She giggled. One more thing she thought was adorable, his outrageous eyebrow wiggling. “You don’t have to worry about any dead men for competition.”
“Is that an endorsement for my resume? Are you considering giving me a test run?”
“No smart-ass.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying that given the choice of dead or alive, I’ll take the living, breathing, warm version with blood flowing through his veins.”
He laughed and punched the air. “Score! One for the Alex-meister.”
Angela opened the envelope and pulled out the pages within. She was struck by the neat penmanship. Damn, he’s such a perfectionist. I guess that’s what boarding schools do for you.
Alex had been right—by the time they reached the main highway, Strada regionale 222 Chiantigiana—she was so immersed in the letters she didn’t even notice when Alex seamlessly shifted gears. The engine purred as the great Testarossa tiger was unleashed and the countryside flew by in a blur.
May 10, 1944
Cara Mama:
I miss you very much, but if there is any place that feels like home to me it is Florence. For me, the occupation is not too bad as my duties are not about conquering my Italian brethren, but more about gaining their trust and cooperation. I am here to protect the art, although, eventually I’m sure the Fuhrer will have other plans for it.
I’m working at the Uffizi Museum, which you remember as the home of many of Florence’s greatest art treasures, particularly the Medici collection. I cannot rhapsodize enough about the beauty of the gems that are contained within this palace. Each day for me is filled with wonder. To be able to examine and study these masterpieces of the Renaissance is a dream come true. I only wish that it was under different circumstances.
As an aside, I am working with an art historian here at the Uffizi. She is highly qualified and knowledgeable and seems to hold no malice towards me, which makes our relationship quite pleasant. Her name is Sophia and I will tell you she is a far cry from your average academic. Because of you and your insistence on speaking only Italian when Papa was out of the house I have a leg up on all the other German officers here who require translators.
Sophia and I hold diverse conversations about art and history, which makes our disagreements both exciting and stimulating. Like you, Mama, she is a determined woman who is willing to argue her beliefs. I must admit I like her very much…
Angela glanced up and caught a glimpse of the magnificent Tuscan landscape that flew past her window. She thought about Gerhard, a man with divided loyalties. He must have loved his homeland and been horrified at the rise of the death cult of Nazism.
At any other time, other than a time of war, he would have led a life immersed in academia, writing papers, and teaching at a university. Gerhard was the kind of man who spoke to her sensibilities, they shared a common passion, which made her affinity to him even stronger. She skimmed through the letters that reported little more than his daily routine and his growing fondness for Sophia.
June 10, 1944
Cara Mama:
I am sure that by now you have heard that Rome has fallen to the allies and that Germany is fighting an uphill battle. I’ve heard there is an allied invasion taking place at Normandy. The end is drawing near. Each day our losses grow and it is doubtful we will be able to hold Florence for much longer. However, I try to keep my thoughts on the work at hand. I am in constant worry for the art that is so delicate and perishable. I cannot fathom the thought of a bomb dropping on this most beautiful of cities. I would do anything to protect the irreplaceable treasures that abound here. It horrifies me to think that what took over a thousand years to build could be eradicated in an instant.
Speaking of treasures, I have made a discovery that I believe is noteworthy. Sophia and I were scouring the storage rooms and came across a painting that caught my eye. It is a Renaissance wedding portrait unlike any I have ever seen before. Since very few works from the period bear the artist’s signature, historians have relied mostly on historical documentation to authenticate a work, or their own expertise of an artist’s style, or just their own instinct.
Sophia indulged me and we combed the archives for any documentation on the painting. The portrait, which is sublime, Mama, was a possession of the Medici family. It is attributed to the atelier of Leonardo da Vinci, in other words, to one of his students, although there is no specific student named. Mama, I am certain this painting could only have been done by da Vinci, himself.
The brushwork and attention to detail, the braided hair of the young bride encrusted with pearls, and her mesmerizing smile, the way she looks out of the portrait with the same knowing smile of the Mona Lisa. I fell in love with her. The background, if you could see it, is like a snapshot of Florence as if taken from the wings of a bird in flight.
Only the Maestro himself could have created such perfection. Only the Maestro himself could have imagined this perspective. This is the kind of work that is the most endangered. Because it isn’t considered a major work it could easily be stolen by soldiers who’d think it wo
uldn’t even be missed. I am determined to not let that happen.
Sophia and I have argued over this endlessly. Although, most times I let my beautiful co-worker get the best of me, on this subject I have no intention of acquiescing.
I think by now, you’ve become aware that my feelings for Sophia are more than those shared between colleagues. In fact, I am very much in love with her and intend to marry her. I would have married her already if it were not for this impossible war. I know you will love her, Mama. In many ways she is so much like you. Headstrong, determined, and a heart of gold. I have so much more to tell you, but it will have to wait.
Your loving son,
Gerhard
Angela paused, again, in her reading and gazed out the window. Cypresses bordered the road and, beyond that, a patchwork quilt of vineyards lined the hills. An overwhelming feeling of déjà vu overcame her. This isn’t the first time I’ve traveled this road…”Alex, how long have you owned this vineyard?”
“I bought it two years ago.”
“Who owned it before you?”
“It was part of the estate of an old woman. She was the last of her family who chose to live in the countryside and treasured the agrarian life. I don’t know her name. It was held in probate for some time before it went to auction. Mine was the lucky bid. Why do you ask?”
“I know I’ve been here before.”
“That’s strange. I experienced the same thing when I first came here. I fell in love with the area from the first moment I arrived. I spent a week hunting for property with my realtor. At first, I considered a country villa, a weekend retreat that wouldn’t require too much upkeep. I never dreamed of owning a vineyard, but when I saw Casa del Sole it became an obsession. I had to own it.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“You’re going to love it. The main house is a little rustic, but it’s got great bones and I kind of like the shabbiness of it. The only part I’ve totally modernized is my bedroom and bath. It’s a little out of time with the rest of the house, but the mix of old and new suits my taste.”
“I wonder where Sophia’s family home was? The letters say she was from Chianti. This is Chianti, isn’t it?”
“Chianti is the designation for the wine growing region specific to the wine. It encompasses a lot of villages. Montefioralle is definitely in the heart of Chianti.”
She stared out the window. “I know I’ve been here before. There must be a town hall where they keep records, or maybe the church. What do you think?”
“I think it’s a great idea. At least we know Sophia’s last name, Caro, but I doubt we’re going to find anything on a Gerhard Jaeger.”
“That’s true, but maybe he assumed another name, another identity. At least it’s a start.”
She continued to stare out the window into the fractured light filtering through the trees. A glint of sunlight flashed, blinding her. She blinked, her hand raised to block the light. From the corner of her eye she saw movement. She squinted, catching sight of a man chasing a woman. The woman was laughing, running, turning occasionally to see how close the man was to her. Her dark tresses danced around her shoulders and hid her face when she turned to look back at him. The tall, blond man was closing in and about to catch her. Angela was mesmerized by the romantic vignette and wondered what would happen when he caught the young woman. The Ferrari swept around a curve and with a sigh of disappointment she lost sight of the couple.
“Did you see them?”
Alex stole a glance at her. “Did I see who?”
“The beautiful couple, running through the trees?”
He gave her a curious smile. “It’s just beautiful landscape, honey.”
A chill skittered up her spine. It was a vision. A window had opened. Two worlds overlapping each other, one in the here and now, and one that took place seventy years before. “I saw us, them, Sophia and Gerhard, they were running, laughing.” A great sadness swept through her. “They were happy, in love. What happened?”
Alex reached for her hand. “I don’t know, Angela, but it means they were here, in Montefioralle. Your second sight confirms it.”
Tears blurred her vision. “It does, doesn’t it? We’re on the right track. We’re getting closer to the truth.”
“I wanted to get you away from all that craziness and stress and all I’ve done is bring you closer to it.”
“I don’t think I can avoid it. The mystery will not let go of us until it’s solved. We’re being led, Alex.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Alex drove up a gravel road and stopped in front of a set of heavy wooden gates. A sign announced CASA DEL SOLE, UVA E VINO. He pressed the buzzer and a female voice answered, “Si.”
“Ciao Maria, sono Alex.”
“Bentornato, Signor Alex.”
Alex drove slowly up the winding driveway, three barking dogs encircled the car, their tails wagging. “We just put an electric gate in. I need to get a clicker from Maria. Maria and Joseph are the couple who work for me. Joseph runs the vineyard and Maria runs everything else. I’d be lost without them.”
“Interesting biblical names, Mary and Joseph.”
“Ha, I never thought of that. She is kind of like a universal mother type, though, and Joseph is the strong silent type. A man of few words, but a man of action. I was super lucky to find them, they’re from Romania. When I bought the house the couple who’d taken care of everything for the prior owner retired.”
“So, Maria and Joseph never knew the prior owner?”
“No, they never met her.”
Alex pulled around a fountain that featured a statue of a drunken Bacchus holding a wine glass aloft, he straddled a wine barrel with a spout that flowed a continuous stream of burgundy water into the fountain basin. “Very clever, Alex.”
“Wish I could take credit, but it was here when I bought the vineyard. Somebody had a sense of humor.”
Alex hopped out of the car and helped Angela out. She was surrounded by three dogs who licked her and vied for her affection. “They’re gorgeous. I miss my Dad’s Lab, Misty.” She bent, allowing them kissing access. “What are they?” She giggled as the dogs jockeyed for head pats. “I’ve never seen these breeds before.”
“Seduti!” All three dogs’ hinds hit the ground, their eyes locked on Alex. “They’re all Italian breeds.” He rubbed the head of the sturdy, shaggy-toffee-colored dog. “This is Zabajone, we call her Zaba, and she’s a Spinone, an ancient, large breed of hunting dog.”
He patted the head of the second dog, short-haired with rusty, brown spots and soulful, green eyes. “This young lady is Amarena, or just Ama for short. She’s a Bracco Italiano, an Italian Pointer. You’ll find her to be very girly. She chases birds, squirrels, rabbits, and anything else that moves all day long, but when it comes to taking food from your hand, she’s as delicate and mannered as a princess.”
He rubbed the short, red coat of the third dog. “And last but not least, my compadre, the other lord and master of the house, Tiramisu, whom we call Misu. He’s a Segugio Maremmano, an Italian Scenthound. Misu and I stick together, he comes to me with his girl troubles and I confide mine to him.”
Angela’s laughter brought all three dogs to their feet and they once more resumed licking her hands and turning in circles, begging for attention. “Somehow, I don’t imagine you with girl troubles.”
“Maybe that’s because there are no girls in my life. Or rather, were no girls,” he said with a wink. “Look at these traitors, they’re all abandoning me for you.”
“They just have very good taste. They can spot an easy mark.” She continued to scratch and pet as she looked up and took in the stone façade of the house where old vines of bougainvillea climbed stone support columns. Large terracotta pots, overflowing with white roses, flanked the stone steps that led to the front doors. All the woodwork, shutters, window f
rames, and the arched double-front doors were painted a deep azure blue. Two gnarled, old wisteria draped the porch, their yellow blooms contrasting colorfully with the white-stucco exterior and red-tiled roof.
“Alex, this house is beautiful. You mustn’t ever change it.”
He laughed. “I’m not going to, just a little modern renovation, plumbing, air-conditioning, the boring essentials. I’ve already redone the kitchen. Maria blesses me regularly for that modernization. But if you like it the way it is, then that’s how it will stay.”
Heat suffused her cheeks. “I—I didn’t mean to tell you what to do with your home. It’s not my place…”
Alex placed his finger on her lips, shushing her. “Don’t, Angela, please. I want you to feel comfortable here. Besides, I told you I love the worn edges and lived-in quality of the house. I imagine myself living here full-time one day when I’m old and gray.”
What would it be like rocking back and forth on the porch swing, holding hands with an older version of Alex? Is that so crazy to think about?
A plump, smiling woman with salt and pepper curls, wearing a crisp, white apron over a simple blue knit short-sleeved sweater and a gray A-line skirt, opened the front door and stepped out on the front porch. Effusive in her greeting, she pumped Angela’s hand until finally she couldn’t contain herself and kissed Angela firmly on both cheeks, hugging her in a bracing bear hug. Angela hugged her back, instantly warming to the motherly woman.
While Alex spoke in Italian with Maria, Angela stole a glance around. As far as the eye could see, vineyards climbed trellised slopes surrounding the property. Silvery leafed olive trees peppered the landscape, providing shade from the bright Tuscan sun. Everywhere Angela looked, a picture-perfect postcard view greeted her.
Alex grabbed their two suitcases from the car and Angela followed him into the expansive entry. Wide, wood-planked floors, polished to a gleaming glow, spanned out to a cozy living room with a massive stone fireplace. The blackened hearth, a reminder of the hundreds of fires that had burned there. Beyond the living room, sliding glass doors opened out to the patio and the gardens beyond.
