To Tuscany with Love

by Gail Mencini

  Bella ate too much—over half her entrée, far more than normal. She glanced at the other bowls. Everyone but Meghan had demolished lunch. Stillman met Bella’s eyes, lifted his wineglass by the stem, and sipped the last swallow of his Chianti.

  Rune reached for the bottle to refill Phillip’s glass, but Phillip shook his head. “No thanks. One of the boards I’m on, dealing with therapeutic sports for the disabled, meets today, so I’ll phone into it. I would duck out if it was business-related—especially now—but this is one board I never miss. I need to prepare this afternoon, so I’ll head back now. I apologize in advance, Stillman, but I may miss dinner, too, depending on how long the meeting goes.”

  Bella remembered that Phillip had told her about his disabled sister, who had died at a young age. He had carried a picture of her in his wallet. No doubt, his sister was the reason he was so dedicated to this organization. So the man had a heart after all.

  Stillman nodded at Giacomo. “You’ll arrange a car to drive Phillip back to the palazzo, correct?”

  Giacomo nodded quickly.

  “Good,” Stillman said. “I’ll join you, Rune, at Enoteca Tre. I’ve read great reviews about the place but haven’t had a chance to check it out myself.”

  The knot in Bella’s stomach had returned. Her deception clawed at her. There would be no chance to confront Phillip today, which meant she couldn’t bring up David to Stillman or anybody else. Bella felt as if a major league pitcher had just fired a fastball into her chest.

  35

  At nine o’clock that evening, Bella stepped inside the ristorante. The low, arched ceilings made it feel like a cave. The pale colors of the rough plastered walls hinted at long-ago frescos whitewashed by well-meaning owners. Sixteen white-cloth-covered tables filled the room with Manhattan bistro proximity.

  Lee paced around the center table, his hands clasped behind his back. A heap of fruits and vegetables covered the table with no apparent design. “Arcimboldo’s Summer, don’t you think?”

  “Archee what?” Rune asked.

  “Exactly my thought, Rune.” Stillman walked to the tables pushed together to accommodate their group. “The art is in the preparation of the food, not the garden.”

  “It’s a painting.” Lee claimed a chair on the side opposite Stillman. “He created faces out of clustered produce.”

  Bella slipped into a chair next to Stillman. In her peripheral vision, she saw Lee beckon for Meghan to sit next to him, which sent a pink flush up Meghan’s cosmetic-free cheeks. Rune and Hope entered the room and slid into the open seats next to their friends.

  Elderly waiters appeared from the kitchen carrying trays with Prosecco and champagne glasses. Again, Meghan declined the bubbly.

  “Is Phillip coming?” Rune asked.

  Stillman looked at his watch. “I suspect not. He’ll miss a great evening.” He nodded to Bella.

  Rune lifted his glass, making a show of inspecting the color. “This looks richer than what we had the first night.” His voice dropped to a stage whisper. “Or did it just gather dust in the cellar for a few more years?”

  “And when did you become a master sommelier?” Bella’s words sounded harsh, even to her. “Oops. Sorry how that came out.”

  Rune winked at Bella. “You’re mighty quick to defend our host.”

  Stillman raised his Prosecco, all smiles and warmth. “To our long overdue reunion.” His eyes shot to Bella’s, as if insinuating that he spoke only to her.

  Bella tipped her glass against Stillman’s. She felt Rune’s eyes on her. She didn’t care. She had a history—a recent history—with their host. The night before, with the Tuscan stars winking at her, she had drifted to sleep remembering Stillman’s passionate lovemaking during their last weekend together.

  Platters of crusty Tuscan bread spread with a thick brown paste appeared before them.

  The most weathered of their waiters, no doubt the owner, announced the appetizer.

  “Wild hare crostini,” Bella interpreted. “It smells heavenly. Forest meat of the season.”

  The proud gentleman motioned for them to eat. “Cioccolato.” His kissed his fingertips.

  Hope claimed one for her plate and chuckled. “Even I can translate that. Meat mixed with chocolate—now that’s my kind of appetizer.” She eyed the platter and waited for it to circle the table. When it returned to her, she snatched a second piece.

  Bella’s sympathies went to Meghan, steadfast in her refusal of meat.

  As if sensing Bella’s thoughts, Meghan smiled at her and mouthed her words: “It’s OK.”

  Bella turned her head. She couldn’t look at Meghan when she bit into the crostini. She closed her eyes and savored the delicate yet decadent flavor. The pâté melted on her tongue, and the toasted crunch of the bread provided a perfect texture contrast. And the hint of chocolate? Definitely an undertone that added complexity. Poor Meghan, she had no clue what she was missing.

  Giacomo bounded into the ristorante, flustered and flushed. He rushed to Stillman’s side. While he whispered to Stillman, one of Giacomo’s hands gestured behind his back. Stillman nodded several times in the brief exchange.

  Giacomo stood and spoke in hushed tones to the waiters. He grabbed a chair from another table and wedged it between Meghan and Lee.

  Lee scowled.

  Grinning, Giacomo sat down and twisted on the chair to face Meghan.

  The wait staff swooped away the appetizer plates and, moments later, slid small bowls of steaming ribolitta, a bread, bean and vegetable soup, in front of each of them.

  “Can I get it without the bread?” Meghan asked.

  “Oh, signora,” Giacomo said, patting Meghan’s arm, “not to worry. The bread in this soup is perfect for your vee-gan diet.”

  Lee spoke in a soft, authoritative tone. “You only had that bit of fruit from the market after lunch. Traveling, with exposure to unfamiliar germs, is an undetonated bomb. You have to eat if you want to stay healthy.”

  Meghan shook her head. “Do they have minestrone?”

  Giacomo conferred with a waiter in Italian. He patted Meghan’s arm. “No, no, signora, only this soup today. Please, you should try it.” He looked sideways at Lee. “It is very nourishing.”

  Bella raised a spoonful of the thick soup to her mouth—delicious and hearty. If she ate more than a spoonful or two, she’d be done for the night. Across the table, Meghan filled her spoon but avoided any morsel of bread.

  With the spoon halfway to her mouth, Meghan paused and looked at Giacomo. “What about meat? In the broth?”

  Giacomo’s hands flew in front of him in denial. “No, no. No meat. Just vegetables.” As Meghan put her spoon into her mouth, Giacomo’s eyes shot over to Bella. The ferocity in his eyes silenced any rebuttal she might have uttered about the contents of the ribolitta.

  Meghan dipped her spoon into the bowl again, this time without hesitation. She smiled at Giacomo. “Thank you for the delicious vegetable soup.”

  Bella tasted the soup again. The spicy smokiness of pancetta added complexity that could never have come from vegetables alone. She smiled at Giacomo and affirmed their conspiracy. She agreed with Lee about Meghan’s diet.

  Hope dug into her soup, her bowl already nearly empty. “Best damn vegetable soup I’ve ever had.”

  Lee entertained the table with details of his afternoon meeting with the curator he’d mentioned. A forgotten workshop of Leonardo da Vinci had been discovered in the Santissima Annunziata convent. Long ago, the convent had housed artists in a wing that eventually was split by a wall that sealed the secrets behind it. Lee was more animated than Bella had ever seen him.

  While Lee spoke of one of the five hundred-year-old frescos, which contained a white silhouette similar to da Vinci’s Archangel Gabriel, Bella felt Stillman’s eyes on her. She met his gaze.

  A Cheshire cat smile slid over his face. He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. “Too bad. Phillip is missing not only a gourmet meal, but another sho
t at seducing you.”

  She whipped around to look at him. Seduce me, she thought? Phillip had been mildly apologetic, the jerk, but that was the extent of it. Stillman was toying with her, baiting her. Why? She had a sinking feeling in her stomach. Was it love for her or the old competition with Phillip that motivated Stillman now?

  Before she could respond, Stillman turned to Lee and quizzed him on some aspect of the da Vinci find, as if he had been listening to Lee the entire time.

  Bella picked at her food, her appetite lost. Phillip never joined them for dinner. Her head throbbed. She didn’t want to believe it but had to wonder if Stillman was using her.

  The table conversations had elevated in volume with the wine consumption. Stillman, Meghan, and Hope discussed the lack of support for youth interested in the arts and contrasted life today with the Renaissance period. Rune and Lee debated whether a film treatment could be developed around the discovery of lost artistic treasures in Italy. She felt as if she were in a Peanuts movie with the adults’ nonsensical “blah blah blah” suffocating her.

  Bella pushed the chicken around her plate with a fork and lectured herself. Stillman could play master of ceremonies all he wanted, directing when they shared information about their jobs and families. It didn’t matter. Bella was going to control her own timing.

  She needed to catch Phillip alone and have the conversation she swore she’d never have—revealing to him that he has a son. Then, she’d tell everyone else about David. After that, it was likely that neither Phillip nor Stillman would have anything to do with her. Passionate memories may have driven her dreams the night before, but right now, rekindling a love affair while here in Italy seemed as far away as her days with David when he was a toddler.

  Beautiful, warbling laughter caught Bella’s attention. Following the sound, she saw that it was Meghan, her cheeks flushing as she laughed. One of Giacomo’s palms rested on Meghan’s bare forearm, and the other opened upward beside a plate of arugula, pomegranate seeds, and slivers of cantaloupe.

  “Fruits and vegetables, no?” Giacomo’s wide grin broadcast his joy at pleasing the strange American.

  “Grazie.”

  Giacomo leaned into Meghan, as if sharing a secret. “Prego.”

  Loneliness swept over Bella. A steady, drought-driven Oklahoma wind engulfed her. Other than her friend and editor, Edie—who threatened to retire and move to Florida every other day—and David—far away on another continent—she had no one.

  36

  A misty shroud draped the estate at breakfast. Bella joined the others in the courtyard, where they huddled over morning espresso.

  Stillman clapped his hands to silence the morning chatter. He explained that he had details to arrange while they embarked on a scavenger hunt in Florence. He waved off their questions with a smile. “I’ll be there in time to judge the winner.”

  Maybe she could get Phillip alone, Bella thought, since Stillman wouldn’t be around.

  “Giacomo will explain when he drops you off. Our van has arrived, so you’ll go in that today. It’s out front now. You have a strict timetable and rules for the hunt.” Stillman’s eyes sparked with delight. “I’ll meet you tonight at eight in front of the Duomo. Good luck and be safe. And no cheating.”

  On the drive into the city, Bella heard her voice—shrill to her own ears—laugh at Rune’s monologue of jokes over the possible nature of the scavenger hunt. Behind her, Phillip chatted with Lee in the back seat as if they were regular golfing partners. Getting him alone, she realized, might be a challenge.

  Giacomo headed toward the train station, Stazione di Santa Maria Novella. Cars, taxis, and Vespas jockeyed for position in a crazed frenzy around them. Giacomo slammed on the brakes to avoid a car that darted in front of the van in a roundabout. When the vehicle cleared the path and exited the traffic circle, Giacomo’s foot slammed to the floorboard and the van lurched forward.

  At the next intersection, Giacomo copied the car’s maneuver and changed lanes without a turn signal, causing a taxi driver to staccato-punch his horn at them. With each near collision and swerve of the van, Bella heard gasps of alarm from Hope and Meghan.

  The van entered the next roundabout. At the second entrance, two side-by-side Vespas cut into the flow and motored across both lanes of the traffic circle without a pause or glance in their direction. Giacomo swerved right to avoid the scooters. Bella saw how close the van came to one of them and she clutched her seatbelt. Giacomo ceased the litany of rapid-fire Italian that he was speaking into his cellphone headset, leaned his head out the window, and shouted a string of obscenities at the clueless drivers.

  “Holy shit,” Rune said. “There must be some real jack in auto insurance here. What’s the accident rate in a city like Florence?”

  “Not many accidents,” Giacomo said, “but when they happen ...” He clucked his tongue and shook his head.

  Across from the train station, a grassy piazza housed two marble obelisks anchored on turtles. Beyond the piazza, they could see Alberti’s façade for the church of Santa Maria Novella.

  “Many tourists do not respect our monuments.” Giacomo glanced over his shoulder. “One time, not so long ago, tourists used a fountain near Santa Maria Novella for their washing of clothes.”

  “Wish I’d seen that,” Hope said.

  “What do you say ... clothes soap?”

  “Detergent?” Meghan said.

  “Yes. Detergent. They poured detergent into the fountain.” His right hand arced in the air. “Bubbles everywhere.”

  Bella watched as Rune howled with laughter and recorded the story in his smartphone. A future scene in some movie, no doubt.

  Giacomo gestured to the right and dropped his voice. “You do not want to venture through those dismal streets. They are known for their prostitutes.”

  “Maybe I’ll come check it out later,” Rune said.

  “Do you want to get a case of the cooties?” Hope asked.

  Lee chuckled.

  Giacomo cranked the steering wheel and made a U-turn. The careening motion rocked Bella forward and her shoulder belt smashed her chest. Another abrupt turn, this time down a narrow side street. The van jerked to a stop by a row of slender shops.

  “Aha.” Giacomo seemed satisfied at their destination. He vaulted out of the van and held open the door for the group. He pointed to an ancient wooden door. “Before the hunt, we stop here.” He clasped Meghan’s elbow. “Beautiful lady, I go with you.”

  Meghan nodded, but she did not speak.

  Bella pretended to study the marker for the store, the Officina Profumo Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella, so she could eavesdrop. No window advertised the store’s wares, only the simple sign and ancient door.

  “A pharmacy?” Meghan said.

  “It is a special treat for you.” Giacomo’s voice rose. “This, beautiful lady, is very famous. One of the world’s oldest, and most honored, pharmacies.”

  His arm cradled the back of Meghan’s waist, and they moved side by side toward the door. “Dominican friars first began creating their potions in 1221, but the farmacia officially opened in 1612. In the eighteenth century,” he added, opening the door for the two women, “these special potions were traded as far away as China.”

  “Their formulas must be remarkable.” Meghan smiled at Giacomo.

  Bella closed her eyes. The scent of flowers and herbs tickled her nose and enveloped her with a foreign smell.

  A golden-frescoed ceiling reigned above antique wooden display cabinets filled with bottles and packets of herbal concoctions. “What do they use to create that unique smell?” Meghan’s head twisted to survey the room.

  Giacomo urged Meghan forward, his arm returning to its perch around her tiny waist. Although slight of frame himself, Giacomo’s muscular forearm could easily span Meghan’s back. “The smell is from the best herbs and flowers picked from the hills around Florence, then mixed and dried in terra-cotta vessels. This method and the formulas, they are th
e same as those developed by the friars and used through the centuries.”

  They moved in front of a display of soaps in a cabinet, individually wrapped in white paper printed with gold letters and designs. “Each is hand-wrapped. They are only sold after a sixty-day aging.” Giacomo touched Meghan’s arm. “Perhaps you would like some eau de cologne?”

  “No, thank you,” Meghan said. “I don’t like the chemicals in beauty products.”

  Giacomo moved in front of Meghan. He stroked her shoulders with his hands. Giacomo glanced at Bella. “How do you say it? From nature?”

  “All natural products?” Bella guessed at the phrase he wanted.

  Giacomo nodded. “All natural products. No chemicals, not here. The eau de cologne was first brought to Paris by Caterina de’ Medici, developed for her in 1500.”

  He abandoned the women and rushed to a tiny man who was straightening the wares in a cabinet across the room from them. Even though he spoke in a whisper, his words echoed in the cavernous room. In response to his request, the elderly shop clerk shuffled to an adjacent cabinet. The upper shelves extended far above the clerk’s head. He returned to the group of shoppers holding a small bottle with a handwritten label.

  “What’s that?” Lee had joined them. He sidled in next to Meghan.

  “Cologne.” Meghan smiled at Giacomo.

  “All natural.” Giacomo puffed out his chest.

  Bella saw Lee’s shoulders stiffen under his pressed cotton shirt.

  Lee placed his fingertips against the small of Meghan’s back. “Shall we see what it smells like?”

  Meghan looked to Giacomo. “May we open it?”

  Giacomo took Meghan’s hand and pulled her along with him to the counter-height, glass-topped wooden cabinet. He opened the fragrance, and his free hand held her chin as he raised the bottle to her nose.

  Bella tilted her head and watched Lee’s reaction to this. His left cheek flexed, just once. Quite the drama unfolding here. Lee hadn’t forgotten Meghan through the years. No, he hadn’t. His attraction to Meghan was very, very clear to Bella.