Lake Como (15 page)

January 23, 1980

Dear Diary,

We are officially snowed in! The lifts are shut down and the roads are closed. Grazia rolled up the rugs and invited everyone we know to dance and drink schnapps.

Pliny looked so handsome in black ski pants and a red ribbed sweater. He has reserved a room at the Palace Hotel! We are going to drink Courvoisier and roast chestnuts by the fire.

I am going to leave you here, Dear Diary; it would not be polite to spy. I am so in love, every time I look at him my heart expands. Pray that we have a wonderful, romantic night! I will give you a full report in the morning.

Hallie heard the bell announcing lunch and shut the notebook quickly. She closed her eyes, picturing Francesca in furry après-ski boots, walking into the Palace Hotel with Pliny. They were both young—younger than Hallie was now—both beautiful and rich.

For the first time Hallie wondered what would have happened if Pliny and Francesca stayed together. Hallie would never have been born but Portia wouldn’t be so skittish, so dependent on approval from Sophia or Riccardo. Hallie imagined Francesca living in Lake Como, and thought about what could have happened to make her leave.

Hallie flipped through the last pages of the notebook. Perhaps Francesca became pregnant that night and Pliny had to marry her. Maybe they weren’t in love; it was just a holiday romance. Hallie heard the lunch bell ring again. She would read the last entry, and then she would join the others at the table.

January 24, 1980

Dear Diary,

We are married! It was so sudden and romantic. I cannot tell anyone, not even Constance, until we tell Pliny’s mother. Pliny and I are going to Lake Como as soon as the roads clear, and I will be presented to Sophia.

The Palace Hotel sits right on the mountain, I could see the slopes from our balcony. Pliny ordered room service and we ate truffles and salmon. For dessert we shared flambé and chocolate-covered cherries.

After dinner Pliny took my hand and said he never felt like this before. I am like a young Audrey Hepburn and he can’t take his eyes off me. Can you imagine, Diary! The most beautiful man I’ve ever met in love with me.

He said all the girls he knows smoke cigarettes and wear false eyelashes, and I smell like toothpaste and my eyes are liquid pools.

I let him talk, he’s so gorgeous to look at, and suddenly he got down on one knee and proposed. I protested that we’ve only known each other a few days, but he insisted the moment we met he knew he had to marry me. I laughed, but he just knelt there and I realized he was serious. I nodded yes, and he called the concierge and told them to send up a priest.

Pliny told me to wait and I sat looking at the snow, nervous and excited. He returned with a beautiful dress—white lace with pearl buttons—and white satin slippers like Cinderella.

He gave me the most exquisite diamond ring he bought at the hotel gift shop—he said Sophia would give me the Tesoro ruby when we arrived in Lake Como—but I couldn’t get married without a ring.

So I am Princess Francesca Tesoro. Isn’t it funny that my name sounds Italian? Maybe Constance knew when I was born I was destined to live in Italy. I can’t believe we’re married, but I know we will be deliriously happy.

I know you want to know if we “did it” last night after the priest performed the ceremony. Now that I am a princess, I must practice decorum; so I will just say I’m glad you were tucked away in my bedside drawer. There are some things I cannot describe.

Hallie closed the diary. She remembered Francesca’s stories about Phillip Elliot and thought he had been the great love of her life. But reading the diary, it seemed like Francesca had given her whole heart to Pliny. Could Sophia have been such a dragon that she chased Francesca away?

Hallie tucked the diary back on the shelf, and her fingers bumped up against a pile of books. She pulled them out and discovered four more notebooks tied with a purple ribbon. Hallie untied the ribbon and quickly checked the dates. The diaries began in 1980 and ended in 1982—the years Francesca spent in Lake Como.

Hallie ran up to her room. She tucked the notebooks into the bottom of her suitcase and covered them with clothes. Then she walked downstairs to join Sophia and Pliny for lunch.

chapter eleven

Hallie sat on her bed and opened the diary. She had been reading all afternoon, only stopping to walk onto the balcony and breathe the balmy air. Portia had wanted her to go to the outdoor markets in Tremezzo, but Hallie couldn’t pull herself away from the notebooks.

The first pages were full of descriptions of the lake and the villa. Francesca had been besotted by the quaint villages, the emerald waters, and the imposing mountains. There were pages and pages of meals in intimate trattorias, visits to castles and ruins high above the shore.

Francesca wrote that Sophia had been furious with Pliny and treated Francesca like an intruder. Sophia barely nodded when she passed Francesca in the halls, until Francesca started throwing up in the marble bathroom. The village doctor confirmed her pregnancy and Sophia grudgingly offered her congratulations.

The mood in the villa changed and Francesca became the center of attention. The local aristocracy came to pay their respects, and Sophia held a celebration to announce the marriage. She skipped over the fact that Francesca was American, and lauded her dark coloring and Catholic upbringing.

Even when Francesca wrote about heartburn and indigestion, clothes that were too tight, and the impossibility of the language, she seemed happy. Pliny brought her presents and Sophia kept her distance, making sure she drank tall glasses of milk before bed.

Francesca stopped writing when she was eight months pregnant. Her last entry said she could barely hold a pen because her fingers were so swollen, and all she wanted to do was sleep. She scribbled two pages of boy names in big, curly letters and added a few girl names at the bottom.

The second notebook began six weeks after Marcus was born and Francesca’s tone was completely different. Sophia insisted she give birth at home and the labor had gone on for two days. When Francesca finally delivered Marcus, the doctor gave her Valium that knocked her out so quickly she didn’t get to hold the baby.

Marcus was given to a wet nurse and Francesca wasn’t allowed near him. She sobbed for days, complaining that her breasts would explode with milk. But Sophia was adamant. Tesoro women did not nurse their babies. Francesca implored Pliny to step in but he refused. Tesoro women had used wet nurses for centuries and it was not up to them to change the custom. Francesca’s milk would subside. She would get her figure back quickly, come and go as she pleased, accompany Pliny to dinners and performances in Milan. Francesca wrote that she saw a new side of Pliny that disturbed her.

January 10, 1981

Dear Diary,

I do not know this man who is my husband. He has become a little boy, squarely under the thumb of Sophia. She is like a figure out of the Middle Ages. She gives me lists of people I need to call on. She tells me how to dress, whether I should wear my hair up or down, how to sip my wine.

When I was pregnant Sophia left me alone, and Pliny was so solicitous, making sure I was comfortable. But now everything is about Marcus, the future prince, and how I must make a good impression on the residents of Bellagio.

The other day I went into the village and chatted with Gina, the woman who sells vegetables at the outdoor market. I showed her pictures of Marcus and she shared photos of her new baby.

Sophia accosted me the minute I returned to the villa. One of her friends had seen me talking to Gina. Sophia said I must never mingle with shopkeepers, and I was forbidden to share photos of Marcus without her permission.

I pulled Pliny into the salon and begged him to intervene. He looked from me to his mother and said nothing. Finally he turned to Sophia and apologized. He said he would teach me that the Tesoros were aristocracy and only conversed with people of their class.

Diary, I was speechless! I wanted to pack my bags and run home to Constance. Constance is on the Symphony Board and Friends of the Ballet, but I have seen her invite Louisa to sit down for tea. She always has kind words for the gardener and she gives him roses for his wife.

I understand if Sophia is rigid and set in her ways, but Pliny is my husband! He should have defended me.

Hallie walked onto the balcony and watched the gardeners clip the tops of the hedges. She pictured Francesca, young, inexperienced, a new mother in a foreign country. She imagined Sophia in a black silk dress, emerald necklace around her neck, her expression stern and forbidding. Francesca must have felt so alone without Pliny’s support. She went back inside and continued to read.

April 15, 1981

Dear Diary,

It is getting worse! I am beginning to feel like the Villa Tesoro is a prison and Sophia is my warden. She now has a servant follow me when I go into town. She says it is to help carry my purchases, but I know it is to make sure I don’t fraternize with the shopkeepers.

And Diary, I am only allowed to see my baby for an hour a day! Marcus is growing plump with thick fists and thighs and a sweet dimple on his chin. I love to see him blow bubbles, but I am not allowed to give him a bath.

Marcus has a nanny as well as a wet nurse, and they take care of him from morning to the early afternoon. He is brought to me so I can see that he has been fed and burped, and then he is whisked away until evening. I am allowed to spend an hour with him before dinner. I place him on the rug in the library and watch his eyes follow me. I want to tell him that I miss him, that I love him so much, but he wouldn’t understand.

The night nanny takes him away and I join Pliny and Sophia for cocktails and dinner. Often we have company and I have to sit at the table for hours. Once I excused myself and snuck up to the nursery. The nanny stopped me before I entered. She said Marcus was asleep. Diary, I stood on the landing listening to my son cooing, and I couldn’t go inside to see his face.

I complain to Pliny and it is driving a wedge between us. He doesn’t understand why I am upset. He says I should be happy we can spend time together. He laughs, says that he loves my breasts and he is glad he has them to himself. I love Pliny but I am so angry, I am like a dam waiting to burst.

Yesterday Sophia called Pliny and me into her study. She said we needed to start thinking about having another baby. It would be wise to have “a spare.” At first I didn’t understand her English. I am like a horse to be bred! Now that I have produced an heir, Sophia wants me to produce another, to make sure the Tesoro line continues.

Pliny and I went up to our bedroom. I was so upset; I didn’t want him to touch me. He said his mother was right. If we had a girl, we would try again, so we mustn’t waste time.

I stared at him like he was a stranger. Was this really the prince I met on the ski slope, the man who was so impetuous he proposed on the spot? I told him I didn’t feel like making love and he slept in his study.

I don’t know if I even want another child. I dreamed I was in San Francisco, pushing Marcus in his stroller in Golden Gate Park. When I woke up, I was crying.

I called Constance but she says there is nothing she can do. The Italian aristocracy is strict and the matriarch is the head of the family. She said I should try to make Sophia my friend but that is like telling a dragon not to breathe fire.

Hallie skipped over entries about Francesca’s Italian lessons, dress fittings in Milan, hours spent learning the Tesoro family tree. Sometimes she seemed happy: driving the speedboat on the lake, strolling with Pliny through the gardens. But mostly she wrote about her growing frustration with Pliny, her misery at being separated from Marcus. Hallie jumped to an entry written nine months later.

January 18, 1982

Dear Diary,

On Christmas Eve I gave birth to the most beautiful baby girl. I am sorry I didn’t write when I was pregnant, but I was sick from morning till night. Pliny reminded me I should be glad I didn’t have to take care of Marcus. For once I didn’t argue with him. I couldn’t eat anything but dry toast. My feet were swollen and my back ached.

Now that Portia is born, I am distraught. It is even worse than the early days with Marcus. She is the most exquisite baby—with thick black hair and huge green eyes. I hardly see her and I feel like my heart has been cut out. I didn’t realize what it would be like to have a girl; I want to cradle her in my arms and stroke her hair. The new wet nurse is like an ogre in a fairy tale. Sophia hired her just to scare me!

Hallie heard Portia run up the stairs. She knew she would knock on Hallie’s door and suggest a swim before dinner. Hallie wanted to dive off the diving board and forget she discovered Francesca’s diary. But she had to find out how Francesca could have abandoned Marcus and Portia.

Hallie scribbled a note saying she had a terrible headache. She slipped it under the door and picked up the notebook.

She found a Polaroid photo, blurred and faded around the edges. Pliny stood tall and handsome with Portia in his arms. Francesca wore slim black pants and a silk scarf around her neck. Marcus held his mother’s hand, blue eyes smiling into the camera. They stood on the dock, a picnic basket at their feet, Lake Como glittering behind them.

Hallie examined the photo. Francesca looked happy, her eyes sparkling. Maybe she had resigned herself to the Italian lifestyle.

September 2, 1982

Dear Diary,

Today I overheard Sophia and Pliny discussing Marcus’s education. Sophia was saying it was time to enroll him in Le Rosey. My ears pricked up because Le Rosey is a boarding school in Switzerland. Some of my friends at Madame Lille’s École had been students there.