Lake Como (21 page)

“Oh.” Hallie avoided his eyes.

“I never knew she kept diaries,” Pliny said, almost to himself. “I loved your mother but I was so young, I didn’t know how to be a good husband. I thought I just had to buy her diamonds and make love to her.” Pliny’s voice trailed off. “We fought but I thought that was normal. Tesoros are very passionate. I never imagined she would leave.”

“She was desperate. She thought you loved Sophia more than you loved her.”

“I was very angry at Francesca for a long time. But she left me the two things I love most in the world: Marcus and Portia.” Pliny’s eyes filled with tears. “Now I know she gave me another precious thing: a beautiful daughter.”

Hallie couldn’t say a word without dissolving into tears. She looked at Pliny’s big hands, at the gold rings glittering on his fingers.

“I missed almost thirty years of my daughter’s life.” Pliny’s voice wavered. “I missed teaching her to ride a bicycle, to fish, to avoid a boy’s kiss. I missed seeing her grow from an angel into a beautiful woman, and I only have myself to blame.”

Hallie watched Portia skip back from the ferry terminal. She let Pliny pull her up and wrap his arms around her. She laid her head on his shoulder and cried like a baby.

They moved to an indoor café and drank hot chocolate spiked with brandy. Hallie told stories about the nuns at St. Ignatius, the boys she met at UCLA, her favorite Italian restaurants in San Francisco. She recounted a funny vignette about one of Francesca’s wedding cakes, but Pliny’s face clouded over and she didn’t mention her mother again.

The piazza filled up with people getting off work, loosening their ties and ordering plates of antipasto. Hallie and Portia and Pliny climbed back in the Fiat, and Pliny drove leisurely to Bellagio. When they arrived at the villa, the dinner bell rang and they rushed upstairs to change. Pliny suggested they didn’t tell Sophia yet—she was still in a rage about Portia leaving Riccardo.

Hallie dressed carefully, choosing a black-and-white Dior dress and black Gucci slingbacks. She added an extra layer of mascara and put a diamond clip in her hair. She walked down the staircase and Pliny was waiting at the bottom, freshly shaved in black silk pants and a white cotton shirt. He took Hallie’s arm and she floated into the dining room, feeling a new and foreign kind of happiness.

chapter sixteen

Hallie tied a Benetton sweater around her shoulders and slipped on a pair of loafers. It was late September and the weather had cooled. A thick mist shrouded the lake in the mornings and returned in the evening. Many of the tourists had gone home. The locals ate steaming plates of spaghetti in outdoor cafés, pleased to be rid of the impatient French and the loud Americans.

The last few weeks had moved at a dizzying pace. Hallie returned from her buying trip with crystal chandeliers and ornate Persian rugs. The paintings hung on the walls in their new space, and Hallie began adding silk ottomans and Louis XIV chairs. She loved going to work, admiring the Regency sofas she discovered in a castle in Tuscany, the Murano glass so delicate she was afraid it would break in her hands.

Hallie and Pliny carved out time together. He drove into the hills and took her to La Tabla for dinner. The owner had known Pliny since he was six years old. He sat at the table, admiring Hallie’s beauty and offering extra glasses of red wine.

On the weekends Pliny drove Hallie and Portia around the lake in his motorboat, stopping at different villages to pick up fresh olives or loaves of garlic bread. He was happiest when he was on the water, bouncing over the waves so Hallie and Portia clutched their seats and screamed with laughter.

The hardest part of the last few weeks had been Hallie’s call to Constance. She took the phone out on the balcony, and dialed Constance’s number.

“Darling!” Constance beamed. “It’s been too long. I was afraid you’d been swept up by Lake Como and forgotten how to speak English.”

“My Italian is terrible,” Hallie confessed. “Everyone at the villa speaks English.”

“How is Portia? Francesca said she and Riccardo were back together.”

“They were.” Hallie hesitated. “But she’s filed for divorce.”

“Divorce!” Constance gasped. “What did Sophia say?”

“Sophia is not happy,” Hallie murmured. “But Pliny is supporting her. Riccardo wasn’t good for Portia.”

“No woman enjoys being married to a gigolo,” Constance agreed. “Marriage demands fidelity, that’s why it’s written in the vows. You’ll never have that problem with Peter; he only has eyes for you.”

Hallie took a deep breath. “Peter visited on his way to Paris. I ended it.”

“You did what?” Constance’s voice was sharp.

“I broke up with him,” Hallie replied in a rush. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here, or what I’ll do after. I can’t string him along.”

“A career is important, but it is no replacement for love, marriage, and family.”

“I don’t think I was really in love with Peter,” Hallie said lamely.

Constance was silent for so long, Hallie was afraid she had hung up. “You’re like your mother, chasing some European fairy tale. You belong in San Francisco with a good man by your side. You’re not going to find someone like Peter.”

“I’m not looking.” Hallie blinked away tears.

“Maybe not now,” Constance warned. “But when the glamour and glitz wears off you will be.”

Hallie couldn’t tell Constance she wasn’t looking for glitz and glamour; she was getting to know her father. Hallie imagined Constance absorbing the news and knew her fragile health couldn’t stand it. She smiled bravely and hung up, feeling severely chastised.

Hallie avoided Francesca’s calls, and texted her back, using the time difference and her long hours at work as excuses for her lack of communication. She still didn’t know if or when she could talk to her, so she buried her in the back of her mind, under the many decisions she had to make at work and the daily activity at the villa.

Portia, miraculously, had walked into her old ballet school and emerged a dance teacher. Madame LaFarge finally gave in to her arthritis and turned her classes over to younger instructors. Portia taught two classes a day. She pirouetted around the villa in the evenings, chattering about the seven-year-old girl who would be a prima ballerina, the twelve-year-old who shouldn’t be allowed near a pair of pointe shoes.

“Where are you going?” Portia pranced into Hallie’s bedroom. She wore her new uniform of black tights and a brightly colored leotard. One of Pliny’s fisherman’s sweaters hung over the leotard and she wore satin slippers on her feet.

“To the farmers’ market,” Hallie replied. “Unless it rains.”

“It never rains in September,” Portia said dismissively. “You smell too good to be going to the market. Is that Obsession?”

“Am I wearing too much?” Hallie sniffed her wrist.

“Depends on who you’re trying to impress.” Portia sat cross-legged on the bed.

“Angus is taking me, as friends.” Hallie checked her hair in the mirror. “I’ve never been to the markets in Tremezzo.”

“You’re going on a date?” Portia raised her eyebrows.

Hallie blushed. “Picking out tomatoes and radishes in the afternoon is not a date.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with interior design.” Portia’s eyes narrowed. “And it could easily lead into Saturday night and Sunday morning.”

“We’re just friends,” Hallie insisted. Hallie had told Angus she broke up with Peter and they fell into an easy friendship. Angus created delicious dishes with fresh fish and vegetables grown in Max’s greenhouse. He joked about Hallie’s addiction to paella and her inability to pass up chocolate.

“Men and women can’t be friends.” Portia shrugged her slim shoulders. She was still thin, but her body had a new energy.

“Angus seems lonely,” Hallie mused. “He doesn’t have any friends, and I don’t think he has much contact with Max.”

“Have you ever seen Max?” Portia leaned forward. She thought Hallie’s mysterious employer was even sexier than his estate manager.

“I’m sure I will, when I finish the job. I like making my own decisions.”

“Think carefully before you sleep with Angus,” Portia warned. “It’s not good to mix business with pleasure.”

“I’m not going to sleep with him!” Hallie retorted. “We’re not even having dinner. We’re going to tramp around the market and buy red peppers and radicchio.”

“I am going on a date,” Portia said proudly. “And I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

“With who?” Hallie asked. Portia hadn’t had any male visitors at the villa, and she seemed to spend all her time rehearsing dance routines.

“Alfonso,” Portia replied, her mouth curling in a smile.

“Alfonso!” Hallie exclaimed. “When did you see him?”

“I ran into him in Como. He’s been stopping by the dance studio.”

“How often?” Hallie inquired.

“Every day,” Portia mumbled. “We grab a quick bite at lunch or a coffee after work.”

“You’ve been seeing Alfonso every day without mentioning it!”

“You didn’t tell me you were playing Peter Rabbit with Angus,” Portia shot back.

Hallie flinched. She hadn’t heard from Peter since he left Bellagio. Sometimes late at night, she searched the Internet for an article he wrote, but when she found one she closed the computer before reading it. She wanted to know Peter was working and happy, but she didn’t want any contact with him.

“Where are you going?” Hallie asked.

“He’s going to surprise me.” Portia hugged her chest. “When Alfonso and Marcus were university students they were so serious. Alfonso wore thick glasses and his hair barely reached his collar. Now he looks like a lion.”

“You like him?” Hallie asked.

“Apparently he had a big crush on me.” Portia pulled a thread on her sweater. “He still talks about politics and finance. But his eyes are like gems, and he has the smoothest hands.”

“You shouldn’t judge a man by his hands,” Hallie said, smiling.

“When we sit at a café, he doesn’t stare at the Swedish au pair at the next table, or make eyes at the waitress,” Portia said seriously. “He only looks at me.”

*   *   *

Hallie met Angus at the boat dock. He wore khakis and a bulky red sweater. He helped Hallie into the motorboat and they crossed the lake to Tremezzo. Angus tied the boat at the dock and they walked through the narrow alleys.

“In a few months there’ll be snow on the ground,” Angus said as they approached the market. “I love Lake Como in the winter. It’s so peaceful, like watching a silent movie.”

“Don’t you get lonely?” Hallie asked. Some of the cafés had already moved their tables indoors and the wind nipped Hallie’s cheeks. She slipped her sweater over her head, grateful she had worn slacks and loafers.

“I grew up the middle of seven children.” Angus stopped at a market stall. He sampled sliced honeydew melon and gave a piece to Hallie. “Everyone at the dinner table talked about the Red Sox and the Knicks. I wanted to discuss Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. You can be lonely surrounded by people.”

“My mother tried to be my friend,” Hallie replied. “She didn’t understand I wanted a mother. I had girlfriends at school to paint my nails and listen to music with.”

“Have you talked to her?” Angus asked.

“Not yet.” Hallie gulped. She had discussed Francesca with Angus over fettuccine Alfredo and warm garlic bread. He listened closely, his long legs spread out in front of him.

“You owe it to yourself to call her.” Angus cradled a yellow tomato in his hand. “She may have a good reason for not telling you.”

“The last few weeks with Pliny makes me realize how much I’ve missed.” Hallie sighed. “I showed him how to make a tuna fish sandwich. We discovered we both love caramel toffees, we can finish a box in one sitting.”

“If you talk to Francesca, you might have two parents at the same time.” Angus touched her arm lightly.

Hallie paused, holding a shiny red apple in her hand. She remembered when the other children brought a mother and father to back-to-school night, or had two parents attend a teacher’s conference. Francesca was chic and sophisticated with her big brown eyes and close-cropped hair, but Hallie wished she also had a father who wore a suit and carried a leather briefcase.

Hallie grinned. “You always know what to say.”

“I was the family negotiator.” Angus smiled. “I won the Good Samaritan Award two years in a row in high school, and was voted ‘most likely to change the world.’”

“You can still do that.” Hallie looked up at Angus. He was examining a box of figs, his expression strangely serious. “There’s plenty of time.”

“People don’t learn from the mistakes of previous cultures.” Angus paid for the figs. “Rome burned and it will burn again.”

“I thought you said people are good,” Hallie mused.

“They are inherently good,” Angus agreed. “But there’s too much temptation with the Internet and social media. When people are cruel it has a ripple effect like a tsunami.”

“Speaking of tsunamis, it looks like rain.” Hallie tried to lighten the mood. “We should hurry and finish shopping.”

They bought squash and sweet potatoes, bundles of asparagus and heads of lettuce. Angus asked the prices in Italian and nodded
grazie
when the sellers insisted he take an extra basket of strawberries or bag of yams.

“What did he say?” Hallie whispered when an old man insisted Angus accept a box of ripe, purple plums.

“He said I was lucky to have such a beautiful girlfriend, and I must spoil her with the sweetest fruits.” Angus carried the plums under one arm.

“Did you tell him I’m not your girlfriend?” Hallie glanced at the man, who bowed and smiled a toothless smile.

“And have him take back the plums?” Angus grinned. “I’ll make a pie with fresh whipped cream.”

“These scarves are gorgeous.” Hallie stopped at a stall where silk scarves blew in the wind like sails. “I must buy one for Portia.”

“I’ll negotiate,” Angus suggested. “They don’t respect you unless you demand a good price.”

Hallie moved on to a stall selling sketches while Angus chatted with the woman selling scarves. She had thought the market only sold fruits and vegetables, but there were stalls displaying silver jewelry, handmade leather purses, and brightly colored clothing.