The Last Promise (15 page)

“I had to come back to Florence.”

“Will you be home for a while?”

“No. There’s a wine show in Vienna this Friday; I need to be there by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Vienna. I wish you had told me sooner. We would have loved to go with you.”

“I’ll just be working the whole time, then off again.”

She continued sorting clothes. “Alessio’s upstairs in his room with Manuela if you want to see him.”

“I won’t disturb them. I’m going to take a nap. Then you can make me lunch.”

She looked at the laundry around her then dropped what was in her hands back on the floor. “All right.” She stood up and stepped from the laundry, picking her way around the little piles like she was navigating a stream. “I wasn’t going grocery shopping until later this afternoon. I can make you a sandwich. I have some prosciutto crudo.”

“
Va bene.
And some penne with Bolognese sauce.”

“We don’t have any beef. There’s some pesto sauce.”

He frowned. “Okay.”

Eliana went to the kitchen. Maurizio went into the front room, turned on the television and lay down on the couch.

A few minutes later Alessio entered the front room, his hands cupped before him. He stopped near the doorway.

Maurizio turned from the television and smiled.
“Ciao, Alessio.”

“I want to show you something.” He opened his hands.

Maurizio strained to see what he held.
“Che cosa?
A rock?”

Alessio stepped toward his father. “It’s a
real
volcano rock from a
real
volcano.”

Maurizio took the porous stone from Alessio’s outstretched hand, looked it over then gave it back to him.

“Where did you get it?”

“Luca gave it to me.”

“Ganzo.” Cool.
He turned back to the television.

After a moment Alessio asked, “Do you want to play soccer with me?”

Maurizio looked back over. “Of course. But it is raining outside.”

“The rain stopped.”

“Yes, but everything is still all wet. You do not want to get all wet, do you?”

“I don’t mind.”

“Yes, but your mother will.” Maurizio smiled reassuringly. “We will do it another time when it is not so wet.” Alessio’s countenance fell. Maurizio, sensing his disappointment, said, “When I come back from my next trip I will bring you a new ball.”

“We haven’t even used the last ball you gave me.”

“But we will. I promise. When everything is not so wet.” He patted Alessio on the arm then turned back to the television. After a few more moments Alessio took his rock back upstairs.

 

Ross was surrounded by a tour group from Boise, Idaho. They had been an amiable crowd, and though he’d never been to Idaho, judging from this group he thought he’d like the people.

Ross preferred leading the groups from the smaller towns. They seemed more filled with awe at what they saw.

“There is a reason for every painting,” Ross said. “Sometimes we can see it within the expression of the art itself; sometimes we find it in historical perspective. There were a lot of things said in art that couldn’t be said aloud. Painted between the lines, so to speak. For instance . . .” He looked over the group. “You’ve already been to see the Sistine Chapel, no?”

Most of group nodded in the affirmative.

“In the painting of the last judgment in the Sistine Chapel, Michelangelo put many of his rivals’ faces on those unfortunate souls being pulled by demons down to hell. Contrarily he put many of his patron’s faces on those being saved and blessed by angels.

“Many of these symbols we see in paintings were very familiar and understood by the people of that era, but are not familiar to many of us today. For instance, a few rooms down is one of my favorite paintings in the Uffizi, the
Venus of Urbino
by Titian. It is a portrait of a beautiful young woman lying nude on a lounge. Though it would hardly turn a head today, at the time it was considered one of the most erotic pieces ever painted. Titian, not wishing to be misunderstood, added an important symbol to his painting. A small dog is curled up near the girl, on the foot of the bed. The dog was considered the symbol of fidelity, and it was placed there to reassure the viewer that this was a good girl. I’ll point it out when we reach room twenty-eight. Remember, there is a reason for every painting.” He started walking, throwing both hands in the air ahead of him as if he were directing aircraft. “
Andiamo, ragazzi
. Let’s go, children.”

 

Ross was done with the tour before noon, but he and his scooter were stuck downtown by the rain. He sat outside the Uffizi, beneath the courtyard’s overhang, reading a book as he waited for the rain to stop. Around three o’clock there was a break in the weather, and he put on his helmet and started home just a few minutes before the rain started again in earnest.

By the time he reached Rendola he was drenched. At the end of the long driveway he saw a car he’d never seen before, a navy blue Alfa Romeo with gold trim. It was parked next to Eliana’s BMW. Ross rocked his scooter back onto its stand, stowed his helmet beneath the seat, then opened the front gate.

The courtyard stone was uneven, and where he entered, the rain had pooled into a small puddle four inches deep. He stepped around it.

An Italian man leaned against the wall next to Eliana’s front door, smoking a cigar and watching Ross’s entrance. He was lean, a hand shorter than Ross, almost feminine in form, with curled hair and bronze skin, the lower part of his face shaded with stubble, his heavy-lidded eyes fixed on Ross coolly. He bit down on his cigar, blowing out a blue-gray cloud of smoke from the gaps in his mouth where his clenched teeth bit into the leaf.

Ross nodded.
“Buona sera.”

“Buona sera.”
The man removed the cigar. “You are Mr. Story?”

Ross approached him. “Yes. Ross Story.”

He put out his hand. “I am Maurizio Ferrini. I own the villa. You have met my sister Anna. She has told me about you. Welcome to Rendola.”

“Thank you.”

“So what brings you to
our neck of the woods
?”

Ross sensed that he was showing off his English.

Maurizio laughed. “The sweet life. That is rich. You look a little too wet for that.”

“I got caught in the rain.”

“Where in the States are you from?”

“Minnesota.”

“Minnesota,” he said knowingly. “Minneapolis or St. Paul?”

“Just outside Minneapolis.”

“I have been there. Once in the winter. It was too cold for my blood. Below zero Fahrenheit, I think.” He stopped and examined his cigar as if it had suddenly interrupted their conversation. He looked back up at Ross. “My wife told me that you drove her and my son to the hospital the other evening. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You plan to live in Italy for a while?”

“For a while.”

“Well, good luck. See you around.”

“Likewise.” Ross turned and Maurizio brought the cigar back to his mouth as he watched Ross cross the courtyard to his apartment. He wondered what the American was really doing in his country.

—Italian Proverb

 

 

 

 

 

R
oss woke early the next morning and went running. He ran to the end of the Rendola vineyards, then down to Impruneta’s Grande Piazza, once around the square and then back, covering almost five and a half miles in all.

The clouds had vanished with the night winds, and the morning was bright and fresh and already warm enough to make him sweat. He had stopped during his run to visit with an old man with two canes, one in each hand, who was slowly walking down the street and had hailed him with “Today’s my sixtieth wedding anniversary.”

“Auguri,”
Ross said.
Best wishes. “Congratulazioni.”

“Seems like only yesterday we were married,” the man said thoughtfully, wiping his forehead with his arm, then added, “and you know how awful yesterday was.”

Ross laughed, wished him well and started off again.

On the way back he removed his shirt. He was wearing only his shorts and shoes when he returned to the villa. Eliana watched him cross the courtyard from her studio. She opened her window.

“Hey.”

He stopped, looked up at her, shielding his eyes with his hand from the morning sun. She was wearing a terry-cloth robe and leaning partially from the window. He smiled. “Good morning.”

“
Buon giorno, signore.
Are we still on for tonight?”

“If it’s still good for you. I don’t want to steal you from your husband.”

“Maurizio’s already gone. He left early this morning. I saw you talking to him.”

“He was friendly.”

“I told you you’d like him.”

Ross didn’t comment. “Eight o’clock, then?”

“Yes. Eight.” She waved.
“Ciao.”
She disappeared back inside the window.

 

The bells of Arnolfo’s Tower rung the noon hour. Ross had just left the Uffizi with a small group and was standing in the
cortile
when Francesca caught up with him. She was out of breath and rested her hand on his arm.

“
Ciao,
Ross.”

“
Ciao,
Francesca.” They kissed cheeks.

“Can you fit in another group this afternoon?”

“No problem, I’m free until my five o’clock tour.”

“
Benissimo.
I’ll call the hotel.” She took out her cell phone. “You’ll be pleased with this group.”

“Why is that?”

“You might know some of the people.”

Ross looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“The hotel concierge said it’s an advertising incentive trip from one of the television stations in Minneapolis. Didn’t you say you were in advertising in Minneapolis?”

For a moment he was speechless, as if he’d just been delivered tragic news. “I’m sorry, I can’t do it, Francesca.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t. You’ll have to find somebody else. I’ve got to go. I’ll be back at five for my tour.”

Without further explanation he walked briskly down the corridor, disappearing around the corner into the Piazza della Signoria. Baffled, Francesca watched him go then put her cell phone back in her bag.

 

It was a few minutes before eight o’clock when Ross pressed Eliana’s doorbell, igniting a small commotion. The electronic buzz of the doorbell was followed by a short, high-pitched scream then the sound of running feet across the tile floor. The door flung open to Alessio, looking up at him, panting from his sprint across the house. “Hi,” he said breathlessly. He was dressed for bed, in baggy sky blue shorts with a brown stripe down the side and a matching top. He was small and wiry, his hair curly with a tint of amber. His eyes, hazel like his mother’s, were wide with excitement. The last time Ross had seen Alessio was as he carried him into the emergency room. He didn’t look like the same boy.

“You must be Alessio.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you remember me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is your mother here?”

“Yes, sir.”

He stood staring up at Ross, his hands clenched, his mouth partially open, as if he was about to say something.

After a moment Ross said, “May I come in?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.” Ross stepped across the threshold.

“Guess what,” Alessio said.

Ross crouched down to Alessio’s height. “What?”

“I found a scorpion today. It was in my closet.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “He was black. They have a stinger. The really big ones can kill you, you know.”

“Was it big?”

He held his fingers about an inch apart. “This big.”

“Did you put it in a bottle?”

“My mom hit it with a shoe.”

Ross tried not to smile. “I’m just glad you found it before it got both of you.”

Alessio nodded seriously. “Me too.”

Just then Eliana called out, “I’m in the kitchen, Ross. Come on in.”

Ross put his hand on Alessio’s shoulder. “I’ll keep my eyes open for any more. Maybe we can find one sometime and put it in a bottle to look at.”

“Okay.”

Ross found Eliana finishing up the dinner dishes. She smiled when she saw him.
“Ciao.”

“I just need to finish these up, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Want me to dry?”

She smiled at the offer. “No, I’m almost done. Make yourself at home.” She looked down at Alessio. “All right, you saw him. Now run on up to bed.”