A Year at 32 September Way (2 page)

Finally, years of putting in 14-hour days had paid off, and Charles was promoted to executive branch manager. It was during his first meeting with the district manager and other newly hired executive branch managers that Charles learned of the opportunity to take a one-year sabbatical after he’d invested a couple years’ time in his new position. Since beginning his career, he’d barely gone away on vacation for more than two weeks, and those vacations were usually spent with his parents. “It’s a silly thought,” muttered Charles to himself as he dismissed the idea of taking a year-long sabbatical. What would he do for an entire year, and
where on earth would he go? But the seed was planted and, from time to time, Charles found himself dreaming about the possibility of leaving London and his lonely, boring life for a full year.

One Sunday a year after his promotion, on a chilly autumn day, Charles mentioned the possibility of a sabbatical to his parents over mum’s weekly roasted lamb and potato dinner. Ever the meeker one of his parents, Charles’ mum simply looked at her husband and awaited his reaction.

Stanford
Winsdorth
calmly placed his fork and knife on the table. At 65 years of age, he was still an imposing man who exuded British upper-crust society with every breath. He cleared his throat and looked across the table at his son. “Charles, my boy, I’m afraid a sabbatical would be a terrible career move for you just yet. You’ll have to wait on that idea.” With that, the elder
Winsdorth
picked up his fork and knife, and they all resumed eating in silence as if the idea had never been presented. The decision had been made, and Charles’ life would be destined to remain the same.

But winter slowly gave way to springtime in London and, once in a while, the idea of another life wormed its way back into Charles’ mind. On the first Monday of springtime, Charles arrived earlier than usual at the office. A new assistant had been hired, and he was to meet her at 8 o’clock sharp. Sofia was a young Italian woman who’d attended university in London. Bright, ambitious and a quick learner, she soon learned to anticipate Charles’ every need. Although Charles was strictly
business
, he listened with interest when Sofia occasionally talked about Italy. She’d been born and raised there and returned home one weekend each month to see her family and satisfy her need for the vibrancy of the city she loved—Verona. “You should go sometime,” she suggested to Charles one Monday morning as she regaled him with stories of her latest trip home. “You could use a little Verona in your life.”

It was quite a bold statement for anyone to make to someone as serious and business-like as Charles. Somehow, Sofia was the only person who could get away with making it. In the months he’d worked with her, Charles had come to respect Sofia and value her work ethic. He also noticed her passion and excitement for life and felt curious about it. What was it that made her feel that way, and could he possibly ever have that same enthusiasm toward life?

“No, I couldn’t. It would be a terrible career move for me right now,” scoffed Charles as he echoed the decision his father had made for him a year earlier. “What on earth would I do in Verona, anyway?”

“You would live, Charles. You would simply live,” replied Sofia.

A few months later, Charles’ one-year sabbatical was approved and, with Sofia’s help, he’d found a nice apartment not far from the center of Verona. With three months to go before his move in September, Charles had still not informed his parents of the decision to take the sabbatical after all. “I’ll tell Father next Sunday over dinner,” he told himself each week. But one Sunday after another went by, and Charles would find himself still trying to muster up the courage to share his news. The closer he got to September, the tighter the proverbial noose felt around his neck. “It’s time for me to leave,” Charles said to himself. “This isn’t living.”

***

Eva lifted one pale pink rose from the vase and lifted it to her nose. She closed her eyes and inhaled the spicy fragrance, allowing its sweet scent to transport her from the surrounding grayness of Dusseldorf back to the sunshine and warmth of Italy. It was there she’d been given the same roses for the first time by her sweetheart. “Red roses are too common for you,” he’d whispered. With eyes still closed, Eva allowed herself to linger in the memory and his arms just a little bit longer.

A beeping noise from across the room drew Eva back to the present. She opened her eyes and strode toward the bedside table where her cellphone alarm told her it was time to go. University was finished for the year, and Eva had proudly collected her finance degree. But, as was customary in her family, she was taking a year off between finishing university and entering the business world.

Her siblings and other relatives on the
Kretschmann
side had all left Germany and headed to New York or Florida for a year. Eva planned to follow suit and had already found a few apartments she liked in New York City. But that was before she’d spent last summer in Italy and met Marcello. Since then, everything had changed.

They say true love has a way of grabbing ahold of your heart the minute you come face to face with it. Eva had always been fickle with the boys back home, but there was no chance for that with Marcello. From the first moment, he’d been everything her past boyfriends had never been…warm, open and emotionally expressive, and he’d made her feel like the woman she always knew she could be. Even the first glass of wine with him felt like a romantic adventure. Marcello drew out the best in her and, with him, she never felt as if she had to hold back.

Three months in
Bardolino
had gone by fast, and soon Eva had to return to Dusseldorf to resume her studies. On her last night in Italy, Marcello had wined and dined her at the best restaurant in a nearby town. Between sips of the delicious locally made rosé wine, he had slipped Eva a small jewelry box containing a thin gold chain with a pink topaz rose dangling from the end of it. “For my sweet rose,” Marcello had whispered as his lips brushed hers.

Eva reached up and fingered the necklace that hung around her neck as she drove to her appointment in Dusseldorf. That last night in Italy, Marcello had adorned her bed with pink rose petals and made love to her the way she knew only he could. It was hard to say goodbye the next day, but they consoled themselves knowing that there would be frequent visits.

During the past year, Eva had returned to Italy every six to eight weeks to spend a weekend with Marcello. On her most recent visit in April, he had told her about a new business venture his family was getting into. As one of the perks, he had a small apartment at his disposal and wondered if Eva would like to come and live in it for a year. “We will see how it goes, my sweet rose,” Marcello had said to her in his sexy Italian accent. “Maybe after a year you will decide you want to be with someone younger.”

Eva had immediately shushed him; their age difference had never been an issue for her. Perhaps Eva’s father might not approve of his daughter being involved with a man who was two years his senior, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. She’d accepted Marcello’s offer and looked forward to spending an entire year closer to him. Her parents weren’t thrilled about their daughter going to Italy, but they’d have been even less thrilled if they’d known a man was the reason for her change of plans. The youngest of the
Kretschmann
children had always been strong-willed, yearning for adventure. At least Italy was less than a two-hour flight away; if something happened, they’d be there for their daughter in no time.

With her father’s Mercedes parked in the last available spot at the Italian Consulate, Eva’s long legs stretched out of the car. “Oh, they’re so white,” she thought to herself with disgust. “No worries, I’ll be plenty
tan
once I leave the Land of Eternal Grayness to go live in the Land of Love and Sunshine.” Her long blond ponytail swung from side to side as she climbed the steps to go apply for her visa. “Three more months,” whispered Eva. “Italy, here I come!”

***

Signor
Benedetto was a man of routine. Although he possessed the casual and carefree nature of an Italian, he also appreciated a bit of order because it made life easier and more enjoyable for him. He enjoyed an espresso and the morning newspaper at the same café near the San Marcos piazza every morning before dividing his time at the three hotels his family owned. Despite the economy, the Benedetto family continued to enjoy a booming business in Venice, and they regularly gathered to celebrate their good fortune.

Today Signor
Benedetto celebrated for another reason. He folded his newspaper in half the way he always did, laying it on the linen-covered table next to his cup while smoothing the wrinkles from the paper. Then he wiped his hands with his napkin so as not to get any of the newspaper ink on his expensive white suit. The waiter had been surprised when his regular customer ordered a cappuccino instead of his usual espress
o.
“A little celebration!”
Signor
Benedetto had explained.

Now he sipped his warm drink and thought about his most recent accomplishments. The Benedetto family had been fortunate enough to get an insider tip on a plum pi
ece of property in Verona. Signor
Benedetto had checked out the building and determined it would be an excellent investment for his family. His parents and brothers had all come to rely on him for the best business decisions, and he never let them down. So they backed him on this venture without hesitation. Within months of securing the property, he’d already had the available apartments rented out.

One of the best perks to come with this newest acquisition was the extra space in the building, which provided him with a little getaway whenever he needed a break from his family. He and Carlotta had been married for thirty-one years, some of them wonderful, and they both loved their sons and daughter.

Signor
Benedetto loved his wife and remained devoted to providing for her. But, as was common in his family, he’d often taken a lover over the years to fulfill his needs when Carlotta was pregnant, caring for the children or
feigning tiredness. At 51, Signor
Benedetto
felt no need to slow down where lovemaking was concerned. His jet-black hair, unlined face and trim physique belied his years, enabling him to romance his way into the beds of many young women. Carlotta did not feel the same about frequent lovemaking, and their nights together had become fewer and farther between. Over the past few years, her personality had begun to change and she began spending more time in
Bardolino
, close to her family in the vineyards and away from the hustle and bustle, while her husband remained in Venice and tended to his family’s hotel business. With each year, their lives be
came more separate, giving Signor
Benedetto the objectivity to see that time had transformed his once-beautiful and loving wife into a cold, mean-spirited woman.

It was during one of Signor
Benedetto’s frequent trips to
Bardolino
to see Carlotta and select wine for the hotel that he saw the young woman for the first time. As he stood in the
Bardolino
Wine Museum awaiting his order, he noticed her as she entered the room. Slowly, she made her way around the perimeter of the sales room as she looked at the endless bottles of wine on the shelves. By the time she drew
closer to where he stood, Signor
Benedetto was buzzing as much from her presence as from the wine he’d been sampling.

Quick on his feet as always, he’d motioned to the server behind the bar to pour two glasses of their most popular rosé. By the time the object of his attention worked her way around the room and reached the end of the wine display, he was waiting there with the two glasses in hand. She stood in front of him and smiled. At six feet tall, she was as tall as he was in his slightly heeled shoes. He extended one glass of rosé toward her and returned the smile. “I’m Marcello. Marcello Be
nedetto.
Pleased to meet you,
Sig
norina
.”

After that, he’d spent as much time as possible with the beautiful Eva from Germany. She was like the elixir he’d been searching for, and he savored her as often as possible. In return, he wined, dined and wooed her, letting her know what a prize she was to him. When Eva returned to Germany at the end of summer, Marcello went back to business as usual, looking forward to the weekends when she would return.

With Eva gone and his focus back on the family business, Marcello Benedetto had acquired the apartment building in Verona. It seemed only natural to bring his “sweet rose” from Germany closer to him by offering her the extra apartment for a year. This way, he could easily spend time with her when he needed to escape the lack of intimacy and increasingly erratic behavior he experienced with Carlotta, knowing that Eva would more than meet his needs. And, when enough was enough, Marcello had the hotels in Venice where he could be alone in his suite with no one to think about except for himself.

A smile spread across his face as he wiped a small bit of foamed milk from his moustache. “It’s the perfect arrangement,” he thought, feeling especially accomplished. He stood up, placed the crisply folded newspaper in his black leather attaché case as he did every morning, tipped his fedora to the waiter and walked through the piazza toward his first hotel. “Everything is just as I want it to be.”