Lake Como (28 page)

Pliny begged her to drive with him to Lecco, to share a pizza and a bottle of red wine. But Hallie had to keep going, like a toy whirring in circles until its battery died. She tried calling Portia, but her cell phone was off. She felt terrible for what she had said, but she was still furious at Portia for promoting Angus’s cause. If she kept running, hiking, and walking, she wouldn’t have to think. At night she snuck Milo upstairs and crawled into bed, hoping Sophia wouldn’t hear the puppy’s yelps.

Hallie stood in the garden on Sunday afternoon, throwing Milo a tennis ball. He bounded across the lawn and dropped the ball proudly at her feet. Hallie scooped up the ball and saw a figure walk up from the boat dock. It was a woman in slim black pants and a red jacket. She had close-cropped dark hair and wore sneakers on her feet.

“Francesca?” Hallie dropped the tennis ball and waited while her mother crossed the lawn. She had a nylon bag slung over her shoulder and carried a large pink box.

“I almost didn’t get this past security.” Francesca handed the box to Hallie. “The security guard said the cake had a liquid filling. Then I let him try a piece and he slipped me through. It’s a butter-rum cake.”

“What are you doing here?” Hallie demanded. She was so surprised for a moment that she forgot how angry she was. She held the box, smelling the sweet, buttery scent.

“Pliny called me a couple of days ago and said you were ill,” Francesca replied.

“Pliny called you?”

“I left him a few messages,” Francesca explained. “I called everyone. I didn’t hear from you for weeks. He said you came down with a terrible flu and hadn’t left your room for a week.”

“I’m better now,” Hallie mumbled. “You wasted a trip.”

“You don’t look better.” Francesca frowned. “Your skin looks like sandpaper. You should be in bed.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me, you can go home.”

“I’ve been on a plane for fourteen hours,” Francesca continued. “Is that any kind of welcome?”

“Does Pliny know you’re here?” Hallie asked suspiciously.

“No. When I hung up with him, I decided I had to come see for myself.”

“You haven’t been in Lake Como for thirty years,” Hallie said stiffly.

Francesca gazed at the lake, at the bare trees and autumn colors. “It’s still gorgeous.”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone right now.” Hallie started toward the villa. “I’d like to be alone.”

“Pliny told me you found my diaries,” Francesca called out.

Hallie turned around and stared at her mother. “He told you?” Her body tensed like an elastic band about to snap.

“I need to explain.” Francesca put her hand on Hallie’s arm. “Those diaries don’t say anything. I was never good at writing. I always felt like Constance or one of the nuns was looking over my shoulder.”

“The diaries tell everything.” Hallie pulled away. “You deserted your husband, your son, your baby daughter. You didn’t tell me for twenty-nine years that I had a father. You deprived me of my family, my history, my country.”

“It’s not that simple,” Francesca pleaded. “Walk with me along the lake.”

“I’m going inside.” Hallie walked faster toward the villa.

“Please, Hallie.” Francesca ran after her. “Give me an hour. If you’re still angry, I’ll go.”

Hallie stood still. That frenetic energy that had consumed her evaporated. She couldn’t face her mother and she couldn’t turn away. She was too tired to make decisions. She wanted to drop down on the grass and bury her face in Milo’s chest.

“Please, Hallie,” Francesca begged.

Hallie looked at the woman who had raised her. She glanced at the large dark eyes, the fine lines on her forehead. She saw the hands that made her school lunches, that washed her filthy sports socks, that wrote out checks when she needed them.

“Okay.” Hallie nodded. “An hour.”

They walked through the gardens to the promenade. The olive trees formed a halo over their heads and Milo bounded along at their side. Hallie walked with her head down and her hands in her pockets. Francesca skipped beside her, breathing in the crisp arctic air.

“I forgot how wonderful the air is,” Francesca mused. “So far from a city. It’s so quiet, no cars or buses or cable cars ringing their bells.”

“If you came to sightsee you should find another partner,” Hallie said shortly.

“I started the diary because all the other girls at Madame Lille’s kept one,” Francesca began. “I kept writing at the villa, because I didn’t have any friends. It helped to read and write in English, but I was never good at expressing myself. The only way I can show my feelings is with flour and frosting.” Francesca paused, stealing a look at Hallie. “The minute I met Pliny, I fell madly in love with him. He was so handsome, so beautiful, I craved him. When I stood close to him, my body was on fire.”

“I don’t need to hear this,” Hallie murmured.

“You do,” Francesca insisted. “I wanted to be a good wife and mother, but living at the Villa Tesoro became intolerable.”

“You could have insisted Pliny move to a villa nearby!” Hallie stopped in the middle of the promenade. “You didn’t have to take me seven thousand miles away from my father and siblings.”

“Pliny would never have moved out from his mother’s house,” Francesca replied. “I was so young and so alone. Sophia dictated my every move and Pliny did nothing to support me.”

“You just picked up and left,” Hallie insisted. “How could you desert Marcus and Portia?”

“That’s what you don’t understand, that’s what I couldn’t write,” Francesca implored. “Those last few weeks, I made myself ill. The thought of leaving my children was intolerable. I loved Marcus and Portia so much, but I was not allowed to be with them.”

Hallie stumbled, as if the urgency in Francesca’s tone slowed her down. She glanced at her mother and saw her eyes were wide and her arms were wrapped around her chest.

“If Sophia had known I was pregnant with you, she would have kept me under lock and key. You don’t know how hard it was to get on that train, on that plane. When I reached San Francisco, I stayed in bed for months. Constance thought I had morning sickness, but really my heart was breaking.”

“You lied to her, too,” Hallie said quietly. “Constance thought Phillip Elliot was my father.”

“I couldn’t tell anyone. I was terrified Sophia would appear and take you back to Lake Como.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when I was older?” Hallie asked, her tone softening. She glanced at her mother and saw the pain that had been missing in the diary. Francesca’s eyes were big as saucers and her body looked shrunken with misery.

“I was afraid you’d go to Italy, and then I’d lose everything.” Francesca hung her head. “I know that was selfish, but you loved Constance, St. Ignatius, UCLA. Then you had your career and Peter. You weren’t missing anything.”

“I missed my father,” Hallie retorted.

“We didn’t communicate for a long time.” Francesca hugged her chest. “When Marcus was four, Pliny started sending me photos of Marcus and Portia. I lived for those photos, I kept them in my bedside drawer.”

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t try to bring Marcus and Portia to America,” Hallie said, frowning.

“Constance hired a private detective, the best lawyers. I sent letters to Sophia, begging her to allow them to visit,” Francesca replied. “They were returned unopened. Constance finally went to Lake Como. She made Sophia agree to let Marcus and Portia visit every summer.”

“How did she accomplish that?”

“Constance never told me.” Francesca shook her head. “But Marcus and Portia came once a year. I was happy.”

“Why did you come to Lake Como now?” Hallie asked warily.

“I thought you were sick.” Francesca gazed at the lake. “If anything happened to you, I’d be devastated.”

Hallie remembered the nights during high school when she came home from a date, certain the boy would never call again. Francesca fed her chocolate cake and sat with her by the phone, willing it to ring. When it did, when the boy told her what a good time he had, and nervously asked her out again, Hallie and Francesca would do a little dance around the living room.

“I know I should have told you sooner,” Francesca repeated. “I lied with the best intentions, I loved you so much.”

Hallie stopped walking, tears filling her eyes. She bent down and petted Milo, trying to stifle her sobs. Her whole body shook, like a tidal wave reaching the shore. Francesca put her arms around her and Hallie cried against her mother’s shoulder.

“Somebody else just said the same thing,” Hallie said finally, pushing away.

“Is the somebody male?” Francesca asked. “Is he why you look like a walking wax figure?”

“Yes.” Hallie nodded, unable to say more. She walked quickly into the village. She saw a couple sitting at an outdoor café, sipping hot chocolate and espresso. She saw tourists in gloves and boots buying souvenirs at the kiosk. She saw two children throwing stones into the fountain.

“Let’s have some coffee and cake.” Francesca touched Hallie’s arm. “I’ve been longing for Italian coffee and I used to love their chocolate torte.”

They entered a café and ordered cappuccinos and thick slices of cake. They sat by the window and Hallie slowly began to relax. She told Francesca how she and Angus met, in the hall of mirrors. She described the Villa Luce: the ornate frescos, the glittering chandeliers, the sweeping views of the lake. She told how excited she was to design the new wing, how she finally had her own project that would lead to other things.

She talked more slowly about their first kiss, Angus’s strength when Hallie discovered the diaries. She described how calm Angus was, how he was such a good listener. She told how Peter had shown up unexpected and she gave him back his ring. She said she didn’t think she really loved Peter, only Constance and her friends thought he was perfect.

Hallie told how her relationship with Angus changed into something romantic, something that made her feel warm and excited. She told Francesca how Angus said he was falling in love with her, and she thought she might be falling in love with him.

“He sounds like a lovely person,” Francesca murmured, eating a forkful of cake.

“He is a lovely person.” Hallie nodded. “Until I found out he isn’t Angus at all. He’s really Max Rodale, the reclusive owner of the villa. Portia found Angus’s photo in Peter’s biography of Paul Johns. Angus was standing with the crew team and the caption read Max Rodale. Angus made up everything. He wasn’t an archaeologist; he didn’t go to college in New Hampshire. I don’t know where he grew up or who his family was. Angus sold an Internet company and made a fortune. Everything since then has been a lie.”

Francesca frowned. “He must have a reason.”

“That’s what Portia said!” Hallie exclaimed. “But there’s no reason to say you love someone and lie at the same time.”

“There could be,” Francesca said slowly. “You should give him a chance to explain.”

“He came to the villa to explain but I wouldn’t let him.” Hallie slumped in her chair.

“I’m not saying you should take him back.” Francesca sipped her coffee. “But you could hear what he has to say.”

“What difference would it make?” Hallie demanded. “I never want to see him again.”

“I didn’t take you to church very often, but I do believe in God.” Francesca looked out the window. “One of the greatest gifts human beings have is the power to forgive.”

“You think I should forgive him?” Hallie’s blue eyes were wide.

“I think you should listen to him, and then decide for yourself.”

Hallie sat quietly, stabbing the cake with her fork. She remembered sitting in the middle of the lake, trying to catch the Lavarello. She remembered how Angus let her talk about the diaries, about her anguish over Francesca. She remembered how his shoulders were strong and his lips were sweet.

“Go see him,” Francesca suggested. “Then you can put it behind you.”

“Okay.” Hallie gulped. “I’ll take Milo.”

Francesca paid and they walked down to the ferry terminal. Hallie hugged her arms around her chest, trying to keep warm.

“What are you going to do?” Hallie asked when she purchased her ticket.

“I’m going to go tell Pliny I’m here,” Francesca murmured.

“Give him the rest of the cake.” Hallie grinned. “He loves vanilla frosting.”

*   *   *

Hallie found Angus in the kitchen, making a risotto. He wore tan corduroys and a green T-shirt under a white apron. His hands moved quickly, dicing onions, slicing tomatoes, adding oregano and parsley.

“Hi,” Hallie said quietly as Milo bounded across the room.

“Hi.” Angus put the knife down and walked awkwardly toward her.

“Milo missed the villa,” Hallie mumbled, keeping her eyes on the tile floor.

“I missed him.” Angus bent down and let Milo lick his cheeks. “I was making a late lunch. Care to join me?”

Hallie shook her head. “I just filled up on cake with Francesca.”

“Your mother is here?”

“She showed up this morning, like a spirit appearing out of the lake.”

“What is she doing here?” Angus moved closer to Hallie, nervously running his hands through his hair.

“Pliny told her I was sick,” Hallie replied. “He also told her I found her diaries.”

“What did she say?” Angus asked.

“It’s not important.” Hallie shrugged. She was too exhausted to repeat her conversation with Francesca. She suddenly thought she was wrong to come. She couldn’t ask Angus why he lied, because she didn’t know if he’d answer with the truth.

“I should go,” Hallie said. “I just wanted to bring Milo. You should keep him. I don’t know my plans and Sophia doesn’t want a dog at the villa.”

“Hallie, wait.” Angus blocked her path. “There’s a reason you came.”

“Francesca said I should give you a chance to explain,” Hallie mumbled. “She said sometimes people lie with the best intentions.”

“It doesn’t make it right, but it’s true.” Angus took her hand. “Sit down and have a plate of risotto.”

Hallie followed Angus to the breakfast room and sat at the round glass table. It was too cold to eat on the balcony, but she could see the rose garden, the view of Bellagio that used to fill her with joy. She let Angus serve a plate of risotto and a glass of mineral water and listened to his story.