Margherita's Notebook (32 page)

Margherita sandpapered, puttied, painted, decorated, added the wood stain to make the old furniture shine. She did everything she could to wear herself out, to be so tired by the end of the day she wouldn't have to think anymore. When the time finally came for her to go to bed, she'd fall asleep exhausted. But her subconscious was uncontrollable, and so she had Technicolor dreams in which she and Nicola would spread chocolate and whipped cream all over each other, fill each other's mouths with it. Then they would make love to the point of exhaustion on a huge picnic tablecloth set for a king . . .

Nicola was restless, dissatisfied. And not because he hadn't been able to buy Giovanale's land. That was still a problem, but it was one he could solve. His dissatisfaction came from the inside. It was something deeper. To take his mind off things, he tried seeing other women. But, to his great surprise,
he would discover himself comparing his dates to a boiled chicken, an uncooked meat loaf, a tasteless potato. In perfect Margherita style, he thought with bitter irony. She was gone, and yet she was still there in all the little things that Nicola had learned to consider important and to share with her. In all the small intangible things with which she'd filled his life. Without which everything seemed tasteless.

One day, he went into the kitchen and opened the freezer. He took out all the packets of frozen food and put them in a bag. An unexpected gift for the cleaning lady.

No, nothing would ever be the same again.

Vittorio Giovanale's phone call had taken him by surprise. Then Nicola realized that the elderly winemaker must have been cornered by his business partner: either he sold the vineyards and supported the capital increase of the company, or he was out. Giovanale had no choice, he was forced to sell. And Nicola was the only one who was buying.

The day they had scheduled to sign the contract, Nicola was feeling more restless than usual, so he decided to take a walk. Carla looked at him, surprised. “But Giovanale will be here any minute now!”

“He can wait,” he answered drily.

Carla sighed. Ever since Margherita had left his life, Nicola had become impossible.

“You don't seem happy to finally have what you wanted so much . . . ,” she ventured.

He turned to look at her, but she had the unpleasant feeling that he was actually looking through her.

“Do you know what
you
really want?” he asked her.

Carla was at a loss for words before that unexpected
question. Of course she did: she wanted him. But she obviously couldn't come out and say it. In any case, Nicola had already gone out without waiting for her answer.

When Giovanale arrived, Nicola wasn't back yet. The winemaker was rather taken aback.

“I thought he was in a hurry to sign the contract,” he remarked.

“I thought so, too,” Carla replied, irked.

At that moment the door opened and Nicola appeared.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” He held his hand out to Giovanale who, after a moment's hesitation, shook it. Nicola noticed that the man looked older than the last time he'd seen him.

“Shall we sit down?” he asked, and showed him into his office.

Carla got up to follow them, but Nicola stopped her. “Thank you, but there's no need for you to be with us right now.”

She looked at him in disbelief.

“But the draft of the contract . . . ,” she began.

“Later.” His tone left no room for further discussion.

Carla sat back down stiffly.

Once they were in his office, Nicola closed the door and motioned for Giovanale to take a seat in one of the armchairs next to the window. Then he sat down opposite him. The other man seemed surprised. “This is rather an odd way of doing business,” he said.

Nicola looked him in the eye. “I wanted to talk to you without any papers or desks between us.”

Giovanale said nothing, waiting for him to go on.

“I know how much it's costing you to do this.”

“Do you really?”

“Yes. I
know what you think of me and my wine.” Nicola was quiet for an instant. “And yet it would please me to earn your respect.”

“What are these, crocodile tears?” the winemaker asked sarcastically. He started to get up. “You can stop right there, Ravelli. You want my land so that you can make your cheap wine, and I'm forced to give it to you. End of story.”

With a wave of his hand Nicola motioned him to stop.

“Wait. A person I once cared about very much helped me understand something.”

Giovanale remained watchful. “What's that?”

Nicola couldn't forget the words that were stuck in his memory: “
I don't play dirty
.” Four words that contained all of her, all of Margherita.

“I'm the one who plays dirty,” he uttered, almost as if he were saying those words to himself.

“Admitting that is already a step forward, but it doesn't change the essence of things,” Giovanale replied. “Shall we proceed?”

Nicola leaned forward and looked him straight in the eye. “Just a minute. I want to make you a proposition.”

Giovanale hesitated. “What are you talking about?”

“A partnership. Between you and me.”

The other man couldn't hide his amazement. “You must be joking.”

“I have never been more serious in my life. We'll continue to produce your wine, and we'll make it even better.”

Giovanale looked at him, speechless.

“May I ask what has come over you?” he said finally.

Nicola looked back at him.

“Would you ever say that a fish that's been frozen is just as delicious as a fish that has just been caught?”

Puzzled, the winemaker shook his head.

“These days, neither would I.”

And Nicola smiled.

Carla had waited with growing impatience for Nicola to call her in for the signing of the contract. But the intercom had been silent. At last, the door opened. Nicola and Giovanale came out, both smiling. The winemaker held out his hand. “I hope we can celebrate our agreement with one of your marvelous dinners . . .”

A shadow passed over Nicola's face.

“Unfortunately, I think the chef is no longer available,” he said, trying to maintain a neutral tone of voice.

Giovanale gave him a penetrating look.

“What a shame,” he remarked. “And not just for me.” He looked Nicola in the eye. “I hope you realize what you've lost.”

Clearly, he wasn't referring only to the food. Nicola said nothing.

After promising they'd see each other again as soon as the contract was ready, they said good-bye.

When the door closed behind Giovanale, Carla could hold back no longer. “What's happened? Why didn't you sign? What agreement?”

“I didn't sign because the contract needs to be redrafted. We're going to sign a new one for wine with DOCG status that we're going to produce together. I've decided to invest in quality.”

Carla was so taken aback she could hardly control herself.

“Have you lost your mind? What about the Chinese?
And what about all these months of work thrown out the window?”

Nicola stared at her coldly.

“The Chinese will have to be content with a smaller amount of wine. And you're paid to do your work, so I don't understand what you're complaining about.”

It was then Carla realized that for Nicola she would never be anything more than someone to whom he paid a salary, just one of his employees. And this triggered something inside her. All the anger and frustration that had been building up in the past weeks came bursting out, “Do you realize what that silly little girl has done to you? She's brainwashed you! You're not yourself anymore, and the fact that you're another person now is all her fault! Where's the tough, ruthless man, the one who taught me everything I know? I don't know who you are!”

Nicola's voice was dangerously calm when he answered. “You're flattering me, and it's a shame you aren't capable of seeing that. As for Margherita—”

But by that time Carla had completely lost it, and she refused to let him finish.

“You let her fool you with all her innocent airs, you fell for it, you're still thinking about her! I knew she was dangerous, I knew it from the moment I saw her. Not even sending that message to Giovanale made you come to your senses!”

She stopped abruptly. But it was too late.

Suddenly everything was clear to Nicola. He felt like a fool, like he'd been played. He felt a furious rage and a blinding joy all at once: Margherita,
his
Margherita, hadn't lied to him, she'd been honest, as she always had been.

“Come to my senses? What are you talking about? So it was you!”

He approached Carla, struggling to control the urge to slap her. The woman took a step back, frightened by the look in his eyes and the consequences of what she'd done.

“You were the one who sent Giovanale that text!” It wasn't a question; it was an accusation.

She turned her eyes away, not answering.

“You used Margherita's cell phone. On the very same day he'd decided to sell.”

Nicola remembered that Carla had followed them into the street to give Margherita her phone back.

“Then you rushed to get the phone records for me, how you did that I don't even want to know. How could you have done a thing like that? What did you think you stood to gain?”

Carla lowered her head, defeated, unable to give him an answer.

“When I get back, I want you out of here.” His tone was firm and uncompromising.

A moment later he was gone.

Carla collapsed onto the chair and burst into tears. She'd lost. She'd lost everything.