“So, your Chianti is hidden in the middle,” joked Lyon as he leaned over to share that she could swirl her wine and didn’t have to sniff it the way his father showed them.
“He’s so passionate,” said Rose, as she smelled a mild blackberry flavor. She offered this information and Joseph gave her an indulgent smile.
“It takes years of practice to train your nose to know the different smells as there are potentially thousands of aroma components. I think blackberry is a very good start. There’s also a hint of apple.”
Rose smelled her wine again and appreciated all the fruity flavors that he was pointing out, but she hadn’t the slightest clue how he was able to identify them. Joseph indicated that they were sampling a vintage pinot noir, which Rose guessed was an expensive bottle of wine. The second red wine, which Rose dutifully swirled and sniffed, was a much darker red with a more herbal scent.
Joseph shared that the scents of earth, mineral and rock were aromas that could be detected in the very finest white or red wines. He also noted that toast, smoke, vanilla, chocolate, espresso, roasted nut or even caramel would be a result of the wine aging in new oak barrels.
“I had no idea that the barrel or the age of the barrel could influence the taste of the wine,” said Rose.
“Then I must show you our cellar after this! You can see how this all works.”
Faith chimed in. “Darling, dinner is ready back at the house. Rose can see the cellars tomorrow.”
Joseph looked about to protest, but Faith’s look quieted him down. “You see who’s the boss of this house. As I was saying, the age of the barrels, the level of char and the way we mix and match them allows us to infuse a wide array of scents and flavors to finished wines. Have we stumbled upon my new Chianti?”
“No,” said Rose, taking a sip of the rich red wine. “This is definitely cabernet sauvignon.”
“Smart girl! You are correct.”
Rose was enjoying the private wine tasting so much that she felt completely in the present moment. The rolling hills seen through a fifteen-foot Palladian window were as sublime as the company. Breathing for a moment in between wines, she felt a sense of belonging and almost pride that she had done this on her own.
Lyon and Rose stared at each other for a moment in silent understanding. He had been talking to his mother, and she liked the way he leaned in to listen carefully to her viewpoint. His brown, tousled hair was a bit longer in the back, and she realized how much she liked everything about him, which was a bit dangerous for her already overloaded senses.
A black-and-white-clad waiter came over with a large silver tray filled with a large array of grapes, cheeses and fresh bread. Rose greedily helped herself to some mozzarella drizzled in balsamic vinaigrette.
“This is my favorite,” she said, putting the cheese on a little white plate, grateful for the snack to cleanse her palette. She guessed that the Chianti would be last given Joseph’s flair for the dramatic. Her instincts were correct as she tasted the final sample, a mildly fruity full-bodied red wine that was incredibly smooth. Clearly, the last two wines were the best, and Rose was torn between which one she liked most.
They all clapped and agreed that the fourth wine sample was by far the best, and Joseph decided that they would, of course, have it with their dinner. It was dusk by the time they returned to the main house, and they enjoyed a wonderful meal of traditional lamb crusted in herbs, roasted potatoes in garlic and olive oil, and spinach salad with pine nuts.
The new Chianti worked well with their supper, and Rose enjoyed hearing about Joseph’s poetry and how he believed that there was nothing so beautiful as Mayfair Park in London after the first snowfall.
“I wrote a poem about it once, and about the prime minister, who was inept. The government didn’t like my political views, so they ultimately gave me a choice to leave the country or face charges.” He looked at Faith. “Those months were dark days in my life, and I decided that we must go somewhere else. It broke my heart, but it was the right thing for my family.”
“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been,” said Rose as she pictured Lyon as a young man dealing with his father’s legal issues.
Later that night, when they were alone on the terrace, Rose asked Lyon, “Where did you go after you left London?”
“To my mother’s family in South Africa. They were two completely different worlds, which is putting it mildly. We went to Kenya on a safari last year and it’s always so spectacular. We were in the Maasai Mara in tents for over a week around the holidays. It was rather lucky that we saw so much game. There was cheetah, lions, zebras, you name it. First time for our whole family in Kenya, since we usually go to Namibia with my mom’s family.”
“How extraordinary,” said Rose. “And to think, I feel like I’ve already seen so much after a few weeks in Italy!”
“I’m proud of you for coming here. Selfishly, it was quite special for me to have the honor of helping you buy your first home.”
“You have no idea how much that means to me. I’m still not quite sure what to make of all the drama. Any news today?”
“It seems that Paul Klonadis, the Christie’s professional, has had some run-ins with the law and problems paying his taxes.”
“Hmmm. Money problems?”
“Sounds like he has champagne tastes, as the saying goes, and lives way beyond his means.”
“That might be a good enough motive to lie about the drawings and potentially have someone burglarize my apartment.”
“There’s still work to be done on the case, but I’ll keep you informed.” He looked at her and said quietly, “There’s a chance your friend was involved.”
Rose swallowed hard as the potential reality of Ben’s actions sunk in. He was the one who brought in the professional from Christie’s, maybe offering him a cut of the future profits to deliberately mislead her into believing the drawings were worthless. Then, she assumed, his plan would have been to have them restored by his people and sell them to the highest bidder.
Rose’s anger surged along with a sense of relief that the drawings had revealed a side to Ben that she had no idea existed. He had charmed everyone and was the guy who always got what he wanted.
“I’m still trying to reconcile the Ben I thought I knew with the man who set me up. It’s really just crazy to me.”
“Actually,” said Lyon, “I have to admit, I’m not in the slightest bit upset about your American friend being gone.” Their eyes met. “Well, I know you’ve had a lot to deal with lately, but I’m hoping that you feel comfortable with me and my family and that, well, you’re willing to—”
“To?”
He came over and took her into his arms. “To see where we go. I really love just being around you.”
“I feel the same way. It’s so easy and relaxed. But we’re from two completely different worlds. I worry about that.”
“Don’t.”
When he kissed her, Rose practically melted in his arms. There was something about Lyon that felt so safe and familiar, yet he was completely unpredictable. She really liked that he had so many layers—his sense of family, his adventurous spirit, his intensity and his passion for living. The kiss was long, slow and seductive, and Rose knew that she was exactly where she wanted to be.
“Lyon, I’m warning you . . . my mother . . . she’s difficult.”
“Darling, the last thing I am worried about right now is your mother.”
They both started laughing uncontrollably, and he took her hand and strolled with her along the property. She could see Faith’s bench in the moonlight, and the stars were like shards of glass in a clear night sky.
“I think you’re onto something with those drawings you were working on, Rose. They are quite beautiful and clever.”
“Thank you! Do you always know the right thing to say to me?”
“I hope so. You’re very talented.”
“You think so? I don’t have much formal training, but I do know the hours fly by when I’m working on a painting.”
“That should tell you that you’ve found your passion.”
“I’m still trying to figure it out. I was a really good teacher and I’m very proud of that.”
“But you can teach people with your artwork.”
“I never looked at it that way.”
“Your message is strong and so important in our fractured world. The intertwined hands are a beautiful idea and you’ve already started making it your own.”
“I see bright colors and a series of work that captures the human spirit.”
“Great idea. You need to keep going!”
“Oh, Lyon, you have no idea how lovely it is to have someone support my dreams.” A tear pricked her eye. “Ever since my dad passed away, I felt like I lost my roadmap.”
He gently wiped away the moisture. “I’m curious about your mother. Why do you call her Doris?”
“We got in a fight when I was in college and I started calling her Doris and it stuck.” At his questioning glance, she added, “We’re just too different.”
“She’s your mother.”
“She’s not nurturing at all. It’s always all about her. She doesn’t know how to listen. Besides, my older brother, Jack, is her favorite. She fawns all over him.”
“Don’t you think calling her Doris is a bit harsh? She’s your mother after all.”
“I’ll call her Mom when she starts acting like one.”
“Fair enough.” He put his arm around her, and Rose asked, “So, when were you going to tell me that you’re an architect?”
“I enjoy creating and designing the same way you do. The real estate business is cyclical, so I’m someone who likes to be busy.”
They walked hand in hand back to the house where Faith was reading quietly in a corner of a soft-green sitting room in a cozy armchair. A large painting of palm leaves hung nearby, which gave the room an airy feel. She looked up from her book and smiled warmly when they walked in.
“I’m glad you’re still up because you may have a visitor in your studio tomorrow if that’s alright,” Rose said.
“Absolutely.”
“I have a new idea! I wonder if you’d be willing to show me how you create those glorious colors on your canvas.”
“Oh, it would be my pleasure. Come anytime. Now, it’s off to bed for me.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“Good night. Sleep well.”
Soon after, Lyon walked Rose over to the guest cottage and shared that better locks were being installed on her apartment and that the cleaning people had done a masterful job.
“It’s probably safe to return home,” Lyon said.
To Rose the news was bittersweet. But she knew Lyon was right; she needed to return to Florence to continue with her new life and home. But first, she wanted to spend time with the artist Faith to learn her technique.
Chapter 14
ONCE INSIDE THE GUEST cottage, Rose checked her iPhone and found a text from Ben.
Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you for days. We need to talk. Please Rose!
Rose felt a wave of anxiety. She was nervous, angry and annoyed. A thousand angry responses ran through her mind, and she started typing, but then refrained. Was there anything more to say? He had betrayed her; she could never forgive him for stealing the drawings from her closet.
And yet, maybe it was an innocent act, or a mistake. Could there be a logical explanation as to why he did what he did? Her heart still refused to believe that he had become so dishonest. After all, he was her first love; how could he have changed beyond recognition?
The next morning, sunlight streamed in Faith’s studio as Rose placed her sketchpad and a few colored pencils on a corner table. Faith immediately embraced her, kissing her on both cheeks, which made Rose feel at home. Lyon’s mother exuded warmth and kindness, and Rose felt privileged to be in the presence of an artist who was going to share her creative process.
A large color photograph of a Tuscan sunset was clipped to a wood post in the corner. A canvas was propped up beside the picture, and Faith had placed colors on a wood palette along with a palette knife and paper towels. It occurred to Rose that the last parent to show her how to do something was her father. He was patient and would explain things readily as if anticipating any question Rose might have. How she missed him.
Rolling up the sleeves of her blue shirt, Rose was excited to get going and learn from such an accomplished artist.
“I call this my Renaissance palette because it consists of four colors: white, yellow ochre, vermillion and black.” Faith took the knife, scraping the yellow ochre to mix with white and a dab of black. “This is my own version of a Tuscan yellow,” she added as she swirled the colors together. “I don’t want it to marble up like, uh . . . ” She hesitated, looking for a word. “Like gelati!” They both laughed. “Now you try.”
The technique was trickier than it appeared. Rose’s first attempt created a sickly yellow rather than Faith’s golden color.
Rose pursed her lips. “This looks like Charlottesville yellow.” She laughed at her poor attempt. “Actually, it looks too muddy to even have a name.”
“Yellow is a notoriously difficult color to get right. And, besides, why would you expect you’d get it right the first time? I’ve been doing this for years!”
“I can hope, can’t I?”
“An American expression?” Faith smiled. “You have to learn to walk before you can run. These things take time like everything else in life. You must be patient with yourself.”
“You’re so right. I’m not very good at being patient.”
“I’m going to use this yellow and create the horizon line for a sunset like this. What I do is simplify the image I want to paint by putting in the main colors first.” Rose watched as Faith drew a loose line across the lower portion of the canvas. Taking out a wider brush, she smoothed over the surface in wide strokes. “Would you like to try this?”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. It’s important you use the flat part of the brush to fill in some of the skyline.” Rose tried to copy the back and forth motion with the wide brush while Faith stood beside her, guiding her movements. “I’d call this the first stages of a block-in where we’re using main colors.”
Rose handed back the brush and Faith said, “Darling, you need to feel the brushstrokes.”
“I hadn’t thought about it like that.”
“Then, you’re going to take the smaller brush and shadow this skyline with the red mixed with a hint of black. Like this.” Faith shadowed each line, practically caressing the canvas with her brush. “Now, you try.” Faith handed her the brush.
Rose copied Faith exactly and was rewarded with a large smile of approval.
“Very good! You’re a natural!”
“Do you think so?”
“I just saw the way you took what I did and made it your own. Very interesting.”
Her words meant so much to Rose, who suddenly conjured up a nasty image of Doris with her pursed pink lips carrying on about the stupidity of anyone wanting to be an artist. The contrast was sharp and real, and Rose eyed Faith’s beautiful profile, wondering how she could connect so well with someone she had only known for a few days.
“What’s next?”
“A hint of blue left in the skyline, which is a cooler color. See what happens on the palette if you place it next to the reds and yellows; it comes to life.” Faith helped her shadow a low-lying cloud and put a streak of orange in the night sky.
The hours practically flew by, and Rose was transfixed by the canvas, the paints, Faith’s patient instruction and her company. It wasn’t until Lyon poked his
head in the door that both women realized that it was close to dinnertime.
“Have you really been here all day?”
“We lost track of time. The beauty of the Tuscan sun was too much for us.”
“It was absolutely fantastic!” gushed Rose, so appreciative of Faith’s time and talent.
“We had a ball,” said Faith, who embraced her son. “Now, I need to get to the kitchen and figure out our dinner immediately or your father is going to turn into a hangry British monarch!”
Rose watched as Lyon viewed the painting, trying not to notice how handsome he looked in his tan khaki pants and white shirt open at the collar.
“This painting is wonderful.”
“Your mother is a natural teacher. I learned so much today.”
“She’s an amazing person . . . and a cancer survivor.”
“Really?”
“She was very sick years ago and I promised myself I would never go more than ten days without seeing her or somehow checking in.”
“Your tattoo?”
“You figured it out,” he said, kissing her soundly. “It’s all about Faith.”
“That’s so incredibly . . . loyal.”
“I adore my mother.”
“I wish I could say the same,” said Rose with a lump in her throat.
Sensing her mood, he added, “The city was a bit steamy today. I’m so glad I made it back out here. How about a swim?”
“Lovely!”
They walked hand in hand back to the main house, and Rose ran inside with her phone ringing. It was her brother, Jack.
“Hey, I’ve been trying to reach you. What’s going on?”
“What do you mean? Is everything okay at home? I’ve been staying with a friend at their place in Tuscany.”
“Everything’s good here.” He paused. “So, what’s going on with you and Ben? I just got off the phone with him and he was worried something had happened to you. He said he’s been trying to reach you and you’ve been acting very strangely.”
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