Lake Como

by Anita Hughes

  Hallie heard the dinner bell ring. She craved a bowl of soup or a warm bread roll. But she had to find out what ruined their reconciliation. She climbed into bed and turned the page.

  October 4, 1982

  Dear Diary,

  Pliny has lied to me! I am so furious I want to catch the next plane to San Francisco. I cannot take another day at the Villa Tesoro.

  This morning I returned some books to Sophia’s library. I saw a letter on her desk with the Le Rosey insignia. I picked it up and read it quickly.

  Sophia enrolled Marcus for the autumn of 1989—when he is eight years old! A receipt of her deposit fluttered to the floor. I was so incensed I tore through the villa looking for Pliny.

  I found him on the boat dock and I demanded to know what was going on. Pliny said he tried to reason with Sophia, but she was adamant. If they waited till Marcus was twelve, he would be left behind. The other students would have bonded and Marcus would be an outsider.

  I was so angry I almost pushed Pliny into the lake. How could he betray me? He shrugged and said it was far in the future. By the time Marcus was eight I would have adjusted to the idea. I would have Portia to keep me company, and perhaps another baby boy.

  I stormed back to the villa and locked myself in my bedroom. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live under Sophia’s regime with a husband who is a child. I don’t see my own children and one day soon they will be taken away.

  I waited till everyone was asleep and I called Constance and told her I must come home. She warned me that Sophia would stop me, but I begged her to find the best lawyers in San Francisco.

  Today I woke up with a terrible flu. My head is groggy and I threw up all morning. At least I have an excuse not to go down to lunch. I will stay in bed and try to figure out what to do.

  The final entry was written in cramped letters, as if Francesca was in a hurry to get them on the page.

  October 12, 1982

  Dear Diary,

  I am leaving in the morning. I told Pliny I have a dress fitting in Milan. I will take the train to Rome and then the plane to San Francisco.

  I went to the doctor and confirmed what I feared. I don’t have the flu; I’m pregnant. I cannot stay here and hand another baby over to wet nurses and nannies. I would try to smuggle Marcus and Portia onto the plane but we never go anywhere without two nannies.

  The only thing I can do is go to San Francisco and pray Constance can rescue my children. I can’t stand another minute in this house. And I can’t imagine a life of dining with middle-aged duchesses while my children attend boarding school in Switzerland.

  No one knows I am pregnant and I must leave before anyone finds out. Sophia will put me on bed rest or insist a servant accompanies me wherever I go.

  I am going to leave you here, Dear Diary, tucked behind Marcus’s favorite bedtime story. I will return for Marcus and Portia very soon. I will move heaven and earth to bring them to San Francisco.

  Hallie lay back against the pillow. It was past midnight and the villa was quiet. She tried to imagine Francesca boarding the train to Milan, leaving her husband and children behind. She wandered what happened to the baby she was carrying. Perhaps Francesca had a miscarriage, and her hasty departure had been for nothing.

  Hallie picked up the notebook and read the final entry again. She glanced at the date, suddenly mesmerized. She counted on her fingers, stopped, and counted backward. She counted again and then dropped the notebook, a chill running down her spine.

  Suddenly she knew the truth as if the words were written on the page. There was no Phillip Elliot and no romantic tryst in a Rome hotel room. Hallie was the baby in Francesca and Pliny Tesoro was her father.

  chapter twelve

  Hallie sat in the garden of the Villa Luce, gazing at the lake. The cool breeze that blew down from the mountains had vanished, and the villa baked in a heat wave. Hallie had worked in the monastery wing all afternoon, but suddenly she felt dizzy. She ran outside and collapsed on a stone bench.

  Hallie hadn’t been able to think straight since she found the diary. Her first impulse was to call Constance. She wanted to yell and scream about how she could have kept a secret for almost thirty years. But before she finished dialing, she knew Constance didn’t know Pliny was her father. Constance would never lie to her.

  Hallie considered calling her mother but she was too angry to talk to her. She imagined her questions: How could Francesca deprive Hallie of a father? How could she let Hallie grow up without getting to know her brother and sister? How could she not tell her she was half Italian, a princess, a Tesoro? She couldn’t think of a possible explanation that would make her rage subside.

  Hallie thought of calling Peter, but he seemed part of another life. She pictured him holding her in his arms, stroking her hair. She couldn’t tell him because she didn’t know what she wanted him to say.

  The only person Hallie could talk to was Portia. What Francesca had done to Portia—deserting her when she was still a baby—was almost as bad as what Francesca had done to Hallie. But Portia and Riccardo had gone for a week to Capri. Portia had knocked on Hallie’s door as Hallie tucked the notebooks into her suitcase.

  Portia had peeked in the door. “You look like death.” She had worn a white sundress that showed off her tan. Her arms were covered with gold bangles and she had a new emerald ring on her finger.

  “I have a terrible headache,” Hallie had said dully. “I’ve been up all night.”

  “We missed you at dinner.” Portia had perched on the edge of Hallie’s bed. “Sophia was so thrilled Riccardo joined us she served fresh crab and caviar. Pliny and Riccardo smoked cigars and Sophia hovered over Riccardo as if he was an emissary from the Pope.”

  “I’m glad things are going well,” Hallie had mumbled.

  “We’re leaving for Capri this afternoon.” Portia had twirled the ring around her finger. “We’re going to dive in the grottos and climb to Anna Capri.” Portia had hesitated. “Riccardo swore if I had a baby he would stop seeing other women. I’m going to try to get pregnant, and when we come back we’re going to live together.”

  Hallie had tried to listen to Portia but she couldn’t concentrate.

  “Hallie, are you okay?” Portia had frowned at Hallie’s pale cheeks and listless eyes.

  “I’m happy for you.” Hallie had tried to smile. “I just need some sleep.”

  * * *

  Now Hallie wished she had told Portia. But she had been in shock, like someone who had witnessed a car accident. She stayed in her room all morning, pacing like a tiger locked in its cage. Finally she slipped on a sundress and sandals and walked to the ferry terminal.

  She sat on the ferry to Lenno, watching tourists on jet skis, families in paddleboats, couples racing flashy speedboats. Instead of savoring the holiday scene, she felt a deep ache. She was conceived here, she belonged here, but the lake was as foreign to her as it was to the English couple who sat beside her on the boat.

  Hallie entered the Villa Luce and pulled out her laptop and tape measure. She tried to distract herself with sketches and measurements. But her ideas were buried under a thick fog. She finally zipped up her laptop and ran to the garden.

  “You look like you could use a lime soda.”

  Hallie turned around and saw Angus holding two glass bottles. He wore tan shorts, a green T-shirt, and leather sandals.

  “I’m going back to work,” Hallie explained. “I just needed some air.”

  “It’s too hot to be inside.” Angus handed her a bottle. “I got these from the freezer, try one.”

  Hallie drank the cold fizzy liquid. It was sweet and tart at the same time. “It’s delicious.”

  “Max orders them by the case.” Angus drank his in one long gulp. “The villa needs a new air-conditioning system, but in the meantime this will have to do.”

  “I didn’t know Lake Como got so hot.”

  “We rely on the mountains to cool us down.” Angus frowned. “You look like you�
�re going to faint.”

  “I’m fine.” Hallie sipped her soda. She thought about the diaries, and tears welled in her eyes.

  “If you pass out I’ll feel responsible.” Angus stretched his long legs in front of him. “I’ve provided unfit work conditions.”

  “It’s nothing.” Hallie blinked furiously. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Boyfriend troubles?” Angus asked.

  “How did you know I have a boyfriend?”

  “You’re too pretty not to have a boyfriend,” Angus said, grinning.

  “I do.” Hallie nodded. “But he’s not the problem.”

  “On archaeological digs we used to sit around the fire and tell stories,” Angus replied. “I’m a good listener.”

  “It’s too personal.” Hallie shook her head. “And you’d never believe it.”

  “Have you ever heard the story of Romulus and Remus? They were twins abandoned at birth and raised by wolves. Romulus became Rome’s first emperor, after killing his own brother.”

  “I thought that was a myth,” Hallie replied.

  “Archaeologists have dug up proof of their existence,” Angus said. “Our job is to suspend belief long enough to unearth the past.”

  “My story doesn’t involve any she-wolves.” Hallie sighed. “Just a lot of lies.”

  “Come with me.” Angus stood up. “I have the perfect antidote to the heat, and you can tell me the whole story.”

  Hallie glanced at Angus. Something about his height, his long arms and legs, made her feel safe.

  “Okay. I wasn’t getting much done anyway.”

  They walked down to the dock and Angus stepped into a wooden fishing boat. He helped Hallie onboard and directed her to a chipped green bench. Angus pushed the boat back from the dock and rowed to a small cove.

  “This part of the lake is stocked with Lavarello,” Angus explained, taking out two fishing rods and handing one to Hallie.

  “I haven’t fished since I was nine years old,” Hallie mused. “My grandmother used to take me to Santa Cruz and I’d fish off the pier.”

  “I always wanted to be Tom Sawyer.” Angus hooked a worm on the rod. “I wore the same checkered shirt every day and kept a piece of straw between my teeth.”

  “My grandmother would wait at the end of the dock,” Hallie replied. “Once an old man noticed my bucket was empty and gave me all his fish. Constance was so proud, I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth.”

  “Truth can be a slippery business.” Angus threw his line into the water.

  “It’s okay to fib when you’re nine.” Hallie flinched. “Not when you’re a grown woman, hurting a lot of people.”

  “Sometimes the fish are lazy.” Angus leaned against the side of the boat. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  Hallie blinked back tears. “I don’t think I can.”

  “You’ll feel better and it’ll pass the time,” Angus encouraged her. “It beats watching the paint peel.”

  Hallie opened her mouth and the words spilled out. She told Angus about her private girls’ school, Constance’s mansion, afternoons spent sketching in the library. She told him how her mother was wrapped up in her bakery and treated Hallie more like a sister than a daughter. She told him about Portia and Marcus’s annual visits. Portia wore neon miniskirts and told stories of Lake Como that were sophisticated and worldly and wonderfully European.

  Hallie told him about Phillip Elliot, the great love of her mother’s life. She told him how she used to dream about her father but the fantasies ebbed as she became consumed by college and her career.

  Finally she told him about the diaries, Sophia’s strict regime, Pliny’s failures and lies. She told him Francesca ran away from Lake Como because Sophia made her life a nightmare.

  “She was pregnant with me when she left,” Hallie finished. “My whole life, I thought I was the product of one rainy night in a hotel in Rome. Instead I have a family, a country I barely know.”

  “Your mother was afraid Sophia would take you from her. If she had known she would have demanded custody.”

  “I understand that.” Hallie’s shoulders sagged as if she was a balloon with a steady leak. “But she could have told me when I was fifteen or twenty or twenty-five.”

  “She must have a reason.” Angus tugged on his fishing line.

  “I can’t talk to her.” Hallie shook her head. “Every time I pick up the phone I start shaking.”

  “Why don’t you ask your grandmother?”

  “Constance had a series of strokes last year.” Hallie felt a tug on her line. She reeled it in but the wire went slack. “The shock might give her a heart attack.”

  “It sounds like you love your grandmother,” Angus mused. “And you had a pretty gifted childhood.”

  “Are you saying I shouldn’t complain because I grew up on top of Pacific Heights and attended the opera and the ballet?” Hallie fumed. “I missed out on a father, I barely know my brother, and I could be even closer to Portia.”

  “I didn’t mean that.” Angus concentrated on his fishing pole.

  “You’re right.” Hallie slumped onto the bench. “I love everything about San Francisco: the cable cars, sourdough bread, the botanical gardens at Golden Gate Park. And my mother is smart and bright and makes the most delicious German chocolate cake.” Hallie sighed. “But she didn’t give me a choice.”

  Angus frowned as something pulled on his line. He stood on the edge of the boat, his muscles tense. He pitched the line and reeled in a large orange fish.

  “You’re good luck.” Angus let the fish thrash on the floor of the boat. “I haven’t caught a big one in weeks.”

  “Thanks for listening,” Hallie mumbled. She suddenly regretted telling her intimate secrets to a stranger.

  “Have you told your boyfriend?” Angus asked.

  “He’s in San Francisco,” Hallie replied, watching the fish’s tail flap back and forth.

  “Is he a serious boyfriend?”

  “We’re almost engaged.”

  “You’re a long way from an almost-fiancé.” Angus unhooked the fish’s mouth.

  “We were working through some things,” Hallie replied, feeling her line tense. She leaned over the side of the boat, trying to locate the fish. Suddenly it leaped into the air, pulling her line and throwing her back in the boat. She slipped on the wood and landed on her back.

  “Are you okay?” Angus reached down to help her up. Instead of lifting her to her feet, he crouched down and gathered her in an embrace. His mouth found hers, his lips sweet and tangy like lime soda.

  Hallie knew kissing Angus was wrong. It was wrong the way the lie about Phillip Elliot was wrong, the way she still saw Peter’s hands on Kendra’s skirt was wrong, the way she, with her Grace Kelly blond hair, was a Tesoro, was wrong. Kissing Angus on a fishing boat in the middle of Lake Como was so wrong, it felt right. If she could stay in his arms, all the other wrongs would fade away.

  “Angus.” Hallie pulled away, missing his strong arms the moment she left them.

  “I’m sorry, blame it on the heat.” Angus straightened up. “Hey, you caught one.” He pointed to the fish thrashing in the corner.

  “It’s huge,” Hallie replied, trying to hide the blush that grazed her cheeks.

  “I’ll cook them for dinner.” Angus held it up. “Over a bed of risotto with a tomato and mozzarella salad.”

  “I can’t.” Hallie shook her head.

  “You don’t want to go back to the villa and eat with your grandmother and your father.” Angus steered the boat toward the Villa Luce.

  Hallie could still feel his lips on her mouth. “Peter might call.”

  “You’re beautiful and vulnerable and I took advantage of you,” Angus said seriously. “I promise it won’t happen again. Join me for dinner and I’ll take you back to the villa in the speedboat. You can slip into bed and not have to face Pliny and Sophia.”

  Hallie pictured the long dining table s
et with fine bone china. She imagined Sophia grilling her about her headache, Pliny being solicitous and charming. She pictured sitting through five long courses without Portia to speed things along.

  “Okay.” Hallie nodded. “I’ve never eaten Lavarello before.”

  “It’s delicious, and it’s local to Lake Como.” Angus tied the boat up at the dock. “If you’re going to get to know your home, you have to eat the local fish.”

  “It’s not my home,” Hallie started saying.

  “It is at the moment.” Angus jumped out of the boat. “Your designs are fabulous, Max is pleased.”

  They stopped in the vegetable garden and picked tomatoes from the vine. They pulled green beans and asparagus and heads of sweet butter lettuce. Angus grabbed two lemons from the orchard and six long-stemmed roses from the rose garden.

  “These are for you.” He handed them to Hallie.

  “I can’t accept presents.” Hallie inhaled the rich fragrance.

  “You caught dinner,” Angus protested. “And you’re going to help me scale the fish.”

  “I am?” Hallie shuddered.

  “I can’t do it alone, I get queasy when I touch fish scales.”

  “I’m not handling raw fish!” Hallie exclaimed.

  “Then you can slice tomatoes and cut the lemons,” Angus suggested.

  “Deal,” Hallie said, clutching the roses against her chest.

  * * *

  Hallie and Angus stood in the kitchen, cooking fish on the industrial-sized grill. Angus produced round wheels of mozzarella from the fridge and virgin olive oil from the pantry. He stirred a pot of risotto, adding garlic and onions and thyme. Hallie found platters and bowls and set them on the table on the balcony.

  Angus served the risotto and poured two glasses of red wine. “Everything tastes better when it’s shared.”

  “Do you ever eat with Max?” Hallie asked. The sun was setting and Hallie could see the heat shimmering on the lake. The sky turned pink and gray, and the villages looked like a scene out of a picture book.

  “Max travels a lot. He’s in Pisa and from there he’s going to Verona and Genoa.”

  “Does it feel odd, living in someone else’s house?” Hallie tasted the fish. It was light and buttery and blended smoothly with the risotto.