She shrugged.
“A bottle of the Barbaresco, prego.” The young man turned his attention back to the daughter. “Have you been to the Piedmont, signorina? After all, it is quite close. My brother and I were fortunate enough to be born in Turin and live there still. Not that Cernobbio isn’t beautiful, with much to attract the visitor.”
“Easy traveling distance, but a world away,” the older of the two said, mostly to himself.
“I think you are a world away,” Donata said, eyeing him.
“You are the type of woman who notices things.” He nodded. “Yes, I was drifting back to Turin.”
“I’ve never been to Turin,” she said bitterly. “I’ve never gone anywhere. Unless you count commuting to university in Milan twice a week. When I was thirteen I went to Rome with my school class. When your parents own a hotel with a restaurant, you are either in school or you are working. When there is a school vacation, that’s when you’re at your busiest because that’s when all the families come for their vacations.”
“This is your hotel?” the older asked with mild surprise.
“His hotel.” She inclined her head toward her father, who was approaching with the wine and three glasses. “His and my mother’s. I am Donata Alfieri. If I were someone else, after tonight, I would be out of a job.”
As if reminded both of his manners and of Donata’s earlier response to the ill-mannered, the younger said hastily, “Mi scusi! I am Gian Marco Ingria. And this is my older brother, in fact, my only brother, Neri.”
Neri Ingria bowed his head in her direction as Signor Alfieri opened the bottle, poured, and then seemed to disappear. Gian Marco took Donata’s lead and said nothing to the proprietor’s shadow but a curt grazie.
Only Donata realized her father was still hovering somewhere in the dusk. And the signore did not like the view from behind the trellis curtained with clematis blooms. Ever since the Ingrias had arrived three days before, he had been aware of the younger one mooning after his daughter, gazing at her with eyes the size of chinotti, sighing like a soccer ball leaking air. Donata had been oblivious, but he recognized the signs instantly and assigned the brothers the farthest table at Allegra’s station in the hope of keeping them apart. Now Donata could not help but see the love sickness too. What if it were catching? What if they married? What if she and this man, her new husband, moved out of the hotel? Away from Cernobbio? To Turin? Such things happened every day. The boy was good looking, wealthy enough to afford a vacation at the height of the season and to drink the best of the Giannino’s wines. Why couldn’t he be attracted to Glori? She would play with him and then send him home. Signor Alfieri shook his head. He slid out from behind the screen of purple clematis and inquired at another table whether there was anything else he might provide.
Gian Marco peppered Donata with questions about her life at the Giannino, calling for one disclosure after another until she felt all her limited mystery on display, like the ho-hum revelations of nudity at Gavano Beach that Allegra’s husband had reported. “Better to see less and wonder more,” he’d said.
“Where are your parents, wives, sweethearts, children?” she said to the Ingrias, pretending indifference to the answers. “The Giannino plays host to many families, but this is the first time I remember two brothers staying here on their own.”
“It was my wife’s idea,” Neri said. “She is a saint and this trip was her benefaction.”
Gian Marco looked at Neri, waiting for his slight, almost imperceptible nod of consent. “Neri’s son is afflicted,” Gian Marco said. “He has an uncommon condition called autism. His speech is difficult to understand—”
“What there is of it,” said Neri.
“And some of his behaviors are . . . problematic.”
“Ugo would be very sweet always if he could manage it,” Neri shrugged, “unlike the rest of us.”
“Annalisa, Neri’s wife —”
“Ugo’s mother,” Neri said.
Donata nodded, “The saint.”
“She wanted him to have some time away. And Cernobbio is only a couple hours by car. I came because he didn’t want to be alone. And I am very glad that I did.”
Donata turned her gaze questioningly back to Neri.
“On my own, I would not have managed to escape.” He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair.
“And I was in need of an escape myself,” Gian Marco said.
“From your wife and children?”
“I have yet to be so blessed.”
“Gian Marco lives with our mother in the family villa that we will inherit when she dies.”
“Today would not be too soon.”
Donata jumped in her chair. Even when she hated her father for embarrassing her and humiliating her mother, she had never wished him dead or spoken of his misdeeds to strangers or anyone outside the immediate, suffering family. “I think perhaps you have had too much wine tonight,” she said coolly.
“That is true. We have. Several glasses too much. It is also true that our mother is a monster,” Neri confirmed.
“She tried to seduce Neri when he was seventeen. Of course, our father had recently died and she was feeling lonely.”
“That’s no excuse!” Donata gasped.
“Exactly,” said Gian Marco.
Neri said, “For the several years after, she would swim naked in our pool whenever I or my friends were around, and for that there really is no excuse.”
Donata tried—and failed—to imagine her mother or any woman she had ever known, even Glorianna, behaving so shamelessly. She shuddered and considered saying, “Maybe we should introduce your mother to my father.” But she stopped short of speaking the thought. She wasn’t prepared to betray her father, and anyway, she was confident this rapacious Signora Ingria would make a quick meal of her father, one bite, maybe two.
“But why do you stay with her?” She turned accusingly to Gian Marco.
“To protect our inheritance,” he shrugged. “She still owns fifty-one percent of the family automotive parts business. And she says if I move out, she will sell everything and give all the proceeds to the Church.”
“I think she has an idea that she might need to trade the properties in Turin for any hope of eventually acquiring some real estate there, “ Neri said, pointing up to the twinkling heavens.
Donata wondered if she only imagined that he winked at her as he spoke.
“Besides, I like living in the villa,” Gian Marco spoke defensively. “Neri and I like to remember the time before our father died. And when she’s gone, Neri will return with Annalisa and Ugo.”
“And we will be able to sell off some of the estate,” Neri added. “And still live well enough.”
“The right school for Ugo will be very expensive,” Gian Marco nodded.
“If we can find one,” Neri shook his head.
Donata had little understanding of autism but it sounded to her like the boy’s condition was severe. “He cannot go to the public school?” she asked.
“It did him little good and them less. This year we tried putting Ugo into one of the district’s special schools. But he didn’t learn anything. The school kept him from disrupting a regular school classroom and it kept him safe. But then ten days ago, he let us know he didn’t like his cage. The bus that takes him home from the special school stopped at our apartment building and my wife met it as she does every day. But that day he got off the bus naked. The driver said Ugo had stood in the aisle and removed everything he was wearing and then put his shoes back on when his stop came. We kept him home all last week and this week my wife sent me on a vacation.”
Donata looked from one brother to the other. “Well, I hope it has skipped a generation.”
“What?” Neri frowned at her. “Autism?”
“This tendency in your family to take off one’s cl
othes when not in private.”
Both brothers laughed and Gian Marco slipped an arm around Donata’s shoulders. “I think I am in love,” he stage-whispered in the direction of Neri. “It seems I have at last found a woman, and a beautiful woman at that, who could stand up to our mother.”
“Or knock her down,” Neri smiled, inclining his head toward the dining room, alluding to Donata’s blowup with the Londoner.
Signor Alfieri couldn’t hear the words being spoken but he could see the younger man’s arm snake across his daughter’s shoulders. He cursed himself for having told the brothers they were unduly optimistic to believe there should be a room with separate beds still available at this point in the season. In the interest of a paltry increase in his revenue, he had installed them in his remaining two single rooms, keeping the last double with twin beds, which was more easily filled, still unoccupied. Had he assigned the brothers a shared room, Donata would be safe now. He had practically set up his own daughter to fall into the arms—into the bed—of this rogue from Turin. Signor Alfieri could only pray that he was a rogue, that his intentions were not honorable.
Since the night of The Slapping, Il Schiaffo, as Allegra referred to the incident when describing the scene to the women who had been busy in the kitchen, Donata had sat out on the terrazza with the Ingria brothers each evening. Signora Alfieri and Glorianna were curious about these young men, the silky younger one and his older, rumpled brother. As well as curious about this new Donata.
Glori longed to have seen her prissy, self-contained little sister striking the insolent Brit (with whom Glori had gone dancing in the city of Como the night before). Signora Alfieri wished she could have delivered the blow herself. Both now made a point of sticking their heads out of the kitchen from time to time to observe the brothers from Turin as they dined. As the mother and sister stole glances through the swinging door, they wondered what new transgression Donata might be contemplating.
On the morning of the departure of the American female (as a direct result of Donata’s edict that would go unreported to either the signora or Glorianna), Donata, well pleased with herself, slipped into the kitchen and asked her mother and sister to prepare a picnic lunch for three.
“For the Germans?” Glori asked. “Lots of meat,” she said to her mother. “Borzat sausages,” she raised an index finger. “Cotecotto,” then her middle finger, followed quickly by her ring finger, “and sandwiches with the marinated Bresaola and arugula with lemon slices. Some violino di capra? Yes!” Her baby finger shot up. “You must remember to tell them this prosciutto gets its name from the tradition of using a violin string to slice the meat of the goat leg as thin as the skin on an onion. Foreigners like being told that sort of thing. And of course cheese. And plums. What do you think, Mamma?”
The signora drew her hand through the air like a priest giving a benediction. “That covers sheep, pork, beef, and goat. Enough even for the Germans. And put in some chocolate salame. They will be very happy.”
“Will you tell them about the violino di capra or should I?” Glori offered. She had taken a fancy to one of the Germans.
“Not necessary. These are all Italians,” Donata said as she passed back out through the swinging door. “But the menu sounds perfect,” she called over her shoulder.
“Qualcosa bolle in pentola,” Glori muttered the old adage as she reached for the wheel of Grana Padano: Something is boiling in that pot.
Donata led the Ingria brothers to one of the green benches facing the lake under the two rows of perfectly symmetrical lemon trees bordering the promenade. A few minutes into their picnic, Signor Alfieri appeared at the bench and inquired whether the young men were enjoying their stay.
“I, for one, did not think I could enjoy anything this week,” Neri said, “and to my surprise I am enjoying everything.”
“The signore is most generous,” Signor Alfieri gave a little bow.
“You have a beautiful hotel.” Gian Marco’s gaze was fixed on the hotelkeeper’s daughter.
Signor Alfieri’s smile dissolved. His gleaming white teeth disappeared. He closed in on the bench.
“I was just telling our guests,” Donata preempted, her eyes thorny, “that if we cannot find a peaceful place to picnic, we should pack up our lunch and get some more bottled water and head to La Via del Monti Lariani. It will be infinitely cooler up on the trail.”
“Sounds great,” Gian Marco chimed in. “How long a hike is it?”
“Five days,” the father replied mournfully. “Five days of walking, even for the young, One hundred twenty-five kilometers.”
Experience had taught the Ingrias to recognize a family feud. They fell silent.
“If you gentleman will permit,” Signor Alfieri bowed again in their direction, “I will get back to the hotel. I’m afraid I can never stray for long at the height of the season.”
When he was out of earshot, Neri said, “You do know we leave tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, I know,” Donata returned.
“I gather you were just trying to annoy your father,” Gian Marco said, “but I would like to hear more about this trail.”
Donata shrugged. “It starts here in Cernobbio and goes all the way to the northernmost part of the lake. It’s based mostly on old mule tracks. With some stretches of military roads that were built during the First World War. There are refuges for spending the night along the way and even some small inns in the villages the trail passes through. It is supposed to be littered with magnificent views.”
“Supposed to be?” Gian Marco said. “You’ve never walked it then? Let’s do it! Neri can go back without me. Can’t you, Neri? The warehouse can do without me for one more week. I’ll call Nardo and get him to open every day. He owes me.” Gian Marco turned back to Donata and seized both her hands. “Tomorrow I can pick up whatever supplies we need for the hike and we could start out the day after.” He had grown more enthusiastic by the second. “We’ll have a great time, one fabulous picnic after another interrupted by magnificent views.”
“I can’t,” Donata said. “I can’t go anywhere, Gian Marco. You heard my father. It’s the height of the season.”
“Can’t you get someone to take your place? It’s just for a few days. What if you were sick? They’d have to find somebody to substitute for you. You’re always saying how you never get to go anywhere.”
She shook her head. “Abandoning the hotel at the height of the season is like finding one of the Sisters of the Order of the Visitation smoking a cigarette. Not just improper—impossible.”
That night in the dining room, Allegra inclined her head toward Gian Marco and whispered to her cousin, “See how he looks at you? Such big eyes.”
“Yes, that one is always hungry,” Donata agreed. “Unlike his brother. Neri settles for what life gives him.”
“I can imagine waking up to that face,” Allegra sighed, eyes still lingering on Gian Marco, startling Donata, who believed that a pregnant woman should confine her thoughts to the nursery, not the bedroom, and certainly not the bedroom of a man other than the father of her child.
After the dinner service had ended and the threesome sat at their accustomed table on the terrace, a young Sicilian couple tried to join them but were gently rebuffed by Neri. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I think you would find our conversation very boring. We are are trying to make our travel plans.” He shrugged his shoulders penitently. When the interlopers disappeared into the hotel, he said, “I had an idea you would prefer not to be disturbed on your last night. And with that in mind, I’ll leave you. I have some phone calls to make and a book I’ve been neglecting.” He stood and squeezed Donata’s shoulder. “Thank you for a glorious week,” he said. “I am going home much fatter and more relaxed than I have felt in years. Annalisa won’t recognize me.”
Donata raised her glass of wine, “You know how Jewish people are always to
asting ‘Next year in Jerusalem’? Well, let’s drink to ‘Next year in Cernobbio.’”
Neri took the glass from her hand before it reached her lips. Looking at his brother, he said, “Better: ‘Next month in Turin,’” and took a sip before returning the glass to Donata. “Good night, you two.”
Signor Alfieri watched the older Ingria brother retreat into the hotel and, despite the slight breeze that had finally penetrated the heat, broke into a fresh sweat when Gian Marco took Donata’s free hand in both of his.
“Don’t say it,” she pleaded.
“Don’t say that I will take you to see the Shroud of Turin next month when you come to visit?” he smiled.
“I won’t be coming to Turin next month. Or the month after. That’s the month that I will graduate to most experienced server in the dining room. My cousin will be having her baby and my father will be having one of his dreams come true.”
They sat awhile longer, settling back into aimless chat—about the tourists occupying the other tables, guessing at their occupations, their predilections and dispositions, entertaining each other with implausible genealogies and improbable biographies.
When Gian Marco finally stood, he bent to capture Donata’s hand. Unfurling her fist, he pressed his lips against her palm. “You know, you can choose to please yourself. But first you have to believe you have a choice.” After he left, she sat on alone, so still that no one dared interrupt her debate with herself.
Signor Alfieri had seen Donata take one of the duplicate keys from behind the front desk. He hadn’t seen her take a foil-wrapped condom from her sister’s drawer.
Donata went upstairs without looking back. She didn’t want to feel her father’s eyes following her. For once in her life, she was going to have what she wanted without thinking about what was best for anyone else. She turned the key in the lock and light fell through the open door into the darkened room. “Are you asleep?” she said quietly.
The Opposite of Chance Page 12