by Gail Mencini
He set his jaw with determination. “That’s why Francesca would come here if she heard I was looking for her. It’s why I left a bouquet.”
Will’s lower lip trembled. “Francesca found my flowers.”
75
The next morning in the piazza, Sophie and Will sipped espressos and watched for Niccolò to arrive.
Sophie’s cell phone rang. Niccolò apologized. He couldn’t be with them today. Something came up at the winery, and he couldn’t leave.
Their high spirits crashed. Will slumped in his chair. Sophie had a hunch about the cause of this crisis. Her money was on Isabella.
Sophie stood. “Come on, Will, let’s go for a walk.”
“What’s the point?”
“We can get some exercise and fresh air.”
Will pushed up from the table and grumbled to himself. The Piazza Grande buzzed with people.
Sophie saw Joe enter the piazza from a side street. He raised his arm in an energetic wave of greeting.
Joe sauntered over to them and gave Sophie and Will each an Italian double kiss. “Splendid news. Mamma is recovering. She has breast cancer. The cancer is all gone now, with the surgery. Gone.” He slapped his palms together twice.
“Margherita’s father thinks everything is a secret.” Joe threw up his hands. “He didn’t explain to Margherita about her mother’s disease or the likely prognosis. Mamma came home and is doing quite well. Margherita will be back tonight. Let’s go to the school. We can have a coffee, and you can tell me about the dinner you prepared.”
Over coffee, Sophie told Joe about the success of the party. She kept the story brief because Will fidgeted and checked his watch every five minutes.
Joe agreed to drive them to the chapel.
Today, the church door was locked.
The wilted blossoms sat where Will left them yesterday. Will grabbed the arrangement and stomped off toward the field of wildflowers. He flung the dead plants into the meadow. Will bobbed up and down and selected replacements. He placed the new bouquet in the spot where he wed Francesca.
Back in the car, Joe spoke. “I want to go to La Foce.”
“I wasn’t at La Foce,” Will said.
Joe ignored Will and guided the car toward the beautiful estate.
“I didn’t go there.”
Joe grinned at his elderly companion. “Doesn’t matter, Will. We’re going because I want to show you something.”
Will grumbled to himself.
Joe pulled the car to the shoulder when they reached the property. They looked out on a view of vineyards and distant gardens. “I did some research while I waited for Margherita at the hospital.”
“About Francesca?” Will asked.
“No. About my family.”
Will waved him off. “You’re English.”
“Scottish-American. My mum was English.”
Will grunted. He looked out the window.
“Remember how I first came to Montepulciano?” Joe said.
“Your family came here on vacation, right?” Sophie tried to compensate for Will’s lack of manners.
“Right-o. My great-uncle, Peter, brought his entire family here on holiday every year. I tagged along for several years when I was a teenager.”
“I’m beat.” Will’s growly voice returned. “I’d like to go back to the hotel. I am tired of driving around for no good purpose. We should rest now. Francesca will go back to the church. We can check later today.”
“Will,” Sophie spoke with a gentle voice, “you realize someone other than Francesca might have picked up your flowers two days ago. Maybe whoever opened the building found them and threw them away—”
“No. Francesca found them. No one else. I know it.” He glared at Sophie. “Don’t say that again. You’re wrong.” He looked out the window. “Let’s go back to Montepulciano.”
“Joe,” Sophie said, “please excuse Will. We want to listen to your story.”
Will’s voice rose in volume. “Speak for yourself! I don’t want to hear it.”
Joe chuckled. “Too bad, mate. It’s my story and my car. You could go for a walk, I guess, but I think you’d rather listen.”
“Doubt it.” Will crossed his arms.
Joe reached over and patted Will’s arm. “You never know, Will. My story might involve Francesca.”
76
Will looked at Joe with skepticism.
Joe scratched his chin. “I told you about my English great-uncle, who suffered wounds while fighting in Italy. I wondered why Peter started taking his summer holiday near Montepulciano. I suspected there might be a connection with the war. I made some phone calls. My great-uncle passed away ten years ago, but my great-aunt is still living.
“Turns out, Peter was in the RAF. He was my hero when I was a teenager—strong and brave, plus he sported a wicked sense of humor. I got those traits from Peter.” Joe swelled with pride at his self-acclaimed attributes.
“Maybe the humor,” Will said.
Joe ignored Will. “The RAF planes, though outnumbered by the German Luftwaffe, held off the Nazis in 1940 in the Battle of Britain. Any way you look at it, the Allies wouldn’t have won the war without the RAF and U.S. Army Air Corps. Only one in four of the fighter-bombers completed their tour of duty without being shot down.
“The Germans hit Peter’s bomber when he flew inland to take out some bridges. The plane went down not far from here.”
Sophie leaned forward. “You said you learned something about La Foce and, perhaps, Francesca?”
“I only want to hear about Francesca.” Will’s tone broadcast his impatience.
Sophie squeezed Joe’s arm. “Please tell us the entire story.”
Joe picked up the tempo of his story. “Peter told my great-aunt that he would have died several times over if a handful of people hadn’t taken significant risks for him.”
Will listened. His eyes bore into Joe.
Joe nodded at Will. “Francesca treated Peter’s injuries.”
Will grabbed Joe’s arm. “She took care of him?”
Joe nodded. “Peter brought his children and grandchildren here to show them where he hid during the war. He wanted to thank the people that saved his life—the workers of Villa La Foce and Francesca.”
“He found Francesca?” Will’s fists pumped the air. “Man, spit it out!.”
Joe shook his head. “I’m sorry, Will. Peter tracked down one of the farmworkers from the estate, but no one else. Not Francesca. He looked for her over the course of several years but came up with nothing.”
Will’s face slackened. “No clues?”
“No.”
“Francesca hid Peter at Villa La Foce?” Sophie said.
Joe shook his head. “No, but not far from here. Peter and my great-aunt explored the area by foot their first year here, she said, and he re-created his path to the estate.”
Joe rested his hand on Will’s shoulder. “Peter credited several people for saving his life: Francesca, her brother, the people who risked their lives to feed and hide him in the outer buildings here, and even one American.”
Joe looked at Will. “A Yank named Willy carried him several miles to La Foce. Uncle Peter wouldn’t have survived without his help. Was that you, Will? The American named Willy who helped my uncle?”
Sophie gasped.
Will shook his head. “No. No. Can’t be. I didn’t know a Brit called Peter.”
“Did you know him by his nickname, Stubbs?”
Will’s eyes widened. “Stubbs? Your uncle was Stubbs?”
Joe clapped his palm against the steering wheel. “Bloody right. It was you.”
Will spoke in a soft voice. “I thought he died. All these years, I thought I killed him.”
Sophie grabbed Will’s shoulder. “Will, what happened?”
“My duty was to rejoin the 86th. I was too busted up to fight. I could only hobble.”
Will looked out the front window. His voice grew quieter. “Francesca had go
ne hunting. I planned to leave that day for Livorno, and she wanted to send me with food to last the journey.”
His head lowered and he drew a slow breath. “I left before she returned. I heard gunfire not far from our hiding place. Germans, I figured. I needed to go before the Nazis found us. I refused to leave Stubbs, though. He couldn’t walk without help. Francesca said if she didn’t come back from a hunt, to go to La Foce.”
Will stared at Joe. His voice trembled as he spoke. “I helped Stubbs get close to the property. I had to leave him. German patrols walked the road so I couldn’t carry him across it to get all the way there. They would have shot us both.
“I left him. I left Stubbs by a tree and gave him my knife. I reckoned his wounds would kill him if the Germans didn’t find him first.”
“Will, you saved his life,” Joe said. “Workers from La Foce found him and brought him to an outbuilding. They concealed him in a space they created underneath the floor. They fed him and kept him alive. They protected him until the end of the war.”
Joe rubbed Will’s arm. “You saved Peter’s life.”
77
Will reached over for Joe’s hand. “Thank you. All these years, I thought I was a coward to leave him.” He shook his head. “I didn’t kill Stubbs.”
“Bloody hell, no. You saved him. You brought him here.”
Will opened his mouth but couldn’t seem to find the words.
“I’m sorry I didn’t find any clues to locate Francesca. I rather think it’s splendid, though, finding out you were the Yank that carried Peter to safety.”
Will smiled at Joe. “I’m not good with words, but finding out about Stubbs, well, it means the world to me. Thank you. Will you tell us more about him at dinner tonight?”
“Love to.” Joe grinned. “Peter took us boys on the best adventures. The kind we never told our mums about.”
Will chuckled. “I can believe that.” He lowered his head and rubbed his eyes. Will turned toward Joe. “I bet Stubbs looked real hard for Francesca. I think he was sweet on her, too. On the way back, let’s stop at the chapel.”
They reached the small sacred building. Will asked Joe to wait in the car.
Sophie and Will walked to the spot by the trees that held his precious memories.
Will bent down, picked up his latest bouquet, and tossed it toward the field.
“This is hopeless,” Will said. “Stubbs couldn’t find her, and that was only a few years after the war. How can I find Francesca now?”
Sophie’s heart ached for him. She stretched her hand out to him, but he shifted away, out of her reach.
A few paces from the car, Will stumbled. He crumbled down and landed on his side.
Sophie ran to him and dropped to her knees beside him. Joe bolted from the car to help.
“I’m fine. Just tripped over my own big feet.” Will sat up. “My arms are a bit scraped, but that’s all.”
His forearm had road rash. His skin had been scratched off, but nothing appeared to be bleeding. He didn’t want attention and accepted only minimal help up.
Once they were all back in the car, Will spoke. “You’re right, Miss Sophie. Whoever opened the church yesterday threw the flowers away, not Francesca. We’re not going to find her.”
“I’m sorry, Will,” Sophie said.
“This was only a foolish old man’s idea.” Will fumbled with his seat belt, unable to fasten the strap.
Joe reached over and latched it for him. “You found out about Stubbs. That’s something.”
“Right.” Will said, “Thank you for that.” His voice sounded hoarse. “Can we go back now?”
“I’m tired, too,” Sophie said, which wasn’t the truth. She wanted to see Niccolò.
Joe accompanied Will and Sophie to their hotel. He left after Will was in his room.
Sophie found herself too restless to sleep or read. She decided to go for a walk. She opened the room’s door and froze in place.
Niccolò stood there with his arm lifted to knock on her door. His face lit up.
Sophie grasped his hand and pulled him into her room. She closed the door behind him and jumped into his arms.
Niccolò crushed his lips against her. Sophie guided them both to the bed. He supported her back as he lowered her down.
His mouth was everywhere. He kissed Sophie’s lips, her eyelids, her cheeks, her earlobes, her neck. Slow, soft, nibbling kisses.
Sophie trembled. Shivers prickled her skin and danced down her spine.
His hair carried the heady musk scent that permeated the aging room at the winery, but Sophie didn’t mind. The magical process that for centuries turned grapes into wine resulted in a powerful pheromone.
She had enough of his agonizing, gentle kisses. Sophie used her body weight to flip him and reverse positions. “It’s my turn now.” Niccolò sucked in his breath when her mouth traced the tender skin where the collarbone meets the neck.
She clutched his shirt, tugged upward, and hurled the garment to the floor.
Her head bent over his chest. Sophie continued, alternating between kissing him and teasing him with her tongue.
Niccolò groaned. He bent forward and flipped her over. “You have to stop now.”
His chest rose and fell with his panting breath. “You need to quit, or I won’t be able to stop short of making love to you.”
She pulled her blouse over her head and sent it to join his shirt on the floor. “I don’t want you to stop.”
Don’t stop. Not now. Not ever.
After they made love, Sophie curled into Niccolò’s side, with his arm around her, holding her close. She wanted this moment to last forever.
He moved first. He turned to kiss Sophie’s lips. His kisses increased in intensity as he climbed above her again. He lifted his head. “I want to explore every centimeter of you.” His lips moved from her face to her neck in his pursuit.
Their hunger eventually overwhelmed their desire for making love.
Outside, they strolled toward the Piazza Grande, with Niccolò’s arm over her shoulders and her hand in his back jeans pocket.
He took her to a tiny trattoria. Niccolò knocked on the door. Even though the trattoria wasn’t open for business until tonight, a man about their age looked out the window and unlocked the door. He waved them inside.
Niccolò and the man exchanged double kisses. They had met soon after Niccolò moved back to Italy, Niccolò explained. He asked his friend for salumi and today’s special crostini.
The owner’s eyes bounced from Sophie’s face to Niccolò’s. With a broad smile, he showed them to a table away from the windows.
The owner brought out a bottle of Rosso di Montepulciano. He buzzed away after pouring the wine and returned with a board of thinly sliced salumi, thin triangles of Pecorino Romano cheese, and small toasted bread, spread with a light brown paste. He winked at Niccolò and disappeared into the kitchen.
Niccolò clinked his glass against Sophie’s in a toast. “To you.”
After she sipped, Sophie picked up a crostini and eyed the topping with skepticism. “What are the main ingredients in this?”
Niccolò grabbed one and ate the appetizer in two bites. “It’s chicken liver pâté and is delicious. You better try your piece soon, or I’ll steal it for myself.”
She laughed and took a bite. “Oh, my. It melts on my tongue.”
He chuckled. “We can order more when he comes back.”
“Please.”
Between sips of wine and nibbles of the salumi, cheese, and crostini, she shared Joe’s story about his great-uncle. “Will saved the RAF pilot’s life. All this time, he thought he had been responsible for killing him.” She shook her head. “No wonder Will was conflicted about coming back to Italy.”
Sophie shared Will’s realization that he wouldn’t find Francesca. “I’m worried about him.”
“I’m worried, too.” Niccolò held her hand. “Sophie, I wanted to be there with you this morning. I’m sorry I wasn�
��t. Isabella’s father called an emergency meeting today about our export plan, which is my responsibility. I’ll work here only one more month. After that, I’ll be based out of the U.S. and will come back to Italy only as necessary.”
Sophie’s heart surged. He’ll be in America?
“I don’t want to lose you.” His squeezed her hand. “Chicago is a lovely city.”
I will never move to Chicago. I’ll convince him to choose another city.
“When you return to the States, I’ll have Will home and settled. What if we talked about the merits of Chicago then?”
Sophie’s cell phone rang.
Joe’s words spilled out. “Can you and Will come to the school? Now? We have visitors with questions about Francesca.”
78
Will’s walk said it all.
His shuffled gait had gotten a shot of adrenaline and transformed into something that resembled a slow race-walk stride. He held his back straight and pumped his arms. Will’s face smacked of determination. It also broadcast his fear.
Niccolò and Sophie walked with Will between them, in case her neighbor tripped. Niccolò gave Sophie a nod behind Will’s back that seemed to say, “Whatever we learn, I’m here for you.”
Will stood outside the school and stared at the entry. He squeezed his hands together and nodded at Sophie. “Let’s go.”
Sophie walked in first, with Will only a step behind her.
An empty kitchen greeted them, but the sound of voices in the courtyard led them outside.
The light in the garden washed over Sophie and warmed her face. Luisa sat at the table with Joe, along with a man Sophie didn’t recognize. The lovely barista from Montalcino jumped up from the table.
Luisa rushed to Will and kissed him on each cheek, followed by a quick hug. Sophie got the same warm greeting.
Luisa dipped her chin at Niccolò with a coy smile. She arched her back enough to enhance his view of her low neckline.