It Happened in Tuscany

by Gail Mencini

  “Luisa,” Sophie said, “this is Niccolò.” She’s flirting with him. How will he react?

  “It’s nice to meet you, Luisa. I’m Sophie’s friend. Her special friend.” Niccolò demonstrated this by sliding his arm around Sophie’s waist and snuggling her against him.

  I love this man.

  Luisa tucked her arm under Will’s elbow and led him to the table. “This is my father, Paolo.”

  Paolo stood and shook hands with Will, Sophie, and Niccolò, a solemn expression on his face.

  Sophie sat next to Will, with Niccolò on her other side.

  “Luisa told me of your search for a woman named Francesca,” Paolo said. “Please tell me what you know about her.”

  Sophie let Will tell his story. He left out that Francesca had a baby and that he had married her at the Cappella di Vitaleta. Sophie couldn’t blame him for his omissions.

  Sophie asked Paolo a question. “Did you grow up in this area?”

  Paolo’s face displayed no emotion. “In the Val d’Orcia.”

  Sophie remembered Joe’s lesson. That meant the region that contained Montalcino, not Montepulciano.

  Sophie smiled at Paolo. “Have you heard about Will’s Francesca?”

  “What was her given name?” Paolo said.

  “Francesca Polvani.” Will stared at Paolo’s face. “Do you know her?”

  Sophie did the math in her head. “She would have been in her twenties or thirties when you were young.”

  “Francesca Polvani? No.”

  He’s not much of a conversationalist. Sophie wondered why Paolo had troubled to come here. It was Luisa’s doing, she suspected. The young woman who befriended them might have hoped her father could help them.

  Will slumped over. His head landed against the table with a thud.

  Sophie reached for him. “Will!”

  79

  Luisa ran into the kitchen.

  Niccolò jumped up and pressed his fingers against Will’s neck. He sat beside Will, put his hand under Will’s head, and eased the elderly man off the table. Niccolò cradled him against his chest.

  Will’s face turned ashen.

  “Call a doctor, Joe.” Sophie rubbed Will’s arm. “Now!”

  Luisa came back with a damp kitchen towel. She held the cloth to Will’s forehead.

  Will stirred. His eyes opened, and he coughed. It was the sound of a feeble person.

  Joe explained a doctor could come here or meet them at the hotel. Either way, it would be close to an hour. He offered the use of his motorized wagon, which he used to haul supplies within the city of Montepulciano.

  Will, his arms shaking, braced his palms against the table and pushed himself away from Niccolò’s chest. He moaned.

  “Easy, Will,” Sophie said. “We’re going to have a doctor look at you. Let’s go back now so you can lie down.”

  “Cancel the doctor.” Will shook his head. “I’m not having some Italian doctor poke and prod me. They’ll probably try to put me in a hospital. I’ll go to the room now, but only because I want to call the airlines. I’m going home tomorrow.”

  Sophie didn’t agree with anything he said, other than getting him to a place where he could rest.

  “I’ll get the cart.” Joe hurried out.

  Sophie heard a vehicle approach the school. She hugged Luisa and shook Paolo’s hand and thanked them for coming to visit with Will.

  A cross between an open-sided golf cart and a sawed-off truck sat in front of the school. It was narrow with a high-sided bed, designed to navigate the ancient streets with a load in the back.

  Joe and Niccolò helped Will into the passenger seat.

  Joe drove uphill toward the Piazza Grande.

  Sophie and Niccolò jogged up the street behind them.

  They brought Will to his room. He insisted he was fine, demanded that Joe call off the doctor, and announced he was going to pack. Sophie, Will said, should gather up her own clothes and call the airline to book them on a morning flight.

  “No.” Sophie crossed her arms over her chest. She looked at Niccolò for support. “Tell him he’s crazy to think he can fly across the ocean one day after a health incident.”

  Will glared at Sophie. “Listen here, young lady. ‘Health incident?’ Baloney. I know one thing: I nearly died here in 1945. I swore then, and I swear now, I’m not—I repeat, NOT—going to die in Italy. I want my feet planted on Colorado soil when I croak.”

  His chest heaved, and his face flamed red.

  “Sophie, book me a plane and decide whether you’re coming with me or not because I’m leaving.”

  Will slowed his breathing and blinked several times. “Stubbs survived. The thought of him haunted me every day. I figured I gave him a death sentence when I abandoned him.”

  He sighed. “We’re not going to learn more here.” His eyes pleaded with her. “Let’s go home. Will you call and make the arrangements, Sophie? Please?”

  Tears filled Sophie’s eyes.

  Is Will strong enough for the ten-hour trip over the Atlantic?

  How can I survive without Niccolò?

  80

  Niccolò led her to her room and cradled her face in his hands. His lips pressed against her mouth.

  Sophie backed away. Soft, delicate kisses were not what she needed now.

  She pushed him onto the bed. Sophie straddled Niccolò and showed him the urgent, seeking kiss she craved.

  He used his hands to gently, but firmly, raise her shoulders while pulling his lips away from hers. “Sophie, you know I want you, but we need to talk.” He pulled her down on the bed beside him and tucked his arm around her.

  Sophie curled into Niccolò’s side. “Will’s too weak to fly. Help me convince him to wait a few days.”

  Niccolò shook his head. “I saw it in his eyes. I think you did, too. He believes if he stays, he will die here. I say you go with him tomorrow. You can help him through the airports, make sure he drinks enough water, alert the attendants, get a wheelchair for him, that sort of thing.”

  Sophie bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling. She had to put Will’s needs ahead of her own, but that didn’t make leaving Niccolò any easier.

  She nodded. “I’m concerned about more than Will’s physical condition. It’s also his heartbreak. The search for Francesca gave Will energy and hope. He’s got nothing to live for now.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “I didn’t mean that.”

  Niccolò hugged her. “Shh. We both know what Will’s thinking. That’s why you must go with him.”

  “I don’t want to leave you.”

  Niccolò tucked her hair behind her ear. “I don’t want to be apart, either. I need to finish this phase of the big rollout here but will be back in the States in about a month. I’ll take time off and go to Denver first before heading to Chicago.”

  “Denver?” Her voice sounded like she felt—a puppy gushing with unconditional love.

  Niccolò’s eyes sparkled at her. “Of course, I’ll go to Denver. How else will I persuade you to move to Chicago with me?”

  “I won’t move there. I hate Chicago.”

  Niccolò’s head cocked back like she’d slapped him with her hand rather than her words.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t think. I’m dreading the trip back with Will. I’m worried about how he’ll be by the time we get home.”

  Home. She quit her job before they left for Italy. What would she do now? Play nursemaid to Will?

  Sophie held Niccolò’s hand. “Please forgive me for sounding like a nag. I may not be able to move because of Will.”

  Niccolò’s face brightened with her apology. “Will’s situation affects everything. Why don’t we postpone this discussion until we’re together?”

  Sophie nodded.

  Niccolò smiled. “Good. But I’m putting you on notice—I want to be with you.”

  He touched her lips with his index finger. “I love you, Sophie.”

  A staccato knock on the door kept Sophie from sp
eaking.

  “Niccolò, are you in there?” Isabella. The knocking grew louder.

  “I’ll be right out.” Niccolò got up from the bed.

  He extended his hand to help Sophie stand. He kissed her forehead and then opened the door.

  Isabella flung herself at Niccolò and wrapped her arms around him. “The most wonderful thing happened.” She pressed herself against him.

  Niccolò stepped away from the hug.

  Isabella tossed her long hair over her shoulder and smiled at Sophie.

  Sophie forced herself to smile back.

  Isabella rubbed her hands together. “What we worked and hoped for, dear Niccolò, has happened!”

  Dear Niccolò?

  Niccolò’s eyes widened. Excitement lit his face. “What? Tell me.”

  Isabella nodded. “A very prestigious importer wants to bring us to the U.S. He can place our wine in all the important markets across the country. We need to set up everything in six months.”

  “YE-ES-SS.” Niccolò fist-pumped the air.

  “There is much work—overseeing the government filings, coordinating with production, and creating the marketing plan.”

  Niccolò grinned.

  Isabella linked her arm in Niccolò’s and urged him to leave with her.

  Niccolò moved Isabella into the hall and muttered something to her that Sophie couldn’t hear.

  He walked back into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

  Niccolò clasped Sophie’s hands. “I’m sorry. I won’t be in Denver in thirty days. The winery hired me to expand our export market.” He shook his head. “It’s a crazy amount of work. I’ll come to see you, but it’ll be at least two or three months, or maybe—”

  “Maybe longer.” Sophie nodded, trying to keep her face neutral.

  Isabella won.

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  Sophie got flights for herself and Will to go home.

  Joe called with an invitation. Margherita was back from Rome, and she insisted on cooking a late dinner tonight for Will and Sophie.

  Sophie packed but left out her dress for this evening and travel clothes for tomorrow. Her bag was a jumbled mess, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t see what she was doing through her tears.

  Niccolò is staying in Italy. With Isabella.

  Water coursed over Sophie, from both the shower and her eyes. She tried, without success, to put him out of her mind.

  Her cell rang. It was Niccolò. Margherita had invited him to join them tonight. “I’ll come early to help Will into Joe’s cart.”

  The distance between them created gaps in their conversation. Sophie kept her words to a minimum.

  “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Is that OK, Sophie?”

  “Yes.”

  Neither had mentioned the word “love.”

  Sophie stretched out on the bed and put a cold, wet cloth over her eyes to calm the redness. Her phone alarm went off after fifteen minutes. One glance in the mirror showed her trick hadn’t worked. She finished dressing, walked to Will’s room, and found him standing outside his door waiting for her.

  He peered at her face. “Are we set for the morning?”

  “Yes.”

  Niccolò waited for them on the ground floor.

  He handed Sophie a small bouquet of wild roses. He gave her a double-cheek greeting and smiled. “You look beautiful.”

  Niccolò’s greeting—perfect for a friend, but not a lover—tells me he wants to step away from me.

  “Thank you for the flowers, but don’t lie to me.”

  “I didn’t lie.”

  “I look like a clown with my red, puffy eyes.”

  Niccolò grabbed her hands. “Not a clown. You are beautiful. Isabella’s visit contributed to the state of your eyes, didn’t it?”

  Sophie nodded. In more ways than you know.

  Niccolò helped Will settle on the seat and told Joe to go ahead. They followed the cart on foot.

  Niccolò laced his fingers through Sophie’s and folded her arm against his body. “One of my goals for the winery was to establish an export relationship with an American distributor, with a time frame of one year. It will take a massive effort to get everything done in six months. U.S. distribution will be my responsibility afterward. My dream is to manage the global distribution for the company but maintain my base in the States.”

  Sophie swallowed and tried to sound happy for him. “Congratulations. What a fantastic opportunity for you.”

  “The good thing about working day and night, seven days a week, is that it will help me deal with missing you.”

  Sophie couldn’t face him.

  “Sophie. Look at me.”

  She blinked hard and willed herself to keep her eyes dry.

  Niccolò stopped walking. “I love you, Sophie. I want—”

  “Ciao, Niccolò.” They had reached the school. Margherita stood in front of the door. She waved at them. “Ciao, Sophie.” She led them into the kitchen, where Will and Joe sat by the fireplace.

  “Come here, you two,” Margherita said to Sophie and Niccolò, “I must give you hugs to thank you for hosting my party.” She laughed. “And also for watching out for Joe while I was in Rome.”

  Margherita folded them in her fleshy arms, one after the other. Her warm embrace was the comfort Sophie needed.

  “How is your mother?” Sophie said.

  Margherita shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Mamma had surgery for cancer of the breasts. She is home now, getting strong.

  “Do you know what Mamma said to her doctor?” Margherita’s hands flew to her own large breasts. ‘These?’ Mamma said. ‘Cut them off. I do not need them, and I want to live. At my age, they’re flat like focaccia, anyway. My husband will still chase me around the kitchen because he knows I’ll always let him catch me and make love with me.’” Margherita laughed.

  Will coughed into his hand.

  Joe moved beside Margherita and kissed her nose. “Margherita is like her mother that way. She always lets me catch her.”

  Margherita hip-bumped Joe. “Make sure it’s always worth my while.”

  Joe puffed out his chest. “That’s why she keeps a bloke like me around, you know?”

  Sophie embraced Margherita. “I’m thrilled your mother is doing so well. I wish I could meet her. She sounds like a fighter.”

  “She is,” Joe said. “Where do you think Margherita gets her spunk and sass from?”

  Margherita blew a kiss through the air at Joe. She looped her arm through Sophie’s and ushered her guests into the dining room. “No more visiting in the kitchen. It’s time to eat.”

  Two platters of antipasti and bottles from the Valenti vineyard sat on the table. The platter of colorful bruschetta made Sophie’s mouth water—vibrant pesto, fresh tomatoes with basil and garlic, and ripe figs topped with ruffles of prosciutto. The second platter held thin slices of cured meats and a variety of sliced dried sausages. Margherita gestured to the antipasti. “Please eat.”

  She told them her mother’s disease had been found by a routine screening mammogram. “Mamma takes care of herself. I have a mammo every year, too.” Her eyes bore into Sophie.

  “I had one, even though I’m young,” Sophie said.

  Niccolò reached for Sophie’s hand and squeezed it. His eyes asked her a question.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “I volunteered to do Margherita’s monthly breast exams, but she said I get too distracted,” Joe said.

  They all laughed. Margherita flicked one hand up in fake exasperation.

  Will picked at his food. Margherita disappeared into the kitchen, and Joe replenished their glasses.

  A few minutes later, Margherita brought in a creamy-looking spaghetti. It had a dusting of fine white cheese on top and flecks of black pepper. “Cacio e Pepe is Mamma’s favorite.”

  She served Will first. “I heard how you saved Peter’s life. You are a hero.”

  She ladled noodles into Sophie’s bow
l. “Grazie to you and Niccolò for making my Tuscan food. I hear it was quite successful. Now this, Cacio e Pepe, is one dish even you can make.” She winked at Sophie.

  Margherita entertained them all with stories about her mother as a child. Will’s chin drooped twice. Each time he jerked his head up and pretended it didn’t happen.

  Sophie and Will declined the digestivo, an after-dinner bitter liquor. They hugged Margherita and thanked her for welcoming them to Montepulciano and for her friendship.

  Sophie hated saying goodbye to Joe. With all his quirks, Joe endeared himself to both Will and Sophie. He drove them around in their quest, was a unique tour guide and interpreter, and, most important, solved Will’s mystery about the Brit he long ago carried to Villa La Foce.

  Sophie’s lips quivered and her eyes filled with fluid when she thanked Joe. Will gave the man a heartfelt hug, a demonstrative gesture for the old veteran.

  After they situated Will in his room, Niccolò and Sophie walked in silence to her suite.

  Part of Sophie longed for him to come inside and make love with her all night. Another part wanted a quick kiss and even faster farewell.

  In her room, Niccolò backed her up against the door. His lips pushed hers with a fierceness that shocked her. He pinned her head to the door with his insistent lips.

  Sophie’s purse slid out of her hand and hit the floor with a thud.

  Niccolò’s impassioned lips moved to her ear. To her neck. He groaned. He whisked her up in his arms and laid her on the bed, his lips never far from a tender, sensitive spot on her neck.

  A casual good-bye may have hurt less, but the memories of this night would linger in her mind and on her skin.

  “Sophie.”

  She opened her sleepy eyes and looked at him. The first pale rays of pink light peeked through the window.

  “I love you, Sophie.”

  She said what had burned on her lips for days. “I love you.”

  I want to marry you and someday have a houseful of babies with you, but that won’t happen. Not now. You’ll be caught up with this exciting dream-come-true job. There will be no place in your life for me.

  He swept a wayward lock of her hair behind her ear. “I will come to you as soon as I can.”