by Jan Moran
Her mother smiled. This could be the last moment she’d ever see her mother smile.
“Nothing.” Caterina shrugged.
Ava started up the stone steps, and Caterina followed her, carrying the wine. She had missed her opportunity. A sour mixture of relief and regret coursed through her.
Caterina wound through the high-ceilinged living room. Its French-paned doors stood open to the balmy evening breeze, which carried the scent of summer basil from Nina’s herb garden.
Nina was already preparing dinner. The middle-aged woman wore a vivid yellow cotton dress festooned with colorful embroidered flowers in the Mexican tradition. She turned when she heard Caterina come in.
“Welcome home.” Nina smiled and folded Caterina to her ample breast. “You look tired, pobrecita. And you’ve lost weight.”
“That’s good.” Ava glanced at Caterina with a critical eye.
“My last year at school was stressful,” Caterina replied in defense. In more ways than you can imagine. “What’s for supper, Nina?” Caterina hugged their housekeeper again, inhaling the familiar scent of garlic and cilantro that seemed part of her cherry-brown skin.
“Coq au vin. It’s your mother’s old recipe with my wild mushrooms and onions, a crumble of bacon, our pinot noir, and a little cognac. And flan for dessert.” She winked. “If your mother approves.”
“She can have whatever she wants,” Ava said with a wave of her hand. “She’s a grown woman. Why, at her age—”
Caterina rolled her eyes. “I know, you and Papa had already immigrated, planted the new vineyard sections, and bottled the old vine wine.”
“And I was a mother.” Ava paused. “Ted Thornwald has been asking about you again.”
Caterina sat at the kitchen table and shot a look at Nina, who was arranging food on plates.
Ava filled their wineglasses. “I was thinking of having a little party tomorrow night.”
Caterina recognized the studied lightness in her mother’s voice. “It’s all planned, isn’t it?” Calmly, she sliced into the tender, fragrant chicken Nina had served.
“Sí, señorita,” Nina said with a quick smile. She slid a tray of sliced cheese onto the table. Ava began to nibble on a slice of brie with apple.
Her mother shrugged and went on, “Ted and his family are coming tomorrow. I don’t know what happened between the two of you that made you want to go to Los Angeles for a semester—which delayed your graduation—but he’s willing to overlook it all. I told them you got cold feet.”
“I don’t need your help finding a husband.”
“Well, apparently, you do. Plenty of girls would like his attention, but I think he’s been waiting for you.”
“I doubt it. I sure haven’t been waiting for him.” Caterina thought of the last time she’d seen Ted. He’d asked her out to celebrate New Year’s Eve at the St. Francis, and she’d stood him up.
They had dated during her sophomore and junior years—before that unforgettable encounter with Marisa’s father in the summer before her senior year. She was fond of Ted, but she’d never been in love with him. Yet, her coolness hadn’t dissuaded his ardor. Nina’s daughter, Juliana, Caterina’s closest friend since childhood, had told her Ted had asked for her opinion on a wedding ring. He’d planned to propose on New Year’s Eve.
But Caterina had already started thickening around the middle and had missed her monthly cycles. She told everyone she was taking a semester of art illustration for marketing classes in Los Angeles to learn how to design wine labels and advertising campaigns. And it was just far enough away that Ava, with her night blindness, wouldn’t drive to visit her.
“You could do worse than Ted, you know,” Ava said with a haughty sniff. “You’re twenty-five. The city is full of magic for you now, but I won’t live forever. I’d like to see you married and settled before you take over the vineyard. Everyone thought you and Ted would marry.”
Caterina glanced at Nina, silently pleading for help.
Nina shoved a pan into a cupboard. “How about that nice young man from New York?”
Caterina swung back to her mother. “Who’s that?”
Ava dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. “Just a man who dropped by the vineyard. Some salesman.” Ava touched her wineglass to Caterina’s, the rounded tone ringing like a bell marking the moment. “At least talk to Ted, and give him a chance.”
Nina wagged her head and turned back to her work.
Caterina kissed her mother on the cheek. “I’ll speak to him,” she said in an effort to appease her. Ava smiled, and Caterina was glad she was in a good mood. Though the opportunity to speak to her in private about Marisa had passed.
* * *
Ava retired to her bedroom, relieved that Caterina had at least listened to her this evening. The only thing that could derail her plans was the news of Caterina’s inheritance she’d received, although she certainly hadn’t shared that with Caterina. A house in Montalcino. She wondered if it were the same cottage where the course of their lives had been changed.
That house must be sold. Caterina mustn’t return to Italy, not now, not ever. Ava tried to dismiss the growing sense of dread that gathered heavily in her chest.
A soft tap sounded on her bedroom door, and she rose to open it.
Raphael’s broad shoulders filled the doorway. “How’s Caterina? I was worried about you this evening.” His eyes were clouded with concern.
Ava relaxed her brow. She could smell the ripe sweetness of sunbaked grapes on Raphael. He was more than the vineyard foreman; he had become a trusted advisor and a close friend, even closer now that Caterina was no longer living at Mille Étoiles. He was responsible for the grape production. Without his expertise, as a winemaker she would have no fine palette with which to paint.
“Caterina seems well, and I’m glad you came.” She rested her hand on his muscular forearm. A fresh sprinkle of gray hair glinted at his temples against his wavy black hair, giving him an air of authority.
Raphael had the toned, muscular physique of a man who used his body every day. Though he was nearing fifty, he showed no signs of slowing down, and men half his age couldn’t keep up with him. Only the silver threads of hair and laugh lines around his eyes betrayed his age.
Ava gazed into his warm brown eyes. “Ted and his family are coming tomorrow.”
Raphael stroked his stubbled chin. “How does Caterina feel about him?”
“They had a little rough patch. It happens. But they’re meant for each other.”
“Caterina has her own mind, Ava. She’s not a little girl anymore.”
“There’s no one else in her life. It’s time she made a decision.” She didn’t want Caterina to go through the difficulties she’d had.
Frowning, Raphael shook his head. “Give her some time to follow her heart.”
“She’s had enough time,” she snapped. “She could have met someone at the university.” Men don’t understand. She stopped herself; she didn’t want to argue with him. And she didn’t want to tell him about the news she’d received from the investigator. Raphael would only say he’d warned her. “I’m tired, Raphael. Tomorrow is a busy day. Good night.”
Ava pressed her lips against his cheek and firmly shut the door. Dear Raphael. What a good man he was. Even if he didn’t understand the ways of the world.
4
It was a sunny Saturday morning, and Caterina had dressed in dungarees to inspect the vineyard before the party tonight. Holding a cup of coffee, she peered from the kitchen window. She couldn’t wait to see how the grapes were ripening.
She’d resolved to speak to her mother about Marisa this weekend. She’d missed her opportunity last night, and her mother had already planned the party for this evening. Tomorrow would be the dreaded day. Her coffee cup shimmied in her hand as she thought about it.
Through the window, a flash of chrome caught her eye. A blue car was weaving its way through the cypress-lined drive. Curious, she drained th
e last swallow from her cup and then made her way through the living room.
A knock sounded on the front door just as she reached it. With Nina in the garden and her mother in the vineyard with Raphael, there was no one else around except for Vino, who stood guard nearby.
She opened the door. “May I help you?”
A tall, lanky man stood on the front steps in shiny oxfords, a fat briefcase by his side. “My name is Anthony Martoni, and I’m an investigator working on an estate case. A law firm in New York, Paxton & Brueger, hired me to locate Caterina Rosetta regarding an inheritance.” He spoke with a clipped New York accent.
“I’m Caterina Rosetta.” Her curiosity was aroused. An inheritance from whom?
“Then I have some important papers for your review. It’s good news, I suspect,” he added quickly.
“Please come in.” She swung open the arched wooden door for him. Vino trotted in after him. “Would you care for coffee?”
He stepped inside, his eyes taking in the soaring grandeur of the home. “Yes, that’s very kind of you, thank you.”
Caterina showed him to the expansive table in the formal dining room where Ava often conducted private wine tastings. A pair of antique French marquetry and marble-topped cabinets flanked the room, and multicolored bouquets of roses from their cutting garden burst from crystal vases. A Persian carpet muffled their footfalls. Though the home was stately in proportion, it was still gracious and inviting.
When Nina appeared at the doorway, Caterina signaled for her to bring coffee for them, and she sat down. Vino plopped by her feet.
She thought of finding her mother, but Ava could be anywhere on the property. She decided to hear him out first.
The investigator sat down and carefully placed his briefcase on the polished table. Nina bustled in to pour two cups of coffee.
“Thank you, Nina.” Anthony smiled and lifted the cup to his lips.
“You know Nina?” Nonplussed, Caterina looked from one to the other.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve been here before, looking for you. Your mother told me you weren’t available.”
Nina quickly disappeared into the kitchen.
“Then go on,” Caterina said, rubbing Vino’s neck. Why hadn’t her mother mentioned this?
Anthony took a sip and began. “You’ve been named in your grandmother’s will. Specifically, you’ve inherited a house from Violetta Romagnoli Rosetta of Montalcino, Italy.”
Caterina looked at him in bewilderment. “That’s impossible. My grandmother died before I was born.”
“There’s no mistake.” Anthony opened his briefcase and withdrew several documents.
“A house in Montalcino?” she repeated in disbelief. “What kind of house?”
“A cottage. I understand it needs some work.” He gave her a letter and some documents from an attorney in Italy, and as she read, he swung around, peering at wine bottles displayed in an ornately sculpted iron wine enclosure. “May I look at your wines?”
“Of course. We collect other wines, too.” She sipped her coffee as she flipped through the pages.
He rested a hand on the ironwork and peered inside. “A Brunello di Montalcino. That’s one of my favorites,” he added with relish, touching the bottles with reverence.
“You certainly know your wines.” Though he was clearly mistaken about her grandmother. “My father was born in Italy. He died when I was a baby, and, as I understand, his family was gone long before that.”
“And who told you that?”
“My mother, of course.” Questions began to swirl in her mind. Surely her mother had told her the truth. Ava Rosetta didn’t keep secrets. Unlike her daughter. She pressed her temple to alleviate a throbbing vein.
Caterina rose from her chair. “I appreciate your visit, and I wish I could help you, but I’m probably not the right woman.”
“Oh, but you are.” He colored slightly. “When I spoke to your mother, she didn’t think you’d be interested, but I have a duty to uphold. Today I thought I’d try one more time to deliver your documents before I had to return.”
She narrowed her eyes in thought. None of this was making sense.
Anthony consulted his notes. “And we have orders to arrange your passage to Italy on Pan American Airways.”
“Orders?” Caterina laughed and drew herself up. Even with her low boot heels, she stood at eye level with him. “No one orders me to do anything.” Except my mother. Though his offer was ridiculous, she found the prospect of flying across the ocean in an airplane intriguing, and she’d always wondered about her father and his heritage.
“I meant that we have authorization to pay all expenses.” The investigator shuffled through his briefcase and withdrew a thick sheaf of papers with an old photograph clipped to the top. He handed the packet to her. “Review the documents, Miss Rosetta, or have an attorney look at them, but there is no mistake. You have inherited a house in Montalcino from your grandmother.”
As he finished speaking, the wine bottles began to rattle in their racks. Instinctively, Caterina shoved him away from the tall racks and into a doorway between the living room and dining room. Timbers creaked and groaned around them. The wine racks were secured against earthquakes, but as a native Californian, Caterina had an ingrained habit to seek shelter. Anthony’s briefcase clattered to the floor.
With her arms outstretched, Caterina pressed her palms against the doorjamb. Anthony scrambled to mimic her actions and flushed at finding himself cheek to cheek with her as they braced against the vibration. After a few seconds, the bottles grew still.
“Is that it?” Unnerved by the tremor, Anthony looked around with wide eyes.
“Probably. Now you can say you’ve been in a real California earthquake. But that was just a little shake, nothing to worry about.” Taking it in stride, she stepped away. She had far larger problems to think about this weekend. Especially tomorrow.
“Will there be another one?” His face was bright pink and beaded with perspiration. He pulled out a white linen handkerchief from his suit jacket and mopped his forehead.
“You never know. That might have been a precursor to the next big one.”
“Glad I’m leaving.” He grabbed his briefcase and snapped it shut. “I’ll call you next week to make further arrangements.” He stumbled out in haste.
Before she secured the latch on the wine rack, Caterina checked the dusty Brunello di Montalcino bottles, mulling over the possibility she’d had a grandmother she hadn’t known.
As a girl, she’d often wished for a kindly grandmother. It would have been a lonely childhood, if not for Nina and Juliana. Her mother had never allowed her to mix with the farmworkers, except for Raphael, who ran the vineyard and let her play among the vines. He’d also taught her how to care for their precious grapes, for their entire existence depended on the vines.
Caterina removed a bottle that had moisture around the cork. Her thoughts reeled back to the investigator. Why would her mother have masked the truth about her grandmother, her father’s mother? She’d never known her to lie about anything.
There must be another explanation. Ava Rosetta was a woman beyond reproach. Everyone in the valley knew that.
Caterina thumbed through the documents the investigator had left. They were in Italian, which she could read fairly well, though her French was much better. Her father had been brought up in Montalcino, but she’d learned Italian from Raphael.
Ava was a superb vintner, or winemaker, born to the craft in Bordeaux, where she’d been brought up on her family’s vineyard. She and Raphael had elevated the wine label of Mille Étoiles to nothing short of magnificent. Some wine merchants who visited the vineyard even thought they were married, the way they finished each other’s sentences. But Ava hadn’t even dated since her husband’s untimely death.
Caterina peered at the tattered black-and-white photograph. The stone cottage was perched on a hill, and she could see vines on the sloped hillside that fell away to one
side. Her heart quickened. Did the land go with the house? She traced the shadowy structure. A home in Montalcino. Italy. Her home now, if these documents were true.
Or were they? Perhaps there was another woman with her name, or maybe the will was an old one. Who knew what went on in Italy, a country so far, far away?
She’d always dreamed of having a family and her own vineyard where she could practice her art. There weren’t many women vintners in the world of wine, but she knew her business. She rubbed her furrowed brow, contemplating the photo. What secrets did those walls conceal?
She’d complicated her life, possibly beyond repair. She touched the house in the image again. Maybe she should go to Montalcino.
She squinted at the old photo. What did her mother know about this? She would ask her tomorrow, after the party tonight. And she’d tell her about Marisa, too. Seems we both have secrets to share.
The fine hair on her neck bristled. Even now, she sensed there was more to the story than her mother would be willing to share. Why would Ava have kept a grandmother from her all her life?
Vino brushed against her legs, whining. She patted her thigh. “Come on, Vino. Let’s go talk to Nina before we head to the vineyard.” She had a great deal to do before the party; she had to prepare herself for Ted and his parents and come to grips with the thought of reuniting with him. If she did as her mother suggested, it would only be for Marisa, for a chance at a better life for her daughter.
Could she really do it?
5
Juliana let out a low whistle. “Look how chic you’ve become since moving to the big city.” She pushed herself from a chair in the corner of Caterina’s bedroom at Mille Étoiles. “You look just like Audrey Hepburn in “Sabrina.”
“Do you really think so? I loved her in that film.” Caterina checked herself in the full-length mirror. She’d decided on a slim-fitting black cocktail dress that she hadn’t worn since before Marisa was born. A pearl choker and earrings accented the wide neckline and her upswept hairstyle.
“We should go see her new film, War and Peace.”