by Lucy Gordon
He ground his teeth. ‘Turn off here for the garage.’
He could be as grumpy as he liked, she thought. Nothing could quell the feeling that surged over her. She didn’t analyse it, but it felt alarmingly like joy simply because he was here. She tried to file it away to be examined later, but it wouldn’t be sidelined so easily.
When they’d delivered the car to the garage she swung back onto the road to Florence.
‘Where am I heading?’ she asked, as they entered the city.
‘The Via Bonifacio Lupi. His name is Enrico Varsi.’
‘Is it all right if I come in with you?’
‘You’re asking me?’
‘I’m asking you.’
‘And if I say no?’
‘Then I’ll wait meekly outside. But I’ll put arsenic in your soup.’
He didn’t reply, and she couldn’t take her eyes off the road, but she knew, with total certainty, that he was grinning.
It was the area of Florence where lawyers and accountants congregated, a place of sedate streets and decorum. Alex had to park a little way up the road and walk back, studying the plaques by the doors. One, in particular, caught her attention, causing her to stop and study it for so long that Rinaldo had to call out,
‘If you don’t come now I shall go in without you.’
She scurried to catch up. ‘You gave in,’ she teased.
She could have sworn he ground his teeth. ‘I did not give in, I merely recognise that you have certain financial rights, and I wish to behave properly.’
‘Same thing,’ she jeered.
‘Get in there before I strangle you.’
Signor Varsi’s offices were luxurious, the surroundings of a very successful man. He spoke well, covering complex matters without needing to refer to notes, and was clearly master of his material.
He behaved perfectly to her, showing the professional courtesy of one accountant to another. He did not talk down to her, and several times invited her opinion. She said as little as possible but her ears were pricked for anything she could learn.
Afterwards she and Rinaldo went for a coffee near the Duomo.
‘You’re very thoughtful,’ he said, glancing at her face.
‘I’m fascinated by the discovery that the Italian financial year runs from January the first to December the thirty-first.’
‘But of course it does,’ he said, puzzled. ‘What else could it be?’
‘In my country it’s April to April.’
‘And the British have the nerve to call Italians an illogical race?’
‘I know.’ She gave a brief laugh and went back to staring into her coffee.
‘Alex, are you all right?’
His unusually gentle tone made her look up. His was looking at her with grave concern that had no hint of irony or suspicion.
‘How do you mean-all right?’
‘You’ve lost the man you loved. You don’t let anyone see that you mind. You smile at Gino and me, you make jokes, and anyone who didn’t know you would think everything was fine in your world.’
‘Do you think you know me?’
‘As much as you’ll let me. And I know that you can’t really be as bright and cheerful as you seem. You’ve given me a shoulder to cry on in the past.’
Looking into his eyes she saw kindness, something she had never found there before. The sight was almost her undoing.
‘I’m not crying,’ she said huskily.
‘Most women would be after their fiancé dumped them for another woman.’
‘There’s no need to make me sound like a weeping wallflower,’ she protested with a shaky laugh.
‘No, you’re no weeping wallflower. In fact, I can’t imagine you ever weeping. You’re too strong.’
‘Strong? Are you sure you don’t mean hard?’
‘I might have thought so once. But not now. You have a deep-feeling heart, but you guard it carefully.’
‘As you do yourself.’
‘Yes,’ he said after a moment. ‘As I do myself. I think we’ve both learned to be cautious. But feelings have to be expressed one way, if not another. I still remember that dent in the wall.’
‘Dent-? Oh, you mean when I threw the ornament?’
‘That was why you did it, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she said ruefully.
‘So you are an Italian deep inside, after all? The woman who arrived here wouldn’t have chucked things, merely uttered a few well-chosen words.’
‘I wasn’t quite as cool and collected as I seemed in those days,’ she admitted, ‘but I did feel that things could usually be sorted out with reason.’
She gave a brief inner smile, aimed at herself and the person she had been. How little reason seemed to matter, sitting here with the man who brought her to life as she had never thought to be.
‘And now?’ he asked.
‘Let’s just say that I’m having a re-think. There are times when a rush of blood to the head can be very satisfying.’
He grinned. ‘Your mother would be proud of you.’
‘Yes, she would,’ Alex said, realising that it was true. She gave a crack of laughter. ‘She’d have done exactly what I did. Oh, Mamma, I wish you could see me now.’
‘What did she think of your fiancé?’
‘She didn’t like him. She said he was too organised.’
‘A virtue, surely, in his profession? And yours.’
‘Yes, but it’s not just in his profession,’ Alex mused. ‘Everything in his life was organised, I see that now.’
She wasn’t looking at Rinaldo, but at the tablecloth as she moved spoons back and forth into patterns.
‘We had it all planned,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Our home, our marriage, the way our professional lives would entwine. Married to each other, we’d have dominated the firm. Of course, that was what he didn’t want. He wants to dominate it alone. I thought we loved each other, but all that time he was secretly planning to ease me out in any way he could. I guess he couldn’t believe his luck when I came out here.’
She shook her head over her own naïvety. ‘Lord, but I made it easy for him!’
‘Because you trusted him,’ Rinaldo suggested.
‘Oh, yes. Conspicuous trustworthiness is David’s big asset. It’s worth at least thirty per cent on the bill.’
She knew she sounded bitter, but she couldn’t help it. Fool! she thought. Fool to have been so deluded for so long!
‘How long did you know him?’ Rinaldo asked.
‘Years. He was there the day I joined the firm, when I was little more than a kid. I supposed I hero-worshipped him, chiefly because he was so good-looking. It took a long time for us to come together.’
‘You’re very focused.’
‘Decide what you want and go for it. That’s me.’
‘And what do you want now?’ he asked, watching her.
‘I don’t know. For the first time in my life I don’t know what I want. I feel cast adrift.’
‘Yet you seem as sure of yourself as ever, Circe.’
‘That’s really unfair,’ she said, smiling wistfully. ‘Did it ever occur to you that Circe was a very confused person?’
‘She wasn’t a person, she was a goddess, an enchantress.’
‘A witch,’ she reminded him.
‘A witch,’ he agreed. ‘But a witch who sows confusion all around her.’
‘I never meant to. But you and I had such preconceived ideas about each other. There was bound to be confusion.’
He nodded. ‘No more preconceived ideas, I swear. I’ll never again see you as an automaton who thinks only cold reason matters.’
‘Can I have that in writing?’ she asked sceptically.
‘No, I’ll just have to prove it to you.’
‘For that, I’ll let you drive the car home,’ she said, handing him the keys.
He pocketed them. ‘Is this you being sweetly feminine?’
‘Nope. I’m just tired. You can do the work.’
&n
bsp; Laughing they made their way through the streets in the direction of the car.
‘I haven’t abandoned reason altogether,’ she hastened to say. ‘But I’ve come to see that it can sometimes be overrated.’
‘Only sometimes?’
‘It has its place, even for you. You were very reasonable in Varsi’s office.’
A noisy vehicle rumbled by as he answered, and Alex couldn’t make out his reply distinctly. She gave herself a little shake, trying to believe that he had really said, ‘But I don’t want to kiss Enrico Varsi.’
‘What did you say?’ she asked, dazed.
‘I said we turn here,’ he said quickly.
Strangely his denial convinced her. He might pretend what he liked. He’d said it. Suddenly she wanted this afternoon to last for ever.
He was silent on the journey home, and Alex was also content to say nothing. Something was happening that words would only spoil.
Later that evening, in the quiet of her room, Alex called Jenny, her one-time secretary.
‘I’m afraid I’m useless as a source of info,’ Jenny told her. ‘I’ve walked out of the firm. If I’d had to look at David’s smug face any longer I’d have done something to it. But I’ll always be glad I was there when you told him “what for” in front of everyone.’
‘Yes, I enjoyed it too,’ Alex mused. ‘But I’m sorry you’re out of a job.’
‘I’m not. I’ve gone to-’ she named another firm, equally prestigious, just across the street. ‘I think they’d quite like to have you as well.’
‘I’m glad you’re suited, but I have a job to do here. Jenny, does the name Andansio mean anything to you?’
‘I remember it from about five years ago, before I became your secretary. My then boss had some dealings with them.’
‘What can you tell me about them?’
‘A lot. Some of it’s quite sensational.’
Alex listened for half an hour, making notes. When she hung up she was thoughtful.
A few days later, Varsi’s secretary called to say that the books were ready to be returned, and should they be mailed? It was Alex who took the call, and volunteered to collect them. On her way out she met Rinaldo and told him her errand.
‘And of course you’ll deliver them to me without looking at them?’ he said ironically.
‘Did I say that?’ she asked, wide-eyed with innocence.
‘Well at least you play fair,’ he said appreciatively.
Having got the books, Alex shut herself up with them for several hours.
‘I notice that most of the pages were printed then put in ring-binders later,’ she said to Rinaldo.
‘My father used a computer for the accounts,’ he said. ‘He was very proud of the fact that he’d mastered it.’
‘Can I see his files?’
Rinaldo showed her into the study, switched on the computer and showed her what she needed. Then he left her.
Alex’s first impression was that Poppa’s pride had been well-founded. Comparing his files to the receipts she came to the conclusion that he’d kept his records perfectly. They were detailed, informative and easy to check.
Next she managed to access files for previous years, and, after a search, located the books that matched them. She spent a long night checking and cross-checking.
It was early morning by the time she’d finished and switched off the computer. Instead of going to bed she put on her work-out clothes and went running. Then she showered, ate a swift breakfast, and drove into Florence.
She began spending lengthy periods in the city, sometimes driving back late at night, sometimes staying in a hotel. Without saying very much she gave the brothers the impression that she was enjoying a pleasure trip, shopping and going to the theatre. Rinaldo occasionally gave her puzzled glances, but he held his peace.
Soon there was no time for questions, for the harvest was due to begin. Wheat, olives, lemons, now ripe under the burning sun, had to be brought in, stored and sold to the waiting markets.
‘And after them, the wine,’ Gino told her. ‘Maybe October.’
‘Maybe? You don’t know?’
‘Judging the right moment for picking grapes can be very tricky. You have to wait until they’re sweet enough, or you can end up with vinegar. Try this.’
They were sitting on the veranda enjoying the last of the sun. On the low table between them was a bunch of deep purple grapes that he had picked that afternoon. He took one, peeled it carefully with a tiny knife, and offered it to her.
‘Sweet?’ he asked.
‘It tastes very sweet.’
‘But not quite sweet enough. It needs more than this before it’s ready.’
‘And you can tell the moment by the taste.’
‘Rinaldo can, he’s the real expert. He says he’s never wrong. Mind you, he thinks that about everything.’
‘Talking about me?’ came Rinaldo’s voice from just inside the house.
He came out and pulled up another chair, acknowledging Alex with only a brief nod, but sitting close to her. It was the first time she had seen him all day.
‘I was just explaining to Alex how you value your taste buds above the achievements of science.’
‘What has science got to do with it?’ Alex wanted to know.
‘Nothing,’ Rinaldo said. ‘Judging grapes is an art. You either have it or you haven’t. And my little brother hasn’t, so he tries to pretend that science is the next best thing.’
‘No, it’s the very best thing,’ Gino said stubbornly.
‘But what science?’ Alex asked, baffled.
From his pocket Gino pulled a narrow metal tube, about six inches long. It reminded Alex of a small telescope, except that at one end was a piece of yellow glass that lifted, revealing a small box beneath.
Into this Gino inserted a grape and closed the lid, squashing the grape so that the juice flowed.
‘Now look,’ he said, holding it up.
Alex squinted from the other end and saw a tiny dial. The needle was hovering back and forth, almost near the red area, but not quite settling there.
‘It tells you the sugar content,’ Gino explained. ‘When that’s right, you know it’s time to pick.’
Rinaldo gave a snort of contempt.
‘I’ve known you use it,’ Gino protested. ‘When it suited you.’
‘I’ve occasionally demonstrated that it backs me up,’ Rinaldo agreed.
‘And when it doesn’t, you ignore it.’
‘Yes, because I know grapes better than any machine. That’s enough talk. I’m going to bed. If you’re wise, you will too. We have a long, hard haul ahead of us.’
Just how hard a haul Alex was to discover. Both Rinaldo and Gino played their full part in the harvest, often picking with their own hands. Alex plunged in, determined to earn her place here by hard work as well as money.
Even she, inexperienced, knew that this would be a good harvest. The long, hot summer had brought the crops to perfection at exactly the right moment, until at last only the grapes were left.
‘And we start on those tomorrow,’ Rinaldo said.
The three of them were sitting on the veranda, in various stages of exhaustion. Gino was sprawled in his chair, his head right back. But he lifted it when he heard this.
‘Tomorrow?’ he echoed. ‘You can’t mean that.’
‘I do mean it. The grapes are ready.’
‘Not according to this.’ Gino lifted the instrument that was used for testing the grapes, which was lying on the low table.
‘I don’t need a machine to tell me the grapes are ready,’ Rinaldo said stubbornly.
‘Rinaldo be sensible.’
‘Machines don’t drink wine. People do. The grapes are ready.’
‘But nobody else is harvesting now. They’re all waiting another week.’
‘Great. We’ll be ahead of the market and our grapes will be the best. We’ll get the highest price. I’m going to bed.’
Gino’s sho
cked eyes followed him until he was out of sight.
‘He’s taken leave of his senses,’ he said. ‘I’ve never known him like this before.’
‘But you said he’s the real expert,’ Alex reminded him. ‘Has this never happened in the past?’
‘Only by the odd day or two. But a week? He’s never been out on that much of a limb before. What’s got into him to take such a risk?’
‘Is it really a great risk?’
‘Being wrong by a day can take the edge of perfection off the harvest. He’s risking everything.’
Risking everything. Yes, Alex thought, Rinaldo had had the air of a man leaping into the unknown, ready to chance all he had on one reckless throw of the dice.
Next day, as he’d said, the grape harvest began. The work was long and laborious, for grape picking was another task Rinaldo wouldn’t entrust to machines, saying they damaged the plants.
Alex piled in, picking until her hands were sore. If she tried to talk to Rinaldo he replied automatically. Sometimes she wondered if he really knew that she was there. She had the odd sensation that he was looking beyond her.
‘Pick,’ he said fiercely. ‘Just pick.’
She never knew how she got through that week. Somehow she’d been swept up by his own intensity, driving herself on to some unknown goal. When the last grape was in she felt drained and futile, as though the purpose of her whole life had been taken away.
The Farneses were not wine makers, but sold their grapes to a company. When Signor Valli, the company representative who always dealt with them, received their summons, he gave a yell of pleasure.
‘That’s great. I know we can always trust Rinaldo’s palate. I’ll be right over.’
Alex had meant to be there for his visit, but at the last moment she had to make one of her trips to Florence for a long talk with the accountant, Andansio. What she heard from him was absorbing, but it was still hard to concentrate when her mind was with Rinaldo, learning the result of his life or death gamble.
She wasn’t sure how she knew that it was life and death. But she had no doubt of it.
It was dark when she drove home, and hurried into the house. She found the two brothers standing in silence and her heart sank.
‘What is it?’ she asked, looking from one to the other.
‘I got it wrong,’ Rinaldo said bluntly. ‘The wine was harvested too soon. It needed another week. I got it wrong.’