And it would give Guillermo another much-needed chance to win her over. He was always up to a challenge. When it came to smart beautiful women, there were too few challenges, and his recent exploits in the city had definitely begun to pale.
He drove south on the SR2 through Poggibonsi and Sienna. It would take a little longer than the A1 Autostrada. Depending on how the weekend went, they could get home faster through Stazione Montepulchiano. The scenery was better this way, and the longer he was in the car with Clio before rewarding her with a destination, the longer they could be alone, the better they could get to know each other. That was the theory, anyway.
For him, the smaller roads were a pleasure in his Alpha Romeo. It wasn't that he no longer enjoyed the rolling green and gold patchwork hills, and rows of cypress trees flanking the country roads, but the drive itself was the thing. Hopefully her recent accident did not make Clio unduly nervous. His C4 handled the narrow, winding roads beautifully. He prided himself on his skill, and he did love to drive.
He glanced sideways at his passenger. An enigma – Clio was as frumpily and conservatively dressed as before, no encouragement there. She seemed to adjust her wardrobe neither up nor down for the country weekend. Her wild hair was pulled back into a disciplined plait, just like her character. And yet, as he surreptitiously studied her pleasing profile, her strong jaw was set stubbornly, and her gaze trained determinedly on the horizon ahead. She was on some kind of a mission. Although he did notice one white-knuckled hand gripping the side handle, and the other the edge of her seat.
"Bene. I look forward to showing you around, allora. I could not imagine a more beautiful or desirable companion for a country retreat."
She sat back and shot him a wary glance. "I can't see what possible relevance my appearance has on your visit, signor. You did promise me to be a gentleman, did you not?"
He swallowed. "Certamento. I remember my words and will keep my promise. But, Bella, mi sento attratto. It does me a great benefit to look upon you and admire you, though I cannot gratify my desire with actions. Please allow me to dream." He flashed his most charming smile, with a wink for good luck, and had the satisfaction of seeing a pink flush bloom on her cheeks as she pursed her lips and turned her gaze out the side window.
"Please call me by my name. You are too familiar with your terms of endearment."
"Scusi. Sono abbagliato da te." I am dazzled by you. "You have an exquisite fire that enflames me…Clio." He whispered her name like a caress, as though he could taste it.
"You Italian men are all the same. Liars. Arrogant liars." She spoke sternly, but the corners of her mouth had begun to twitch. She would not give him the gratification of making her smile with his efforts. Fine. Enough for now.
He laughed and left her in peace to enjoy the sublime blue hazed vista. Perhaps it would work to help him soften her shell.
"Tell me, where is the villa?"
"Not very far from the Cittadini estate. A little west of there. It is south of San Quirico d'Orcia. That is why we drive through Sienna. But you can go the other way, also."
"Did Pia and Paulo go to school together? Is that how they met?"
"Not exactly. Our parents knew Paulo's. They moved in similar circles."
"Aristocratic, you mean?"
He wet his lips, thinking. "There has been no aristocracy since the sixties, you know. But yes, in some respects people keep the same habits. The same friends, from one generation to the next."
"And… Pia mentioned that your parents passed away."
Of course she would ask. Americans had no subtlety. He pushed through a heaviness and forced himself to reply in a matter-of-fact tone. "Yes. Nine and five years ago."
"So Jacopo has been trying to…"
He shrugged. "Trying, yes. I suppose. But really his interests are in politics."
"But I heard you say…" She stopped herself, her eyes darting away uncertainly. "I'm sorry. I thought you said something about you also being the Conte?"
Guillermo's stomach hardened and heat raced over his neck and ears. Why did I say that? Pazzo. "Er…it was nothing. I…well, technically we four all inherit the estate, and the archaic title. But it is unimportant now." He waved it away with a sweep of his hand. "I was angry with my brother. It is past."
Her lips pursed, but she said nothing.
They drove in silence for several minutes, each with their own thoughts.
"Have you thought of ways to save the villa from bankruptcy yourself? Could you pay the debts?"
He forced a smile. "It's not my job."
"But you care. Don't you? Maybe there is something you can do. I know of several estates that have been saved by some very creative funding schemes. I could dig around for you."
"Ah. I'm sure you could, with your research skills. But no, thank you." His stomach twisted uncomfortably. "Are you hungry? We could stop somewhere for a snack." He scanned the horizon for a turn off or a sign. He didn't want to get caught in Sienna traffic, so he had just taken the ring road. Perhaps on the other side.
"You're trying to change the subject. Why don't you want to try?"
He snorted. "I have a busy life, Clio. I have a comfortable apartment in Firenze. I don't need the villa. I'm not sentimental about it."
"I don't believe you."
"You don't know me very well, Bella." He took a deep breath and calmed himself, but his jaw was tight, his shoulders stiff. A strategic change of subject was called for.
"Tell me more about your thesis. I confess I was not listening well when you told my sister. But now I have seen these intriguing images you collect on your wall, I have a desire to know more."
She huffed out a breath, her eyes narrowed at him. The lovely arcs of her auburn brows lifted. "Are you sure you want to know? Once I get started…"
"Si, si. I really want to know."
"Well. If you insist." She studied the landscape and the sweeping Tuscan sky, choosing her words carefully. "As I'm sure you know, the Baroque period was a period of aesthetic excess."
"That is perhaps how it appears to northerners." It seemed he was going to get a dry academic lecture for his pains.
Instead her face bloomed into a broad, glorious smile such as he had never seen before, like the sun breaking above the horizon at dawn, and he was so stricken that he nearly swerved off the road. His heart slammed into his throat, and he quickly corrected course.
She didn't seem to notice.
"You've got it exactly. How insightful you are." Her face had become flushed, and her eyes wide and bright. Her natural beauty was enhanced by her enthusiasm.
"Uh…" What had he said? He scratched his beard. "Am I?"
"Yes, that is the crux of it." She leaned toward him, releasing her warm floral scent. "There are differences of opinion, of course. There always are. But my research is attempting to thoroughly document, particularly through new or lesser known examples, how the portrayal of religious ecstasy was consciously or unconsciously a rebellion against the imposition of a new morality by the advance of Protestantism."
"Si…" Is that what I said? Her perfume wafted over to him. What is that? Gardenia? He shifted on his seat.
"But more than that, the examples I have found confirm, or well, I suppose support the premise that the response emerged spontaneously and simultaneously, not just as the spread of influence from say, Bernini or a handful of better known artists, but as a grassroots response. I have examples that demonstrate that regional artists, young, unknown, inexperienced ones even, were using the religious theme of ecstasy, whatever you want to call it, as illustrated through visions, visitations, epiphanies, and what-have-you, to portray physical bliss. And I am arguing that this evolution was an indigenous and sensuous response to the elaborate, magnificent, brilliant aesthetic environment of the early Baroque period."
She waved her hands, inscribing arcs in the air. Unconsciously, she had pulled at her hair, and now strands of luscious curling Titian red escaped from their bonds. He
had to force himself to keep his eyes on the road.
"By indigenous, you mean, uh…"
"Yes. Italian."
"Hm." He swallowed. Well, being Italian, I can see that. Like now, for example. There was no mistaking the fact that he had a whopping erezione.
She frowned. "You don't believe it?"
"On the contrary. I do believe it." He was undoubtedly tiro, hard, from watching her excited, bright countenance, and listening to her suggestive words. She seemed on the one hand oblivious to the innuendo, and on the other, quite affected by the whole notion herself. At least in the abstract. If one could have an abstract heartbeat.
"So you see, it is as if the natural cultural disposition is expressed or… or unable to be repressed, in the context of such delights of sensuous experience. Like… like Shakespeare holding up a mirror to nature, in all its beautiful, emotional, bawdy truth, the sumptuousness and sensuality of the Baroque environment led to an unconscious and conscious release of the guilty pleasures that even earlier Christianity, and certainly the encroaching threat of Protestantism, did not permit. You see?" She gestured with her hands, to emphasize her point, now that she was getting to the climax of her explanation.
He groaned. His head was spinning.
"Now, in the context of Baroque extravagance and indulgence it was not only alright, but it was a point of pride to take this notion of sensuality to its logical and perfect peak of expression - the orgasm - disguised, of course–"
"So let me get this straight. You're arguing that the excessive emotion and overt sensuality inherent in the art of the period caused people…well Italians anyway, to walk around in a state of perpetual arousal."
"Yes, more or less. It was visceral."
Stronzo. Unbelievable. How could she talk about such things as if they were a dry academic subject? "You are very persuasive…Clio."
She smiled, assuming, he supposed, that he was as excited about her thesis as she was.
Per amor del cielo! For the love of heaven! What was he doing?
Chapter 10
He grinned. "But tell me Clio. Do you actually like Italian men? I think you secretly do."
Clio felt her smile falter, as an unwelcome flash of desire shot through her. He could never know how he affected her. He was impossible. Why did she come? She jerked back in her seat, her bag toppling to the floor, its contents spilling. She fumbled to catch them and stuff them back in, tucking her purse between her feet. Heat tingled in her cheeks.
She flinched as he reached across and stroked her under the chin with one warm finger, lifting her face up to meet his eyes. He glanced at her, turning his gaze back to the road, but his sensuous mouth pulled taut in a small amused smile, his head shaking slightly, as though he was contemplating a puzzling surprise, but something delightful and intriguing.
"Um. I understand your villa was built in the sixteenth century?"
"Eh?" His grin slipped.
He had pulled off the main motorway some time ago, after they had passed through a small town with a tumble of small rectangular buildings in soft brown limestone, their roofs stacked up like a house of cards, that she assumed was San Quirico d'Orcia. They were winding along a narrow, twisting road of a similar scale to the one where she had her accident, but more roughly paved. She shifted to look out the window, her breathing constricting as the memory of her car veering and flipping shot through her body. As they continued to climb, the vista opened out, and she could see more rolling green hills and golden fields. He was going a little fast for her comfort. She clutched the seat and side handle as Guillermo steered the car around curve after curve, gravel crunching under the tires.
"C-can you tell me about its history? Do you know much about it?"
"Of course. We were all told the family history growing up. We could not study the history of Italy without understanding our role in it."
"Was it significant?"
"Well, you will not find so many references to our family in the history books. But we were important supporting players, you might say."
Oh, she loved this. History first hand. She focused on his face, and not on the steep drop off to her side of the road, slowing her breathing. This is what she was hoping for. "Oh, tell me, please."
He smiled again, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Such a vivid blue, matching the sky beyond his window. "Our family goes back a very long way, but it became notable with Francesco d'Aldobrandin who was a military captain during the Italian Wars, and assisted Cosimo I, in particular, with the defeat of the Sienese at the Battle of Marciano in 1554. After Cosimo became Grand Duke of Tuscany in 1569, Francesco was made a Conte. It was afterwards that the villa was constructed, on land he was gifted by the Duke."
Guillermo was turning out to be a better storyteller than she'd expected. Somehow, his smooth manner and cavalier attitude led her to suspect that he was not very attentive or interested, or for that matter academically inclined.
The narrow road was climbing higher and higher now, and they were winding their way back and forth along a series of small switchbacks. Tall cypress trees punctuated both sides of the road, and sloping, rolling golden fields stretched out in both directions, between tumbling groves of green trees, with the occasional stretch of wild-looking grapevines in undulating rows.
"Oh, this is amazing. So, so beautiful." The villa was so much a part of the history of this land, and even better, built during the later Renaissance period. "I've been curious…Cielo Incantato doesn't sound like the kind of name given to a villa of that period."
He laughed. "No. It wasn't. It was always known as Villa d' Aldobrandin della Monte. Very descriptive. Very dull. Or so my mother… so my mother used to say. It was she who renamed it–Enchanted Sky. She was…" he hesitated, "…well, she was fanciful. An extraordinary woman. Very romantic."
The way he said romantic, one would think this was a disability. How curious. Just a moment before, she saw a fierce spark of devotion in his eye. Perhaps it was only his sadness at having lost her so young.
"Tell me about her."
After a silence, Guillermo cleared his throat. "Perhaps another time. We will arrive soon."
"The villa then. Prepare me a little."
"Ah. The villa. Well, you will soon see. It is a little run down, as there have not been funds recently for all the maintenance that is needed. But it is still a very beautiful house. There is a simple rectangle–the original building from about 1575, almost monastic, strongly influenced by Antonio da Sangallo the Elder–with a grand arcaded first floor, and graceful piano nobile under the tile roof. It has very lovely classical proportions. " His voice was wistful, full of admiration.
Clio said nothing to interrupt his narrative, awed by his obvious passion for the topic.
"It is built of a soft butter-coloured smooth limestone, with subtle beige columns, cornerstones and rustication. There is also a later addition, a ballroom built in 1665, of a single story, that stretches off to the west, with a stone baluster, and a large terrace on the roof. I believe this to be designed by a student of Flaminio del Turco out of Siena. My favorite piece, though, is the rectangular tower that rises up another three stories. This you can see from far away, and a group of very old cypresses stretch up beside it into the sky. I think that's why…"
He stopped talking as they approached a rough wall beside the road. He slowed the car, and they turned and maneuvered through a pair of tall stone gateposts. Low stone walls, lined with cypresses on one side, and a tumble of greenery and bright red geraniums on the other, flanked the crushed rock driveway. Some rustic stone outbuildings blocked their view for a moment, and then they rounded a corner, and there it was. Villa Cielo Incantato.
Clio drew in a breath, and brought her hands to her mouth. Oh. It was perfection. So beautiful. So grand. She leaned forward, craning her head back to take in the tower and the trees he had described. Vivid green vines scaled the walls on one side, and the drive opened out into a gravel forecourt framed by trimmed
boxwood hedges, and neat rows of conical boxwoods in terra cotta pots. More red geraniums welcomed them from pots on terraces.
Guillermo stopped the car and cut the engine, and for a moment they sat in silence, admiring the lovely villa. Clio looked over at Guillermo, grinning, unable to find words to express her joy. She wanted to share her euphoria with him, to tell him how happy she was to be here, to see this place. She was so grateful to be here now, with no regrets. She placed a hand on his arm, and he jerked. When he turned his head to face her, his eyes were bright with tears.
"Come." His voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat, swallowing. "Let's stretch our legs. I'll show you the gardens first." He opened the car door and leapt out, pacing around to her side. He swept her door opened and stepped back.
"Martino," he hollered over his shoulder.
Clio climbed out and stood, gazing at the villa. Sure, it was a little weathered, but this added to its charm. The window frames looked like they needed some serious care. The planting, now she could see it more clearly, was a little rough. "Let's go."
They walked side by side, and she gave him a moment to recover himself. She supposed coming here made the realization that he was going to lose it hit home in a way it had not before. Perhaps he was remembering his time here as a child, or with his parents.
He led the way around a corner and onto an ashlar terrace, again lined with planted pots of geranium in splashes of vermillion. A modest iron table and chairs sat at the far end. They stepped to the edge, and Clio's heart seemed to trip, and stutter.
Below, down a wide, shallow arcing series of steps, gardens stepped down the slope in a series of limestone terraces, interspersed with wild mounds of lavender, chamomile, rosemary and vigorous oleander bushes with blooms of red and pink. The first large terrace was paved in a spacious flagstone rectangle, with trimmed lawns all around. Over the patio an iron frame overgrown with grape vines sheltered a long thin marble-topped table surrounded by more than a dozen of the same folding iron chairs, sitting askew.
The Art of Enchantment (Life is a Journey Book 1) Page 7