The Italian Sister (The Wine Lover's Daughter, Book 1)

by Christa Polkinhorn

  Sofia and Emma stared at each other, then back at John. “Property in Tuscany?” Emma said stunned.

  John nodded, then shook his head. “Henry promised he would tell you. We talked about it several times and again just a few days before … well, I guess he didn’t get around to it. Oh, dear.”

  “What?” Sofia’s heart picked up speed. “What’s going on?”

  “Darn it, Henry,” John said as if talking to himself. Then he sat straight. “I guess it’s up to me now to inform you.” He fidgeted on his chair and glanced at the two women then lowered his gaze.

  “Well, this news may surprise or rather shock you. But you have to believe me; Henry was going to tell you. At least that was his intention when I last talked to him.” John shuffled through his papers again.

  “Come on, John, don’t drag it out like this,” Emma said. “It couldn’t be that bad, could it?”

  “Okay, here it is.” He faced Sofia. “Many years ago, when your mother was still alive, Henry went to Tuscany a lot, as you may still remember.”

  Sofia nodded.

  “He studied Italian winemaking methods and did some business there, which you know as well,” John continued.

  “Yes, but that’s not the shocking news, is it?” Emma prodded.

  John looked down at a piece of paper. “No. Anyway, Henry spent a lot of time at one particular vineyard near a town called Vignaverde. He got to know the owners quite well. It was an extended family business. At the time, the vineyard had financial problems and Henry helped them out and invested some of his own money in the business and became part owner.” John glanced at them again.

  “He owned part of a vineyard in Tuscany?” Sofia couldn’t believe what she heard. “But ... I never knew about this.” She looked at Emma, but Emma shook her head.

  “No, that’s news to me, too. What in heaven?”

  “Well, there’s more to this story,” John said. “And the ‘more’ is the reason Henry didn’t tell you, although I encouraged him many times to finally be honest with his family.” John cleared his throat. “While he was there, he fell in love with a woman, the daughter of the owner. According to Henry, it was at a time there were a lot of problems in his marriage.” John glanced at Sofia. “You know the mental problems your mother had put a real strain on their relationship. I’m sure you’re aware of this.” John hesitated.

  Sofia stared at him. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “The relationship with the woman didn’t last but it had consequences. Luisa Santucci, that’s the woman’s name, became pregnant and had a baby, a girl. Her name is Julietta.”

  Chapter 4

  Stunned silence lingered in the room. A feeling of nausea came over Sofia and she felt her world fall apart. Her father, the man she loved and admired and considered her closest friend, didn’t feel close anymore. Now, he wasn’t only gone physically but the emotional and spiritual bond between them had been shattered. “That’s not possible,” she whispered. “Why? Why didn’t he tell us?”

  John rubbed his forehead. “I think the main reason was that he was ashamed. At first, he couldn’t tell anyone because he was still married. And later, he never found the right moment. As I said, we had a long talk and Henry had decided to let you know, to tell you everything.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Sofia asked, then shrugged. She knew John couldn’t have told them without Henry’s approval.

  “I wish I could have,” John said. “But that was impossible. Henry wasn’t just my friend, he was my client.”

  Sofia nodded. “I know.” Her mind felt like a beehive and her heart was racing. She couldn’t focus on anything she’d just heard. Tuscany, vineyard, affair. Finally, a thought began to crystallize. She looked up and stared at John and Emma. “I have a sister,” she whispered.

  At home in Henry’s house on Alta Street in Santa Monica, which now belonged to Sofia, Emma prepared a light dinner but Sofia was barely able to eat. Emma, who lived nearby, offered to spend the night again. She’d been staying with Sofia most of the time since Henry’s death.

  “I’ll just pick up a few things at home and come back,” Emma said.

  Sofia told her she was going to be okay alone. “I have a headache and just need a good night’s sleep and digest what I heard today … at least somewhat.”

  “Are you sure? Don’t you want to talk?”

  Sofia forced a smile. “Not tonight. Thanks Emma. Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.”

  Emma hugged her and gently touched her cheek. “If you need me, please call.”

  “I will, thanks.”

  “I’ll be back tomorrow.” Emma kissed her and left.

  Sofia got ready for bed, but she doubted she’d be able to sleep. Being alone, the shocking news of her father’s secret life began to overwhelm her.

  When her father unexpectedly died, it had been terrible. But at least they’d still been connected to each other through a shared history and loving memories. But now, she felt like she didn’t know him anymore. He’d become a complete stranger. Sofia felt rootless and abandoned.

  Unable to fall asleep, she got up, made herself a cup of herbal tea, and took an aspirin for the headache. However, not even the hot liquid was able to soothe her heart. She was torn between utter sadness about the loss of her father and anger about his betrayal.

  A sister, a fourteen year-old sister, she’d never met, somewhere in Italy. A vineyard, what did it all mean? For fourteen years, her father had spent several weeks each year in Tuscany with his other daughter, while Sofia believed that he’d been there on business.

  “How could you do this to me, you bastard.” She knocked down the framed photo of Henry from her nightstand, then fell to her knees and hugged the picture to her chest. Painful sobs rocked her. What should she do now? She’d inherited a piece of property. At least her father had the decency to leave her something from his double-life. No, that wasn’t fair. From what she’d been told by John, he’d been more than generous with her, as far as money and property was concerned. But what did money and property matter when he had deprived her of her sister?

  Exhausted from crying, she finally fell into a fitful sleep but kept waking up with the same sad thought in mind and a hollow ache inside her chest. She’d lost her father; he was gone.

  The following morning, Emma came by with a bag of fresh croissants. While she prepared tea for breakfast, Sofia was pacing the living room. “I still can’t believe it,” she said. She sat down on the sofa, then got up again and continued to walk around. She brushed over her eyes, which felt scratchy from crying and lack of sleep. “Why didn’t Dad tell me? I can understand that he didn’t tell me about the affair when I was a child. But I’m an adult. He could’ve told me a long time ago. Why did he have so little trust in me? I wouldn’t have blamed him for the relationship. This really hurts me.” Her voice broke.

  Emma came back from the kitchen, carrying a tray with a pot of tea and two cups, which she put on the coffee table. She sat down and motioned Sofia to sit next to her. She put her arm around her niece. “He wanted to tell us. He was getting ready to and then the heart attack happened.”

  “But why did he wait so long? Fourteen years, Emma. He knew I always wanted a sister or a brother. This is so cruel.”

  Emma sighed. “I know, it wasn’t right. But try to understand Henry a little. At first, he was probably ashamed of his affair with this Italian woman. You know he always felt guilty for not having been able to save your mother. I know he couldn’t have done anything more for her. He tried everything, but I know he felt in part responsible for her death. And after your mother died, he probably didn’t want to upset you even more. It was enough trying to make you understand what had happened to her.”

  “Yes, but that was a long time ago. He could’ve told me years ago,” Sofia said, anger surging through her again.

  Emma poured the tea and gave a cup to Sofia. “I know.” She shook her head. “Perhaps it was because he’d hidden it for some ma
ny years and the longer he waited, the more difficult it became to confess.”

  Sofia took a little sip of tea, then put the cup down. She glanced at the garden through the window. Her eyes lingered on the bougainvillea with its red and yellow blossoms and the blooming jacaranda tree in the front yard. “Still, it’s going to take me a while to get over this. One thing is for sure, I want to go and meet my sister. I wonder if she even wants to see me. And her mother, my father’s girlfriend. Oh, this is so confusing.” Sofia covered her face with her hands.

  “From what John told us, Julietta is eager to get to know you,” Emma said thoughtfully. “You know I just remembered something Henry said right before he … passed away.” Emma glanced at Sofia.

  Emma had been the one to find Henry lying on the floor in his study. She’d come by while Sofia was at work.

  “What?” Sofia peered at Emma.

  “I wanted to tell you before, but there was so much confusion and all the rush with the doctor and everything and I forgot.”

  “What is it?”

  “Before Henry died, he tried to tell me something. It didn’t make sense then and I was so upset and afraid I didn’t pay much attention to it.” Emma put her hand over her eyes. “He slurred the words and I could barely understand him but now I think he said ‘Tuscany’ and something about a journal.”

  “Journal?” Sofia mused. “I know Henry wrote in a journal in the mornings. It must be among his things in the study. Perhaps we’ll find something that will shed some light.”

  They went into Henry’s room that was still as cluttered as it had been when he was alive. Sofia hadn’t had the heart to go through his things and clean up. She pulled out the drawers on his desk, but didn’t see anything that resembled his journal.

  “Could this be it?” Emma asked. She lifted a black notebook from the bookshelf.

  “Yes, that’s probably it,” Sofia said as Emma handed her the book.

  They sat on Henry’s old sofa and Sofia began to page through the journal. Henry’s handwriting was difficult to read and it took Sofia some time to sort through the short paragraphs of writing about wine interspersed with comments about things to do, notes to himself, and even a few shopping lists. One of the entries, however, began with a comment that made Sofia’s heartbeat speed up. “Here’s something,” she said and began to decipher her father’s scribbles.

  Sofia read hesitantly. “I went to talk to John and gave him the last change to the trust. He’s going to clarify it with our lawyer in Florence. Now, the distribution of the property is finally settled. I should have done it a long time ago. I am such a coward. I need to tell Sofia, and Emma, of course. I want to take Sofia to Vignaverde to meet Julietta. I hope Sofia will forgive me for not telling her sooner. I really want my two girls to meet and get along. I think that was one of the reasons I waited so long. I was always afraid there would be animosity, but Sofia has a kind heart and I’m sure she’ll accept her sister. And Julietta has asked me about my family in California several times. How could I have withheld the truth for so long? Well, it will be over soon. Whatever their reaction is going to be, I’ll have to bear it.”

  That was it. Sofia paged through the journal some more to see if he’d written anything else about it, but after a few pages, she stopped. She handed the journal to Emma who read the entry. Sofia stared at her hands and felt tears drop on them. “Oh, Henry … Dad, why did you wait so long?”

  “Well, at least now we know a little more about his intentions,” Emma said. “He was wrong not telling us, not telling you, but he sounds truly contrite. Please, Sofia, don’t condemn him. He made a big mistake but he loved you dearly.” Emma put her arm around Sofia’s shoulder.

  Sofia nodded. “Yes, I know. I just wish … it would be so wonderful if he could’ve taken me and introduced me to the family. Now, I have to do it by myself. I need to go to Tuscany and find out what this is all about. A sister, Emma. I have a sister.” Sofia felt a smile tickle her lips.

  “Yes, and a vineyard, or at least part of it. Perhaps this will make up a little for the loss of the vineyard up north,” Emma said. “I wish I could come along, but you know I have to start teaching again in late August. And I’m sure you don’t want to wait until Christmas break.” Emma taught elementary school in Santa Monica.

  Sofia was nervous about going by herself, terrified in fact, but she didn’t think she could wait that long. “I’d love to be there during the grape harvest. It would also give me an opportunity to write about winemaking in Tuscany. I just hope the family is okay with me coming.”

  “I’m sure they are. John said he would inform them of your plans. He has a lawyer friend there who will help you.” Emma got up. “We have travel guides on Tuscany. Let’s see where Vignaverde is.”

  Sofia went to her father’s study to get a map. She spread it out on her father’s desk. When they found the small village, her heartbeat accelerated. A mixture of fear and excitement flooded her, fear of the unknown and excitement about a great adventure waiting for her.

  PART TWO: TUSCANY

  Chapter 5

  After Sofia had taken leave of Emma at the Los Angeles International Airport and sat by herself, waiting to board the plane, fear and despair overwhelmed her again. Her plan to visit this Italian family she didn’t know seemed insane now. She’d been to Italy with her father years before, but this journey she was undertaking now was not a pleasure trip. It was scary and Sofia was almost ready to bolt, go back through security, and stay in her familiar environment. But for that, it was too late.

  What had she been thinking when she decided to spend three months in a country she didn’t know, staying with a family she’d never met? What if her sister was mean and arrogant, a spoiled teenager? What if the family hated her? And what should she do with the vineyards she inherited? John assured her that his lawyer friend, who had taken care of her father’s business in Tuscany, would help her. But still, it was all so unreal.

  At home, her confusion and pain about the death of her father and his secret life had slowly given way to cautious excitement about her upcoming adventure. But now, being alone, she felt homesick for Emma and frightened.

  “No,” she said to herself, as she wiped away a tear, “I can’t be a coward. It will be all right.” She took a deep breath and forced a smile.

  The flight from Los Angeles to Florence was long and tiring. The plane left in the afternoon on its way to Frankfurt, Germany, where it had a stopover of two hours before going on to Florence. After dinner and a glass of wine, which, to Sofia’s disgust, was served in a plastic cup, most passengers either watched the movie, listened to music, or went to sleep. Sofia paged through her travel guide on Florence and Tuscany for a while, watched a film she wasn’t much interested in, and turned the monitor off halfway through. She tried to sleep but she was too nervous. Her snoring neighbor and the rather uncomfortable airplane seat didn’t help.

  Sofia thought of the days ahead. John told her that his lawyer friend would pick her up at the airport and take care of her. He knew about Sofia’s case and, according to John, spoke fluent English. This was a great relief to Sofia, whose Italian was almost non-existent.

  “Had I known of a sister in Italy, I would’ve learned to speak Italian,” Sofia said to John before leaving. “I won’t even be able to speak to Julietta.” John, however, assured her that Julietta spoke English. Henry had told him once that he’d arranged for Julietta to take English classes from an early age on. “He’d always planned to get you two together one day.”

  When Sofia woke from the scent of coffee that came from the kitchen cubicle on the plane, she realized that she’d fallen asleep after all. The flight attendant distributed hot towels and soon breakfast was served. To Sofia’s surprise, the coffee tasted quite good.

  In Frankfurt, Sofia waited in the airport coffee shop for her flight to Florence. She had another cup of coffee and read her travel guide. For the first time since her departure, excitement about her advent
ure was stronger than her fears and uncertainties. She looked forward to spending a day in Florence before going on to Vignaverde. It had been at least ten years since she’d been there last with her father. Hopefully, John’s friend was waiting for her at the airport. She wouldn’t know what to do if she missed him. She also worried about her suitcase making it to Florence. She’d heard all kinds of horror stories about lost luggage on airplanes.

  The flight to Florence was short. To Sofia’s relief her luggage was on the baggage carousel. She grabbed it and walked into the waiting area where family and friends picked up the passengers. She scanned the waving and smiling crowd, realizing she had no idea what the lawyer looked like. She tried to swallow, but her mouth felt dry as fear began to spread from the pit of her stomach to her chest.

  Just as she was about to lose all courage again, she saw her name on a sign held up by an elegantly dressed man who was scanning the arriving people with piercing dark eyes. Her fears somewhat allayed, Sofia walked toward him and waved. When his eyes came to rest on her, they changed from a scrutinizing glare to a short questioning expression and then to a warm, soft gaze. He smiled and motioned her around the cordoned off area to the exit where he met her.

  His name was Adriano Gori as Sofia remembered. He was an attractive man, somewhat stocky without being fat, only slightly taller than Sofia. He had tanned skin and thick, black hair.

  “Signorina Laverne, welcome to Firenze.” He shook her hand and took her suitcase.

  “Mr. Gori, thank you for picking me up,” Sofia said.

  “Call me Adriano, please,” he said as they walked outside to the parking lot.

  “Sofia,” she said.

  “Beautiful name.” He smiled.

  It was mid afternoon and quite hot in Florence. Adriano pulled a white handkerchief out of the pocket of his jacket and wiped his forehead. Sofia wondered why he was dressed so formally in this warm weather, then remembered that he might have come from work. He was a lawyer. Perhaps he had been at court.