by Lina Ellina
Lorenzo gave an amused smirk. “I think I can handle that. Do you trust me?”
“I trust you more than I trust myself ordering,” Marina replied and that was the plain truth.
When the waiter came, Lorenzo gave the order, sea scallops served with a five spiced almond butter sauce with chives, topped with a melon salad and pea tendrils as an appetizer and beef tenderloin, rare for her and blue for him, with a pan roasted vegetable Napoleon as entrée. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her observing him undisturbed. He accepted the sommelier’s suggestion for a local cabernet sauvignon to accompany the beef but decided to go for an imported Riesling Auslese with the scallops.
Marina was glad he ordered without showing off he was a connoisseur. She just wished she knew more about gourmet cuisine and wine.
When their Riesling was served a few minutes later, Lorenzo raised his glass. “Here’s to my beautiful guide who’s going to teach me how to appreciate Cyprus.”
Talk about putting expectations high, Marina thought, raised her glass, and rewarded him with a smile for the compliment.
“Your turn now to make a toast,” he encouraged her.
Her eyes turned up and to the left in an effort to draw ideas from the creative hemisphere of her brain. “Here’s to my...” handsome, she thought but didn’t say it, “Italian client who’s going to teach me how to appreciate good food.” At that point, she had no idea how close she had hit home.
“That is a challenge I’m willing to rise to,” he said with an enticing smile.
Lorenzo glanced around at the discreet colors of the ambiance and the flickering candle light shed on her features. The waitress appeared with their scallops, presented the dish, and left quietly.
“Enjoy,” Marina said and took a bite of her tender scallop. “Mm…” she moaned impulsively while closing her eyes fully concentrating on her taste buds. “This is good,” she offered her layman’s view of flavor and opened her eyes only to see Lorenzo studying her face. She quickly swallowed, turned to her wine, and downed it.
“Never regret the gastronomic bliss,” he said, smiling fondly at her as a waiter approached and topped up their glasses.
Marina cleared her throat and casually changed the subject. “How come your English is so good? Most of my Italian clients are not so fluent.”
“My wife’s… was British. We met while I was working for the Intercontinental in London. She was a chef there just like me,” he said with a touch of sadness in his voice.
“I’m sorry,” Marina said, lowering her eyes.
“No, no. It’s all right. You couldn’t have known. She died in a car crash right before Christmas, just over a year ago… At least, Paola, our daughter, looks just like her.”
“Do you have a photo of Paola?” Marina tried to keep the conversation light.
“Sure.” Lorenzo bent closer to show her some photos on his cell, a move that sent a wave of his scent to her nostrils.
Marina looked at the girl’s innocent, buoyant face. “She looks like a little angel! How old is she?” she asked, noticing the fading wedding ring tan line on his finger.
“Thank you. She’s five... going on fifteen. Paola’s class is going on a day trip to a farm tomorrow.” He stopped himself short, fathoming that neither his dead wife nor his daughter were the most interesting conversation topics.
“I bet she’s excited.” Marina wondered why he looked tense. “I understand you have a special interest in local food and wine, so I have prepared a list of itineraries for you to choose from,” she ventured after a few moments of awkward silence.
“That’s great, but first I would like us to pay a visit to the Honorary Consul of Italy.”
35 - 1467
Marin focused on the data he needed to draft the report for his uncle. By now, he had all the necessary information to put his idea for a cotton farm forward and was confident his uncle would be pleased. Production at the mill ran smoothly again. His efficient handling of the situation resulted in maintaining the production well within the average.
The need to secure lumber beyond their estates, however, was growing as the weeks went by. In the east of the estates, the land was controlled by their rivals who needed all the timber they could lay their hands on for their own production. The sea was in the south, and in the west there was flat land. Their closest neighbor in the north was Elena.
He figured that too many days had passed by to ride back just to thank her again. A business proposal was perhaps an even better excuse to visit her. It might, in fact, initiate a series of visits if he played his cards right.
The wood acquired from her land would give him a solution to present to his uncle. One thing he had realized about Andrea Cornaro from the onset was that along with the problems, he wanted to hear solutions, and Marin would hate to disappoint him.
“You are leaving!” Jacomo lifted his eyebrows. It was unlike Marin to leave the mill before the last worker did.
“Yes, you look after the mill. I think I’ve found a way to solve our timber issue.”
“How about going to Limassol later for drinks and girls?” the albino foreman suggested with a crooked smile.
“I might be late,” Marin replied evasively. At least, if things go well, he thought.
“Well, what about grabbing two serfs when you come back?”
He winked an eye at Marin who tried to disguise his disgust with a smile. For the young Venetian, who took pride in turning flirting into art, there was neither honor nor grace in taking a woman just because he could - a concept Jacomo was incapable of comprehending.
“As I said, I’ll be late.” He grabbed his hat. “Have a good one.”
He closed the door behind him, still feeling Jacomo’s piercing eyes on his back and already regretting his earlier escapades to Limassol with the albino. He shook his head as if to clear away the thought and took a deep breath of the spring-bouquet scented afternoon.
36 - Rovigo 2011
“I’m sorry, Barbara. I don’t think we can make it this time. Lorenzo’s in Cyprus, and I’m looking after Paola,” Sofia declined Barbara’s dinner invite politely over the phone.
“Cyprus?” Barbara arched her eyebrows.
“Yes, he’s at the Intercontinental, of course, where else? In Pafos.” Sofia let the information slip through her lips.
“Oh, well. Perhaps next time then.”
“Sure. It would be our pleasure.”
Barbara hung up and stared at her phone.
37 - 1467
Marin unloaded a basket that resembled Amalthea’s horn. It was filled with halloumi[1], sausages, and smoked meats in red wine with dry coriander. Two bottles of mavro, salt, spices, and sugar completed the content of the basket.
When no one came to open the door when he knocked, he walked around the house, like he had done that first day he had ridden out there, only this time he made sure he removed the grass in front of his feet with his sword.
“I see you’ve learned your lesson,” he heard her tease him.
She was sitting in the thick shade of a walnut tree, removing little stones and other impurities from the lentils before storing them for winter.
“I’d be a fool if I didn’t,” he said, giving her his most attractive smile that she graciously returned.
“How’s your leg?”
“Fine. Thanks to you,” he said with a smile.
Hippocrates materialized out of nowhere and playfully stood on his back paws leaning on Marin.
“You missed me? You did? Oh, I missed you, too!” he said playfully while caressing him behind the ears, and Hippocrates was elated.
Elena tried to hide her smile, consciously avoiding looking up in his direction. Instead, she poured the last load of lentils into a little sack that Marin offered to carry inside.
“I’ve made fresh lemonade. Would you like some?” she asked with a faint smile.
“Sure. And this is for you.” He said, offering her the basket.
&nb
sp; “It wasn’t necessary.”
“It’s nothing compared to your saving my life. The doctor said you did a great job. It’s just a way to say ‘thank you’ – even if a bit late.”
He smiled apologetically, and Elena accepted it with a nod of her head.
He followed her into the kitchen and took a sip of the lemonade she offered him, casting a glance at the unpretentious, cozy, little place, while Elena took to tidying up the content of the basket.
“Did you make these wood carvings?” Marin asked with interest.
“That was a long time ago when I had … more time.”
A life, she wanted to say, but she didn’t want to sound like she was feeling sorry for herself. She was young and healthy and the good Lord had blessed her with a wonderful, healthy child, and she had her freedom and a place of her own. Most people had far less than that.
“Maybe one day, you could teach me how to carve the wood, and I could teach you how to sketch.”
“We’ll see,” she said, wondering where he was heading and picked up her sewing work.
Marin cleared his throat and said “I did not come here today only to thank you.” He waited a moment before he proclaimed, “I’ve also come here to discuss business with you.” He searched her eyes, but her face revealed none of her thoughts.
“I’m listening, signore,” she encouraged him – her curiosity triggered.
[1]Hard, salted, white cheese
38 - 2011
When the sommelier left, Marina asked in a devil’s-advocate tone of voice, “Isn’t this wine tasting ceremony a bit overrated?”
Welcome to my world, Lorenzo thought and explained how tasting helps determine a wine’s complexity, potential, and faults and then guided her through the steps involved.
“Pick up your glass and look at the wine,” he encouraged her.
“All right, what am I looking at?” What aspiring wine connoisseurs always looked at before drinking was a mystery to her.
“Marina,” he said passionately, “look at its color, its clarity, its brilliance. Hold it against the light and look at the intensity of its color.”
Marina followed his lead.
“This cabernet was served at the proper temperature. See how it shines?”
“Okay, now what?”
“Now, swirl the wine in your glass by rotating your wrist, like this.” He showed her how, but Marina twirled the wine too vigorously and sent it sloshing over the edge.
He smiled warmly, easing her discomfiture. “It’s all right. It takes some practice. The trick is in the arm. You need to hold your arm still and rotate only the wrist.” Very patiently, he gave her easy-to-follow instructions and concluded the tasting procedure.
“Your daughter is very lucky. You make an excellent teacher.” Marina offered him a faint smile and cast her gaze on the stained tablecloth.
Lorenzo was pleased he hadn’t bored her. Apart from Barbara, he hadn’t flirted since dating Beth, and he felt rusty. Not that this is a date, he reminded himself, but he enjoyed the practice nonetheless.
“Cypriots have made wine for over five thousand years,” Marina broke the silence. “In fact, Cyprus vines are considered to be among the oldest in the world. When vines in Europe were decimated in the 1850s by a plague of aphids, our vines remained untouched.”
“To Cyprus vines!” he proposed with a smile.
Marina lost count of the toasts that night.
39 - 1467
“I would like to buy the right to use the timber on your land in exchange for a hundred sezins,” Marin said, wondering if she had ever seen so much money in her life.
Elena studied his face for a while and said calmly, “Two hundred.”
“Two… two hundred!” Marin’s eyebrows lifted high up and came down again. Was she bargaining with him? She should have felt gratitude!
Ioanna raised her head in her cot, and Elena put her sewing work aside and lifted her.
“It is my understanding, signore, that the Cornaro have exhausted most of their timber which is essential for the production at the mill. No wood, no sugar. Am I not right, signore?” she said in the same calm tone of voice, wondering where she had come up with so much audacity to talk to him like that. Provoking a master’s temper was not wise. She was only hoping she had not misread his eyes.
Marin looked at Elena, who was now making faces to Ioanna to entertain her, at Ioanna, who was enjoying herself, and back at Elena. He wondered if this woman ever stood still. It was hard to stay focused with her moving all the time.
“But the price you are asking is…” He stopped looking for the right word, but Elena was faster.
“What any other cavalier would have asked of you. Except there is no one in the vicinity, is there?” She met his gaze and offered him a broad smile.
Marin looked at her with renewed appreciation for her astringent remark. Indeed, it required a certain degree of chutzpah and backbone to confront him like that.
“I am offering to buy the timber on your land.” His words sounded like an indirect threat hanging in the air. If it had been anyone else, he would have forced him to accept the hundred sezins for his own good, but he couldn’t do that with her.
“As opposed to stealing it from me? I’m sure you could. I could only stop so many trespassers, but I don’t think that would be necessary. Cavalier Cornaro is such a gentleman, just like you. I shouldn’t deem it necessary at all.”
How wrong he had been to think of her as some ignorant, helpless peasant in the wilderness!
“The thought never crossed my mind.”
He smiled at her, and she shook her head in acceptance.
“One hundred and twenty,” he then said for the mere sake of challenging her to bargain. Marin was beginning to enjoy himself.
“Signore, I’m just a woman struggling to secure her daughter’s future - the same woman who struggled hard to save your life. But, of course, a man’s life is priceless.”
How could he argue with that? He bowed his head in defeat and said, “It’s a deal.” If his uncle opposed to the price, he would have to use his own savings. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Then again, she was worth it.
“Two hundred sezins then it is, paid up front. Your men can start as soon as I receive my payment.”
They shook hands, and Marin held on to her small hand a while longer. The discussion did not evolve as he had anticipated. Instead of her falling into his arms with gratitude, she bargained him for more than he would be proud to report to his uncle.
40 - 2011
“I don’t think I have mentioned this, but I’m not the only member of my family who has visited Cyprus,” Lorenzo said casually.
“Well, the number of Italian tourists has risen,” Marina remarked politely.
“Uh... This was... a long time ago - about five hundred and fifty years ago.” He met her astounded gaze.
“Wow!” Marina turned a look of pure curiosity on him. “How do you know of this visit since it was so far back?”
“It’s just a family legend,” Lorenzo started self-consciously. “Marin Zanetti, an ancestor of mine, apparently an astute entrepreneur, had come to great riches, or so the family legend goes, by trading products from Cyprus. Now, why he chose Cyprus I don’t know. I tried tracing him in Rovigo and in Venice, but without much luck.”
“I think I may know why he chose Cyprus. The successes of the First Crusade encouraged the Italian maritime republics, such as Venice, to trade in the Eastern Mediterranean. Cyprus benefitted from its position on the sea routes from the West, especially after the fall of Acre, or during the papal embargo on Latin merchants trafficking directly with Muslims. Goods changed hands in Cyprus, and merchants here acted as middle men. But, wait! You said your ancestor was here about five and a half centuries ago, so that must have been in the second half of the fifteenth century.”
“I can’t be certain, but Marin Zanetti was probably born in 1447. It would be interesting to see if I can find
reference to him here, hence the interest in your name.”
Marina stared at him, and he wondered if he sounded weird.
“My ancestor is one of the two reasons why I decided to come to Cyprus,” he rushed to add.
“And the other one is?”
“Not quite as bizarre. Holidays, relax, fun, a change from my daily home-work-home routine. Not that I’m complaining. Paola is the sweetest kid, and I’m happy creating in my kitchen. For me, cooking is passion - a never-ending discovery of savoring blends of flavors. You know, one day, I’d like to cook for you and take you along to a journey of gastronomic ecstasy.”
He spoke fervently, and Marina heard herself say, “I’d love that.”
The waitress appeared with their beef tenderloin, and Marina enjoyed it quietly this time, but she did allow herself to close her eyes. When she opened them again, he was smiling widely at her.
“A chef’s reward is the delight he offers. It’s beautiful to see people enjoy their food as much as you do.”
“Thank you for putting it so delicately... To get back to Marin, sugar was Cyprus’ most profitable export crop from the fourteenth to the early sixteenth century. There were three sugar mills, one run by the Lusignan dynasty, one by the Knights Hospitaller, and one by a Venetian family – the Cornaro.”
“Venetians! Could there be a link?” he wondered out loud. He now wished he had paid more attention to his history teachers at school.
“Caterina Cornaro married King James II in 1472, and the Republic of Venice annexed Cyprus in 1489. That was the acme of the Venetian influence on the island until the Ottoman Turks’ invasion in 1570. Logically, the last quarter of the fifteenth century would have been a very good time for Venetians to develop enterprising activity in Cyprus.”