Fanatics

Did Mrs. Skye know? I wondered, searching her face for clues. She must have read my mind.

“Somehow,” she drawled, but without the usual edge in her voice, “I don’t see you as a father.”

“Yeah, well, I guess we’ll both have to get used to the idea.”

Then, like a miser handing over his last penny, she said, “I suppose Raphaella could have done worse.”

“I love her, Mrs. Skye. I’m not going to apologize for that. To anybody. And I’m proud we’re going to have a baby. And I’m glad it’s a girl.”

A single tear trickled down the edge of her nose and onto her upper lip. Her face softened. This is what she looks like when she’s not mad at the world, I thought. Then I realized something.

“It was you.”

She swiped the tear away with the back of her hand. “What? What was me?”

“In the hospital,” I said, hardly able to believe it. “I did see you.”

She shrugged. “They weren’t treating your contusions properly. All those drugs they gave you, but no simple healing salve. Typical of the medical establishment.”

I felt a grin creep across my face. “Raphaella was right. You are warming up to me.”

“By slow degrees,” she said.

Five

I

BETWEEN THE MANSION and the lake, the leaves on the outer edges of the trees showed a tinge of colour-red for the maples and yellow for the willows. The air was crisp and clear, the way it is only in autumn, and the lake glowed its characteristic green under a perfect blue sky. In a few weeks, leaves would be drifting down like multicoloured snow.

Starting today I was the caretaker of the Corbizzi mansion until it was sold in the spring. Mrs. Stoppini had instructed her lawyer to piece off the coach house and a bit of ground, and to maintain both a right of way down the lane and a narrow strip giving access to the lake. My lease was extendable after the three years were up, with an option to buy if I wished-and if I ever had the money.

I was looking out the shop window across the yard to the place on the shore where I had found the GPS. Chief’s Island was a dark green brushstroke in the distance. Behind me, in the light of the window, Raphaella sat in a lawnchair reading a book with lots of health-food advice for expectant mothers. Nearby, next to the spray booth, rested the second of the three pieces commissioned by Liz and Derek-the smaller of the two dressers-ready to be stained. The design for the bigger chest of drawers lay on my drafting table. Derek had kept his promise. He had been happy enough with the bookcase that he had recommended me to some friends, and I had a few new orders already.

My cell rang. I turned to see Raphaella earmark her page and take the call. She nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Stoppini,” she said, and disconnected. “The airport limo will arrive in approximately twenty-two minutes,” she announced in an uncannily Mrs. Stoppini-like voice.

“Duly noted, Miss Skye.”

All day Mrs. Stoppini had been giving us regular-and totally unnecessary-progress reports. She had called to declare that she had finished loading her steamer trunk. That the padlock had been locked. That the suitcases were packed and ready. That all of the windows in the house were closed and secured.

Raphaella and I crossed the patio and joined Mrs. Stoppini in the kitchen. Her trunk and bags stood ready by the door. She insisted on wearing her long shapeless coat and her hat-a beret-type thing that drooped over one ear-while she waited, as sharp-edged and angular as ever. Her lipstick had been applied over an even wider area today.

After apologizing that under the circumstances she was unable to offer a light refreshment, she continued, “I received welcome news from Florence yesterday. The purchase of the apartment I was seeking has been finalized and the place will be ready for me when I arrive. I shall go there directly from Amerigo Vespucci airport. The apartment is not far from the university. It is on the third floor of a centuries-old building on the Piazza della Signoria. It is quite spacious, with a guest suite.”

“But that’s-” I cut in. The Piazza della Signoria was the city square where Savonarola had been executed.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Er, a beautiful square I heard… er, read.”

The thick black eyebrows rose. “Quite,” Mrs. Stoppini agreed. Then she continued her train of thought. “Miss Skye, Mr. Havelock, I should be most grateful if you would consent to visit me for at least a month, after I am settled and before you”-she nodded to Raphaella-“find travel inconvenient. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to escort you through some of Florence’s art museums and architectural treasures.”

She stopped. She took a deep breath.

“I shall miss you both deeply. But if I have your visit to look forward to…”

She swallowed. And blinked. Then she straightened her already rigid back and regained her composure.

“Winter in Florence is not the most clement of seasons, but… May I expect you, then, in Italy?”

Raphaella and I exchanged glances. Raphaella nodded, her chin quivering.

The grille on the kitchen wall buzzed. I got up and pressed the button to let the airport limo in. A few minutes later a black van appeared in the window and drew to a stop near the Hawk.

“Your ride is here,” I said unnecessarily.

Two burly men in blue nylon company windbreakers took charge of the trunk and the bags, then climbed back into the van. The driver made a three-point turn and waited, his engine idling.

Mrs. Stoppini was struggling to hold on to her composure. She whispered something to Raphaella, who hugged her, earning a startled look. Then Mrs. Stoppini stepped toward me, her hand extended.

“I shall hold you to your promise to visit me in Florence, Mr. Havelock.”

I shook with her but didn’t let go of the bony gloved hand. “Thanks for everything, Mrs. Stoppini. For the shop lease and the delicious lunches, and for introducing me to macchiato, and for introducing me to Professor Corbizzi’s books, and especially for teaching me that in civilized countries cappuccino is never served after twelve o’clock.”

The ghost of a smile crossed her lips. Before she could escape I wrapped my arms around her stick-like body and squeezed.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” I said.

“Indeed,” she replied. And she climbed into the waiting limo, rapped on the back of the driver’s seat, and was swept away.

We watched the van disappear around the bend in the lane.

“You didn’t say that you’d told her about the baby.”

“I didn’t. She just knew.”

“You don’t mean-”

“That she has the gift? No. I would have picked up on that. But she’s a very intelligent and observant lady.”

“I’ll miss her.”

“Not nearly as much as she’ll miss you.”

II