'Nonna says you are leaving on Sunday.'
'That's the plan.'
'It has gone quickly, your time here.'
'Too quickly.'
Antonella stopped at the door. 'I'm going to do this now because we can't later.' She took a step toward him and kissed him, a fragile and lingering embrace. When she threw the light switch, plunging them into darkness, he assumed it was a prelude to something a little more intimate. But she slipped outside, playfully dodging his lunge.
He caught up with her as she was getting into her car. 'Don't be late,' she said.
'Late?'
'For Nonna's special drinks on the terrace.'
He wasn't late, even though he lost ten minutes battling with his bow tie. In the end, Harry tied it for him, which was unexpected. The first thing they noticed on heading downstairs was that
Harry's sculpture had ousted the bronze of a striding tiger from its pride of place on the table in the entrance hall—an undoubted honor, but also a cause of some consternation for Harry.
It was a small gathering, immediate family and their partners. Adam recognized Antonella's mother immediately: the same lustrous black hair, the same almond eyes, the proud lift of the chin. She was a beautiful woman with an attractive whiff of danger about her. She was also older than he'd imagined, or maybe it was just the aura of a life lived to the full and fast catching up with her. Riccardo, her boyfriend, was her signal to the world that she was still a step or two ahead. A dark, lantern-jawed man in his thirties, he was improbably handsome. Against all apparent odds, he was also very cultivated and amusing. He was a cellist with an orchestra in Rome, although he was reluctant to talk about it. This was the first Friday night he'd had away from his work in months, and the last thing he wanted to do was discuss music—he wanted to remember how sensible people spent their Friday nights.
When Antonella and Edoardo arrived, they both greeted their mother warmly. Neither had met Riccardo before, and while Caterina made the introductions, Adam was able to admire the view.
Antonella's dress was made of shimmering midnight blue silk, which hung from her slender, tawny frame like liquid. The halter neck left her shoulders, back and arms bare, while the deep V neckline flirted tantalizingly with disaster. Her hair flowed freely about her shoulders but was pinned back off her forehead, brazenly revealing her scars.
He must have been staring at her like an idiot, because Harry leaned close and whispered in his ear, 'It's great when you catch God at his work, isn't it?'
It was an enjoyable event, helped along by attentive waiters forever topping up champagne flutes. Signora Docci looked magnificent in an emerald green gown, its bright, bold color matching her mood. Only Maurizio seemed a little out of sorts, and only when in Adam's company. He could feel the heat of hostility coming off Maurizio, melting the memories of the easygoing rapport that had marked their exchanges earlier in the day. There wasn't much time to dwell on this before Maria came through to the terrace with news that the first guests were arriving. Signora Docci went off to do her duty in the entrance hall. Her two children and four grandchildren went with her.
'It is time for the Doccis to smile and pretend to be a family,' said Riccardo, somewhat unfairly, it seemed to Adam.
The party's reputation proved to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. It was clear from the start that people were bent on enjoying themselves. Most arrived well within the first half-hour, a steady stream of humanity soon filling the back terrace to overflowing. Some made for the parterre and the lower terrace. It was an idyllic sight: well- dressed couples strolling in the waning sunlight against the backdrop of the rolling hills to the accompaniment of the string quartet.
Taking Adam aside, Harry announced breathlessly that he'd just met the most amazing woman. The fact that she was married appeared to have no bearing on the matter, and Harry hurried off to make some alterations to the place settings.
Adam sought out Signora Docci, who was in discussion with a middle-aged couple. She used his arrival as an excuse to peel away, slipping her arm through his and leading him off.
'Where are we going?'
'Anywhere but there.'
Picking their way down the steps to the parterre, she explained that the man was a friend of Maurizio, a fellow partisan from the war. And like many partisans she had known, he'd been less set on fighting the Germans than on looting the factories the enemy destroyed while in retreat. Being first on the scene, the members of the Italian underground were often best placed to control the black market in any goods that survived. First it was shoes from Poggibonsi, then hats from Impruneta.
'He,' she said, with a slight jerk of the head behind her, 'came to our door with both. His prices were ridiculous.' She gave a little laugh. 'Our heroes of the struggle. Look at them now—no different.'
Adam had to ask. 'And Maurizio?'
'Let's just say, he never sold to us.'
She smiled and nodded at the leader of the chamber quartet as they negotiated their way across the parterre. They stopped at the balustrade, looking down over the lower terrace, the hills beyond already falling into silhouette.
'It's changing so fast.'
'What?'
She couldn't mean the view. Medieval peasants wouldn't have looked out of place in it.