and by the time Thalia left to see her new skin doctor, she was feeling better. Marya sat in the kitchen for a few minutes, smiling to herself after she left. The Countess di San Giovane was definitely a handful. She couldn’t help wondering how Francesca had managed to be so normal and down to earth with a mother like that. But more than anything, Thalia seemed foolish to her, and most of what they’d talked about was her desperation about finding a man and getting married again. She had confessed shamelessly that without a husband, she didn’t even feel like a woman. Her entire identity was wrapped up in who she was married to. And without that she felt like no one at all. She was the exact opposite of Marya, who was self-respecting, confident, knew exactly who she was, and didn’t depend on anyone for her identity. The two women were as different as black and white. And in Francesca’s opinion, her mother’s obvious obsession with finding another husband had been scaring men away for years.
And at the gallery, Francesca had taken out nearly every painting she had in the racks. She kept a good selection of her artists’ work in stock. The client she was wooing wanted to buy a large painting, he said he had a fondness for emerging artists, but didn’t seem sure of what he liked. And whatever direction Francesca steered him, it didn’t feel right to him. He said he was divorced, and his wife had always selected all their art. He wanted to make a statement of his own now, but had no idea what it should be. He was a fifty-year-old dentist from New Jersey, and Francesca was utterly fed up with him by noon. He seemed to be incapable of making up his mind. He finally promised that he would think about it, and call her the following week if he made a decision. He said he liked everything she had showed him, but he was nervous about buying the wrong thing. It was always frustrating dealing with clients like him.
She handed him photographs and information on all the artists he was interested in, and he looked even more confused, and then he looked up at her.
“You wouldn’t like to talk about it over dinner, would you?” he asked, looking far more interested in her than in her art. But nothing about him appealed to her, she didn’t like him, and she wasn’t in the mood.
“I’m sorry,” she said pleasantly, smiling at him, “I don’t go out with clients.” It was the perfect excuse.
“I haven’t bought anything from you yet. I’m not a client,” he said cleverly. And she’d have much preferred to sell him something than go out with him. She was beginning to wonder if he had looked at the art as a ruse. And if so, he had wasted her time, and his own.
“I’m sorry, I can’t.” She shook her head.
“You have a boyfriend?” he asked, and she hesitated, and decided that a lie was better than the truth. Particularly if it got her out of an awkward spot with him.
“Yes, I do,” she said with a look of innocence.
“That’s too bad,” he said, looking disappointed, and finally made it out the door, much to her relief. She sank down into the chair behind her desk, exhausted by the day halfway through it. Breakfast with her mother, and two hours with an indecisive client who asked her out to dinner was more than she wanted to deal with on any day of the week.
She called Marya to see if she had survived her mother’s grilling, and Marya assured her that she was fine.
“I had a very nice time with your mother. She’s certainly nothing like you.” Marya chuckled. She liked Thalia’s style, despite the fact that she was obviously spoiled, and somewhat eccentric.
“That’s the nicest thing you could have said,” Francesca commented, smiling. “All my life I’ve been terrified I’d wind up like her.”
“Not a chance,” Marya reassured her. “Have a nice day. I’ll see you tonight.” And as Francesca hung up and went to work at her desk, she had the comforting sensation that she had a new friend in Marya.
Chapter 7
THE FOLLOWING WEEK Francesca was insanely busy. She went to three artists’ studios, reorganized the racks where she stocked the paintings, returned old work that hadn’t sold to several artists, in order to make room for new pieces. And she made a list of the group shows that she wanted to do for the next year. It was always a challenge trying to figure out which artists to show together so that their work would enhance one another and not conflict. And in the midst of everything else she was doing, four of her artists dropped by that week just to hang out and visit. She always tried to be welcoming, as she was with her clients, but she was pressed for time and had a lot to do. And in the midst of all the activity in the gallery that week, she made several sales. Much to her amazement, the dentist of the weekend before called her and bought three paintings. New clients appeared, referred by other clients, two art consultants called her with big jobs, and a well-known interior designer stopped by and liked what she saw. Francesca was pleased. She got home late every night, and scarcely saw her roommates. And she was touched to find little notes in the kitchen from Marya, telling her what was in the fridge. It was Friday night before Francesca had time to breathe. Her mother had called her several times during the week, to comment about her roommates, but Francesca didn’t have time to talk to her, which was a relief.
She lay on her bed on Friday night, grateful that she had to work only one more day, and was thinking about spending Sunday in bed with a good book. There was nothing she wanted to do, and no one she wanted to see. And most unusually, that weekend, she knew that all of her tenants would be gone. Chris had said he was going away. Eileen announced on Friday morning that she was going skiing with a new man, and Marya had decided to go to Vermont for the weekend to check on things at her home. On Saturday night when she got home, Francesca was entirely alone. At first it felt wonderful, but she was startled to find on Sunday morning that she was lonely and depressed. Their presence on a daily basis was a shield from the ghosts in her past, the most alive of which was Todd. She hadn’t heard from him in more than a month, which told her that he had made the adjustment better than she had. In quiet moments, she still missed him. She was beginning to wonder if she always would. When she thought about it, she didn’t want their life back, but she missed him anyway.
And by Sunday afternoon she was feeling seriously sorry for herself, and missed her roommates. She couldn’t help wondering if Chris had had a date, although it was none of her business. He never brought women home and was extremely private.
By seven o’clock Sunday night, she was still alone. It made her realize what a blessing it was to have them there. She would have been miserable in the house on her own, with no one to talk to, and no sign of life.
She was making herself scrambled eggs for dinner, thinking about Marya’s delicious cooking, when she suddenly noticed a steady drip. She wasn’t sure where it was coming from, and looked around the kitchen. It was coming through the ceiling at a rapid rate. There was a powder room above the kitchen, and when she went upstairs to check, she saw that there was a torrent coming through the ceiling from the floor above, where Chris’s bathroom was. They had had leaks from there before. She ran up the stairs, and there was water everywhere, it was coming right through the wall, probably from a broken pipe. She ran downstairs at full speed to grab a wrench and Todd’s tools, and panicking, she grabbed her cell phone and called him. He answered on the second ring.
“What do I do?” she shouted into the phone, and he tried to tell her. She put the phone down, tried what he had suggested, and nothing worked. The water was gushing harder than ever.
“Turn off the water!” Todd was shouting at her. He told her where the valve was, and she was soaked from head to foot as she tried to get to it, just as Chris walked in, and looked startled by the scene in his bathroom. Francesca was soaked to the skin, they were up to their ankles in water, and there was a geyser coming from the broken pipe in the wall. She looked at him frantically, and he gently pushed her aside, grabbed the wrench from her, and turned off the water. Instantly, the shooting spray stopped, as she stared at him.
“I’m sorry. Thank you,” she said, pushing her hair out of her eyes. He was smiling at her, and looked amused.
“Have you been in here all weekend?” he teased her, and she shook her head.
“I just discovered it. The water was coming through the kitchen ceiling,” and as she said it, she shrieked, “Oh my God, I left my eggs on the stove.” She raced downstairs, and her eggs had been incinerated to ash. Marya had come in, and she was quietly scrubbing the pan. “I’m so sorry,” Francesca apologized. She was totally unnerved by the runaway leak, and then remembered Todd on the phone. She had left it on Chris’s sink. Todd had hung up by then, but answered immediately when she called him back.
“Do you want me to come over?” he asked helpfully.
“No, I’m fine. My tenant turned the water off. I’ll have to get the plumber here tomorrow.”
“Where was it?”
