Page 10

T he next morning, Julia sat in the back seat of the Mercedes, gliding through Tuscany. She was relieved to have left Milan, shaken by what happened at the castle. She’d barely slept, jet-lagged and jangly nerved. When dawn broke, she read her horoscope, taking some comfort.

Go with the proverbial flow. Don’t try and control so much. The universe has agency. Let go, and go. Be of open heart and mind.

They reached Chianti province, and Julia took it in through the window, charmed by the landscape.

Sunshine gilded hilly vineyards that rolled on and on, their grapes growing in neat rows against a verdant backdrop of umbrella pines and cypresses.

There were magnificent stucco villas with red tile roofs and picturesque farmhouses with brownstone facades and horses grazing in small barnyards.

Julia glanced at the navigation map on the driver’s console and realized they were getting close to the villa. “Are we almost there?” she asked the driver, who had some English.

“Yes.” The driver frowned at the rearview mirror. “But the Alfa. He follows.”

“What’s an Alfa?” Julia turned around to see a dark blue sedan behind them. An emblem on its front grille read Alfa Romeo. “Are you sure he’s following us?”

“Yes. Since Croce.”

Julia felt taken aback. “Why don’t you pull over and let him pass?”

“We are at the villa, Signora.” The driver steered left into a driveway, and gravel crunched under their tires. “Yet he follows.”

Julia glanced back. The sedan was still behind them. “That’s odd.”

The driver didn’t reply, but Julia looked around, dismayed at the condition of the grounds.

Broken asphalt and potholes rutted the driveway, and the Mercedes slowed to avoid them.

Cypress trees, bushes, and underbrush grew together in an unruly mess that lined the driveway.

They reached the end, took a right turn, and stopped in a pebbled area in front of the villa.

Oh no. Julia got out of the car, her heart sinking.

The villa was an utter ruin, overrun with ivy and sucker vines.

It was shaped like a long rectangle, but its crumbling stone facade peeked from the overgrowth in patches and chunks of its mortar had fallen out.

Vines grew even over a window, and most of the faded green shutters were gone.

A loose verdigris-covered copper gutter hung at a dangerous angle, and the roof had so many missing tiles it looked like a dental emergency.

The only sign the place wasn’t abandoned were two open windows on the second floor, from which muslin curtains billowed.

Julia deflated, having expected a picture-postcard Tuscan villa, given Rossi’s wealth. She’d been looking forward to being in the country after Milan. Now she didn’t know if she wanted to stay here a single night.

Just then the front door opened, and an older woman emerged with a smile and crossed to the car.

She was short, maybe in her late seventies, with a sweet face.

Her eyes were dark, close together and deep-set, and her nose curved above a mouth bracketed by lines.

Her white hair, in a tight, knobby bun, looked good with her small pearl earrings.

She had on a flowered housedress and black shoes.

Julia smiled, extending a hand. “Hello, I’m Julia Pritzker.”

“ Piacere , I am Anna Mattia Vesta.” Anna Mattia shook Julia’s hand with a surprisingly strong grip. “I am ’appy to meet you, Signora Pritzker.”

“I’m happy to meet you too. Please, call me Julia.”

“You are Signora Pritzker.” Anna Mattia nodded deferentially. “Signore Lombardi tell us you come viz. We work for Signora Rossi thirteen year. I take care the villa. My ’usband Piero, too.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Julia felt strange saying it to someone else, instead of it being said to her.

“Grazie.” Anna Mattia straightened, and the Alfa driver stepped over at a break in the conversation.

“Excuse me, I’m Franco Patelli,” he said, his accent vaguely British.

His smile was friendly, and he extended a hand to Julia, then Anna Mattia, and they introduced themselves.

He looked like he was in his forties, with round dark eyes and brown hair in an expensively layered haircut.

His suit was dark and stylish, and he wore a sophisticated striped shirt with no tie.

“Ms. Pritzker, Signore Lombardi in Milan contacted me on your behalf about the villa. He arranged an appointment for you tomorrow at ten, at my office in Croce.”

“Thank you.” Julia remembered Lombardi mentioning a realtor. “I’m surprised you followed me, though.”

“My apologies.” Franco smiled, his regret plain.

“Signore Lombardi told me when you were expected, and there’s only one road in, so I kept my eye out.

Real estate moves quickly here, and one has to strike while the iron is hot.

I hope you will sign with me. Here’s my card.

” Franco slipped a hand inside his breast pocket, withdrew a monogrammed leather case, and handed her his card, which read, FRANCO PATELLI, EXCLUSIVE TUSCAN PROPERTIES.

“Thank you.”

“I’ve sold properties all over Chianti for foreign owners. I have the most contacts, and there’s no one who can get you more for this property. In fact, I can get you an excellent deal in two weeks.”

“You can?” Julia would have laughed, given the villa’s dilapidation, but she didn’t want to offend Anna Mattia.

“I’m very aware that this property will require a special buyer.” Franco met her eye, and Julia sensed he was choosing his words carefully. “We’ll need a buyer who will want to invest, and I know how to find them. I think Signora Rossi would be proud to have me represent her property.”

Anna Mattia interjected, frowning. “You do not know Signora Rossi.”

Franco nodded pleasantly. “You’re right, but I know of her. I live in Croce, so I know she lived here forever.”

“Fifty-one year,” Anna Mattia interjected again.

“I stand corrected. Fifty-one years, thank you.” Franco faced Julia. “I’ll let you settle in now. You must be exhausted. Thank you for your time, and I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, thanks.” Julia turned to Anna Mattia. “So, should we see the villa?”

Anna Mattia nodded happily.

Julia braced herself.

It was the only time she didn’t want to go Inside.