Page 11

J ulia followed Anna Mattia into the entrance hall, which was as disappointing as she’d expected.

Its walls were a grimy white plaster in need of repainting, and cracks ran up and down its length.

Its paint peeled in shreds, and patches revealed the gritty plaster underneath.

The floor was of large red tiles, but many were broken and more than one was missing.

An old brass umbrella stand stood in one corner, empty.

Julia despaired until she looked up. Remarkably, the domed ceiling in the entrance hall was frescoed with the classical astrological map of the Zodiac, a full-circle divided into twelve thirty-degree sections, each with its own sign based on a constellation and a glyph, rimming the outermost ring.

Gold stars spangled a lapis lazuli heaven, and a gilded sun emanated rays opposite an alabaster moon.

Julia couldn’t believe what she was seeing, given her astrology obsession. “Anna Mattia, this fresco is beautiful. Is it original?”

“Don’ know.”

“How old is the villa?”

“’Undreds years?”

“And Rossi lived here for fifty-one?”

“Yes.”

Julia guessed that Rossi commissioned the fresco. It didn’t look older than fifty years, and frescoes were painted into wet plaster rather than onto its dry surface, so they were embedded in the wall. “Do you know who owned the villa before her? Did she ever say?”

“No.”

Julia made a mental note. She could get a title search done, which might tell her more about Rossi. “Did she like astrology?”

Anna Mattia shrugged.

“When was her birthday?” Julia was already playing guess-the-sign.

“Sorry, don’ know.”

Julia didn’t understand. “You don’t know her birthday?”

“No, she don’ like. She never say. She don’ like people know her.”

“Even you?”

Anna Mattia shook her neat head, her lips pursed. “She tell nobody not’ing.”

“How about her friends?”

“She ’ave no.”

What? “No friends? How about people who visited her?”

“No.”

“Did she go out to visit people?”

“No, she live alone, like…,” Anna Mattia paused, cocking her head as she searched for the word. “Don’ know in English, ’ow you say, she is… eremita.”

“A hermit?”

Anna Mattia nodded.

Julia swallowed hard, a hermit herself. She had more questions, but Anna Mattia was already motioning her into a large rectangular living room, also in disrepair.

Jagged cracks ran down the walls here, too, and they bowed out in places.

More grayish-white paint was peeled in patches, showing plaster.

The floor was also red tile, cracked. The only saving grace was another ceiling fresco, of a whimsical Tuscan landscape.

Horses and sheep danced across a bucolic pasture with oversize sunflowers, and peasants in straw hats peeked from vineyards dripping with dark grapes.

Anna Mattia waved with a flourish. “All furnish antique from Florence. Signora love antique.”

Julia eyed the furniture, which did look antique, so it had an excuse for being old and vaguely macabre.

There was a long couch of coral velvet and several mismatched chairs around a heavy wood coffee table.

Ancient brass fixtures hung on heavy chains, and there were old spindly ceramic lamps on the end tables.

A large stone fireplace had beautiful tan, brown, and caramel-hued stone.

There were no photos, books, or other personal effects, but they could have been in storage.

Anna Mattia smiled. “Signora love ’er villa. You like?”

Julia didn’t want to offend Anna Mattia, but didn’t know what to say. “Yes, but I think it might need some fixing, right?”

“To me, yes.” Anna Mattia pointed to her chest. “But Signora say no change, no fix. Piero want to cut vine, fix roof. Signora say no.”

“Why?” Julia asked, mystified.

“Don’ know. She fix for Wi-Fi but no TV. Only comput’.” Anna Mattia gestured vaguely around the living room. “Signora like very clean ’er villa. I make clean, for ’er.”

“I see.” Julia noticed that the tile floor glistened, the windows sparkled, and the air smelled lemon-scented. Its cleanliness was the only thing making the villa habitable, like an immaculate dump.

“Come.” Anna Mattia led, and Julia followed her into a large dining room with a heavy wood table and high-backed chairs in the same dark curved wood. There was a smaller fireplace with another stone surround, and Julia ran a finger over its rough surface.

“What kind of stone is this?”

“Alberese. Only in Tuscany.” Anna Mattia spread her arms. “ Benvenuto a casa , welcome ’ome.

Sorry, my English not so good. Signora teach.

” She turned to an older man who entered with Julia’s suitcase and set it down.

“This my Piero.” Anna Mattia said something in Italian that must have reminded him to smile because he did so, his dark eyes flashing from deep crow’s-feet.

He was so tan that his wispy white hair stood out on his dark scalp.

He had a short, burly build in a baggy white shirt and long green pants, grass-stained at the knees.

“ Piacere .” Piero extended a hand to Julia, and she liked the meaty roughness of his palm.

Anna Mattia rolled her eyes. “Piero, speak English.”

“It’s okay,” Julia interjected, smiling. “I’m happy to learn Italian.”

Anna Mattia motioned to her. “Come.”

Julia followed Anna Mattia into a large kitchen.

It had a deep white sink of real porcelain above a window with unvarnished sills that were rotting and water-damaged.

A long farm table in the center matched cabinets of unvarnished oak.

The walls were dingy, the floor tiles cracked.

The appliances were outdated, but clean. There was no dishwasher or microwave.

“See, bruschetta, prosciutto. Fresh. Buon appetito .” Anna Mattia lifted the domed ceramic lid off a plate on the table, revealing wedges of thick yellow cheese and goat cheese, furls of prosciutto, and bruschetta of tomatoes and purplish cabbage on thick pieces of crusty bread.

Delicious aromas of fresh tomato, sharp cheese, and spicy meat filled the air.

“Wow, thank you!” Julia took a bite of bruschetta, loving the crunch of the bread, the tartness of the tomatoes, and the salty sweetness of the balsamic. “This is delicious!”

“ Grazie .” Anna Mattia crossed to a cabinet and pulled out a large glass and a bottle of Chianti Classico Riserva.

She unpeeled the metal top, grabbed a corkscrew, and opened it with the skill of a sommelier.

“Chianti from local grape. Best Chianti in Chianti.” Anna Mattia rested a hand on the bottle, with pride. “This Super Tuscan.”

“What’s that?”

“Better Chianti.”

Julia wanted to piece together the villa history. “So you and Piero came thirteen years ago. Was this a vineyard when you came?”

“No.”

“Did Signora have help before you?”

“Don’ know. She get sick, tumore al seno .” Anna Mattia gestured to her breast. “I ’elp ’er, I take care. Piero, ’e ’elp, too, ’e carry ’er.”

Aw. “How long was she sick for?”

“Maybe five year. We stay one month more. Signora give us some money, and we go. We ’ave son in Chieti and granchildr’, two boys.” Anna Mattia brightened, handing Julia a glass with a generous pour. “ Cin-cin .”

“ Cin-cin .” Julia raised her glass. “To Signora Rossi.”

“ Sì , Signora Rossi.” Anna Mattia smiled with approval, and Julia sipped the wine, which tasted amazing. She’d never been a Chianti fan, but this wine had refinement, with body, brightness, fruit, salt, sugar, and even a little earthy taste.

“Okay?” Anna Mattia asked, and her Italian accent made it sound adorable, like O-kayee?

“Great!” Julia answered, with a smile. She was trying to rally, but she’d need a lot of Super Tuscan to stay here.

Later, Julia followed Anna Mattia to the second floor, as run-down as the first floor.

The walls were cracked and peeling, and most of the windowsills were rotted.

There was a center hall and two bedrooms on the south side of the house, each containing a double bed with a carved headboard, a night table, and a dresser.

Each bedroom had a window, and they were open, with muslin curtains billowing out in the front of the villa.

The bedrooms had more ceiling frescoes, one a jungle scene with smiling tigers and toothy lions, and the other the seasons of a Tuscan vineyard, from planting to an autumnal harvest. Julia wondered how Rossi could commission such beauty, but allow such ruin.

Anna Mattia motioned her out. “Now Signora’s bedroom.”

Julia followed her to the back of the villa and a bedroom that was large and rectangular, with four windows.

The walls were in terrible shape, the windowsills needed replacing, and a baseboard was missing.

There was a queen-size bed covered in forest-green brocade, and its carved headboard extended up the wall, flanked by large night tables with turned legs.

Arranged around the room were bureaus, armoires of dark wood, and a reclining couch upholstered with shiny brocade.

Once again, it was the ceiling fresco that caught Julia’s eye, but this one was devoted to a single subject.

SFORZA , read in black Gothic script, and underneath was a massive green tree in full leaf.

She realized it was the Sforza family tree, and superimposed over its leafy limbs were portraits of Duke Galeazzo Maria Sforza opposite his lover Lucrezia Landriani.

Arranged beneath them in the limbs were smaller portraits of children; Carlo, Alessandra, and Chiara.

In the middle, the largest portrait of all, with a body shown in full length, was Duchess Caterina Sforza.