Summer in Tuscany (22 page)

Livvie

Livvie sat next to Tomaso at a tiny table in a hot, crowded, smoky little club, sipping a Coke and trying to look casual, while all the time she was so aware of his leg pressing against hers, she could almost have fainted. The couple who had been in the car had disappeared as soon as they arrived. Nervous, she gulped the last of her Coke. Her straw made that slurping sound, and she frowned, embarrassed. It made her look like a silly little kid, and Tomaso was so…adult.

“How old are you anyway?” she asked suddenly.

“Cosa?”
He smiled into her eyes in the smoky twilight, not understanding.

“Quanti anni hai?”
She pointed a finger into his chest. “
Tu
…you,” she added.

“Ah, parli italiano adesso.”
He flashed her that dazzling smile. “Now you speak Italian.
Ho sedici anni
.”

“Sedici?”
It sounded more like
seduce
than a number.

“Sixteen,” he said, surprising her; she’d thought he was at least nineteen.
“E tu?”

Livvie knew she couldn’t possibly tell him she was only fourteen; he’d probably drive her home immediately. “Fifteen,” she said.

He gave her a long look.
“Più o meno?”
He waggled his hand. “More or less?”

“More,” she said firmly.
Omigod,
lying in Italian was hard work. And flirting was almost impossible. Except when they were dancing, which they were doing now.

She was a better dancer than he was. She sparkled on that tiny dance floor, moving with the hip grace of a streetwise Manhattanite. What’s more, she knew all the latest moves, and now she taught him. With hip-hop and her favorite boy bands blasting, Livvie was queen, just like her mom before her; but when they played those slow, smoochy Italian summer pop songs, Tomaso was king.

He held her close to him, one hand low on her back, the other clutching her hand under his chin. It was just, like, oh, gosh…so
sexy
. His beautiful golden body was so close to hers she could feel him tremble.
Omigod!
She jumped back, not sure whether to be shocked or excited, and he pulled her firmly toward him again.

“Carina,”
he whispered in her ear, and a lot of other lovely words she didn’t understand. Then before she knew it, their noses bumped, his lips were grazing hers, and the strobe lights were going off in her head as well as on the dance floor.
Omigod,
she couldn’t wait to tell her friends back home, they had talked of this so often, and now she was actually
doing it. Kissing
. She just had to tell
somebody
; even Muffie would do.

The music stopped, and she opened her eyes. She hadn’t even realized they had been closed! Tomaso still had his arm around her, his face close to hers. “Come,
carina,
” he murmured, taking her hand and leading her out of the club, into the almost tropically hot night.

His hand felt rough against her soft one, and Livvie thought worriedly that maybe she would have to do some weight lifting, something to harden her up, make her seem more adult. They stopped outside a waterfront café. Tomaso waved and shouted
ciao
to the young people hanging out there, and they yelled back, “
Ciao,
Tomaso. Who’s the girl? She looks like a pop singer with that yellow hair.”

“E’ Madonna,” Tomaso yelled back, and they all laughed.

Livvie glanced at them from under her lashes; she didn’t know what they had said, and it made her uncomfortable. She was just praying she hadn’t inherited that blushing thing from her mom.

Tomaso took her over to meet his friends. He introduced her to a group of boys and girls, some of whom looked her own age. They smiled and were friendly and curious, and they liked it when she told them her grandmother was Italian. But mostly she just sat with another Coke in front of her, careful this time not to slurp, holding hands with Tomaso and basking in the knowledge that she was “Tomaso’s girl.” She liked very much that little electric tingle his fingers transmitted to hers, that super-awareness of herself that she had never felt before, as though every nerve ending had suddenly acquired new meaning.

The hot breeze would have ruffled her hair if she’d had any more than half an inch, and she licked an ice cube, enjoying the contrast against her hot tongue.

The church clock struck the hour. She counted contentedly along with it; she never wanted to leave this place, her new friends, and Tomaso.
Omigod,
the clock had just struck
twelve
!

She leaped to her feet. Panicked images of her angry mother and—even worse—Nonna rushed through her head. “I have to go. I promised to be back at eleven-thirty.”

Tomaso took her arm. “Of course,
carina
. I will take you home.” He winked at the others and said something in Italian that Livvie didn’t understand, but that she would bet was that American girls had to go to bed early, or something dumb but true like that.

She almost ran up the steep cobbled streets to where Tomaso had parked the car on the main road at the top of the village. He held the door open for her. Then, as she bent to step in, he unfolded her again and took her in his arms.

“Carina,”
he murmured. “Livvie.”

His beautiful face hovered over hers, and their eyes locked. She watched fascinated as his mouth came closer. He was going to kiss her, properly this time. And she didn’t know how to kiss. Still, she had talked about it forever with her friends; it should be easy. And then her eyes had somehow closed all by themselves, and her mouth was linked to his, and she was dying of love…or whatever it was she was feeling.

“Carina,”
Tomaso murmured, when he finally took his mouth from hers. She gazed bleary-eyed at him, and then for some dumb reason, she said, “Thank you.” And he smiled and said, “Thank
you, carina,
” and then he helped her into the car.

In five minutes they were back at the hotel. She was scared stiff because she had promised her mom she would be home by eleven-thirty, and she just knew her mom would never ever let her out on her own again, and
omigod,
what was she going to do if she could never see Tomaso again?

She flung open the car door before either the doorman or Tomaso had a chance, throwing him a fast good-night over her shoulder.

“Livvie, wait.” He came after her, caught her at the elevator that led down the cliff to the front hall. “Tomorrow, Livvie? The same time?”

His eyes were pleading, and so sea blue she could just die. “Okay,” she said weakly. Then she pressed the button, and he disappeared from view. And probably from her life, she thought miserably, because now she was in real trouble with her mom, she just knew it.

Gemma

I was pacing the San Pietro’s terra-cotta-tiled floor, trying to cast myself back into the role of a teen and telling myself that of course everything was okay and that Livvie had not (a) been seduced, (b) gotten drunk, (c) been kidnapped, or (d) oh God,
please not,
been in a car accident.

The memory of that narrow curving road threading around hairpin bends made me sick to my stomach. Where
was
my kid? I wanted her here, home, safe, with me. I knew I was only going through the first-date trauma every parent goes through, but that didn’t make waiting any easier.

I paced some more, nodding
ciao
to the desk clerk and the barman, trying to concentrate on admiring the way the vines trailed across the ceiling, bringing the outdoors inside, and the profusion of flowering plants and cascading bougainvillea. I told myself sternly to seize the moment: admire the beauty, the candlelit terraces, the flower gardens, the lights of a passing cruise ship on the horizon, the glitter of Positano…where my daughter was…
and she was late
. Damn it, she was
definitely very extremely late,
and now I was really worried.

I paced back to the elevator, the door sprang open, and there she was, barefoot, with her new beaded sandals from Capri clutched in her hand, biting her lower lip just the way I did when I was anxious.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” she said, hanging her head the way she used to when she had been a naughty little girl. “I’m really sorry. It wasn’t…I mean, nothing bad happened. It’s just that I forgot the time. We were sitting at this café with his friends, and somehow the time, like, just skipped right by me.”

She glanced up at me from under her lashes, and I saw myself in her so clearly, I felt a pang of pity for her. I held open my arms and said simply, “Get over here, daughter.”

Livvie ran into them, and we hugged each other tight, and then she pushed me away just a little and said, “Mom, he kissed me…and Mom, I was so scared.”

We both laughed and hugged some more, and I thought,
Thank God everything is all right: she hasn’t been seduced or kidnapped or in an accident. And she had actually told me about her first real kiss.

“Come on,” I said, and we walked, arms around each other’s waists, out onto the terrace, where we leaned on the balustrade and I listened while she told me about her evening. It was, I thought, exactly the way things should be between a mother and daughter. At least for now it was.

Rocco

Rocco bumped slowly up the gravel driveway in the white pickup, with Fido bouncing and skittering in the back, frantically trying to keep his footing, giving the odd quick, sharp little woof as though to tell Rocco to stop it. Rocco parked in the old stables, got out, and stood looking around the deserted yard. The dog jumped out the back, trotted over to him, then sat patiently at his side.

It was
perfetto,
Rocco was thinking. He had done a perfect job. It could not have been bettered. And all for nothing. Plus now he was going to have to swallow his pride and apologize to the
americano.
Well, maybe not
apologize,
exactly.

Ben walked around the side of the villa and saw Rocco standing in the yard with his cartoon dog. He wondered what he was up to this time.
“Ciao, Rocco,”
he called.

“Signore, ciao.”
Rocco whipped off the old ex-army hat that he wore, sun, rain, or hail. He held it over his chest, standing at attention like a soldier confronted by a general.

Odd, Ben thought, he usually just ambled around, and never did more than touch his hand to the brim of that hat. Something was up.

“What can I do for you today, Rocco?” he said, looking stern because he knew Rocco was involved in his troubles somehow.

“
Signore,
I have the good news.” Rocco gave him a beaming and very false smile that showed all his teeth. “They tell me the building permits are not lost after all.”

“Is that right?” Ben leaned against the stone wall, arms folded.

“Is correct,
signore.
Not only that, the council have decided there is no need for the maintenance work on the road to the villa. It will not be dug up.”

“And why is that, Rocco, d’you suppose?”

Rocco gave one of those enormous expressive shrugs, arms wide, shoulders high. “As you say in America, it beats me,
signore.
Maybe is just sometimes God is good to us.”

“I’m all for that, Rocco,” Ben said dryly, accepting it for the apology he knew it was meant to be. “Let’s hope the Almighty is also taking care of my phone and my electricity and water.”

Rocco beamed again. “I can guarantee it,
signor
Ben.
Domani
. All will be fixed.” He hesitated, glancing out the corner of his eye at him. “One other thing,
signore.
It’s about…well, it’s personal…about the
dottoressa
.”

Ben straightened up. He took a couple of steps toward Rocco, and the dog growled. Ben stopped and looked at the pair of them. “What about the
dottoressa?
” he said. “You know where she is?”

“I know. And I know also that she did not sabotage your villa,
signore.
She is innocent of all your charges.”

“I never charged her with anything.”

“That’s not what I heard,
signore.
”

“So if the
dottoressa
is not guilty of sabotage, Rocco, then exactly who is?”

Rocco scratched his head; he shrugged again, smiling. “Who knows,
signore
? Who knows?”

“Only the good Lord, I suppose,” Ben said, and Rocco beamed in relief. He was off the hook; he hadn’t even needed to lose face and apologize. Before too long the
americano
would have his services restored to the villa, he would reunite with the
dottoressa,
and Sophia Maria would come home. Everything was good again.

“The
dottoressa
is in Positano,
signor
Ben,” he said, and noticed Ben glance quickly at his watch. “She is at the Hotel San Pietro with the daughter and Sophia Maria. It’s not such a long drive,
signore,
you could be there in…oh, six hours maybe.”

Yeah, in my dreams, Ben thought, as he shook Rocco’s hand and they slapped each other on the back. Ben said, “Thank you,” and Rocco said, “For nothing.” Then Ben said, “My good old friend Rocco,” and Rocco said, “Next season,
signore,
you will see the largest truffle ever found in Tuscany. Fido will find it specially for you, and I will carry it here myself, personally.”

“Glad to hear it, Rocco.” Ben was already heading back to the villa to tell Muffie to get ready; they were going on a trip.

Ben

All the way on that long drive south past Rome, then on to Naples, Ben told himself he was crazy to be doing this. He hardly knew the woman. And anyhow,
she
was crazy, always tripping over her feet and walking into doors. God knows how she managed in that famous emergency room. And then, of course, she had walked in on him with Luiza. Just her typical rotten timing, he thought. So why, he asked himself for the hundredth time, if she gets you so damned irritated, are you trekking all the way to Positano in an old Land Rover to apologize?

He groaned out loud, and Muffie, stretched on the backseat, bored, hot, and fed up with being in the car, sat up and took notice. “What’s the matter, Daddy?”

“Just traffic, I guess.” But his daughter was smarter than that.

“It’s Dr. Jericho, isn’t it?”

“Isn’t what?” He looked at her in the rearview mirror and decided he was getting used to the green hair. It looked almost normal to him now.

“Oh, Daddy,
you know
.” Muffie giggled and put her head back down again. “Men,” she said loudly, and he grinned. This trip to Tuscany was not all in vain; his girl was growing up.

Which still didn’t explain why he was chasing halfway across Italy after a woman who was so difficult, so contrary, so…
ornery,
she baffled him. The truth was he had never met a woman like her. He’d never met a woman who did the difficult job she did, and never met a woman who cared less about the way she looked.

Yet in Florence, sitting in Cammillo’s with her narrow blue eyes laughing at him and her quirky mouth tempting him, he had never seen anyone look more honestly beautiful. She had struck a chord within him, made him look at himself, at his relationships.

He wasn’t a selfish man. He treated his women gently, courteously. He had cared about the women he dated, and he had cared about his wife. Been madly in love with her, he’d thought then. But he had never felt like this before.

So how
did
he feel? He contemplated that, idling in traffic in a little coastal town called Piano. Odd name for a place, he thought, though he knew it meant “slowly” in Italian, and since they had been stuck for more than ten minutes, it couldn’t have been more appropriate.

Damn it, he didn’t know what he felt for Gemma; only that he wanted to be with her. He wanted to hold her in his arms, make love to her, protect her from all those minidisasters she seemed prone to. And there was something else. He wanted to melt that freezer she called a heart. Gemma Jericho was a problem. And a mystery. He needed to solve both.