The Tuscan Child(86)

The white wine was already having its effect, and I hesitated as I took a sip of the red. I don’t have far to walk home, I told myself. The first taste was smooth and rich, like drinking red velvet. “Oh,” I said, and Renzo smiled.

“Now you will go home and be a wine snob and say to your friends, ‘This is not like that cheap Chianti that they produce, the wine in the straw bottle,’” he said.

“I doubt that I could afford to buy this in England,” I said. “Wine is very expensive.”

“You are right, you couldn’t buy this in England,” he said. “We only produce a few cases of this wine, and it goes straight to our preferred customers in Rome and Milan. Film stars, racing car drivers, and millionaires.”

“Then I am indeed honoured.” My gaze met his and I felt a shiver go down my spine. I tried to make light of it. “But don’t top up my glass or I may not find my way home.”

“Don’t worry, Renzo will escort you,” Paola said.

That did bring me back to reality. Renzo walking me back to the little house, past the well into which Gianni had been stuffed head first—and the high probability that Renzo knew something about this. Had he been sent to get me drunk? To gain entrance to my room and find the envelope that Gianni had pushed through my window?

“What’s the matter?” Renzo asked me, as if reading my thoughts.

“Just that I am sad I will be leaving all this beauty tomorrow.”

“And I am sad that you are going,” he said. “Perhaps you can return in less worrying times.”

“I doubt that,” I said. “The inspector might invent new charges against me if I come back.”

He laughed, but I sensed that I wasn’t too far from the truth.

I got up to help Paola clear away the dishes, but she waved for me to stay seated. “Why else do I have a daughter?” she said. “You are the guest. Sit. Talk with Renzo.”

As they disappeared into the house, I grinned. “I’m afraid Paola is trying to do some matchmaking.”

“She has a good heart,” he replied. “And her judgment is not bad, either.”

I chuckled nervously because I was highly conscious of his presence across the table from me, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the throat, his unruly black curls, and his eyes that sparkled as if they were on fire. It must have been the wine, but I wanted him to take me in his arms and kiss me.

That ridiculous thought was banished by Paola coming back with the big dish of aubergine Parmesan. I didn’t think I had any room for another mouthful, but once I took my first bite I had to finish my plate. So rich, so creamy. And the aubergine tasted like a really good meat.

We finished the meal with the little dishes of panna cotta—smooth and white and slipping easily down the throat, and to accompany it a glass of limoncello, the local liqueur. A soft, velvety darkness had fallen over the land. The night air was full of the sound of crickets and frogs. Renzo stood up. “I should probably be getting home,” he said. “My father will wonder where I am.” He looked at me. “May I escort you to your room first?”

“Oh no,” I said, laughing. “I must help Paola and Angelina with the washing up. We must have made a lot of dishes dirty.”

“Of course you do not need to do this,” Paola said. “Let the young man escort you if he volunteers. I know if a handsome man offered to escort me to my room I would not say no. Unfortunately such offers do not come anymore.” And she laughed.

I had no choice. Renzo offered me his arm. I took it, giving him a nervous smile. “Honestly, Renzo, I can find my way to my room unaided,” I said. “And I’m sure Cosimo will be pacing the floor waiting for you to come home.”

“Let him pace,” Renzo said. “Did it not occur to you that I might want to spend some time alone with you?”

I looked up at him then. He was giving me a little half-smile. “I don’t know what it is about you,” he said. “I find myself strangely drawn to you. Maybe you remind me of the girl I once knew in London, the one I might have married if things had been different.” He turned to face me. “Do I not detect that you are also a little attracted to me?”

“Maybe a little,” I said, trying not to ignore the warning alarm going off in my head. Cosimo’s son, remember.

“Then perhaps it is in our shared history,” Renzo said. “Maybe it is the story of my mother and your father finally being completed. It is fate. Destiny. There is nothing we can do about it.”

“Do you think so?” I asked.

“How do I know?” he said, smiling at me. “I just know that at this moment I want to kiss you. Is that all right with you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He took me in his arms and his lips moved toward mine. I could feel my heart racing, the small frisson of danger mingling with my desire for him. I don’t know where it might have led, but suddenly the ground beneath our feet was moving. It only lasted for a few seconds, but Renzo held me tight until the rocking stopped.

“Was that another earthquake?” I asked.

“Just an aftershock,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

“Isn’t there a song that goes something like, ‘I felt the earth move under my feet’?” I laughed, a little shakily.