These Tangled Vines(11)

“What about the children?” I asked, point-blank. “Are they going to hate me?”

“Definitely,” Maria replied, giving me a look. “But it doesn’t matter what they think. The will is what it is, so just take whatever he left you, and walk away.”

Surprised by the woman’s candor, I blinked a few times. “I appreciate the advice.”

Maria sighed in defeat. “You wouldn’t stand a chance otherwise, because this family has a talent for making life far more difficult than it has to be. Everything is a battle.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“No, of course you wouldn’t.” Maria toyed with her earring and studied me for a moment. “Whatever happens this morning, don’t take it personally. They haven’t had a chance to come to terms with the fact that their father had another child. But really . . . I don’t see how they could be surprised. Their mother took them away to America thirty years ago. It’s not as if their father was a monk. He had many women in his life.”

Something about that statement troubled me, because I didn’t want to think of my mother as one of his many conquests. At the same time, I didn’t want to suggest anything untoward the day after the man’s funeral. But I had my suspicions.

I sat forward again. “Marco said your father-in-law, Domenico, worked in the vineyard before you and your husband took over. Would your husband’s parents know anything about what happened between Anton and my mother?”

“They might have known something, but they’re both deceased. Vincent and I came here to take over the vineyards in 1988. When was your mother here?”

“It was the summer of ’86.” When that line of questioning provided no results, I shifted direction. “What about Anton’s driver before Marco? Where is he now?”

“His name was Gordon Nucci, and he was with Anton for many years. He was living in the villa since before I started, so he might have known something as well, but he died a long time ago, which was when Marco was hired.”

Before I had a chance to ask any more questions, the doorbell chimed.

“That must be the lawyers.” Maria rose from her chair. “Stay here while I go and greet them and get them settled.”

As I watched her leave the room, my stomach flipped over at the thought of what was about to happen in the next few minutes—my first meeting with my half siblings, who probably hated my guts for being named a beneficiary in their father’s will. Nevertheless, I was curious to know what Anton had left me and how much it was worth. Judging by what I’d seen of this property so far, it could be something significant. Or not. Either way, I’d be glad to get this meeting over with.





CHAPTER 3


SLOANE


Shortly before the lawyers rang the doorbell, Sloane Richardson was having an epiphany. It happened around the back of the villa, in the vegetable garden, where the sun shone most brightly in the mornings. Perhaps it was the glorious peal of church bells ringing on the hilltop that brought it on. Or the fresh country air feeding oxygen to her brain instead of foul exhaust fumes that gave her a headache whenever the Los Angeles freeway was gridlocked and their driver couldn’t get them out of it.

“Kids, come and look at this,” she said to her children, Chloe and Evan, who were following at a distance.

Evan was ten and Chloe was seven. Neither looked up from their phones.

“Evan! Chloe!” she shouted.

“What?” Evan shouted back.

“Put your phones away, please. It’s a beautiful day. Come and see what I found.”

Chloe rolled her eyes as she followed her older brother along a row of tomato plants.

Sloane pointed at the dirt. “Look, it’s a lizard.”

They both crowded in. “Cool,” Evan said.

The lizard scurried away beneath a patch of leaves and disappeared.

“Can we catch one?” he asked.

“I suppose,” Sloane replied, “if you’re quick enough. Maybe we could come out later with a bucket. But if we catch one, we have to let him go when we’re finished looking at him, all right?”

“Can we bring him in the house?” Evan asked.

“No way, Mom!” Chloe shouted.

“Hmm,” Sloane said. “Maybe your sister’s right. Maria might not like it very much if a lizard gets loose in the kitchen.”

“I’d keep him in my room, under my bed,” Evan promised.

“We’ll see.” Sloane squeezed his shoulder, then sighed with defeat when they both returned their attention to their cell phones.

As she led them out of the tomato patch toward the olive grove, she felt as if she were walking alone. The story of her life lately.

A memory came to her then, like a fresh breeze across the hilltops. It took her back to her childhood, when she and Connor and their cousin Ruth used to play hide-and-seek in the cool, musty wine cellars. What fun they had, exploring the dark spaces between the gigantic wooden barrels full of aging wine. Sometimes they were put to work, pruning the vines in July and weeding the vegetable gardens. Maria always had something interesting for Sloane to do in the kitchen. She remembered kneading bread, standing on a chair to stir something in a big pot, or bottling plum jam. Sloane remembered all of it fondly, until it became colored with regret. The feeling caught her off guard and left her a little shaken.