Okay, the good news is there’s a chance they can approve the loan. The bad news ... now, where can I find some orders?
I leave the director’s office in a worse mood than when I left home, but I’m not at rock bottom.
I join Donatella, who I hope will cheer me up with one of her maxims, but I see that she’s busy chatting with a village employee.
Rubina Gentile is someone who feels important only because she works in high places, as she likes to say.
“Have you met the new owner yet?” she asks me haughtily, over her glasses.
“Charles Bingley and his sister came in mid-August. They were the talk of the town,” I say.
“I’m not talking about the Bingleys. I’m talking about the guy who’s turning it into a golf course.”
Wait, how does Gentile know about the golf course? “Nobody wants to build a golf course on Le Giuggiole,” I reply, feigning ignorance to see what she knows.
“Yes, they do. Mr. D’Arcy came to the town hall three weeks ago to ask for copies of all the property documents and to find out about renovations. He also wanted zoning codes for the golf thing.”
“Three weeks ago?” I ask in a small voice. We’d agreed that he would leave the sale alone for at least a month. He promised me.
“Late August,” she confirms. “Arrogant guy, very impatient. Now I must go. I’m changing my account because my fees are too high.”
Donatella and I get into the car and set off for home, even though I’m in a daze.
How could he?! Michael stabbed me in the back. This isn’t what we agreed to.
“Hon, change gears. Are you trying to make it home in second gear?”
“I’m out of my mind,” I blurt out.
“I can tell.”
“Michael promised he’d suspend negotiations with the Russian for a month and slow down the Bingleys’ rush to sell, and I was counting on that time to get a loan so I could buy it myself, but instead he was working behind my back!” I shout. I feel betrayed in the worst possible way. “Evidently business matters more to him than anything: more than promises, more than trust, even ...” but the words “more than me” remain stuck in my throat.
Donatella doesn’t even try to soften her take. “Well, I’m not surprised Michael pushed his friend to sell and cut ties. One night, I brought them drinks in the billiard room and heard him firmly discouraging Charles from dating Giada.”
“Are you kidding me?” I ask, hoping I’ve misunderstood.
“I don’t like repeating what I’ve overheard out of context, especially since they were speaking English, but from what I understood, he was convinced your sister was only interested in Charles for the money and was warning him, suggesting he distance himself.”
“So not only did Michael negotiate with the Russian behind my back, he also got between Giada and Charles?!” I have the nauseating suspicion that meddling in their relationship was Michael’s way of getting Charles to sell the property to his client.
47
Michael
This manual labor thing is killing me: first the restoration of the Cinquecento, then the harvest, and now it’s cooking.
Tonight, Elisa and I will finally be alone, and we intend to enjoy every moment.
I plan to propose something to her, which I never expected from myself.
Of course, before coming here I’d never foaled a mare or bought pads, but I think I’ll have to call Saxton to thank him for the vacation he gave me.
I’m preparing pappardelle with a ragù of vegetables from the garden, following an old Tuscan cookbook to the letter.
I had to remake the ragù twice because on the first try I burned the onion and on the second I got carried away with the salt, but my third attempt is more convincing and is now resting in the pan.
I’m working on the pappardelle, but worst case I’ll fall back on the dry ones from the supermarket.
