“End of play, ball back to center. But if it’s not too painful, can you tell me what happened? Was Alfio ill?”
“It happened twelve years ago, but he’d already been ill for a few years. He had heart problems and high blood pressure. I’d been helping him with the vineyard for a while, and when he got worse, I took over. Then suddenly he couldn’t get out of bed.”
“How old was he?”
“He was around sixty-four, but a lifetime working on the vineyard added a good ten years to his age. Luckily he didn’t suffer too much, less than a month.” In hindsight, knowing he had so few years left, it wasthe right decision to stay, though the real reason I didn’t go was Linda. Where was I going to go at eighteen years old, with a little girl? “What about you?” I ask, to avoid sharing more.
“I graduated from Eton and then read economics at Oxford. I got a master’s degree in New York, and then I went back to London. My brother George died four years ago, and I took his place at Saxton & D’Arcy, the family financial management company, and now I manage the assets our parents left.”
The indifference with which he says “My brother died four years ago” does not escape me.
I heard about it from Count Umberto, but I pretend it’s news to me. “I’m sorry—my condolences.”
“I stopped mourning him years ago, if I ever was. But thanks anyway.”
“How did he . . . ?”
“Car accident,” he says succinctly, and I don’t press him further. He and George hadn’t been on good terms as children either.
The conversation dead-ends on George. I try again, hoping to be luckier. “And what exactly do you do at Saxton & D’Arcy?”
“I manage the investments of important people who are too busy to do it themselves. They put their assets in my hands, and I grow them.”
“Compelling,” I comment with a hint of sarcasm.
“If you look at it from the outside, it’s a fairly monotonous job. Basically all I do is sit at a computer, looking at graphs or reading strings of numbers, though in reality I’m collecting data so I can make the best decisions. And I can assure you that as the assets grow, it can be quite compelling.”
“Michael, the money-making slot machine. I never would have thought you’d end up becoming a cold-hearted businessman.”
“And what did you imagine I’d become?”
“As a kid, you talked about adventures, discoveries, an exciting life ... At ten you were obsessed with archaeology. We dug holes in Mamma’s garden pretending to look for treasures, and she chased us with the spade. Then, at twelve, you wanted to become a skipper so youcould travel the world on a sailboat, and we spent a month sanding and painting that old hull we found down by the springs.”
“Splinter.”
“Do you still remember it?” I ask in amazement, seeing the old Michael emerge for the first time.
“We wore our fingers raw on that wood.”
“And at thirteen ... at thirteen, you wanted to be a mechanic, and we spent the summer trying to fix that decrepit yellow Cinquecento in the shed.”
“Mauro the squire’s Cinquecento!” he exclaims nostalgically. “Whatever happened to him?”
“Mauro retired and moved to a little house in Follonica so he could spend winters by the sea. The Cinquecento, on the other hand ... I think it’s still in pieces in the shed. Do you remember what you said? You promised to take me to Florence when you got your license.”
Something we always said we’d do, but then we didn’t because Michael stopped coming here, well before he could even get his learner’s permit. Silence falls between us again, both of us unsure about what terrain to explore next.
“Aside from work, do you have a girlfriend back in London?” I venture. I don’t know why I’ve brought up matters of the heart, but part of me is curious. In reality I want to know if Michael is dating Carletto’s twin sister. Caroline, now as ever, is not too thrilled to be here and does her best to let it be known. She’s always had a soft spot for Michael, and with her strong will, perhaps she’s managed to conquer him over all these years.
“Zero! Girlfriends require time and energy I don’t have. Plus, a serious relationship leads straight to the altar, and that’s not where I’m aiming.”
“Well, don’t say that too loudly around here.”
“Why?”
“You’re about to find out,” I reply cryptically.
“What about you? Fiancés? Husbands?”
