“Say no more.” I take the enema, surrendering. What a day.
While Elisa plays nurse, I’m basically the janitor. I hardly have time to finish the purge before the foal reacts.
“Ugh, gross!” I exclaim.
“What happened?”
“That creature put it right in my hand,” I say, waving it in her direction.
Elisa is not the least disgusted. “It brings good luck.”
“What’s the little guy’s name?” I ask her.
“Little guy? It’s a girl,” she corrects me. “You name her—after all, you delivered her, right? The honor is yours.”
Damn. I am now realizing that I, Michael D’Arcy, financial adviser at one of London’s leading firms, have just delivered a baby horse.
“Splinter,” I say. “Let’s call her Splinter.”
Elisa turns to me with the first sincere smile I’ve seen since I’ve been here.
We had wanted to name our damaged little boat to suggest something slight and agile, but in reality we just ended up with splinters in our fingers. “We used to like doing things together,” I say.
Elisa and I sit next to each other on the hay, exhausted, silently observing Splinter nursing from Dolly. “It’s not that bad, huh?” she asks me.
“What?”
“Doing something good, lending a hand, making a difference.”
“I must admit you have a point.”
“You’re a businessman. I have a deal for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Stay until the harvest is over. Study the estate, look at what we do and try to determine whether we’re a good investment,” she says resolutely. “Then and only then can you properly advise Charles on whether to sell or not. One month, that’s all I’m asking.”
“You seem confident you’ll change my mind.”
“I have no doubt,” she says, staring at me with those shrewd eyes of hers.
“It seems more like a challenge than a deal.”
Her quirked left eyebrow tells me it’s a yes. “What’s the matter, you scared?” she replies.
Me? Never. “Absolutely not.”
“So.” Elisa holds out her hand with a mocking smile. “Do we have a deal?”
I look at her hand, then at mine, which is still in the latex glove covered with amniotic fluid and foal poop. Almost ... I snatch her bare palm, and before she can escape, I squeeze it. “We have a deal.”
18
Elisa
“I want to buy Le Giuggiole,” I announce at breakfast. Giada’s toast slides sideways from her hand; Donatella drops her spoon into her instant coffee, and Mamma spills the pot full of diced vegetables for the minestrone.
I made my decision last night, after talking to Michael. If the Bingleys want to sell, I’ll be their buyer.
