“Does anyone know the number to call to have someone involuntarily committed?” Donatella asks.
“Hilarious,” I reply, miffed.
“Darling, didn’t you just say you wanted to buy Le Giuggiole?” asks Mamma. “This estate?”
“Do you know of any others?” Nice to know they take me so seriously.
“And why on earth would you want to do that?” Donatella asks.
“Well, for starters, I give my lifeblood to the vineyards, I work weekends and holidays, I get no vacation, and if I have to dedicate all my time to it—which I love—I want it to be for me, not for someone else. Secondly—and here’s where this applies to you—Michael is negotiating the sale of the property on behalf of the Bingleys to a Russian mogul, a client of his.”
“He’ll still need a housekeeper, a maid, and someone to manage the vineyard,” objects Donatella, unperturbed.
“That’s where you’re wrong. The Russian wants to turn the estate into a golf club. He plans to tear out the vines to make a golf course, and the villa will become a luxury clubhouse for members of the circuit,” I explain. “And we’ll have to take a hike.”
“I didn’t know about any of this,” stammers Giada.
“Why should you have known? Bingley is making Michael do everything, and you’ve never made a secret of your desire to leave Belvedere,” I reply.
“But they can’t do that!” Mamma exclaims, her face now transfigured into a mask of terror.
“They can, unless the new zoning plan for Belvedere and Collalto is approved, and that probably won’t be for another six months, after the new council is elected. The current regulations allow it, so as the Romans said: ‘We’re screwed.’”
Silence now reigns in the kitchen of the annex.
“Now do you understand why I want to buy the estate?” I say, hoping I won’t get any more sarcastic remarks from them.
“What do you want? Who knows what future Donatella and I have ahead of us, but I worry about Giada, you, and Linda,” Mamma interjects. “Giada will be all set with Carletto. And you, instead of worrying about all this, should find yourself a good man, with a good job, who wants to be a father to your daughter.”
“Unfortunately I don’t want to be ‘all set,’ as you put it. It would be the simplest solution but not the right one. I will not mortgage my life on a loveless marriage just for the sake of financial security,” I declare.
“What about Altamio’s son? He seems like a nice guy, and he’s always had a crush on you, even though ...” she stops, unfortunately not in time to avoid my piqued reaction.
“Even though what, Mom?” I blurt out. “Linda?”
“Yeah. Even though you have Linda. Whoever decides to be with you would be taking her on too, and it’s not the kind of two-for-onemen are looking for. Elmo has always courted you with full awareness of your situation.”
“But Mamma, Elmo Colli is an undertaker!” I object.
“So what? People will never stop shitting or dying,” she replies with her unassailable maxim.
“He doesn’t even live here anymore.” I shrug.
“But he always comes to visit his parents, and he happens to be here this weekend. You could pop in for a coffee, my picky girl.”
“No, thanks,” I cut her short. “You go, Mamma, if you care so much.”
“Do whatever you want, Elisa, but remember that you have a daughter. It’s her security you have to worry about,” Mamma urges me.
“I’m very much worrying about it. And I’ve found the best solution.”
“Where on earth do you think you’re going to find the money to do this? It would take a fortune to buy this place!” she protests.
“At the bank! Where else? Italy is a democratic republic founded on mortgages, loans, and leasing.”
“Of course,” insists Mamma. “Nowadays, who wouldn’t give you a million-dollar loan?”
“The winery is profitable; it’s good collateral. Plus I found a European Community RFP for five-year nonrepayable grants for expanding organic farms. I’ll apply for it—we meet all the requirements.”
