They entered the kitchen and sitting room. Everything was tidy and smelled clean after a visit from the maid that day. Lillian switched on a lamp and hung her purse on the back of a chair.
“Have a seat.” She gestured toward the armchair. “Would you like a drink? We have rum and cola.”
It was Freddie’s rum. He would notice if she had some. He wouldn’t mind, but he would mention it.
“That sounds exotic.”
“Allow me to indulge you.” She smiled as she withdrew the bottle from the top shelf in the cupboard and mixed two drinks over ice.
“So tell me,” Anton said, sitting back in his chair and crossing one long leg over the other, “how do you see it working for the Americans? Changing the labels, I mean. Don’t they come here wanting to experience the Old World? Isn’t that what they’re looking for? Ancient buildings and all that?”
“Yes, most definitely,” she said, taking a seat on the sofa across from him. “That’s what brings them here, but from what I’ve seen, they’re most interested in purchasing the wines that have some sentimental story attached to them. Even if they’re young wines, when I talk about something personal in regards to the harvest of a particular year—like the difficulty you had with days of rain which held you back and had you all in a mad panic last year—they love hearing about it. Every group buys a number of bottles because there’s a story attached.”
“But how do you see new labels playing into that?”
“Because they’ll beyours. They’re a testament to your passion for Tuscany. And just between us, I think they like the fact that you’re an outsider, like them. I can see it in their eyes when I talk about you. You had a dream, and you followed that dream. And now you’re finding a way to marry the Old World with the New. North Americans connect with that idea.” She sipped her drink and sat back. “Or maybe I’m wrong, Anton. I don’t know. This is why I think you should try a small test batch from the first harvest of your own signature wine to see how it does. If it sells, you can expand on that strategy.”
She took another sip of her drink and thought about it further. “I think something new and modern and unique might do very well in America. People seem to like extravagance these days. Price the bottles high and make them feel like they’re buying the winemaker’s work of art—that they’re drinking his passion. Literally.”
Realizing she’d been carried away by her own passion for the ideas she was putting forth, Lillian shook her head at herself. “I’m so sorry. I’m going overboard, aren’t I? It’s too much. I’ll blame it on the rum.”
He frowned at her sudden need to backpedal and sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Not at all. I’m devouring every word you’re saying. I think it’s brilliant. I love it.”
Her whole being seemed to grow light. She floated on the air like a feather. But then the telephone rang, and she hit the ground, hard. She leaped off the sofa to answer it.
“Hello?” It was Freddie. “Yes, I’m here. I just got back. I was at dinner at the villa. How are you?”
She faced Anton and stared at him while she spoke to Freddie, who told her about his travels that morning and his first impressions of Paris. His voice was animated, and he hardly took a breath as he described the city’s architecture, the beauty of the Seine, and the thrill he’d experienced when he saw the Eiffel Tower for the first time.
“That’s wonderful.” In that moment, Lillian felt guilty looking at Anton while she spoke to her husband, so she turned and faced the wall.
Freddie continued to talk. He confessed that he had spent the entire day walking around and hadn’t written a single word. “But it was time well spent,” he explained. “I need more of this before I can sit down to write. I don’t want to force it or try to finish the story when I’m not ready. It has to feel right. You know?”
Lillian didn’t say anything right away, and he was quiet for a few seconds.
“Lil? You there?”
“Yes, I’m here. Of course, that makes sense,” she replied, because she’d always been supportive of his creativity, and she couldn’t imagine behaving otherwise. “It has to feel right. When it comes to your setting, you need to feel confident in your descriptions.”
“It’s not just thedescriptions,” he said with a note of frustration. “The setting is going to affect what happens with the plot. It could change everything. I might need to take it in a whole new direction.”
With a sudden sinking feeling, Lillian bit down hard on her lower lip. “Really? Is that going to take you more time? I mean ... you thought you’d get it finished this summer.”
Silence.
“I know, Lil,” he finally said. “And you’ve been so patient. I love you for that, and I’m going to do my best. I’ll write like crazy while I’m here.”
Lillian continued to stand with her back to Anton and spoke softly into the phone. “Do you plan on staying in Paris for a while? Or will you come back here to write?”
You should come back, Freddie. You should come back right away.
Silence again. “I’m not sure. I found a cheap room near that old bookstore, Shakespeare and Company. It has a desk, and I feel like I’ll get more done here. If I go back to Tuscany to work, I’ll want to spend time with you. Besides, it’s just not the right atmosphere there. Can you understand?”
Lillian began to feel a little sick to her stomach. “Of course, I understand.”
There was a clicking sound and some static in the phone. “You’ve been so supportive,” Freddie said, “and I promise there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. As soon as I sell this book, you can do whatever you want—quit your job and eat bonbons all day. And we’ll get pregnant. I promise.”
If only she had a nickel for every time he said, “I promise.”
