“They’re divorced?” I asked. “Since when?”
He shrugged. “Not sure, exactly. They separated before I started work here, when the children were very small. I met Mrs.Wilson for the first time at the funeral today. Maria would know more about all that.”
“Who’s Maria?”
“The housekeeper at the villa. Her father-in-law, Domenico Guardini, was the vineyard keeper when Mr.Clark bought the winery years ago. Now her husband, Vincent, takes care of the vines.”
“I see. And where is the villa? Will Maria be there in the morning when the lawyers come?”
“Sì, she will be there. It’s at the top of the hill, end of Cypress Row, easy walk from here. But you should sleep now, Ms.Bell. You had a long journey. No need to worry.”
“Thank you. But please call me Fiona.”
He nodded and was quick to leave, as if he had a dozen other things to attend to. I sensed he was an efficient person.
Closing the door behind him, I turned to look at the gigantic bed and sighed with exhaustion. After that, I must have set a record opening my suitcase and changing into my pajamas.
I groaned at the sound of my cell phone alarm. Reaching across the soft pillow, I hit snooze and wondered what fresh new hell this was. My body felt like a block of lead. I tried to calculate what time it was back home in Tallahassee. Two in the morning?
Almost instantly, I fell back into a deep, dense slumber.
The shriek of my phone woke me again nine minutes later. Knowing that more sleep was out of the question, I rolled onto my back and forced myself to rise because I didn’t want to miss breakfast. More importantly, I wanted to find my way to the villa early to get the lay of the land before the lawyers arrived.
Groggily, I shuffled across the wide-plank floor to the window, where I pulled the heavy velvet drapes aside. Expecting sunlight beyond panes of glass, I was instead presented with oak shutters that blocked out the light completely. I jimmied the latch and pulled one shutter open, then let out a gasp of shock. The view ... was this even real?
Before my sleepy, squinting eyes, a medieval castle town stood high on a lush green mountaintop. The stone buildings and towers were framed by blue sky. Low to the ground, a misty white ribbon of fogcrept across olive groves and grape vineyards. Bells began to chime from a cathedral somewhere on the hilltop, and a flock of swallows fluttered out of the tall cypress tree near the swimming pool below my window.
I was awestruck and couldn’t speak for a few seconds. No wonder famous people had stayed here. This was a million-dollar view. It was like waking up in the middle of a live-action Cinderella movie.
Letting my eyes fall closed, I breathed in the fresh scent of the September air, the grass and dew, and urged myself to appreciate this week of total freedom. I would not let myself worry about Dad back home. Dottie had everything under control. I needed to remember what she had said—that I deserved a week off.
The bells in town stopped ringing, and then all I could hear was the calming whisper of a breeze through the olive grove. Eyes still closed, I inhaled another deep, cleansing breath, then finally forced myself to step away from the window and head for the shower.
A short while later, I made my way downstairs to the dining room, where a buffet breakfast was laid out with pastries, yogurt, cereal, eggs, and a platter of sliced meats and cheeses. A long table, large enough to seat thirty people for a formal dinner, was dressed up with a white tablecloth and bouquets of fresh flowers. As soon as I reached the sideboard to pick up a plate, a young woman from the kitchen approached me. “Caffè?”
“Sì, grazie,” I said. “I’ll have an Americano, if you have it?”
She smiled and nodded and returned to the kitchen. I then filled my plate and sat down across from a young couple.
“Good morning,” I said as the server returned with my coffee and set it down in front of me.
“Good morning,” the young woman replied. From the sound of her accent, I speculated she was from the southern US. “Have you tried the cappuccino yet?” she asked. “It’s delicious.”
“Not yet. I’ll give it a try tomorrow.”
We made small talk, and I learned they were on their honeymoon. They’d started in Rome, and now they were on their way to Venice to board a private schooner and sail around the Mediterranean.
After they left, an older couple—also American—walked in and ordered cappuccinos before filling their plates with eggs, toast, and sliced meats. I chatted with them as well. They were recently retired and making the rounds in Tuscany, touring a different winery every afternoon, but this was their home base for the full two weeks.
“We love Montepulciano,” they explained. “And the wine here ...” The man kissed his fingertips with a flourish. “Simply the best.”
“I’m not much of a wine connoisseur,” I quietly admitted, keeping my head down as I stirred my yogurt. “I always go for the same label at home—a California merlot that hits all the right notes when it comes to the price tag.”
They laughed and nodded with understanding. “You’ll enjoy trying these old-world wines. There’s a very different flavor here.”
“In more ways than one,” his wife said with a smile as she gazed across at her husband. “There’s just something about Europe.”
They seemed very happy. “How long have you two been married?” I asked.
