Thirty

UV

ITALY

The journey back to the vineyard estate seemed much quicker without the anticipation, though on the return she did notice the beauties of the countryside. She was fast falling in love with Italy and was joyful that her new future would include regular visits.

On the second day, the entire party had dropped off to sleep due to the hypnotic bouncing of the carriage when they were awakened by loud, fast hooves approaching and the subsequent braking of their vehicle. John pulled up the blind to ascertain what was happening.

Mario, who rode beside the carriage, was deep in conversation with another man on horseback who was handing him a letter. All three Havershams pressed their faces to the tiny window to learn the reason for the delay. Their question was soon answered as Mario approached and John opened the carriage door.

“It is Signore Giaccopazzi. He is very ill! I must go.”

“Of course, of course,” replied John.

“Do not delay, Signore. The doctor say he may not last the week.”

Emily looked at her daughter, whose eyes had grown as round as an owl’s and whose face was tight with anguish. John closed the door as Mario sped off.

“But I have only just met him! It is cruel for him to be taken away just as we were making each other’s acquaintance! Oh, I cannot bear it!” cried Francesca.

Emily pulled her daughter’s head onto her own shoulder and gently placed a soothing arm around her. Life truly was merciless at times.

T

Mario rode hard trying, without success, to keep his concern for Giorgio at bay. Dawn was hardly breaking as he raced into the forecourt of the villa and handed off the horse to a groom. He raced up the stairs without ceremony and made his way hastily to the door of Giorgio’s bedchamber. After knocking gently, he was admitted by the doctor whose solemn expression was less than encouraging. The room was dark and stuffy and reeked of death. His throat ached and he swallowed hard. “Is he … ?”

“He clings to life, my friend. He is fighting to keep the reaper at bay until Francesca returns, I believe, but I fear he is losing the battle. He suffered another heart attack in the night. His heart is very weak.”

Mario went to the bedside and knelt, taking Giorgio’s hand in his own. There was a faint flicker of the eyelids but no other recognition.

“We must prepare for the end,” ventured the doctor. Mario nodded.

“Did you know that he has written a new will?” asked the doctor. Mario turned his head sharply.

“He called for the attorney after you all left. He was very happy when it was completed and smiled in his sleep. I know only that he has provided for the young woman and yourself, but I have no knowledge of the details.”

Mario nodded again and realized that his life was about to change dramatically.

T

The Havershams rode all through the night and changed horses twice over the next two days. There was little quality sleep, and everyone’s nerves were over exercised. Francesca was unusually terse, but her parents did not condemn it and she was quick to apologize. They ate small amounts and did so hurriedly, merely eating to keep the hunger pangs at bay.

At last they arrived, some three days after Mario had left them. The household staff rushed to welcome them and usher them into the somber house. The day was bright and sunny and filled with the smell of flowers, but the atmosphere inside spoke of sadness.

Mario came down to greet them with a falsely bright expression that duped no one. Francesca grasped her mother’s hand.

“He lives,” he said. “But the end is near. He asks for you, Francesca.”

Emily released her daughter, and with one look back, Francesca ascended the beautiful staircase with Mario. Dread settled in her stomach. She had never witnessed death or dying and certainly never of someone she loved. And she did love him, she realized—fiercely. Although the two had known each other less than a few weeks, Francesca had bonded with her grandfather and her Italian heritage.

As she entered the room, the feelings of aversion were swiftly replaced with compassion, and she ran to his bedside, taking his big hand in her tiny one, wetting it with her tears.

His eyes were closed but on sensing her there, he struggled to open them and attempted to speak, but the power to do so had left him and he resorted to squeezing her hand. Leaning forward and placing her forehead on his pillow, she whispered, “Nonno, ti amo.”

His face wrinkled into a smile and his thumb rubbed her own and then, too soon and without warning, his hand went slack.

For some moments, she could not process what had come to pass and hesitated, hoping that he would squeeze her hand again, but after some time, she accepted the truth and the doctor came to lead her down the stairs.

There were no histrionics, just a bone-deep sadness for a relationship that had been cut too short. Her parents perceived immediately the events that had transpired by her expression and enveloped her in their comforting arms.

T

The following morning, Mario explained the funeral arrangements. Giorgio had requested a short, private funeral and burial with only his closest friends and new family in attendance.

Francesca was experiencing an emptiness that gnawed at her soul; the bright sunshine seemed to mock the gravity of the situation, but as she stood beside the grave a day later, she thanked God for that same sunshine. It was as though nature itself was celebrating his life, welcoming him to heaven to be reunited with his wife and child.

Upon their return, the attorney who had drafted the document for Antonio arrived and invited them to hear the reading of the new will. Mario translated after each sentence was read.

“I leave the bulk of my estate to my natural granddaughter, Francesca Haversham.”

Francesca gave a little gasp, but her father nodded, having expected as much.

“I leave Mario Lombardi, 10,000 lira per year and strongly suggest that my granddaughter retain him as manager of my vineyards for the remainder of his lifetime. I also suggest that Francesca’s natural father, Antonio Rossi, be offered the job of head groom for the estate.”

Francesca found that she was moved that her grandfather would think of her natural father so kindly and saw it as the perfect solution to maintain a regular relationship with him, should he desire the position.

There were small bequests to people she did not know, and afterward, her father went to speak to the lawyer and Mario. He later explained that the inheritance was a wonderful gift, but the practicalities of living in one country, while being the owner of such an enterprise in another, needed to be sorted out. He spent the next few days carefully planning with the attorney and Mario.

Everyone was surprised to discover the vast extent of Giorgio’s fiscal wealth, over and above the enormous value of the vineyards. Francesca had become an exceptionally and independently rich woman.

At the end of the week, it was decided that the Havershams would make their departure and allow Mario time to gain his footing as sole manager of the estate. Word had been sent to Antonio, and he had readily accepted the position of head groom and arrived quickly to fill the position and to bid his daughter a fond farewell.

As they slowly made their way back across Italy and into France, Francesca found her thoughts turning to Phillip again and again and admitted that her affection for him was growing daily. She was eager to share all that had happened but was reticent, given the change in her status. He had been so supportive of her, despite the revelation that she was adopted, that she felt it was appropriate to inform him of certain recent events but instead of a long sentimental letter, she sent him a short note, briefly detailing her change in fortune and describing her grandfather, sharing with him her anguish as his death.

Her parents had discouraged any disclosure of her father’s station until her own family had been notified.

More than once as she traveled, the memory of Phillip on horseback, smiling at her as she left his home, came vividly to her mind. The vision induced a yearning to be in his company that was new and unfamiliar. At such times, she would reprimand herself for being foolish; had he not said that he preferred auburn hair and had he not always considered her more as a sister? Furthermore, adoption was one thing, but her father was right, her lowly heritage changed everything. The son of a nobleman might have qualms about marrying the daughter of a servant. She must readjust her expectations of life and consider a future without romance. This admission left her feeling hollow and disconsolate.

John Haversham had thought it more prudent to disclose the nature of Francesca’s heritage in person and had sent a letter to Francesca’s grandparents, explaining only their sadness at Giorgio’s passing and her good fortune in becoming his heir. The remembrance of her grandparents’ reaction and fear of an unknown and unpredictable future at the hands of a callous society encouraged a somber mood as the carriage trundled onward, ever closer to impending rejection and loneliness.