“Mac, be careful,” warned Alberto, as he and Teresa came to see the young couple off the following morning. “There is an unusually high amount of interaction between the Japanese and the Germans, over the past week. Ciano says something must be imminent, as even Mussolini has been closed lipped. Is it smart to go to Nice now?”
“We will be fine, Alberto,” Mac responded. “Florence Gould, the owner of the Palais de la Mediterranee Hotel, has assured me of our safety. She has good relations with the Germans. Besides, we will be back in a week.”
“Well, start thinking about what you are going to do if something happens,” suggested Alberto. “You will have to leave, Mac, with Carla.”
“I would stay at the Vatican, but I now have Carla to think of. What about you and Teresa, Alberto?”
“We will be safe, for now, anyway. If things get bad in Rome, I will make Teresa go to my parents.”
“What about you, Alberto?”
“My place is here with Ciano. I am safer here, for now, than if I was going to be shipped off to the front lines somewhere. At least, Ciano keeps me here.”
“If you feel you are in danger, go to Father Leiber. I have already spoken to him. He will take you in at the Vatican or get you out of here altogether.”
“I will be fine, Mac, but thank you. You are a stranger in this country though. You watch yourself.”
“I will, Alberto, now say goodbye to your sister, so we can get going.”
Alberto put Carla's valise in the trunk of Mac's car, while Teresa gathered up her wedding dress, putting it in Alberto's car.
“Here Mac, a letter of safe passage from my boss. Ciano said to just mention his name to the Italian guards at the crossing, and you will not have a problem.”
“Thank you, Alberto. I hope we will not need this, but I am glad to have it,” said Mac, getting into the car.
“Bon voyage!” yelled Teresa, as Mac and Carla got into the vehicle.
“See you soon!” yelled Carla, blowing a kiss. “Thank you both for everything.”
Mac and Carla drove off to Tuscany, as they had promised the Origos that they would spend the night with them at La Foce. Antonio greeted them at the gate upon their arrival, with a big hug for both newlyweds.
“Come in, come in!” yelled Antonio. “What a beautiful wedding! What a beautiful bride! And you were not so bad either, old man,” he said to Mac, laughing. “Come, Iris is in the villa seeing to lunch.”
“Thank you, Antonio,” said Mac, following the Lord of the Manor into his villa. “We are delighted to be here.”
“It's different here in the autumn, no?” asked Antonio. “That is why we love it here. Every season holds new surprises.”
“Yes, the leaves were beautiful on the way here,” offered Carla. “And the cool country air is delightful.”
“Iris!” yelled Antonio, “our guests are here!”
“Welcome, young lovers,” called Iris, from the kitchen. “Make yourselves at home, I’ll be right out. Antonio, get them something to drink!”
Mac and Carla were led to the living room, comfortably appointed with heavy damask fabrics, and rustic woods. Antonio brought them both a glass of red wine, without inquiring what they desired to drink.
“You will drink our wine, no?” asked Antonio.
“This is from La Foce?” asked Carla.
“But of course. It will be better when it gets to age, but it's not bad now, if I say so myself.”
“Oh, Antonio, are you bragging about your wine again?” laughed Iris, as she came into the living room, wiping her hands off on a dishtowel. “He is so proud of his grapes.”
“We grew grapes where no one was able to grow anything before.”
“It's good,” offered Mac, after taking a careful sip. “Congratulations, well done!”
“It is we who congratulate you, you and Carla, for your beautiful wedding,” intoned Iris. “The church, we have never seen anything like it. The Pope, no less! Just magnificent, the whole thing!”
“Thank you, Iris,” said Carla, as she stood to kiss her host.
“Smells good, Iris,” said Mac, “what are we having?”
“Sunday is pasta day here at La Foce,” said Iris laughing. “I hope you do not mind. One of the ladies on the farm makes fresh pasta. To die for! The Bolognese is mine, however. I hope you like it.”
“It is always good, Iris,” claims Antonio, “because you bless your sauce with a little of my wine.”
“Come. Let's sit at the table,” invited Iris, shaking her head at her husband. “We will talk while we eat, the Italian way.”
The two couples retired to the rustic dining room, which looked much like the one in Carla's home, except much bigger. The glass window overlooked the vineyards, off to the side of the villa, quiet now, on a Sunday afternoon. An older woman came from the kitchen with a huge earthen bowl of rigatoni, served tossed in enough of Iris’ sauce to turn the pasta orange. An older gentleman followed the woman out of the kitchen with two bowls of Bolognese sauce, setting one on each end of the bleached wood farm table. Grated pecorino romano cheese and red pepper were already on the table, family style, along with a large glass bowl of ricotta cheese.
“Help yourselves,” offered Antonio. “Don’t be shy.”
“It's terrible about Virginia, isn’t it?” commented Iris, as she dished tossed salad on a small plate, passing it to Carla.
“So sad,” offered Carla, “right after we were all together.”
“They say she walked into a lake with stones in her pockets, if you can believe that?” said Antonio, shaking his head, while accepting a bowl of salad from his wife. “Only Virginia Woolf could do herself in so dramatically.”
“How is it, Mac?” asked Iris, eager to change the subject to something less morbid, even though she had raised the subject in the first place.
“Incredible, Iris. The best!”
“Do you like it, Carla?” asked Iris.
Carla had her mouth full, clearly enjoying the culinary experience. She held up her finger, while swallowing.
“I did not want to come up for air,” laughed Carla. “It is wonderful, Iris. You must show me how to make the sauce.”
“Any news of the war, Mac?” asked Antonio.
“Actually, I have heard that the Japanese are itching to get into it with America. Word is, something is going to happen very soon.”
“That's terrible,” said Iris. “Leave it to the Japanese to ruin the holidays. That means Italy and Germany will have to back them up and declare war as well. Do you think that will happen for Japan, for God's sake?”
“Why are we in a pact with these people halfway around the world?” asked Antonio.
“Germany is busting to get into it, as well,” said Mac. “They think that they can take over the world, and they will use the Japanese as an excuse to broaden the conflict. The more the merrier, as far as they are concerned. Takes the pressure off them. Perhaps this will be the end of the fascists, who knows? If America gets into the war, with all its resources, money, and men, let's hope this will finally be the war to end all wars.”
“That would be nice, but we all know that will never happen,” offered Iris. “The Great War was supposed to be the end of it, and here we are, back at it again.”
“The Allies put the wood to the Germans too much last time,” said Mac. This was inevitable.”
“But the Japanese, what do they have to do with all of this?” asked Carla.
“They have designs on their side of the world, and the Americans stand in their way, particularly with embargoing the resources they so sorely need to expand their empire,” said Mac.
“Very depressing,” added Antonio. “You are off to Nice tomorrow? It is lovely there, Carla, you will love it. But you know the Germans are all over the Riviera at this point? I understand that they know how to have a good time.”
“We are not at war with Germany yet,” said Mac. “And besides, we are Italians, their allies, on our honeymoon.”
“You have Italian papers?” asked Iris.
“No, but I do have a letter from Pope Pius, saying that I am his emissary, and a letter of safe passage from Galeazzo Ciano. Hopefully, that should suffice.”
“Wonderful,” said Iris facetiously, “that ought to get you far. The Germans are not fans of the Pope, as I am sure you know, and they think nothing of lifting their leg on the Italians.”
“Well, hopefully they will respect the sanctity of the Vatican,” offered Mac.
“I will talk us through,” offered Carla. “No one wants to deal with an hysterical Italian bride on her honeymoon.”
Everyone laughed, as seconds were offered on the pasta and the salad.
“Eat up; you want strong babies, no?” said Antonio.
“Antonio!” yelled Iris. “Please! You will embarrass them!”
“No, no,” said Carla, blushing. “My father says the same thing. Like women were only put on Earth to have babies.”
“Terrible, right?” said Iris. “Like we are like farm animals in the field.”
“Oh, I don’t know dear, farm animals could never make such delightful Bolognese.”
“You never know when to shut it down, do you, Antonio,” chided his wife. “Now, you can clean off the table! Carla and I have things to talk about.”
Antonio did as he was told, with Mac's help. The ladies stayed behind to compare notes.
“So, Mac, you are driving through Genoa, I take it? Ever been there?” asked Antonio, as he was putting plates on the counter for the old lady working the kitchen.
“Yes, and no; we are driving through Genoa, and no, I have never been there.
“Beautiful city; you will love it. Wonderful seafood. The swordfish, magnifico! Eat down by the port. The torta pasqualina is incredible anywhere in Genoa; it's the prescinseua cheese.”
“Easter pie, in October?” laughs Mac.
“Yes, they make it all year round. Spinach, artichoke, chard leaves, with that cheese, in a pie; molto deliziosa!”
“I hear every church is a museum there?”
“Frescoes are everywhere. You really cannot see Genoa in a day, I am afraid. I would concentrate a few hours in the port area, then, get on your way. The lighthouse, now that is something to see.”
“I would like for us to get to Monaco in the daylight, if that is possible.”
“You should be able to do it. I would say it is about six hours from here to Nice. So, with stops in Genoa, and I am sure you will want to at least see Porto Fino, you should be able to get to Nice before dark. Not to rush you out of the door, but you should try to leave early tomorrow.”
“We will have an early breakfast ready for you,” offered Iris, as she walked into the kitchen with Carla. “You know that you need to eat well for those babies.”
“Iris, I am only twenty years old,” laughed Carla. “Let's not turn me into a fat sow just yet, with babies on each hip.”
“You will always be beautiful to me, my dear,” offered Mac.
“Good answer,” laughed Carla. “Besides, you are nine years older than me. I will always look younger, at least I hope I will.”
“It is not fair,” laughed Iris. “Men age better than women.”
“But women have the advantage when they are young,” laughed Mac. “They use their looks to lure you in, and then wham, you are hooked, just like a big old grouper.”
“Ah, honey, you don’t look like a grouper, not yet anyway. Besides, aren’t lawyers supposed to be sharks?”
“Very funny, my little minnow, I will show you my teeth later at bedtime.”
“Mac, I think Antonio is wearing off on you. Iris, we should not have left them alone.”
The two couples took a walk through the vineyards after lunch, enjoying the autumn air, and working off the bowls of pasta they had consumed. The birds were chirping, the clouds were balls of cotton in the azure sky. Mac took Carla's hand, as they passed some of the farmhouses on the property, the planter families out on their front porches, waving to the Baron and his Baroness.
“Your people seem to love you, Antonio,” said Mac. “What a wonderful place you have here.”
“We are very close to our people. They provide for us, as we do for them. It is like a little community. I must tell you, we have a number of very nervous people here, with the war, and all. No one wants to lose a son, obviously, but no one wants their idyllic life to end either. When the Germans march through here, or when the Americans come from the other direction, will our land still be what it is today? It took us years to make this place arable. And now, soldiers are going to be trampling on our crops, and who knows what else.”
“Yes, I can see that would be upsetting to them, and to you all. I hope it does not come to that, Antonio.”
“We pray everyday, Mac,” said Iris. “But we are realistic. The tempest has begun its course; where it will go, no one really knows. All we can do is pray and prepare for the worst.”
“And what is the worst?” asks Carla.
“The worst is that we lose our land, and our tenant families lose their lives. War is not a pretty picture.”
“Come, let me show you where we bottle the wine,” said Antonio, looking to change the subject. “You see this building over here. It used to be a barn for cows and chickens. We have converted the inside. This is where we make the wine, and age it in barrels. Then the wine is put in bottles, a label is affixed to it, and it goes in cartons for distribution. Unfortunately, we have a lot of cases to store right now.”
“Well, it is delicious,” offered Carla, “I certainly drank my share at lunch.”
“With everything that is going on right now, it is hard to get the business part of this down,” said Iris. “Although, with French wine tougher to come by, perhaps our sales will pick up.”
The couples sat on the patio behind the villa to watch the sunset over the pine trees. The arborvitaes had a Stonehenge character to them, as the sun passed behind one, then another, then another, as it made its way across the sky.
“Did you have druids plant these arborvitaes,” laughed Mac. “Look how the sun passes from one to the next. It is amazing.”
“Antonio actually planted the trees with the sun in mind,” responded Iris. “You should have seen the two of us out here moving them around to get them just right,” she continued. “I have to give him credit; it is interesting, and it does give me a little thrill every time I see it happen.”
Drinks were served, and cheese and local dry sausage were cut, as the couples spent the early evening on the patio discussing politics, religion and war, everything you are not supposed to do in polite company. And yet, the couples hit it off, and had a wonderful discussion, particularly as they had their fill of Antonio's wine. When it was time to call it an evening, no one objected. Mac and Carla were shown to their room, where they did not bother with their nightclothes, choosing instead to hold each other in their nakedness in the cool Tuscan evening.
“I love you, Mac!”
“I love you, Carla! I could live in a place like this with you and be very happy for all the rest of our days.”
Carla purred, putting her head on Mac's chest.