Chapter 45

“Sometimes I think I need to get off of all these damned boards,” Alex said, sinking into the big comfy leather chair in my sunroom, against the late afternoon shadows that fell across the back yard. It was October, one of the most pleasant months in Savannah. Days were still hot, but the evenings were lovely.

I handed Alex a drink. Alex wasn’t much of a drinker, except that he loved good wine, but he’d requested a gin and tonic, and he looked like he needed a lift this evening after a full day in a board meeting.

“Maybe it’s just too soon,” I said, sitting across from him, in the rocking chair that I used to rock my babies. “We’ve just been home three weeks. Maybe you aren’t sufficiently rested.”

“I must say, I feel tired. Weary.”

Again, that was unexpected. I felt a sudden shiver, remembering Paul’s worry about Salvatore Corsini, who had said, “I am very tired.” But Salvatore was ninety years old. I shook the thought out of my mind.

“You know, I should fix something for us to eat here,” I said. “We don’t need to go out.”

“No, no”—Alex waved away the suggestion. “Just give me a few minutes. They’re expecting us at Noble Fare.”

“I doubt they’d have to close their doors if we had to cancel,” I said. “Let me stir up something. How about a western omelet and a nice salad? I have some fresh fruit I can cut up.”

Alex made an exaggerated frown. “Please, Jordan. When I can have the catch of the day, and Chef Patrick’s cheesecake?”

My desk phone rang. I was close enough to reach it. It was Julie, just leaving the bike shop, where she’d been working for months. Sometimes I thought about her expensive Cornell education and wondered if she found it useful in her present employment. The upside was that she didn’t seem unhappy. Quite the contrary. And sometimes I thought about Sophie, how her mother would surely give anything to have her daughter with her. I reminded myself to count blessings.

Julie asked if I needed her to pick up anything for dinner on her way home.

“Remember—Alex is in town. We’re going to Noble Fare,” I said.

“Oh—that’s right.” She didn’t say she’d forgotten. When had Julie ever called to ask if she could pick something up for our dinner?

I whispered “Julie” to Alex, and, as I expected, he said, “Ask her to join us!”

I didn’t have to beg.

“In case you’re worrying about how I’m dressed,” she said, “I have a change of clothes here, so I won’t have to wear my biking shorts. Noble Fare! I’ll even put on mascara.”

“See you at seven,” I said. I hung up and thanked Alex for including his great niece.

“Nothing livens up an evening like a young person,” Alex said.

“You mean I’m not cheery enough for you?” I said.

“Let’s face it, Jordan. Neither of us has been cheery since we returned from Italy.” He lifted his glass and clinked the ice, looking thoughtful. “I had an e-mail from Angelica last week. Very sad, all that she’s gone through. Victor’s death, then the awful disclosure that her son was leading a double life, and then the granddaughter she never knew, murdered.”

He took a drink and then another. I remained silent, waiting for him to continue, in his own time. After a minute, he said, “Raff has removed himself from the business—or—I expect Angelica gave him the boot, though she didn’t say so. Bianca has moved her things to Florence and Raff has gone back to Sophie’s mother, to whatever the place was that they live.”

I supplied, “Casa Vittoni.”

“That’s it.” Alex touched his temple and shook his head, as if he should have remembered. “I wonder if Raff plans to live his life as Leo Costa from now on.”

“I wonder how long it will last with him and Sophie’s mother.”

“It has already lasted twenty years,” Alex said.

“Yes, but they had something that held them together. They had Sophie,” I said. “Now they have to live with how everything turned out—all the lives ruined.”

Alex gave me an indulgent smile, and I realized I was still consumed with everything that had happened in Florence. I stood up. “I’ll get my things and then we probably should head to the restaurant.”

Alex emptied his glass and stood up, too. “On a happy note, Angelica said Marisa and Jake have gone to the Moretti Villa to live and work.”

“They’ve left Cristiano? Good for them.”

“And now they’re his competitors. They will be a perfect addition to the agriturismo,” Alex said, adding, with a scowl, “I never liked that Cristiano fellow.”

A minute later I locked the front door and we began to walk down Abercorn. Noble Fare was not far. Driving would be more trouble than it was worth, but I said, anyway, just in case Alex wasn’t feeling up to walking, “I assumed you wouldn’t want us to bother with the car.”

“For goodness sakes, no.” Alex’s step seemed to be lighter, suddenly.

We waved to my neighbor, Mr. Duff, who was working in his flowers, in the cool of the evening. We turned on East Gaston Street and stopped to chat a minute with Miss Emma, who was closing up her little shop, Antiques and Rare Books. “I haven’t forgotten about that book,” she said, in her squeaky voice. “I’m still trying to get it for you.”

“No hurry,” I said.

I told Alex, as we walked on, about the art book Paul had bought to give his artist-friend for his birthday. His had been a first edition, but I was sure there must be a copy somewhere I could buy at a reasonable price. I just wanted to be able to look at that stunning mosaic by Salvatore Corsini, the one inspired by his grandparents, and think of him.

“You can probably find it yourself. You can find anything on the Internet,” Alex said, as if he were teaching me something I didn’t know.

“It’s not on Amazon, but Miss Emma has her ways of finding old books, and I’m glad to give her the business,” I said.

Alex waited a moment and then said, “You haven’t said anything about Paul.”

“No, I haven’t.” I waited to see if he’d come back with something clever. When, instead, he hiked his chin, I said, “He called a few days ago. We had a nice long chat. Did you notice the pink roses in my dining room?”

“I wondered about those. Two dozen?”

“I didn’t count, but I think it has to be three. You know how Paul goes overboard,” I said.

A little farther on, Alex said, “Maybe I shouldn’t ask, but I’ve fought my curiosity as long as I can. What about Bella?”

“Bella is in Switzerland. I gather it’s a kind of psychiatric clinic, but the amenities sounded like a resort,” I said. “Paul did his own investigation, and he discovered that Bella had done what I said—she’d taken the train, rented the Vespa, waited for us, all of it. I think she tried to convince Paul that she was just trying to scare me.”

Alex gave me a look. Sure she was.

I’d like to believe it.

“So Paul came around to the truth. I thought he would.” Alex sounded a little smug.

“This place in Switzerland—sounds like Bella might be there a long time,” I said.

We left it unspoken that Paul had apparently not shared his findings with the police.

“I hope Paul made amends for not taking you seriously enough,” Alex said, and as an afterthought, “Ah, yes, the roses.” Then, with a sideways glance, “Is that enough?”

It was a good question I couldn’t answer yet. “He might come to Savannah in early spring,” I said. “I suggested February.”

If Alex was surprised, he managed not to show it. “February. Mild weather like this,” he said, “but by then, things are beginning to bloom. February is really the best month in Savannah.”

“Everything feels new in February,” I said.

At Chatham Square, just a block from Noble Fare, SCAD students, presumably, were making a video. I had to get over this thing, thinking of Sophie each time I saw a vivacious young woman, thinking of what Sophie might have done with her life.

Alex said, “Angelica invited us back in a few months, to stay at the Villa. It would be delightful, with Marisa and Jake managing the activities, the new rooms”—his voice trailed off.

I picked up the thread. “But you didn’t make any promises.”

“I wasn’t sure my traveling companion would be ready to go back soon,” he said.

“Not soon. Not anywhere.” I amended the serious tone. “Oh, Italy was wonderful. All of our trips have been wonderful. But do you realize that we always get ourselves into trouble?”

“You do,” he said, and then, with a deep sigh, “I have to say, Jordan, this one took a lot out of me.” Then his voice lilted. “There is something to that line, Il dolce far niente.”

“A sweetness for doing nothing,” I translated, to Alex’s surprise. “I don’t see you doing nothing for long. But I get it. This one took a lot out of me, too.”

Passing a magnolia tree, I thought I saw a butterfly flitting around it, lighting, finally, on one of the broad leaves. But maybe I imagined it.