the villa now?"
Giulia looked relieved to pass the ball. "Si, si, that would be best. She will explain to you why you cannot stay, and I will come back to take you to the house I have found for you in town."
Isabel took pity on her and didn't argue. She'd save that for Signora Anna Vesto.
*
She followed the path up from the farmhouse to a long, cypress-lined drive. The Villa dei Angeli sat at the end, and as Isabel caught sight of it, she felt as if she'd been transported into the film version ofA Room with a View.
Its salmon-pink stucco exterior, as well as the wings that sprouted here and there, were characteristic of grand Tuscan homes. Lacy black grillwork covered the ground-floor windows, while the long shutters on the upper floor had already been closed against the heat of the day. Nearer the house, the cypress gave way to the rigid formality of clipped box hedges, classical statues, and an octagonal fountain. A double set of stone staircases with massive balustrades led to a pair of polished wooden doors.
Isabel climbed the stairs, then lifted a lion's-head brass knocker. While she waited, she gazed down at a dusty black Maserati convertible parked near the fountain. Signora Vesto had expensive tastes.
No one answered, and she knocked again.
A voluptuous middle-aged woman with discreetly colored red hair and tilted Sophia Loren eyes gave Isabel a friendly smile."Sí?"
"Buon giorno, signora.I'm Isabel Favor. I'm looking for Signora Vesto."
The woman's smile faded."I'm Signora Vesto."Her plain navy dress and sensible shoes made her more likely to be the housekeeper than the person who owned the Maserati.
"I rented the farmhouse," Isabel said, "but there seems to be a problem."
"No problem," Signora Vesto replied briskly. "Giulia has found you a house in town. She will see to everything."
She kept her hand on the door, clearly wanting to hurry Isabel away. Behind her a set of large, obviously expensive suitcases sat in the entrance hall. Isabel was willing to bet that the villa's owners had either just arrived or were about to leave.
"I signed a rental agreement," she said, speaking pleasantly but firmly. "I'm staying."
"No,signora , you will have to move. Someone will come this afternoon to help you."
"I'm not leaving."
"I'm very sorry, signora, but there is nothing I can do."
Isabel realized that it was time to get to the top of the chain of command. "I'd like to speak with the owner."
"The owner is not here."
"What about those suitcases?"
She looked uneasy. "You must leave now,signora ."
The Four Cornerstones were made for moments like this."Behave politely, but decisively." "I'm afraid I can't leave until I speak with the owner." Isabel pushed her way into the entrance hall and received a brief impression of high ceilings, a gilt and bronze chandelier, and a grand staircase before the woman jumped in front of her.
"Ferma!You can't come in here!"
"People who try to hide behind their authority do so out of fear, and they need our compassion. At the same time, we can't let their fears become our own."
"I'm sorry to upset you,signora ," she said as compassionately as she could, "but I must speak with the owner."
"Who told you he was here? No one is to know this."
The owner was a man then. "I won't say anything."
"You must go at once."
Isabel heard Italian rock and roll coming from the back of the house. She headed toward an ornately carved archway with green and red marble inlays.
"Signora!"
Isabel was tired of people messing with her – a crooked accountant, a faithless fiancé, a disloyal publisher, and her fair-weather fans. She'd lived in airports for those fans, taken the podium through a bout of pneumonia for them. She'd held their hands when their kids did drugs, curled her arms around them while they struggled with depression, and prayed for them through desperate illnesses. But the minute a few dark clouds had shown up in her own life, they'd run like rabbits.
She charged through
Giulia looked relieved to pass the ball. "Si, si, that would be best. She will explain to you why you cannot stay, and I will come back to take you to the house I have found for you in town."
Isabel took pity on her and didn't argue. She'd save that for Signora Anna Vesto.
*
She followed the path up from the farmhouse to a long, cypress-lined drive. The Villa dei Angeli sat at the end, and as Isabel caught sight of it, she felt as if she'd been transported into the film version ofA Room with a View.
Its salmon-pink stucco exterior, as well as the wings that sprouted here and there, were characteristic of grand Tuscan homes. Lacy black grillwork covered the ground-floor windows, while the long shutters on the upper floor had already been closed against the heat of the day. Nearer the house, the cypress gave way to the rigid formality of clipped box hedges, classical statues, and an octagonal fountain. A double set of stone staircases with massive balustrades led to a pair of polished wooden doors.
Isabel climbed the stairs, then lifted a lion's-head brass knocker. While she waited, she gazed down at a dusty black Maserati convertible parked near the fountain. Signora Vesto had expensive tastes.
No one answered, and she knocked again.
A voluptuous middle-aged woman with discreetly colored red hair and tilted Sophia Loren eyes gave Isabel a friendly smile."Sí?"
"Buon giorno, signora.I'm Isabel Favor. I'm looking for Signora Vesto."
The woman's smile faded."I'm Signora Vesto."Her plain navy dress and sensible shoes made her more likely to be the housekeeper than the person who owned the Maserati.
"I rented the farmhouse," Isabel said, "but there seems to be a problem."
"No problem," Signora Vesto replied briskly. "Giulia has found you a house in town. She will see to everything."
She kept her hand on the door, clearly wanting to hurry Isabel away. Behind her a set of large, obviously expensive suitcases sat in the entrance hall. Isabel was willing to bet that the villa's owners had either just arrived or were about to leave.
"I signed a rental agreement," she said, speaking pleasantly but firmly. "I'm staying."
"No,signora , you will have to move. Someone will come this afternoon to help you."
"I'm not leaving."
"I'm very sorry, signora, but there is nothing I can do."
Isabel realized that it was time to get to the top of the chain of command. "I'd like to speak with the owner."
"The owner is not here."
"What about those suitcases?"
She looked uneasy. "You must leave now,signora ."
The Four Cornerstones were made for moments like this."Behave politely, but decisively." "I'm afraid I can't leave until I speak with the owner." Isabel pushed her way into the entrance hall and received a brief impression of high ceilings, a gilt and bronze chandelier, and a grand staircase before the woman jumped in front of her.
"Ferma!You can't come in here!"
"People who try to hide behind their authority do so out of fear, and they need our compassion. At the same time, we can't let their fears become our own."
"I'm sorry to upset you,signora ," she said as compassionately as she could, "but I must speak with the owner."
"Who told you he was here? No one is to know this."
The owner was a man then. "I won't say anything."
"You must go at once."
Isabel heard Italian rock and roll coming from the back of the house. She headed toward an ornately carved archway with green and red marble inlays.
"Signora!"
Isabel was tired of people messing with her – a crooked accountant, a faithless fiancé, a disloyal publisher, and her fair-weather fans. She'd lived in airports for those fans, taken the podium through a bout of pneumonia for them. She'd held their hands when their kids did drugs, curled her arms around them while they struggled with depression, and prayed for them through desperate illnesses. But the minute a few dark clouds had shown up in her own life, they'd run like rabbits.
She charged through
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