Chapter 68 Elisa
Elisa
My homecoming was acknowledged quietly, my face was enough to tell everyone that nothing had gone right in London, so they were careful not to mention the sale, the fair, or Michael.
The only good news is that they extended the Internet coverage, so now we have our much-needed Wi-Fi.
For now, I’m continuing to manage the estate without any expectations. What’s the point? In a few months, every vine will be uprooted from the earth, and our family will be left to explore other options. A new house. A new job. A new everything . . .
Every so often, my mind flies to London to find Michael, and the pain that spreads across my chest takes my breath away. It’s a feeling of loss, of mourning.
His lawyer contacted me with paperwork to change Linda’s surname—it’s just paperwork, nothing personal—and to open a trust fund in her name, which she’ll be able to access when she turns twenty-five.
Michael and I discussed it during our short “honeymoon,” and in the end, he convinced me that it would only be enough money to give Linda the opportunity to do something with her life, as opposed to an invitation to do nothing for her entire life.
Refusing it now would mean another confrontation with him, and I don’t have the strength for that.
“What does HRH mean?” Foliero asks as we’re going over our accounts at the villa’s big kitchen table.
“What?” I ask, distracted.
“I got an email in English that says HRH.”
“We must have ended up on some mailing list. Move it to spam.”
“You sure? My English isn’t perfect, but this looks like an order to me.”
I get up to stand next to him and look at the screen. Oh God . . . is this a joke? By appointment of HRH The Prince of Wales, I read. “Foliero, HRH is the acronym for His Royal Highness, His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales.” This has to be a joke.
I read and reread the email, trying to tell if it’s a scam, though it doesn’t look like it.
The court supplier, at the request of His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales, would like to order a supply of sixty bottles of Chianti Classico Riserva, after Their Royal Highnesses had the pleasure of tasting it at the table of the Duke and Duchess of Burlingham.
My first instinct is to call Jemma, as we’ve exchanged numbers, to ask for her take.
“I told you I was having guests and wanted to make a good impression!” she explains, speaking very quickly and with that cockney accent of hers that distorts every word.
“We practically had to pry the glass out of the prince’s hand because he couldn’t stop drinking it.
With the clay pigeon shooting tournament scheduled for after dinner, we couldn’t risk having any victims.”
“So the order is real?”
“As real as the poop I just stepped in. Adorable corgis, excrement spreaders with paws. Okay, must go. I have to stop my son from eating liver-flavored dog kibble.”
“So?” Foliero asks me with an inquisitive air.
“She confirmed it. The order is from His Highness The Prince of Wales.”
“Damn! Now that’s an order.”
“Yeah, too bad it’s probably our last.”
Normally, we would have celebrated something like this with fireworks, but with our imminent fate in mind, we accept it with the muted enthusiasm of a consolation prize.
“Everyone, stay calm! Just calm down!” shouts Mamma, who is anything but calm as she bursts into the kitchen.
“What happened? Did the school call? Is Linda sick?” I ask, already in a panic.
“Charles is back!” she announces.
“Mr. Bingley?” asks Foliero, as if we knew another Charles.
“He’s just arrived; he’s unpacking his luggage. Donatella asked me to go and make up a room for him.”
“Is he alone?” I ask with a tremor in my voice.
“Yeah. Luckily his stuck-up sister isn’t here.” I didn’t mean her, but I got the answer I needed anyway.
I sigh for two reasons: the first, from relief, because Michael isn’t here; the second, from disappointment, because Michael isn’t here. Donatella appears in the arch of the door. “Elisa, Mr. Bingley is waiting for you in the study.”
Here it is; this moment had to come sooner or later. My heart quivers, but I’ll face this too.
I walk down the hallway that goes around the internal courtyard to the study, a delightful room in all shades of blue that today will set the scene for my execution.
“Hi, Elisa,” Charles greets me, his perpetually disheveled red mop of hair contrasting with the furniture’s pastel tones. “How’s it going? You look well.”
“Everything’s fine.”
“Sit down.” He gestures toward the armchair next to the fireplace. “You’re making me uncomfortable just standing there.”
“I’m not very comfortable either, I confess.”
“Oh, why?”
I sit on the edge of the chair, knees stiff and arms folded.
“Well, I know you came to tell me that you’ve sold the estate to the Russian, and we’ll have to leave.
” He starts to say something but I continue.
“We’re trying to get organized. As soon as I got back from London, I found a place for us, but the apartment we wanted won’t be ready for another two weeks.
I realize I’m asking a lot from you, and maybe the Russian won’t agree, but believe me, I’ve done everything possible to arrange to leave the estate as soon as possible.
It’s just that we’ve had to work within the limits of our means. I have Linda at school—”
“Okay, slow down,” he interrupts me, raising his hand. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Bogdanovic, who bought the estate to build a golf club. Michael told me about it. And he also told me you were in a rush to sell and had planned to close this Monday. But, like I said, we’re ready to leave. We just need fifteen days.”
“Did you think I came here to hand you an eviction notice?” he asks, wide-eyed.
“What else would you be here for?”
Charles smiles and I find myself totally lost. “Bogdanovic withdrew from the deal. He’s not buying the estate.”
“Ah” is all I manage to say, my brain still busy processing the information.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“He lost interest in the property.”
“So it’s still yours?”
“Mine and my sister’s, yeah. And we still intend to sell.”
“Of course.”
“I was wondering if you were still willing to buy it.”
“Yes. Yes!” I exclaim, leaping up from my chair, wide-eyed. “Of course I’m interested! I’ll buy it!”
Charles nods. “I was pretty sure, but I wanted to confirm. Now, you and I have known each other all our lives, and I know you’ve put your heart into this place.
I really would like for the estate to be yours.
I won’t play games with you on this, but I can’t sell below market.
Bogdanovic was going to give me five million—do you think the bank would give you that much? ”
Ouch. “They said they could do four, according to their appraisal.”
“That’s a bit low. I know you know the value is there.”
“Wait!” I exclaim. “I’ll be right back.” I fly to the kitchen, where I confiscate Foliero’s laptop and return to Charles. “Look, we just got this. It’s an order from the Prince of Wales himself for a supply of our wine. Maybe if I show this to the bank, I could get four and a half.”
“Four and a half could work. My sister also has to give the okay, and she’s more careful than I am when it comes to money. She’d rather look for another buyer than accept an offer that’s too low.”
“But four and a half would be okay?” I ask.
“Should be fine.”
“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” I shout, throwing my arms around his neck. “You’re an angel! I’ll request an appointment with the bank for this afternoon.”
“You’re in a bit of a hurry, huh?”
“Like my ass is on fire,” I say, jumping up and down. “Of course, let me just say you gave me a shock. You could have called me. There was no need to come all the way to Italy.”
“But there was. I didn’t come just to sell the estate,” he replies with a sweet smile and a dreamy look.
Oh boy, do I hear violins in the air and rose petals falling from the sky? “Oh no?”
“I’d like to see Giada again. I think we had a big misunderstanding that made each of us think we’d lost interest in the other, but instead we were both too afraid to speak up. As long as she’s still interested in me . . .”
“Is she interested? She dreams of you every night! Stay right there,” I order him. “I’ll go wake her up and send her down! Last night she did a hen party mani-pedi session for twenty people. She didn’t come home until just before sunrise.”
“It’s okay, let her rest.”
“She’ll be wide awake as soon as she sees you. I’ll be right back. Ah, Carletto,” I say, standing at the door. “Thank you again, truly. Buying the estate is going to change my life.”
“Don’t thank me,” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thank Michael.”
Bang. One shot, one target. “Michael?”
“He’s going to kill me for telling you, but if it weren’t for him, Bogdanovic would be here, standing in my place today.”
I want to know more, but instead I just nod wordlessly.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how he is?”
“How is he?” I repeat, petrified.
“Well, first, how are you?” Carletto looks at me as if he were a detective conducting an interrogation. “You know what I’m talking about. Don’t be cryptic.”
I swallow dryly, terrified. Of course I know. “Not good.”
“Neither is he.”
“We’ll get over it,” I say shortly, turning to leave. “We’re two adults who have each made our own decisions.”
“Or you’re two flipping idiots.”
“What do you mean you can’t approve the loan?” I blurt out.
I’m in the bank manager’s office, having arrived all cheerful and confident with the orders from the fair, but after his quick examination of the documents, all my hopes vanished the moment he shook his head.
“You asked me to bring you some orders, and I did!” I insist.
“Of course, Elisa, but the problem is that this isn’t enough,” he explains. “I was hoping you’d have something better.”
“Better than this?! Where . . .” I start looking through the folder. “Here it is.” I wave a piece of paper under his nose. “Better than an order from the Prince of Wales? Can you give me the name of another winery you know that has His Royal Highness among its customers?”
“It’s only sixty bottles,” he points out.
“But in this case, maybe we should look at the quality of the customer, rather than the amount ordered.”
“And what guarantee would the quality of the customer give us?”
“Okay,” I say, angrily gathering all my documents. “I understand. I won’t waste any more of your time. I thought I might have a little support from you, since you knew my father, but obviously I was wrong.”
“Elisa, don’t take it personally.”
“And how should I take it? My whole life is here,” I say, waving the folder in front of him.
“I know, but as I said, we don’t have enough guarantees, and you don’t have a guarantor—”
“Who said she didn’t have a guarantor?” asks Donatella, entering the office without bothering to knock.
Her pastel suit clashes with the director’s sterile gray-black office, not to mention the cloud of Chanel N°5 and hairspray that envelops her.
“Sorry, treasure, I would have come earlier but the hairdresser took forever,” she says, sitting in the armchair next to me.
“Donatella, what are you doing here?” I ask.
“Le Giuggiole has been my home all these years too, and you, Giada, Mariana, and Linda are my family. I have no desire to go back to living alone in that gloomy Milan apartment my last husband left me. How much time do I have left? Twenty? Twenty-five years? I want to live them well and be where I want to be, and I want to be here with you.” She looks at the manager again.
“Do I have enough to qualify as her guarantor?”
“More than enough!” he exclaims. He holds out the loan documents, along with a pen, which she eyes in horror.
“I’ll use mine, thanks,” she says, removing the cap from a Tiffany fountain pen.
“Stop,” I say, sliding the papers away. “I really appreciate the gesture and the kind words, but I can’t let you do this.”
“You need a loan; I need a house,” she replies. “And I’m not asking for your permission. At my age, I don’t need anyone’s permission.”
Christ, what a situation. “Donatella”—I sit next to her, addressing her in the gentlest tone I can manage—“you realize, don’t you, that if I can’t repay the loan, the bank will take all your money?”
“I know, but I also know that that won’t happen and that you’ll be more than capable of repaying the loan on your own. I don’t have any children. If I don’t risk my assets for you, who will I do it for?”
“Don’t do it at all.”
“Don’t you remember what I said? Money is boring if you don’t do anything with it. At least now I can put it to good use.”
“Donatella, I really don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes!” She pulls the papers out of my hands. “Now, would you rather buy the estate or spend the rest of your life regretting that you didn’t?”
I breathe in and out, making peace with my inner demons. “I’ll buy it.”