Mr. Clark sat forward on the sofa. “Where is your mother now?” He picked up the first glass of wine and swirled it around.
“In Chicago—with a new man these days. She finally followed her own advice. He wouldn’t hurt a flea either. He’s an older man. A retired math teacher.”
Mr. Clark gestured for Lillian to pick up her glass. “Shall we? We can toast to your mother.”
“Yes.”
The first sample was a Brunello from 1962. Lillian was no expert when it came to wine. She was only just beginning to appreciate the experience of tasting different blends and vintages and to understand something about the variety of what existed in the world.
Each wine they tasted was different, delicious in its own way, and Mr. Clark was wonderful about helping her to identify the flavors and aromas. They sampled everything and talked more about her life back in the US, her childhood and work experiences. She’d been holding down jobs, at least part time, ever since she was fifteen.
“These bottles have been amazing,” she said. “I hate to admit it, but I think I might be a little drunk.”
Mr. Clark chuckled softly. “But clearly you’re a happy drunk, which speaks volumes about you, Lillian.”
She wondered if her cheeks were flushed. She felt very warm suddenly and shrugged out of her sweater.
The building was dark and quiet after hours, except for the clock ticking on the mantelpiece. Lillian leaned back against the sofa and looked up at the frescoed ceiling.
“That’s very beautiful. We don’t have old painted ceilings like that back home. This house would be a museum if it were in Tallahassee. But you live here. You get to look at these beautiful paintings every day.” She lifted her head off the back of the sofa and frowned slightly. “I’ve never seen the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Have you?”
“A few times.” His eyes glimmered with amusement.
“I haven’t been to Rome yet,” she said, “or to the Vatican, but I’d like to go.”
“You should.”
“Freddie wants to see it as part of his research for the book, so he’ll probably go without me.”
“Why would he do that?” Mr. Clark asked with surprise.
“Because I have to work, and he won’t want to wait. When he gets inspired with an idea for a scene, he wants to go and research it right away, that very second. He has no patience. Off he goes. I’ve learned not to hold him back when inspiration is striking, because it never seems to strike twice in the same place. Or so he says.”
“You can take time off, you know,” Mr. Clark told her. “Just arrange it with Matteo.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “I would do that, but it’s difficult because I can’t plan in advance. Freddie wants to go when he wants to go.” She sat forward and took another sip of wine. “But that’s enough about Freddie. I sound like I’m complaining. I’m not.” The room began to spin a little, so she set down her glass. “I should stop now.”
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes. I probably should have eaten something, though. What time is it?” She checked her watch.
“Almost eight,” he replied.
She listened for sounds. People in the building. Voices. There was nothing but the clock ticking and the crickets starting to chirp outside the windows as the moon began its rise.
“Everyone’s gone home,” she said.
“Yes. We seem to be alone.”
They stared at each other for a moment, and she felt the effects of the alcohol in her blood—the way it made all her muscles relax and her eyelids grow heavy. Through the gigantic windows, she watched a moth flitting about, bouncing off the glass, wanting to reach the light inside.
Mr. Clark was stretched out on the sofa, his long, muscular legs crossed at the ankles. Silence floated around them like the belts of fog in the Tuscan valleys. She realized he was right—they were very alone here—and she felt a touch of discomfort, as if she were doing something wrong. Drinking too much wine with her employer, a man who was handsome and interesting. He was as intoxicating as the wine.
Was he the type of man who had a temper that he covered with good looks and charm, like her father had done in the early days of her parents’ relationship?
Lillian certainly felt charmed, and she began to wonder with some unease if she might have walked into a situation she wasn’t entirely equipped to handle.
CHAPTER 10
FIONA
Tuscany, 2017