I’d also like to pay a visit to Nonna Bella for the same reason; however, I had no idea where in the village her sister lived, and with every attempt I’d made to find out, I hit a wall.
22
Grinder
After our visit to Valentini’s former winemaker and his wife, Pia’s spirits were buoyed. They’d reminisced about her father, and Elio told stories about her being underfoot in the winery when she was a little girl.
At one point, when Pia excused herself to the loo—something pregnant women had to do with great frequency, I was told—I asked Mr. Cesare if he missed working.
“There have been many times I thought about going back.” He shook his head, and the look on his face darkened. “Georgio Rossi. I will dance on his grave,” he spat.
He made no further mention of it when Pia returned, but I found it curious.
Many of the things she’d told me plagued the winery continued to bother me. The theft, her father’s accident, even the ventilation equipment failure. Taking all of that into consideration along with the loss of wine when the cooling systems went out and, finally, the loss of the order from the English distributor, it seemed more than a streak of bad luck.
I found the winemaker’s vehement comment about Georgio troubling too.
My gut was telling me there was far more to this story than met the eye. I had every intention of getting to the bottom of it.
In the days that followed, Pia and I walked the grounds and vineyards of Valentini. Each time, I was struck by the contrast between the farmhouse and the newer villa.
“When was that built?” I asked one day, pointing to the sandstone structure that looked almost like a monastery—magnificent in its immense simplicity.
“In the mid-seventeen hundreds, by my seventh great-grandmother, Estancia.”
“I thought it was newer.”
Pia shrugged and followed my gaze. “It’s timeless, I suppose, but then, most Italian architecture is.”
Like many other villas I’d seen, this one was comprised of three stories. The main level, as in most, was where the sitting rooms, dining rooms, and kitchen were located. The bedrooms, bathrooms, and lounges were on the second floor, and the third was typically reserved for storage as well as a dormitory for the servants.
I hadn’t been on the second or third floors of this particular villa, but the first had spacious rooms with high ceilings and big windows, offering stunni
ng panoramic views of the estate. Lavish weavings done in an array of colors hung on the light-colored stone walls, giving the place a warmth so unlike homes in England.
There were more outbuildings on the property than I realized. Many small cottages sat empty and could easily be renovated to serve as guest accommodations. All it would take was money. We hadn’t circled back to that conversation, but I intended to soon.
I couldn’t say for certain she felt the same way I did, but her fear of me finding “real Pia” less attractive than “dream Pia” were unfounded. I enjoyed every minute I spent with her. My goal of relieving her stress had resulted in lowering mine.
She’d all but taken up residence in the farmhouse; however, she’d insisted we move to the room with the bigger bed. I was already envisioning making one of the smaller rooms into a nursery like Lily and Wills had done in their house. Not that I’d mentioned that to Pia.
While I was ready to plan out the rest of our lives, something inside said to take it slower with Pia. I’d promised her that, with every sunrise and sunset, she’d see she could believe in me. I was in no hurry, since I had no plans to go anywhere. I did, however, intend to bring a couple of people here.
The next afternoon, while Pia napped, I had two calls to make. The first was to Decker.
“I have a few people I need to look into,” I told him when he answered.
“Shoot.”
I gave him three names to start. Paolo Viticcio, Georgio Rossi, and Matteo Casavetti.
“Anything else?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll call ya back.”
While I didn’t think it would take him long, I doubted he had any information when my mobile rang with a call from him a few minutes later.