Aged for Mayhem, page 5
She took the paper-wrapped bundle out of her shopping bag, realizing how light it was. There was hardly any glass in it at all. Most likely this would be a fruitless quest, but perhaps this guru would share some of his local knowledge with her. That would make the trip more than worthwhile.
“Place it here, and let us see what you have found,” Begni said, indicating a white mat on his desk with a light positioned above it.
Olivia placed the shard on the mat.
Using a soft wipe saturated in astringent-smelling liquid, Begni cleaned the shard. Olivia was amazed by the depth of color it revealed. In the glow of the light, the mottled glass cast bright and dark patches of green on the pristine mat.
Whistling to himself, Begni reached under his desk and produced a massive lever-arch file. He flipped through, scanning the cardboard dividers until he found the one he wanted.
When he reached the page, his whistle changed from a tuneful melody to something that sounded—well, it sounded like a hoot of amazement.
Olivia bit her lip. She stood next to Danilo, their shoulders brushing as they bent forward to watch. She felt like grabbing his hand. This was nerve-racking.
“I have never seen this before,” Begni announced in a solemn tone.
“Is that good or bad?” Olivia asked. Her voice sounded squeaky.
“It is interesting,” the gray-haired man stated, before flipping through his file again.
Then he returned to the original page and gave a decisive nod.
“Have a seat,” he said. “Can I offer you some coffee?”
Danilo fetched two wooden chairs while Begni made espresso in a stainless steel Moka pot.
He poured it, and passed around the sugar bowl. Olivia stirred and sipped, enjoying the sweet, strong flavor. She was growing used to drinking straight espresso with no cream, and sugar only—most Italians topped up this concentrated brew with plenty of sugar.
“You have purchased a very interesting piece of land,” Begni confirmed. “Danilo mentioned you have already uncovered an undamaged wine bottle at least a century old.”
Olivia nodded. That historic bottle had been her first find. She’d sent it to an antiques dealer to get the label restored. After that, she wasn’t sure what she would do with it. She could sell it, but was tempted to keep it. After all, it was a part of her farm’s heritage.
“This shard is far more ancient,” Begni explained. “So I will start by giving you some history of wine storage, for my friend Danilo, who needs all the education he can get!”
Danilo grinned, clearly enjoying the teasing.
“The Romans loved wine, of course. And they used and sold it in such quantities that big wooden barrels became the preferred method of storage and transportation. Over the centuries, they discovered by chance that oak barrel storage improved the wine, and this is why so many vintages today are aged in oak.”
Olivia nodded, impressed by the historical facts she was learning. Danilo had been right. This was turning out to be an educational meeting.
“For smaller quantities, earthen jugs or clay flasks—amphorae—were the only alternatives, but they were difficult to transport and unsuitable for long-term use, so wine was seldom kept for long periods of time.”
Olivia could imagine.
“But the Romans invented glass, too, no?” Danilo asked, and Begni nodded, smiling at his friend.
“Exactly so. I am glad you asked. Why not glass, when the Romans had just invented it, and when it was perfect for wine storage? Do you know, Danilo?”
Danilo shook his head.
“And you, Olivia?”
Although she racked her brains, she could think of no reason why not. She shook her head in puzzlement.
“To understand why glass was a problem, we have to look into the minds of the ancient Romans. They were sticklers for order and accuracy. Look at their maps. Look at their roads and their armies and their rules. Everything had to be uniform, uniform, uniform!” Begni wagged his finger playfully as he spoke. “In the early stages of glassblowing, nothing was uniform. The handmade bottles all came out different shapes and sizes. So as you can imagine, that drove the Romans mad. There was no way to tell how much wine was in each one! Instead of order, you had complete chaos. Nobody could trade fairly when every bottle looked unique and held different quantities. They couldn’t handle it at all, it made them crazy, crazy!” He tapped his head. “So they banned the sale of wine in glass. And for the Roman era, that was that.”
Begni dusted his hands off, looking amused.
“Let us move forward to the 1600s. Now, glass was produced that was stronger, thicker, darker. The dark glass, of course, helped protect the wine from sunlight.”
Begni poured them all another round of espressos, stirring sugar into his with enjoyment while he continued.
“Champagne became possible thanks to this stronger glass. It takes strength to contain the bubbles, and in particular, the curve at the base of the bottle—the ‘punt’—has to be deep and thick to protect against the pressure produced by a sparkling wine. Otherwise—poof! You have an explosion, and no more champagne.”
Olivia nodded. Now that she thought about it, all sparkling wine bottles did have that pronounced dent in their thick and solid base. So this was part of the bottle’s structure, to protect it from bursting apart under the pressure of the contents within!
Begni put down his cup and opened the folder, pointing to some line drawings.
“The bottles we know today began to be made in the seventeenth century. As you can see, they were thick and squat at first. Really old-fashioned, no?”
Olivia grinned. No doubt the bottle makers had thought their creations the height of stylishness.
“What made them become more streamlined?” she asked.
“Well, by then, corks were being used as stoppers, and liquid contact with the cork was essential to prevent it from drying out. So the manufacturers changed the bottle shape to allow them to be stored on their sides for cork contact. Each area produced their own distinctive shape to differentiate their wine. Burgundy—which today is the sloping shape of most white wine bottles, Bordeaux—your typical red wine bottle, with higher, broader shoulders. Port, Riesling, if I name the wine, you can probably think of the bottle it is packaged in.”
Olivia nodded. She could.
She peered at the drawings again. Begni’s illustration showed how the bottles evolved and the shapes that their specialized areas of production had taken on.
“So, what about the piece of bottle Olivia found?” Danilo asked.
Immersed in the history and evolution of the glass bottles, Olivia had all but forgotten the reasons for their visit. She stared down at the gleaming fragment again, and this time, her eye could see some of what Begni had been explaining.
“Your fragment,” Begni explained, “is part of a ‘shaft and globe’ wine bottle that was manufactured in the late 1600s.”
Olivia caught her breath, hearing Danilo give an identical gasp. This shard was ancient. She wished she knew how it had ended up in her old barn.
“It is extremely rare. An intact bottle from this era would be a collector’s item worth thousands of dollars,” Begni told her. “Should such a bottle be found unopened, it would be worth many times more.”
Hearing that, Olivia felt motivated to drive straight back to the farmhouse and search that pile some more, unearthing all the buried treasures that might be waiting there.
“But this shard is different,” Begni continued.
Olivia’s hopes settled. Presumably, her find was not as valuable.
Then she nearly fell off her chair as Begni explained.
“The color of this fragment is what sets it apart. This unique, marbled color is from an exclusive batch of glass, custom-made for one of the area’s leading vineyards. We have only pictures, descriptions, and records—and now, this one piece. Not a single bottle is known to exist anymore. If you were to find one, it would be a priceless discovery.”
Danilo and Olivia exchanged amazed glances and Olivia saw her own incredulity reflected in his eyes.
“Who knows what you will unearth next?” Begni asked. “Keep me in the loop, as you say!”
“We will, and thank you so much for this background,” Olivia said, standing up reluctantly. “Would you like to keep the shard?”
“I would.” The expert nodded. “It will provide important historical evidence, helping us understand the winemaking industry in that area. And perhaps, one day, we can piece together an entire bottle, if your search progresses.”
“I hope so,” Olivia said.
*
An hour after leaving Bengi’s basement headquarters, Olivia headed into another subterranean site. Her skin prickled in the cooler air as she walked downstairs, her arm brushing against the smooth stone wall, ready to explore the old wine cellars of the imposing Castello del Trebbio.
As she headed into the gloom, her phone buzzed and she saw it was a message from Charlotte.
She was about to read it, when the tour guide began explaining the castle’s history. Eager to hear every word, Olivia slipped her phone back into her purse. She’d read the message later, she decided.
“In the twelfth century, this castle belonged to the Pazzi family. This family opposed the powerful de Medicis, who dominated the region at the time. In fact, the Pazzis planned a conspiracy to kill the de Medicis in this very castle,” the guide explained, smiling as she shook back her dark ponytail. “It is said that even the Archbishop of Pisa was part of the plot, as the de Medicis were hated by many, and there were also many who stood to benefit if they died.”
Olivia felt a shiver run down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold temperatures of this subterranean area. It seemed that nefarious motives, and murder, were an integral part of this area’s history. Putting herself in the conspirators’ shoes, she wondered if they might have discussed their plans down here, in this cold underground space. It was certainly giving her the chills.
She was grateful that as the tour group crowded close to admire the display of ancient olive jars, Danilo removed his jacket and slung it over her shoulders.
How considerate of him, Olivia thought, worried that he was now cold, but glad for the extra layer of warmth which still radiated his body heat.
“Initially, the plan was to poison the two de Medici brothers at a banquet, but when one of the brothers fell ill, the conspirators decided to attack the following day, during the celebration of Mass at Florence Cathedral. Despite a scene of mayhem playing out in the cathedral as the conspirators attacked with daggers and swords, the murder plan failed. Although one of the de Medici brothers was killed, the other survived,” the tour guide concluded.
After learning about the castle’s colorful history, Olivia was glad to head upstairs and find a seat in the warm and attractive tasting room. She paged through a brochure, learning that in the twentieth century, the estate had been abandoned and fallen into ruin.
Abandoning such a magnificent place? How could that be possible? Olivia felt shocked. But then, she supposed, her farm had been deserted, too. There had been nobody living there for decades.
In the 1960s, she learned, the new owners had set about the mammoth task of restoring the dilapidated buildings and grounds, bringing it to fresh life as a productive wine farm and tourist destination. The tasting menu included the winery’s glorious Chianti as well as the famous Tuscan Special blend and, to Olivia’s delight, one of the amphora-matured red wines.
“This wine has a lovely, deep texture,” Olivia observed. “I’m definitely going to order a few bottles.”
“I guess the clay is a middle ground between steel and oak. It allows for maturation and the exchange of air, but without any oaken flavor. It makes it very unusual for a red wine,” Danilo agreed.
From the next-door table, Olivia overheard a familiar name as the group of visitors discussed the wine. She tuned into the conversation and listened in increasing alarm.
“It’s no wonder Raffaele di Maggio gave this Chianti such a positive rating,” the closest woman said. “It’s an extremely well made wine.”
Her friend leaned closer, nodding enthusiastically. “He seems to be very discerning and there certainly aren’t many wines he’s enjoyed recently. At any rate, he’s not shy to say when he hates a wine, but I agree with him about the quality of this gorgeous red. If there are no other estates he recommends in this area then perhaps we can spend the afternoon shopping instead.”
In a rush, Olivia’s fears returned and her stomach twisted. A moment ago, she’d been hungrily dreaming about what food this wine would pair best with, and lunch had been uppermost on her mind. Now, she didn’t think she could force down as much as a bread stick.
Danilo was looking at her in concern.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m having a wonderful time,” Olivia said, hearing the quiver in her own voice. This critic sounded impossible to please! She felt like running away! Since that was impossible, perhaps a walk would distract her from her worries.
“Should we take a stroll around the vineyards before lunch?” she asked.
“Good idea,” Danilo agreed.
Outside, she and Danilo stood for a moment in the warm sunshine. This side of the castle was sheltered from the breeze, and had a glorious view over the rows of vines.
Looking at the verdant plantations stretching into the distance, she felt encouraged to think that what she saw today had been salvaged from an abandoned ruin. It gave her hope—something that she felt in dire need of at this point.
“Oh, you forgot your jacket in the tasting room,” she told Danilo.
“Glad you remembered,” he said gratefully. “I will run and fetch it. You stay in the sun.”
As Olivia waited in the pleasantly warm spot, she heard the sound of voices, and a couple approached along the walkway. Olivia glanced at the woman, picking up on her American accent as she pointed to the vista of fields that she and Danilo had been admiring.
She was a petite, auburn-haired woman with an impossibly slim figure. Olivia had always longed for narrow shoulders and a wasp-waist like that. Her problem was, she wasn’t built that way. Even at her thinnest, people called her “fit” and “athletic” and worst of all, “healthy,” Nobody had ever complimented her on her tiny waist and nobody ever would.
The man with his arm around that delicate waist had his back turned and was staring out over the vineyards. Something about the set of his shoulders made Olivia take another look. Why did he seem familiar? Did she know him?
He turned around, planting a kiss on the petite woman’s perfectly styled auburn waves, and Olivia nearly fell down the stairs in shock.
It was Matt, her ex-boyfriend.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As Olivia gaped at the couple in disbelief, Matt saw her.
“Oh, hey!” he called.
He sounded surprised—but yet, he didn’t.
A dark suspicion began forming in Olivia’s mind as she remembered how she’d announced on social media that she would be visiting this historic site in the afternoon.
Perhaps this wasn’t such a random coincidence as she’d first supposed.
“What are you doing here?” Olivia asked as he headed purposefully up the stairs toward her. Her voice sounded shrill. That wasn’t good. She needed to keep control of this unprecedented situation.
“Fancy bumping into you! You know, I’d totally forgotten you’d moved to Italy,” Matt announced. “I mean, totally. That fact had slipped my mind completely. Now that I’m seeing you here, of course, I remember and it’s all coming back to me. What a surprise. By the way, this is Xanthe, my new girlfriend. Xanthe, this is Olivia. Did I ever mention her to you?”
Xanthe’s pretty mouth curved in a smile.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, taking out her phone and checking her lipstick before snapping some selfies with the vines and hills in the background.
“What a romantic trip this has been,” Matt said to Xanthe, slipping his arm tenderly around her minuscule waist.
His dark hair, streaked gray at the temples, was longer and he was wearing a navy blue top that she hadn’t seen before. He sported a trace of designer stubble which was new to her, too. For his work as an investment fund manager he had kept rigorously clean-shaven, so perhaps he was letting his hair—or beard—down while on vacation. Maybe he didn’t even work for the same place anymore. What did she know?
The unpleasantness of their last encounter, Olivia’s realization that he’d cheated on her—all of it was coming back to her in lurid technicolor, as if it had been buried in her mind, but waiting to surface. This must be why Charlotte had been messaging nonstop. She’d clearly gotten the news he was traveling to Tuscany, and had been trying to warn Olivia. She wished she’d read those messages earlier.
“You’re here on your own, I guess?” Matt said in a satisfied tone. “Or are you with a tour group?”
Olivia hesitated, not knowing what to say, her face burning at his correct assumption that she was single.
And then she felt a strong hand rest on her shoulders, before sliding down to cup her arm.
“She is with me,” Danilo said in a deep, caressing voice, moving to stand beside her and staring into her eyes as if she was—well, as if she was a bottle of the amphora-fermented wine they’d both fallen in love with.
Olivia couldn’t help noticing, in her shock, that Danilo’s Italian accent seemed stronger than she remembered. And he hadn’t yet put his jacket on. She could feel the bulge of his bicep against her arm.
Danilo gave her a quick, conspiratorial wink that told Olivia he understood the situation and was doing his best to support her.
He’d done so very cleverly, Olivia thought in amazement. He hadn’t said anything untrue, but had merely hinted that Olivia might not be quite as single as Matt was assuming she was.
They both turned to look at Matt, who was blinking fast. He seemed disoriented by the speedy turn events had taken.
