The Conti Place: Where Enemies Become Lovers, page 11
Jane, who had been lost in the unfolding drama of the past, felt her heart twist. What did the older woman mean? Was it a veiled reference to the relationship between her and Francesco? Oh, God, were her suspicions right, after all? Maybe I’m just reading into things, Jane thought. Oh, please, let me be reading into things.
“What happened when my father bought the property?” she asked, trying to distract herself from her thoughts.
Elena shrugged and smiled, “He moved in. Even though no one had lived in it for half a decade, and it had been in need of restoration for years before that, he left the inn the day he closed on it and moved into his new home. He wanted to restore it, to bring it back to what it had been before our family lost their interest in farming and began to move away. He wasn’t looking to get rich or develop into a large operation, he just wanted to try his hand growing his own food, maybe keeping a few animals and some bees. Fortunately for him, the structure was sound, if woefully out of date. He spent his time rebuilding it by himself, one project at a time.”
“How did he support himself?” Jane asked, enthralled. She imagined her father as a young man, spending his days clearing out the fields and taming the gardens, and his evenings rebuilding an old Italian farmhouse. It was so easy to picture him there, laboring until sweat streamed down his face and his shirt stuck to him. What a different image from the one she had known all her life, her father in a crisp suit in his office or in designer casual wear to potter about their small rooftop garden in the city.
“He made friends,” Elena answered. “Your father could charm the scales from a fish if he put his mind to it, and he had decided to make Varese Ligure his home. Whenever he met a tradesman at the hardware store or a farmer at the market, he would introduce himself and get them talking. Before long, he would be learning whatever they were willing to teach him in exchange for a hand with their work. By the end of the summer, he had bartered enough information and material to completely renovate one wing and begin a garden for the house. They gave him odd jobs, too, as they got to know him and respect him. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to keep him in groceries and petrol.”
“You said my mother was trying to win his attention before the sale,” Francesco said. “What happened afterward?”
Elena sighed. “This is the part of the story where it starts to get a little rough,” she warned. She turned her empty cup around and around in her hands. “Adele became fixated on him. She decided he was different from any of her other conquests, that she was in love with him. If he loved her too, she reasoned, he would marry her and take her to live at his new home. She would have the man, she would have the land, and everything would be okay again. It didn’t occur to her that she might fail, because she never had before. Not when it came to men. When she cast her eyes on one, he became hers for as long as she wanted him.
“But George wasn’t interested in Adele. He met Cora in the market one day in early fall. I told you that she lived with her mother, and how they made their living was through a combination of cleaning jobs in the town and selling handicrafts at the market. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for the two women to live on, and that day it was Cora’s job to run the booth. George was buying groceries when he saw her, sitting on a stool with her nose in a book, blissfully unaware of the tumult around her. Everyone knew her, of course, so if they wanted to buy something they would simply call her name to get her attention. She seemed otherworldly to George, from her fragile beauty to her air of separation from the noise of the market. She captivated him. He wasn’t a man to waste an opportunity, so he headed right for her and introduced himself.”
“Did she fall in love with him then, too?” Jane asked. She leaned toward Elena, propping her chin in her hand.
Elena shook her head and laughed, “No, not even close. Adele had been talking about him for months by then, so she knew exactly who he was and exactly who was after him. Cora had never tried to block Adele from anything she wanted. She simply stepped aside and continued on with her quiet life, attending school and helping her mother and spending time with us when she could. She hadn’t continued on to university, so once she graduated she replaced study hours with more work, but she never could keep her nose out of any book she came across. Anyway, by the time your father expressed an interest in her, she had no interest in upsetting Adele. He simply wasn’t available to her. She treated him with a cordial distance that drove him mad.”
“What did he do?” asked Francesco, clearly caught up in the story. “He obviously didn’t give up.”
“No, he did not,” Elena agreed. “I don’t think George knew how to give up, then or in any of the years after, if what I’ve read about him in the paper is even half true. He wanted to get to know her, and he set upon this task as single-mindedly as he had restoring his house. He invited her to dinner, to the movies, to go for walks with him. When she cleaned homes, he would often be waiting for her outside to walk her to her next job. He carried her supplies for her and brought her flowers from his garden. And he always came to the market on her days to run the stall. Often he would stay all day, talking to her between customers. It wasn’t long before he wore away her resistance and she found herself just as crazy about him as he had been about her from the beginning.
“As you can imagine by now, this didn’t sit well with Adele. She thought it a monstrous betrayal of her friendship. For months, she had been using all of her wiles on George, but to no avail. He wasn’t interested in her, though he was always friendly and polite when they met. He gave her no encouragement, but she was convinced that if she just had enough time, he couldn’t help but love her and she would have all she wanted. It drove her mad that he so openly preferred Cora, that he so openly courted her, and she decided to take a more direct step.”
“What did she do?” Jane asked. She felt breathless.
Elena smiled, but the sadness had returned to her eyes, “She went out to the old house one night with a bottle of wine and every intention of seducing George Bancroft.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jane felt a buzzing in her ears that had nothing to do with the lazy drone of pollinators outside. Holy shit, she thought. This is it. This is where she tells me that Francesco is my father’s son.
She looked at Francesco and took a deep breath. Despite his assertions to the contrary, his face showed the nerves he felt plainly. It was clear that he, too, was wondering what was in store.
“What happened next?” Jane asked. She wanted, no needed, to hear it. Whatever it was, she could feel that the key to the mystery was about to be revealed. Whatever the reason that her father had hidden all knowledge of the property, why Francesco and his mother had lived there all his life, it had happened that fall night so many years ago.
Elena stood slowly. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she said. “This has been more difficult than I expected. I need a few moments if you please.”
Francesco jumped to his feet, reaching out to help her balance. “Do you need to lie down, Aunt Elena?” he asked, searching her face. “You’re looking pale.”
She laughed, waving him away. “I’m always pale,” she said, patting his arm gently. “I just need a few moments alone. I’ll be right back. I think there’s some shortbread in the cupboard, Francesco. I meant to bring it out with the tea. Please get it, make sure Jane has some.”
She walked out of the room, her spine straight and her footsteps almost steady. Francesco looked at Jane with widened eyes. Jane nodded.
“I know, right?” she said softly. “This is crazy.”
Francesco went to the cupboard and pulled out a battered blue tin, bringing it back to the table with him. He sat down again across from her. “There is so much about this that I didn’t know,” he said, opening the tin and offering it to her. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask before.”
“How were you to know what to ask?” Jane pointed out. She took a piece of shortbread and held the soft, crumbly cookie in her hand. “It wasn’t until I showed up that you even knew the house wasn’t yours after your mother’s death.” She paused, then reached out a hand and laid it on his. “I’m sorry, by the way. That you lost your mother. I know what that’s like.”
He smiled and turned his hand over to squeeze her fingers. “It gets better,” he said. “It doesn’t seem like it ever will, but then one day you realize you’ve gone a few hours without thinking about it, and then it becomes a few days. And when it comes, it is easier to bear.
Jane opened her mouth to speak, but Elena came in again, the same calm smile on her face. Jane pulled her hand away and twisted her fingers together on her lap. Francesco frowned slightly, but turned back to his aunt.
“I’m sorry,” Elena said, including them both in her gaze. “I don’t have the stamina I used to have. It takes more time for pretty much everything.”
Guilt gnawed on Jane. “Francesco told me you were ill,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
Elena waved her hand. “Everyone must deal with something. For now, this is my challenge. It will not always be so.” She poured a fresh cup of tea and took her time stirring in her honey. Jane and Francesco waited patiently, neither breaking the silence. Finally, Elena looked up.
“This next part is hard to say,” she said quietly. “I have never repeated it to anyone, not since I heard it from Cora and Adele in the same night. Both of them remembered much the same way, and the differences could be easily explained by timing or perspective. I believe what I am about to tell you is what really happened that night.
“When Adele arrived, she discovered that Cora was already there. It was a warm fall, and the windows were left open. Adele heard them together as she walked up to the house, so she peeked into every lit window until she found them. They were wrapped in blankets on the floor, in front of a fire, and it was clear that this wasn’t their first time together. Adele had never had a man reject her in favor of another woman before, especially not a woman like Cora. Hurt, rage, and confusion rushed through her. She wasn’t a woman who believed in controlling her emotions, so she rode the wave of them through the front door and down the hall, bursting into the room the lovers shared with harsh words and tearful accusations. She surprised them, as you can imagine, and they had no time to find their clothes or dress before she was throwing the wine bottle in her hand against the wall and storming away.
“Cora was distraught. She had allowed herself to believe that Adele’s feelings weren’t very strong, especially after George himself had assured her repeatedly that he only wanted Cora. Now, with the evidence of her closest friend’s grief and anger dripping down the wall like blood, Cora was nearly inconsolable. George spent the next three hours calming her down and comforting her. Eventually, she fell asleep in his arms, and he carried her to his bed.
“Adele hadn’t chosen just any night to attempt to advance her wishes, as it turned out. Though she didn’t know it, the lovemaking she had witnessed was meant to be a celebration of a new chapter in George and Cora’s lives. He had asked her to be his wife, and she had not only accepted his proposal but told him they were soon to be parents. She was two months gone already. As George tucked in his sleeping future wife, anger toward Adele and what she had spoiled built in him. He hoped that the scene hadn’t upset Cora to the point of being dangerous for their child. She was so strong, it was true, but she was also so fragile. By the time he heard the knock on the door in the wee hours of the night, George was filled with a sharp, protective rage.
“Somehow he knew it wasn’t over with Adele, so he wasn’t even surprised when he opened the door and found her on his porch at such a late hour. He invited her in, determined to give her a piece of his mind. He had been clear way back when he was staying at the inn that he wasn’t interested in her, and he had reinforced it at every opportunity since. His anger couldn’t quite mask the confusion he felt. Why was Adele so focused on him? He didn’t know about her desire for the land. At least, not yet. He could see, though, that she was much more collected than she had been earlier in the evening. She was cool, almost cold, and so different from any other encounter with her he had ever had that trepidation began to overpower everything else.”
“What did my mother say to him?” Francesco asked. His lips were pressed in a thin line. Whatever his feelings for his mother, he wasn’t surprised by her behavior in the story. He seemed only to want to know how deep the damage went.
Elena looked at him levelly, “She said that the house and the land were her birthright that he had stolen them from her just as Cora had stolen him from her. Coldly and clearly, she laid out two choices for him. He could take Cora and leave Varese Ligure forever. Adele didn’t care where they went, so long as they were gone as soon as possible and they never came back. He would sign the property over to Adele before they left. If he didn’t comply with her wishes, or if he tried in any way to make trouble for her, she would go to the police and tell them that he raped her.
“George was shocked by her ultimatum, as you can imagine, and he told her to get out. She refused, telling him that the police would believe her word against his and she would stick to her story until he was arrested, tried, and put in prison. George looked at her and saw her cold determination. He knew then that she would do as she said. With Cora’s pregnancy at the forefront of his mind, he thought quickly, trying to find a way out of what had become a nightmare. He couldn’t think of anything. Adele was right. If she went to the police, they would believe her over anything he might say. Even if he were ultimately able to prove his innocence, he would never be cleared in the court of public opinion. Cora and their child would forever be stained with his assumed sin.
“He agreed to take Cora and leave. He even agreed to give Adele the property, but he couldn’t let it go completely. He had found so much of himself here. He and Cora had conceived their baby here. He couldn’t stand the idea of never having part in it again, so he told Adele he would lease it to her for twenty years. When the time was up, they would discuss his willingness to sell it to her.”
“And she agreed?” Jane asked. “I’m surprised. She doesn’t sound like a woman who bargains.”
Francesco smiled without humor and Elena shrugged. “She wasn’t. I don’t know why she agreed, but she did. Maybe she wanted him to leave more than she wanted her will followed to the letter. After all, the house and the grounds would still be hers for what seemed a very long time for a woman who was only twenty herself. And George and Cora would be gone. There would be no one to remind her of her failure. She accepted his terms and moved in within a month.”
“What happened to my parents?” Jane asked. “Do you know?”
“They married. It was small and private, but Cora asked me to be her maid of honor. I couldn’t say no. George took her to America, where you were born. She wrote to me regularly, until she got too sick. It was shortly before her death that she told me her part of the story in its entirety. George hadn’t told her about what happened with Adele until after you were born, Jane, but eventually, she told me. She wanted me to be able to tell you, in case you ever came looking for your roots. She didn’t think your father would ever speak of it again.”
“She was right,” Jane said ruefully. “He didn’t. Talking about the past wasn’t his favorite way to spend time.” She looked over at Francesco. He had been still and silent through the last part of the story, and now he sat stone-faced and unreadable. “Francesco?” she asked, reaching out and gently touching his hand. He didn’t seem to notice her, just looked at Elena.
“Where was I in all of this?” he asked. “My mother always told me she was pregnant with me when she moved into the big house. That I was born there. But from what you have said, that would be impossible. So where was I?”
Elena sighed, “You were with our parents. You were just a little boy, barely more than a toddler, so I’m sure you don’t remember. Adele had you when she was very young. Our parents practically raised you while she finished school, then just kept doing it when she graduated and started working. It wasn’t until she moved into the old house that she took an interest in you. She brought you there to live with her.”
He was quiet for a long moment, leaning forward with his forearms braced on his knees. He spoke softly, not raising his eyes from the floor, “Do you know who my father is, Aunt Elena?”
“Yes,” Elena said, just as softly. “Your father was a sailor on shore leave in Genoa when your mother was fifteen. She had gone with a friend’s family for a weekend visit but ended up spending all of her time with this man, named Alejandro. They didn’t exchange information when she came home. He never tried to find her, and she never told him she was pregnant.” She paused, then added, “If you wanted to find him, I would help you look.”
Francesco shook his head, “It doesn’t matter anymore. Thank you for telling me.” But he still looked troubled.
Jane felt twin stabs of sympathy and joy pierce her heart. However hard this story had been for her to hear, to absorb, she couldn’t imagine what it was like for him right now. His mother had lied and manipulated and coerced, all for the sake of her own will, regardless of the lives she destroyed in the process. She couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be to process such behavior in your own parent. She remembered him mentioning that his mother was a bitter woman, and she wondered for the first time if maybe some of this wasn’t quite the surprise to Francesco as it was to her.
Still, in spite of all else, a small thought pulsed in the back of her mind, warming her frozen core. Francesco is not my father’s son. He is of no relation to me at all. It was all she could do not to jump in his lap and kiss him senseless, right in front of his aunt.
Instead, Jane smiled warmly at the older woman. “Thank you,” she said simply. “I can’t explain what it means to hear this story. I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear it.”
