Giulia handed off her shovel to Giancarlo and came over to greet Isabel, who immediately asked for an update.
“More coins, nails, and part of a wheel,” she said. “We found something bigger about an hour ago, but it was only part of an old stove.”
“You look tired.”
Giulia rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand, spreading the dirt. “I am. And my business is suffering because I am here all the time. Vittorio, he does not let this affect his work. He takes his groups out right on schedule, but me…”
“I know you’re frustrated, Giulia, but try not to take it out on Vittorio.”
She gave Isabel a wan smile. “I have been telling myself the same thing. Vittorio, he has to put up with so much from me.”
They moved into the shade of one of the olive trees. “I’ve been thinking about Josie, Paolo’s granddaughter,” Isabel said. “Marta’s talked to her about the statue, but apparently Josie’s Italian isn’t very good, so who knows how much she understood? I was thinking about calling her myself to see how much she knows, but maybe you should call. You know more about the family than I do.”
“Yes, this is a good idea.” She glanced at her watch, calculating the time difference. “I need to get back to the office. I will call her from there.”
After Giulia left, Isabel took her turn with one of the metal detectors before she handed it over to Fabiola, Bernardo’s wife, and returned to the villa. She fetched her notebook, then tucked herself away on one of the chairs in the rose garden.
The seclusion of the garden made it one of her favorite places. It lay on a narrow terrace of land below the formal gardens but was sheltered from view by a small grove of fruit trees. A horse grazed in a field by the woods, and the late-afternoon sun made a golden halo around the ruins of the old castle on the hilltop. It was warm today, more like early August than late September, and the scent of roses hung in the air.
She looked at the notebook in her lap but didn’t open it. All the ideas she jotted down seemed to repeat her earlier books. She was getting the uneasy feeling that she’d already written everything she knew about overcoming personal crisis.
“There you are.” Ren ambled toward her, wearing a blue-and-white-striped rugby over a pair of shorts. He propped his hands on the metal chair she was sitting in, and leaned down to give her a long kiss. Then he cupped her breasts. “Right here. Right now.”
“Tempting. But I don’t have the handcuffs with me.”
He abandoned her breasts and sprawled in the chair next to her, looking sulky. “We’re doing it in the car tonight just like everybody else in this town.”
“You’re on.” She turned her face to the sun. “Assuming, that is, your female fan club doesn’t find you.”
“I swear those little girls have radar.”
“You’ve been amazingly tolerant. I’m surprised you’re spending so much time with them.”
His eyes grew chilly. “What do you mean by that?”
“Just what I said.”
“I don’t want to talk about them.”
She raised her eyebrows. He knew how to distance people just as effectively as he knew how to charm them, although she couldn’t imagine why he felt the need to do it now. “Somebody’s in a cheery mood.”
“Sorry.” He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles, but the posture seemed more calculated than carefree, almost as if he were forcing himself to relax. “Did Tracy tell you she and Harry were going to rent a house in town?”
She nodded. “That apartment in Zurich was contributing to their troubles. It’s too small for all of them. They decided it would be better if she and the kids stayed here, where they feel more at home, and let Harry commute on weekends.”
“Am I the only one who finds it unnerving that my current lover is doing marriage counseling for my ex-wife?”
“It’s not as if there’s much confidentiality involved. One or the other seems to tell you everything we talk about.”
“Something I’ve been trying my best to discourage.” He picked up her hand and absentmindedly played with her fingers for a while. “Why are you putting yourself out like this? What’s in it for you?”
“It’s my job.”
“You’re on vacation.”
“I don’t have the kind of job that allows vacations.”
“Every job allows vacations.”
“You can’t punch a time clock on what I do.”
He frowned. “How can you be sure you’re helping? Isn’t there something arrogant in assuming you always know what’s best for other people?”
“Do you think I’m arrogant?”
He gazed off at a row of ornamental grasses drifting in the breeze. “No. You’re pushy and opinionated. But no, you’re not arrogant.”
“You’re right, though. There is a kind of arrogance in thinking you know what’s best for other people.”
“Yet you persevere.”
“Sometimes we focus on others’ flaws so we don’t have to focus on our own.” She realized that her thumbnail had crept toward her teeth, and she dropped it back into her lap.
“Is that what you think you’ve done?”
She didn’t use to, but now she had to wonder, didn’t she? “I guess that’s what I came to Italy to find out.”
“How’re you doin’ so far?”
“Not too well.”
He patted her leg. “If you need any help finding your flaws, you’ll be sure to let me know. Like your neat fetish and the way you try to manipulate everything so you’re in charge.”
“I’m touched, but this is something I have to sort out for myself.”
“If it’s any consolation, I think you’re a damn fine person.”
“Thanks, but your standards are lower than mine.”
He laughed, then squeezed her hand and gave her a sympathetic look. “Poor Dr. Fifi. Being a spiritual leader’s a real bitch, isn’t it?”
“Not as much as being a clueless spiritual leader.”
“You’re not clueless. You’re just evolving.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb.
She didn’t want him turning sensitive on her. For days now she’d been trying to convince herself she wasn’t really in love with him, that her subconscious had invented the emotion so she didn’t have to feel guilty about the sex. But it wasn’t true. She loved him, all right, and this moment explained why. How could someone who was her polar opposite understand her so well? She felt a sense of completion when they were together. He needed someone to remind him of his decency, and she needed someone to keep her from becoming self-righteous. But she knew he didn’t see it the same way.
“Ren!” Two little girls came bursting through the shrubbery.
He dropped his head back and groaned. “They do have radar.”
“We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Steffie said. “We built a house, and we want you to play with us.”
“Time to get to work.” He squeezed Isabel’s hand and rose. “Hey, go easy on yourself, okay?”
As if that would ever happen… She watched him disappear. One part of her wanted to will away her love for him, but the other part wanted to hold on to it forever. A little well-deserved self-pity bubbled inside her.
Way to go, God. You couldn’t have thrown somebody like Harry Briggs at me for a soul mate. Oh, no. You had to give me a man who murders women for a living. Nice going, Pal.
She threw aside her notebook. She was too distracted to write anything, so she might as well go down to the farmhouse and take a turn with a shovel. Maybe she could work off some of her negative energy.
Andrea Chiara was there when she arrived. He and Vittorio were cut from the same rogue’s cloth, but Dr. Andrea wasn’t quite as harmless, which made the immature part of her wish Ren were around to witness the way he kissed her hand in greeting.