A Villa on Lake
Como
Mario
Vitali had been introduced to Rose Adams day before yesterday at a mutual
friend’s home. He was attending a trade conference in town and Rose fascinated
him. She was smart, rather lovely, fun to be with, and she was anything but
boring. Now, she was hosting an afternoon ‘tea’ in honor of the retiring
president of a local university in her lovely manicured backyard surrounded by
a beautiful rose garden. His friend had brought him as his ‘plus one.’
She
had a couple of servers meandering around with food and drink. However, when Rose
had picked up an empty platter and gone inside to replenish it, he had followed
her. He had wanted to find out more about this auburn beauty who had charmed
him.
While she walked into the kitchen, he strolled
into the family room across from her. He made his way over to the bookcases lined
on the wall near the stone fireplace and thumbed through the books on the
shelves. There were history books covering Egypt, Greece, Rome, Europe, Africa,
as well as Asia and the Americas. There were volumes of geography and a couple
of books on volcanoes and earthquakes. The next case was dedicated to the Greek
and Roman classics of Homer, Euripides, Sophocles, Aristophanes, Plato,
Aristotle, Josephus, and others. There were European and Asian writings from
the 14th, 15th, and 16th centuries and
religious histories as well. In another case, he noted a whole series of Sir
Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie novels. One more shelf
held what seemed like the entire collection of Jane Austen, as well as books of
the Brontë sisters. There were books from F. Scott Fitzgerald, Louisa Mae
Alcott, Charles Dickens, and Mark Twain. He even found an original copy of The
Diary of Anne Frank and Peter and Wendy by J. M. Barrie.
Mario was intrigued with Rose’s book
collection. It was quite extensive, and he was delighted with her choice of
books.
“You are quite an intelligent woman, Rose
Adams,” he said softly to himself. He was so engrossed in his discovery that he
had not noticed that Rose was watching him as she loaded the platter with
cheese and crackers and other delectable items.
“So, I see you have found my library.”
He turned to her and nodded his head. “You
have an eclectic taste that is captivating.”
“Thank
you,” she said appreciatively. “I inherited most of my books from my father. He
was a history professor at Amherst College in Massachusetts.”
Mario turned to her and showed her the picture
he had picked up from a shelf. “What’s this?” he asked inquisitively.
She smiled as she finished her platter of
goodies, “Oh, that’s a villa in Italy I think is rather lovely. It sits on that
shelf where I could see it to remind myself of my dream to visit that villa.”
She was mesmerized for a few moments while she
gazed at the magnificent image. She had promised herself that one day she was going to arrive at the private boat jetty on the
deep glacial blue water of Lake Como and casually walk beneath the stone
archway to the cobblestone landing. Then, she would climb the stepping-stone
stairway to the flagstone terrace above that ran the length of the three-story
white villa. In the center of the terrace was placed a granite circular
fountain which displayed in its center a sculptured pedestal of thorn bushes
supporting a rose at the top from which water gushed out into the basin below.
The beautiful stately home was of neoclassical design with columns holding up
the portico above the double doors out to the terrace. Tall windows on each
story reached from floor to ceiling with much of the outside walls covered by
ivy and the roof was of red ceramic tiles. The villa was flanked by cypress
trees with hydrangeas and rose bushes lining the terrace edges outside its main
doors.
Mario was watching her quite intently as she
spoke. “Why this villa? I mean, out of all the villas in Italy, why this one?”
“Why?” Rose thought for a moment. “Oh, I don’t
know. It’s not big and boisterous and overpowering. It doesn’t have the
ostentatiousness of many of the others in that area whether built in the 1500s
or the 1900s. This one is small and subtle in its beauty. It has character, I
think.”
He pursed his lips. “I agree it is quite a
picturesque villa, but it doesn’t look very small with three stories and
extending back at least…”
“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupted him.
“I beg to differ. I think it matters a lot.”
“I just love its romantic charm, okay!” she
barked and was immediately angry at herself.
Mario waited a beat and then asked in a level
tone, “And the picture is from?”
Rose busied herself with filling another
platter. She didn’t want to tell him where she found the picture. She knew that
he would just think she was silly. So, she took her time loading more
appetizers on the serving dish. Finally, she decided she didn’t care what he
thought. He had only been here for a few days and was leaving tomorrow, so his
opinions of her were inconsequential.
“I found it in a travel brochure many years
ago when I was a teenager. What of it?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I just find it
interesting that you have framed this travel brochure picture of an unnamed
villa on the coast of Lake Como.”
“How did you know the villa is on Lake Como?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “That looks like
Lake Como which is not far from Milano.” He looked carefully at her and smiled.
“I’ve been to Lake Como.”
“Well, just put the picture back where you
found it.” He was making fun of her, wasn’t he? “Please, put it back.”
He seemed to be staring at the picture more
closely for a few moments. “Do you know the name of the villa?” he asked
casually and then he focused his emerald green eyes on her. Those eyes that
seemed to be staring into the depth and breadth of her soul.
“No, I don’t know the name of the villa. It
wasn’t under the picture,” Rose was being oversensitive, she knew. “But, one
day I will know its name and I will visit it.”
He returned the picture of the villa to its
place.
“Thank you,” she said, trying not to stare at
the handsome Italian with olive skin and black curly hair. She turned from him
and lined up the two platters at the end of the counter. “Going to Italy to
search for that particular villa is just a dream and it may never come true.”
“You never know, sometimes dreams do come
true,” Mario remarked as he returned his gaze to her.
Rose resolved to explain herself. “You must understand that, out of
all the places in Europe, I was always more inclined toward Italy, especially
Milan and the surrounding area including the Duomo. La Scala Opera House. Arch
of Peace. Clock Tower. Royal Palace. Sforza Castle. The magnificent villas
along Lake Como.”
“Perhaps
you have Italian ancestry and that's why you are so focused on Italy.”
“I
doubt it,” she asserted. “My father's family is from England and they settled
in Virginia in the 1600s. My mother's family hails from Germany and they came
to this country after the Revolution. I seem to have no Italian ancestry at
all.”
“Well,
perhaps someone will take you to Italy and introduce you to that villa.” He
smiled at her.
Rose
took in a deep breath. “You know the villa?”
“The
same family has owned that villa for over 800 years.” Mario remarked
confidentially.
“Really?”
Mario continued in a mystical tone, “It’s
quite a beautiful sight to watch the sun set reflecting in the waters of Lake
Como until it slowly declines inch-by-inch in the western sky of pinks,
purples, and indigo blue leaving only a silhouette of the mountains before
it.”
Rose was captivated by his description. “It
sounds like you know this area very well.”
“I do,” he confessed. “That villa is my
ancestral home.”
“Oh,”
was all Rose could muster to say.
“You
are right about the other villas that dwarf ours,” he continued. “Many are
large and cumbersome, flashy and grandiose. But these are the villas people
usually come to see it Lake Como. And, as you pointed out, most were built
between the 1500s and the 1900s. Villa Lario is simple by comparison.”
“You
don't have to be big to have character,” she admitted firmly.
Mario
was pleased that Rose liked his home. “It was originally built on an old Roman bath
which was on a small hot spring. It was turned into a sauna and still works
today.”
“Amazing.”
He
grinned. “I have always thought so.” He walked over to her and leaned against
the counter. “Maybe one day you can come visit me at Lake Como and I’ll show
you around.”
“That
would be nice,” she responded sincerely. Then she remembered what someone had
told her about unsavory Italian men and said abruptly, “It would be difficult
for me to visit Italy with the cost of travel these days. So, thank you, but no
thanks.”
“Well,
think about it,” he said smoothly and took a card from his inside jacket
pocket. “Call me and I would be happy to meet your boat at our jetty as you
arrive on the deep
glacial blue water of Lake Como. I’ll be your escort as we
slowly walk beneath the stone
archway to the cobblestone landing, following the stepping-stone stairway to
the flagstone terrace above…”
“Hey,
Rose,” they were being interrupted by two guests from the garden. “We’re
starving out here while the two of you are doing what exactly?”
“Here,”
Rose walked over and handed the prepared platters to the guys standing at the sliding
glass door, “Take these out.”
Rose
then turned her attention to Mario as she walked back into the kitchen, keeping
the counter between her and Mario. “Lake Como sounds like a nice place to
visit. Just not today.”
Mario
smiled at Rose very sincerely. “One day I will take you there. Mark my words,
one day soon.”
“I’m
sure you make promises like that to every woman you come in contact with,” she
said and went out the door. She fanned herself with her hand as she joined the
others in the backyard.
He
closed the glass door behind him watching Rose stroll through the guests
without glancing back at him.
You
captivate me, Rose Adams. And, in spite of yourself, you find me captivating as
well. I can see it in your eyes. I must find a way to hang around here a little
longer and get to know you better. We are destined to be more than friends.
He
leaned against the door facing, observing her as she seemed to float between
her guests. He suddenly realized that for the first time in years someone was
tickling his heart, and he wasn’t pulling away.
Oh,
yes, Rose Adams, I will take you to Italy and I can’t wait to show my villa on
Lake Como to you. This I promise.
As
if she had heard his thoughts, she turned and gave a little smile in his
direction. Her smile lit up her face. He returned her smile and strolled
towards her.
Debra Birdwell Winkler