as the handyman, helping Gianni, and she can’t do that. She’s about five feet tall and her arms are like linguine. First Francesca was afraid something happened to him, but after she discovered some truffles stored in a place only the three of them knew about were missing, she moved straight to livid. More later. Tom’s awake and it’s time for some vino.
Before moving into the kitchen, Gianni invited the students for a glass of cold Prosecco served on the terrace, which extended across the rear of the house. Lavender and rosemary the size of small shrubs lined the walls, and a pergola covered with vines provided shade. It smelled, and looked, heavenly. Whether because of the wine or the beautiful setting or both, by the time the group moved indoors, it was a convivial one. Faith noticed that Roderick Nashe had managed to snag several refills, and his face was looking much less like that of a country squire confronting a poacher, his habitual expression heretofore, and more like a country squire hoisting a tankard or two after riding to the hounds. Even Olivia seemed almost cheerful.
They had just started to go indoors when a man appeared from around the corner of the house. He looked Italian and Faith immediately assumed it was the wayward sous chef returning with a plausible excuse for his absence and his sudden need for the truffles—his Vespa had been stolen? A relative needed an operation? Anyway, whatever the reason for the sudden absence turned out to be, Faith was very relieved to see him. Gianni’s sister seemed like a lovely person but was clearly not up to the chores.
Except it wasn’t Alberto.
“Jean-Luc! Just in time.” Gianni went to greet his neighbor. “Come and meet everyone. We are about to start preparing, and more important, getting set to eat, the antipasto.”
“Since I have brought the wine for our tasting, I knew you wouldn’t start without me.”
He was smiling broadly, conveying the impression that there was nowhere else he’d rather be at the moment than with all of them. He was going to be a fine addition to the group, Faith thought.
Seeing him closer, she realized he was older than he had appeared at first. His curly dark hair was streaked with gray, yet he carried himself with youthful athleticism. He was stylishly dressed in a pale yellow linen shirt and trousers the color of cocoa.
“Before I learn your names, please call me ‘Luke,’ since so many of you are Americans, I understand. When I was working in Colorado a long time ago—a young man’s adventure—they gave me the nickname and I think I will be ‘Luke’ for the week again.”
Glancing at her fellow classmates, Faith noted they seemed as taken with the man as she was, even Constance, who had acted positively, and even slightly nauseatingly, girlish when he shook her hand.
About to introduce herself in turn, Faith felt the words stick in her throat in reaction to the smell of lime that hit her full force as he approached. It was the same citrus cologne that Freddy had worn. She swallowed hard. Coincidence. Only coincidence. The brand, Penhaligon’s, was no doubt sold in Florence at all the upscale farmacias. She tried to sidestep the memory, stammering out that she was Faith Fairchild and lived in the United States near Boston, Massachusetts. Tom took over, asking the man what part of France he was from and how long he’d been living in the neighborhood. She knew it wasn’t because her husband had picked up on her confusion. It was what he did. A natural interest in people that went with his turf, even sans collar.
“I am from a small place near Nice, but this is now my adopted country. I have been doing my best to help the Italian economy for many years, though I bought my villa here only four years ago.”
Gianni was ushering people back into the house toward the kitchen. “Jean-Luc—oh, I must remember you are an American cowboy for these days—Luke speaks perfect Italian even with his French accent, which means he has been able to talk to the men working on his place. I think this is why he has been able to do so much in so little time.”
The kitchen drew oohs and aahs. Gianni’s sister handed out white chef’s aprons and kitchen towels. Faith noticed that, like herself, Olivia, the Nashes, and the Culvers all placed the towel at the front of the apron over the drawstrings