The Body in the Piazza - By Katherine Hall Page Page 0,60

want to know,” Tom said. “And I may have already heard at least one story, but please tell us yours.”

“First the official version, then the apocryphal, which is much more interesting,” she said, her face lighting up.

Mia really was darling, Faith thought, her hair a tumble of dark curls and face dominated by golden brown eyes. With her heels, stylish short skirt, and a Gucci scarf gracefully tied around her neck, she exemplified what the Italians call la bella figura, a hard-to-define philosophy that means the whole way one presents oneself, especially in public. Not just how one looks but one’s attitude and behavior, a striving for perfection, with no apparent sweat.

“ ‘Vin santo,’ which means ‘holy wine,’ takes the name from being used for mass,” Mia said. “That’s the official story, but many of us believe another is the true one. In the fourteenth century a Franciscan friar from Siena began to use the wine that was left over after mass to soothe the pain of those suffering from the plague. It was a miracle! They were cured! The sweet wine began to be used for many kinds of sickness, and we still think of vin santo as having medicinal properties.”

“Definitely more believable,” Tom agreed. “And it’s the story I’ve heard before.”

Since Roderick was looking longingly at the table with the glasses and bottles, Faith thought she’d do her good deed for the day and steer the conversation that way.

“Is all your vin santo sweet? I’ve heard some kinds are more like a dry sherry.”

Mia nodded and, much to Roderick’s obvious delight, started to open the bottles and pour samples.

“I should let you decide for yourselves, but yes, we only make a dessert wine. Now, please enjoy. And we do ship to the United States and United Kingdom,” she added.

Everyone appeared to like the wine. As they sipped, Luke added to their vin santo lore by reciting the phrase “a holy wine for a hell of a day,” which he said he’d often heard people say.

“Another kind of medicine for another kind of illness,” Terry observed. “I’ve had days like that. I think I’ll order a case!”

“Although until today I’ve never heard about the wine being for a bad day as such, in Italy we also call vin santo, vini da meditazioni—‘a wine to meditate with,’ ” Mia added.

After consulting with Tom, Faith decided they should order some, too.

“And not just to help you think about your sermons,” she said. “This has a very different flavor from others I’ve tried. You taste the raisins, of course, but it also has a nutty flavor and isn’t cloyingly sweet.”

It was an ebullient group that piled into the van, to head back to Cucina della Rossi. The brilliant late afternoon sun lit up the landscape like klieg lights from a Hollywood film set.

Gianni turned the radio on as they plunged into the valley, or at least that’s what it felt like to Faith. After what was obviously an announcement of football scores, greeted with groans from the driver and causing an alarming sudden swerve, the station started broadcasting a series of American and British oldies. A number of people were humming along, and when the familiar opening of Don McLean’s “American Pie” came over the airwaves, Terry Russo shouted, “I love this song!” and started singing. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and she had a great voice. Soon the whole group was joining in on the chorus, although Constance did say loudly at the start that the song made no sense whatsoever and she could never understand why it was so popular.

“No levees and precious few Chevys in your part of the world, darlin’, ” Hattie said before belting out the chorus.

It was a nice moment and Faith felt herself caught up in the mood. That is until they came to the famous last line—“This’ll be the day that I die.”

Possibly because of a full day of close proximity, the group went their separate ways as soon as Gianni pulled to a full stop back at the house. Faith decided to take a swim in the pool and then dry off in the sun while relaxing with a book. She was trying to distract herself and keep from marking time. Tom’s reaction to her revelation about the notebook had convinced her that what she was planning to do as soon as it was dark enough and as soon as she was sure Luke was not going to run home, she’d be doing solo.