A moment later, a woman came to the door. She was much older than he, perhaps in her late forties, Carter guessed, but quite slender and lovely. Her straight black hair framed a still-youthful face that showed only a few finely etched lines about the corners of her eyes. What struck Carter the most were her dark, intense eyes. When at first she gazed at him, he had almost jumped back for fear that somehow he had angered her. But then she had put him at ease by smiling and gently asking what he wanted.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Carter apologized, “but I’ve come to see Giorgio Rosa.”

“I’m afraid he is still napping just now,” she replied. “What is it that you’ve come to see him about?”

“I’ve come to deliver something to him,” explained Carter.

“And what would that be?” she asked curiously.

Carter reached into his daypack and pulled out the little padded envelope he had kept tucked safely inside this whole journey. He opened it, and let the cloth pouch holding the pocket watch slip out into his hand.

“It’s from his brother, Giancarlo,” said Carter, handing it to her.

The woman did not open the pouch, but gazed at it with a sad expression for a short time, before giving a little sigh.

“What is your name?” she said after a moment’s contemplation.

“Carter,” he replied.

She opened the door wider and motioned for him to enter.

“Please come in, Carter,” she said, “and I will wake Giorgio for you.”

“Are you Signora Rosa, his wife?” he asked, for he was not completely certain.

“Yes,” she answered. “But you may call me Antonella.”

PART THREE

PART THREE

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 39

Her name was Antonella Portinari, the girl Giancarlo had fallen in love with that day so many years ago when he and Giorgio came down from the mountain and saw her pass by on the piazza. In one sense, it all seemed so lost in the distant past that it should no longer have mattered to Giancarlo. It was like a dream of something that had never really happened. At the same time, though, as he stood there in his kitchen, staring out the back window at a gray morning sky, the memory of that day and everything that followed tore at him afresh, reopening a deep, very old wound that had never properly healed.

Giancarlo poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. In the past week, since he had sent his father’s pocket watch back to Italy with Carter, he had found himself brooding more and more about the turbulent times that had been set in motion that day when he had first encountered Antonella. Gazing down into his cup, he let his thoughts drift back to those days and, as if watching an old home movie, began to replay it all once more in his mind.