It had not taken long for Giancarlo and his brother to learn that Antonella had come from another village not far away, where she and her father and mother lived in a house with her grandparents. Apparently she and her parents had come to Castelalto that day to look in on her mother’s uncle, Ferdinando, a sickly old widower who lived all alone in a house on the other side of town.

It was the first of many visits the Portinaris would make over the course of the next year, as Ferdinando’s health steadily declined. Whenever they came, Antonella would inevitably wander up to the meadow or to the edge of the piazza with her sketch pad in hand. She of course drew the attention of all the boys in town, and the enmity of more than one of the girls, but she remained aloof to them all. For his part Giancarlo would only watch her from a distance, afraid to approach her and make a fool out of himself like the other young men. Only Giorgio, it seemed, had been able to draw her out a little, to get her to talk, and even to make her break into a smile now and then.

Giorgio’s success in charming her this way had irked Giancarlo. It was only one of a growing list of grievances he had against his older brother, who, it seemed to him, always took the lion’s share of everything. Giancarlo’s displeasure in this regard had not been helped much by his father. In his defense, Roberto was a simple man who loved both his children dearly. Having two sons, however, had created for him certain dilemmas. One of these he chose to address with Giancarlo one day not long before the boy turned eighteen.

Giancarlo had been playing the piano one evening when his father asked him to come and sit with him at the kitchen table. Roberto sat there in silence for a while, thoughtfully rubbing his chin, before reaching into his pocket to check the time on his watch. The watch had stopped ticking, so he handed it to Giancarlo to have him wind it for him. Giancarlo had been happy to do so. Ever since he was a little boy, he had always loved the watch—the movement of the figures and the delicate music it played. And he loved the story of how the watch had been handed down to his father from his grandfather, who had won it years and years ago in a card game.

“Someday this will be yours,” his father said with a kindly smile when Giancarlo handed the watch back to him. Then his brow had furrowed.