He couldn’t say what it was. For all he knew it was the pull of the moon on the Italian countryside. All he was certain of was that he hoped to see her again soon.

CHAPTER 5

“Una donna, la sua sorte è fatta dell’amore ch’ella accetta.” A woman’s fate is determined by the love she accepts.

—Italian Proverb

Anna stood in the gravel driveway and watched the Punto vanish down the drive beneath a line of swaying cypress. On its way out of Rendola the car passed a postal scooter driving to the villa. Anna heard the thin, familiar whine of the scooter’s engine and waited. The postal worker stopped her scooter just an arm’s length away from Anna, turned and took from her mail pouch a small stack of mail, which she handed to Anna. It was a familiar ritual and the whole of their conversation consisted of three words:

“Prego.”

“Grazie.”

“Prego.”

Anna sorted through the mail as she walked back to the pool. She set the stack of envelopes on the ground next to Eliana. “It’s all for you,” she said. Then she sat down on a reclining chair, took off her glasses and wiped the sweat from the bridge of her nose.

“Come stai?” Anna asked. How are you?

“Abbastanza bene,” Eliana replied. Good enough.

Though Eliana had been teaching English to Anna for more than three years, she was an unmotivated student and the women only spoke Italian in conversation. Anna scratched the back of her head. “We have a new tenant. He will move in tomorrow.”

“Good.” She turned to Alessio. “Why don’t you get in the pool, honey?”

“You come too, Mommy.”

“Not today. I’ll just watch. Take your towel with you.”

Alessio stood up and walked to the shallow end of the pool, where he sat on its edge, dangling his legs in the pool, deciding whether or not to get in.

“We need some art for the new tenant,” Anna said, watching Alessio. “The Germans purchased all of the pictures you put in last time. They wanted all of them. I have money for you.”

“That’s good.”

“You are very good, Eliana. Better than you know. You should charge more for your paintings. They didn’t haggle over the cost. I think they would have paid il doppio.”

“You know I don’t paint for the money,” she said.

She rolled to her back. “I have some landscapes that will look nice in the apartment.”

“He’s americano,” Anna said.

“Who’s americano?”

“The new tenant.”

“He didn’t look American.”

“Sì. He’s americano.” Her voice held a trace of excitement. “And he’s single.”

Eliana grinned. Anna talked to her as if she were single rather than a married woman. Even more peculiar was that Eliana was Anna’s cognata, her sister-in-law. Anna sat back in the chair, her eyes closed, the sun in her face. “He was bello, no?”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Trust me. He was bello.”