At the same time, two women, one in a burnoose and the other in a jump suit, had joined them. “Ah!” the count said, “let me introduce you to two ladies from the French Embassy in Rome.” The women enclosed Jason, talking both at once, and just then the man in the linen suit reached their group.

“Here is a futurist, whatever that is,” the count said offhandedly, “Professor Simongini, Signorina Morosini.”

“I may be the futurist, count”—the man laughed as Tina’s eyes were drawn to the nubs in his raw-silk tie—“but you must admit, even your sixteenth-century tower has a twentieth-century elevator to get you up and down.”

The count laughed generously. “Speak to this charming young lady, Ferruccio, she might like your notions,” he said as he went off.

“What are your notions?” Tina asked smilingly. It made her feel bold and confident when men were attracted to her, as this professor obviously was.

“Just what I’ve picked up at Harvard plus all the European cultural baggage I carry around in my head. Come, let’s get a drink from that bucolic bar.” With skillful use of his hand under her elbow, he nimbly steered Tina toward the greenhouse. As she looked back, she saw Jason laughing with the Frenchwomen.

“What are you doing in these parts?” he asked as he handed Tina a Campari with soda. He was looking at her with an amused expression, his eyes roving openly over her figure.

“I’m on my way to a village called Castagna to find my ancestral place. My great-grandparents came from there.”

“Beautiful name—‘a chestnut’ in English, isn’t it?—probably famous for beautiful women, too. Is your friend on an ancestor search also?” He nodded nonchalantly in the direction of Jason, who was still conversing with the Frenchwomen.

“He’s not Italian. He’s New England.”

“Ah, I see. But what you need is an Italian to lead you through deepest Calabria. And especially in these days of canicola. The dog days!”

“And how did you get here?” Tina answered.