stone wall where it had been soaking up sun and vanished with a rustle in the vines. Rupert, right beside it, didn’t notice. He was looking up.
“We’re almost there,” he said.
Den arched an eyebrow. “Yeah? And how do you know that?”
In answer Rupert nodded at the signpost and the sign above Den’s head, a stylized arrow pointing up the hill with IL PIACERE spelled out in neat black letters, very plainly.
The sight of a hill didn’t thrill me, but the name on the sign did—the knowledge that we were so close to our goal. Hefting my suitcase again, I took over the lead as we made the turn and started up. There was no pavement here, and we had to walk Indian file on the road itself, close to the verge and the hedge that enclosed it. My back was to the lake now and if I’d had the presence of mind to turn round and look I would probably have had a smashing view of it, with the mountains behind, but the mountain I was climbing now took all my concentration.
It was all I could do to stay upright, and keep placing one foot in front of the other, especially when each shuffling step raised a small cloud of dust from the road, to swirl and settle grittily into my eyes, my nose, my thirsty mouth.
More tiny lizards scattered every which way out of my path, seeking shelter in the tangle of wildflowers bordering the hedge. And then the hedge became a high stone wall, and in the wall I saw an iron gate.
“Thank God.” Den’s words were heartfelt.
Rupert reached around me; rang the bell. The intercom crackled. A woman’s voice asked something brief, in Italian, and Rupert replied with our names.
For a minute we waited. And then something clicked and the tall iron gate started opening inwards.
And, like Celia the First, I passed through.
ACT II
----
T HE P ALACE .
The actors are come hither, my lord.
Shakespeare: Hamlet, Act II, Scene II
She moved through the gate like a child discovering paradise, hesitant, eyes wide with wonder, her hands half-raised and reaching out before her as though she wanted to touch everything.
With one great sweeping gesture she embraced the gardens and the cypress grove, the rows of white stone columns lining both sides of the long and graceful rose-red gravel drive on which they stood, the proud triumphal arches curving overhead, the little statues of Apollo, Venus and Diana posing silent in their niches. From somewhere close by came the sound of a fountain, the sound of water running, spilling laughingly from overflowing pools, and in the branches of the copper beech above them now a tiny sparrow trilled its joyful song, as though its breast could not contain its happiness.
He took her hand. “You have not seen the house, yet.” With her fingers curled in his he led her up the shaded lane of arches, round the gentle bend that brought them face to face with a fierce-looking pair of gilded lions, guarding what he thought was the most properly imposing approach to a villa that he’d ever seen—a wide palatial staircase built of whitest stone and edged with roses, climbing to the terrace up the curving lawn.
She stopped to marvel at the sight.
He swelled with satisfaction. And when they’d reached the top and stood within the sheltered courtyard set before the house, with a second fountain scattering bright beads of water to the morning air and below them the tumble of gardens and trees spilling down to the placid blue lake with its border of mountains, she turned and with her child’s eyes drank the view and sighed and held his arm.
He kissed her. “I will make you happy here.”
The roses rustled at his feet. Looking down, he saw a narrow tail slip out of sight, and frowned. Tomorrow, he thought, he would speak to the gardener. He wanted no serpents to live in his Eden.
i
“ WHY do the rich always build their houses miles from the road?” Den wanted to know. “All they need is a little front yard and a driveway, but no . . . they have to put in all these
“We’re almost there,” he said.
Den arched an eyebrow. “Yeah? And how do you know that?”
In answer Rupert nodded at the signpost and the sign above Den’s head, a stylized arrow pointing up the hill with IL PIACERE spelled out in neat black letters, very plainly.
The sight of a hill didn’t thrill me, but the name on the sign did—the knowledge that we were so close to our goal. Hefting my suitcase again, I took over the lead as we made the turn and started up. There was no pavement here, and we had to walk Indian file on the road itself, close to the verge and the hedge that enclosed it. My back was to the lake now and if I’d had the presence of mind to turn round and look I would probably have had a smashing view of it, with the mountains behind, but the mountain I was climbing now took all my concentration.
It was all I could do to stay upright, and keep placing one foot in front of the other, especially when each shuffling step raised a small cloud of dust from the road, to swirl and settle grittily into my eyes, my nose, my thirsty mouth.
More tiny lizards scattered every which way out of my path, seeking shelter in the tangle of wildflowers bordering the hedge. And then the hedge became a high stone wall, and in the wall I saw an iron gate.
“Thank God.” Den’s words were heartfelt.
Rupert reached around me; rang the bell. The intercom crackled. A woman’s voice asked something brief, in Italian, and Rupert replied with our names.
For a minute we waited. And then something clicked and the tall iron gate started opening inwards.
And, like Celia the First, I passed through.
ACT II
----
T HE P ALACE .
The actors are come hither, my lord.
Shakespeare: Hamlet, Act II, Scene II
She moved through the gate like a child discovering paradise, hesitant, eyes wide with wonder, her hands half-raised and reaching out before her as though she wanted to touch everything.
With one great sweeping gesture she embraced the gardens and the cypress grove, the rows of white stone columns lining both sides of the long and graceful rose-red gravel drive on which they stood, the proud triumphal arches curving overhead, the little statues of Apollo, Venus and Diana posing silent in their niches. From somewhere close by came the sound of a fountain, the sound of water running, spilling laughingly from overflowing pools, and in the branches of the copper beech above them now a tiny sparrow trilled its joyful song, as though its breast could not contain its happiness.
He took her hand. “You have not seen the house, yet.” With her fingers curled in his he led her up the shaded lane of arches, round the gentle bend that brought them face to face with a fierce-looking pair of gilded lions, guarding what he thought was the most properly imposing approach to a villa that he’d ever seen—a wide palatial staircase built of whitest stone and edged with roses, climbing to the terrace up the curving lawn.
She stopped to marvel at the sight.
He swelled with satisfaction. And when they’d reached the top and stood within the sheltered courtyard set before the house, with a second fountain scattering bright beads of water to the morning air and below them the tumble of gardens and trees spilling down to the placid blue lake with its border of mountains, she turned and with her child’s eyes drank the view and sighed and held his arm.
He kissed her. “I will make you happy here.”
The roses rustled at his feet. Looking down, he saw a narrow tail slip out of sight, and frowned. Tomorrow, he thought, he would speak to the gardener. He wanted no serpents to live in his Eden.
i
“ WHY do the rich always build their houses miles from the road?” Den wanted to know. “All they need is a little front yard and a driveway, but no . . . they have to put in all these
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