Lake Como Page 3

  “I would love to see one happy marriage in this family.”

  Constance wore a pink silk blouse and a gray pleated skirt. Her hands were the only thing that showed her age: her knuckles were gnarled, and the diamond and emerald rings squeezed her fingers.

  “I promise you’ll be sitting in the front row of the church,” Hallie replied, placing her glass on the end table.

  “Portia left her husband.” Constance sat on the sofa facing Hallie. “He’s been seeing an actress in Milan. She moved back into the villa with Sophia and Pliny. Poor Sophia, it’s a terrible scandal.”

  “How could Riccardo cheat on Portia?” Hallie exclaimed. “She looks like Carla Bruni.”

  “Portia is almost thirty, that’s ancient by Italian standards.” Constance frowned. “The actress is twenty-two. Sophia is beside herself. Riccardo has disgraced Portia and the whole Tesoro family.”

  Hallie pictured Portia living under the strict Catholic roof of her father and grandmother. Portia had wild black hair and emerald green eyes. She wore multicolored Pucci dresses and five-inch Louboutin heels. The only sign that she came from a religious family was the gold cross she wore around her neck.

  Hallie remembered the first summer Portia and her brother came to visit. Hallie was seven and Constance appeared in her bedroom. She had sat at the foot of the bed, stroked Hallie’s bunny slippers, and turned the pages of a Beatrix Potter book.

  “Your half brother and sister are coming to stay with us.”

  “What’s a half sister?” Hallie had asked, hoping it was a doll that she could play hopscotch with.

  “Your mother refused to go to college, so I sent her to Switzerland to finishing school.” Constance had watched Hallie to make sure she was listening.

  “Finishing school!” Hallie had exclaimed indignantly. “I thought I’m finished with school after the second grade.”

  “Finishing school is a place where young ladies learn to be good hostesses.” Constance had smiled. “Your mother met an Italian prince named Pliny Tesoro on the ski slopes. They fell madly in love, got married, and moved into his mother’s villa on Lake Como.”

  “My mother was married to a prince!” Hallie’s eyes had danced with excitement. “Did she have ladies in waiting and a carriage like Cinderella?”

  “It was a beautiful villa. You’ll visit when you’re older. Francesca and Pliny had two children: Marcus and Portia. But then Francesca became very unhappy and she wanted to come home to America.”

  “How can anyone not want to be a princess?” Hallie had frowned, sucking a blond pigtail.

  “It’s hard to explain,” Constance had said tentatively. “But sometimes when you marry very young, you don’t know the person you are marrying.”

  “Then I’ll wait till I’m really old,” Hallie had replied emphatically. “At least till I’m twenty.”

  “Francesca came home but her mother-in-law wouldn’t let her take Marcus and Portia. Pliny’s mother is a very fierce woman named Sophia. Everyone was scared of her; someday you’ll meet her.”

  “Is she a wicked witch like in Sleeping Beauty? Did she make my mother eat a poisoned apple?”

  “Francesca was very sad to leave her children,” Constance had mused. “Luckily she met your father and had you.”

  “Is my father a prince?” Hallie had asked hopefully.

  “No.” Constance had paused. “I’m only telling you this because Sophia is finally allowing Portia and Marcus to come for the summer. You and Portia will share a room; you can teach her how to be American.”

  * * *

  Portia and Marcus arrived the next day and the two girls circled each other like jungle cats. Portia was barely nine, but she carried herself with a European sophistication that thrilled and puzzled Hallie. Portia wore perfume. Portia wore a bra, though her chest was as flat as Hallie’s. Portia’s hair was wild and curly, but it didn’t look messy like Hallie’s when she woke up in the morning. Portia’s hair looked like it belonged in a fashion magazine.

  Marcus was ten and had no time for his American half sister. But Hallie and Portia quickly became inseparable. Portia was used to living in a mansion and invented new games to play.

  They slid down the grand staircase. They pretended the ballroom was an ice-skating rink. They bought a family of black mice and a pumpkin and played Cinderella getting ready for the ball. At night they lay side by side, Portia in the twin bed that had been installed in Hallie’s room, and described the men they were going to marry.

  “My husband is going to have a speedboat,” Portia declared. “He’s going to take me out on the lake and feed me grapes and smelly cheese.”

  “I hate cheese.” Hallie pinched her nose. She wore a pink nightgown and her hair lay in a thick braid down her back.

  “All grown-ups eat smelly cheese,” Portia replied knowingly. “Every Saturday night the villa is full of adults eating stinky cheese and drinking bottles of wine. One night I snuck into the courtyard and saw my father kiss a woman. She had black hair and her mouth was as big as a fish. If you both eat stinky cheese, it cancels each other out.”

  “My husband is going to buy me chocolate-chip ice cream,” Hallie replied. She had never seen her mother kiss a man. Occasionally her mother went out to dinner but she came home after Hallie went to bed. When Hallie inquired the next morning how Francesca’s “date” went, Francesca rolled her eyes and muttered, “Next time I’ll buy my own dinner.”

  “My husband is going to propose on a gondola in Venice,” Portia continued, her eyes flashing. “He’s going to give me a diamond ring as big as a walnut. We’ll get married in a castle on Lake Como, and our guests will drink champagne and eat chocolate cake.”

  “My grandmother says you have to get married in a church,” Hallie said, frowning. “She says God can’t hear you unless you’re in His house.”

  “God is always in my father’s house.” Portia sighed dramatically. “God is at school, God sits above my bed. I’m going to keep my wedding private.”

  Hallie imagined a figure in a white robe floating above the bed. She glanced at Portia and started laughing. She buried her face under the sheets so no one would hear her.

  Every Sunday Hallie attended church with Constance. She wore her best dress and black Mary Janes and let Louisa pin her hair up. Hallie prayed at bedtime, closing her eyes and asking God to keep her mother and grandmother safe. But otherwise God kept his distance. She couldn’t imagine having to answer to Him for everything she did.

  * * *

  “Poor Portia.” Hallie sighed. “She’s not going to be happy in her old bedroom. She always said she felt like Rapunzel. If she wore the wrong clothes, old Sophia would lock her up and throw away the key.”

  “Sophia is concerned about appearances.” Constance nodded. “The Tesoro family is revered in Italy. She couldn’t afford to have her granddaughter riding on a motorcycle with a thug in a black leather jacket.”

  “Portia was eighteen!” Hallie laughed, remembering the photo spread in HELLO! that featured a teenage Portia wearing boots and a tube top, clinging to the back of a man on a motorcycle. Hallie had been a junior at St. Ignatius when Portia sent the clipping, scribbling her signature like an autograph. Hallie passed the magazine around to her friends, proud that she had such a scandalous half sibling.

  “Sophia heads the most important Catholic charities in Italy.” Constance walked to the sideboard and replenished her glass. “She has the ear of the Pope; it’s going to be very embarrassing.”

  “I thought San Francisco society was harsh,” Hallie mused. “When Dick Palmer left his wife for a manicurist, they kicked him out of the Bohemian Club.”

  “At least Dina kept the mansion in Presidio Heights.” Constance dropped two ice cubes in her glass. “Portia has to go live with her father. I wish Francesca would go see her. At times like this a girl needs her mother.”

  “Sophia still makes her break out in hives. Francesca’s allergic to everything Italian. She won�
�t even eat pizza.”

  “Francesca eats like a bird.” Constance sat on the sofa. “The last time she came to dinner she brought a jar of seeds she wanted Louisa to cook. I tossed them in the garden.”

  “I’m glad I don’t live with her anymore.” Hallie giggled. “She made me bean sprout sandwiches all through high school. I threw them away and ate Melinda’s bologna on white bread.”

  “I’d go to Como, but the doctor doesn’t think I’m well enough to fly.” Constance sniffed. “I walk every day, I’ve never felt better.”

  “Dr. Michaels has a crush on you,” Hallie replied. “If you flounce off to Europe, he can’t make house calls and drink your imported brandy.”

  “Sophia will find a way to blame Portia: she didn’t attend to Riccardo’s needs, she spent too much time in Milan at the fashion shows,” Constance said, frowning. “Portia needs a friendly face. You could fly over.”

  “I’d love to spend August lolling around the villa,” Hallie replied, picturing the turquoise lake, the little town that fell down to the shore. “But Kendra just signed two new clients.”

  “I heard she’s decorating Patsy Mane’s cabin in Tahoe.”

  “That was supposed to be a secret!” Hallie exclaimed.

  “Lottie Mane called last night. Apparently Patsy’s cabin is ten-thousand square feet and on the lake. Apparently the wedding was the event of the season. Fabergé eggs, Parisian silk tablecloths, lobster and filet mignon.”

  Hallie flinched. She hadn’t thought about the wedding since Peter left on his bicycle ride. Suddenly she flashed on Kendra’s hand slipping beneath Peter’s shirt. She saw her gold Cartier watch pressed against Peter’s back.

  “The waiters poured champagne nonstop,” Hallie mumbled. “I got a terrible headache.”

  “Pacing is everything,” Constance agreed. “If your guests get drunk they won’t remember the food or the music, and someone will behave badly.”

  “I think I’ve attended too many weddings this summer.” Hallie sighed. “I see crepe bags of Jordan almonds when I close my eyes at night.”

  “None of them are going to hold a candle to your wedding.” Constance got up and walked through the circular foyer. “I’ve already made a few enquiries on what dates Stanlee is available.”

  “Peter hasn’t asked yet!” Hallie followed her grandmother into the dining room. The long mahogany table was set with two porcelain place settings. There were crystal water glasses and platinum silverware. A vase of irises stood in the middle of the table, and there was a basket of fragrant bread rolls.

  “Stanlee is good at keeping secrets.” Constance smiled like a Cheshire cat. “We wouldn’t want Jenny Bach or Kelly Hampton to get the best date in June. Peter will propose soon. He’s a good man and he worships you.”

  Hallie sat on a tall velvet chair and broke a bread roll in half. She pushed the image of Peter’s crumpled tuxedo out of her mind. Kendra had been a tigress, trapping him in her lair. She bit into the warm, tangy bread, suddenly dreading seeing Kendra at the store in the morning.

  Louisa served asparagus soup with dollops of sour cream. The soup was followed by stuffed Cornish hens and golden potatoes sprinkled with chives. Dessert was poached pears drizzled in a sweet liqueur.

  “Food tastes better when it’s shared.” Constance drank a demitasse of espresso. “I do miss the dinners and galas. My Carolina Herrera gowns are gathering dust.”

  “You could ask Dr. Michaels if you could attend one event a month.” Hallie wiped her mouth with a linen napkin.

  “He says all the fatty food and alcohol is bad for the heart,” Constance complained. “Once Peter proposes I’ll have to come out of retirement. You’ll need an engagement party, a shower, a rehearsal dinner.”

  “Don’t you think we’re jumping the gun?” Hallie asked.

  Constance smiled. “I want you to have the most beautiful wedding the city has seen in years: a Vera Wang dress, Paula LeDuc catering, Stanlee doing the flowers. We’ll take your grandfather’s Bentley out of retirement. He would have been so proud of you.”

  Hallie knew Constance had never forgiven Francesca for getting married in Italy. Constance had been waiting thirty years to throw a grand San Francisco wedding. Sometimes Hallie felt it was her duty to walk down the aisle balancing a diamond tiara and carrying two dozen English roses.

  “I should go.” Hallie dropped her napkin on the table. “I have a client meeting tomorrow morning and I need to prepare.”

  Constance walked Hallie to the foyer and kissed her on both cheeks.

  “Ask your mother to go see Portia.” Constance opened the front door. “And bring Peter next week. He loves Louisa’s beef bourguignon. She’ll serve it with green beans and slivered almonds. We’ll have Pavlova for dessert.”

  “Try not to cause Dr. Michaels too much trouble.” Hallie hugged her grandmother. “You’ll give him a heart attack.”

  * * *

  Hallie got in the car and drove to Fillmore Street. She’d stop at the market and buy dinner. When Peter came home from cycling he was always starving. He sat in the kitchen like a teenager, wolfing down ham and cheese on sourdough bread. She’d buy a crisp Chardonnay, a raspberry tart, and a carton of chocolate ice cream.

  Fillmore Street was teeming with couples sauntering past cafés and clothing boutiques. The fog had retreated and the sky was blue. Men wore sports shirts and girls wore sleeveless dresses and low-heeled summer sandals. Hallie put her purchases in the car and crossed the street to the design store.

  Hallie admired the black-and-white awnings, the sign that announced KENDRA LARSEN INTERIORS in glossy black letters. The window was done all in white: a fringed sleigh bed upholstered in ivory satin, a white orchid in a white ceramic pot, a white wool rug threaded with narrow lines of gold.

  Kendra changed the window every Monday. Last week she let Hallie pick out the display. Hallie had drawn from one of her favorite designers, Syrie Maugham, who was famous for creating the first white room. Hallie had added one emerald silk pillow for a splash of color, and a beige end table with spindly legs.

  Hallie put her key in the lock and turned the brass handle. She flicked the light switch and glanced around the showroom. The floors were dark wood planks. The walls were canary yellow and hung with prints by Matisse and Picasso. A floral love seat was flanked by two potted palms.

  Hallie loved walking into the showroom, imagining she was seeing it for the first time. There were so many items of beauty: Louis XIV end tables, Laredo statues, Venetian mirrors framed in twenty-four-karat gold. Kendra regularly visited castles in France and Italy, bringing back pieces that were exquisite and functional. She had a wonderful eye. A piece that looked forlorn when it arrived was brought to life by a coat of varnish or a touch of paint.

  Hallie walked to her desk to retrieve some color samples and heard a sound in the back room. Kendra never came in on Sundays. She said she needed one day off to clear her head. On Monday mornings she arrived at eight, armed with black coffee and a notepad full of new ideas.

  Hallie cautiously opened the door to the back room. Kendra was sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by fabric swatches. She wore black leggings and a black leotard and her hair was pulled into a high ponytail. Her face was free of makeup and her feet were bare.

  Kendra looked up sharply. “Hallie! You scared me. What are you doing here on Sunday?”

  “I wanted to pick up some color samples for my meeting at Libby Taylor’s. I thought you never came in on Sundays,” Hallie replied defensively. She suddenly felt like her nerves were being pulled by an invisible string. Her body tensed, as if preparing for flight.

  All day she had tried to keep the image of Kendra and Peter at bay. She hadn’t known how she would react when she saw Kendra. She had hoped she would just shrug it off; Kendra had been drunk, it meant nothing. But now that Kendra was here, serene and smelling of Obsession, she wanted to take a fabric swatch and smack her across the face.

  “I could
n’t stand the gym.” Kendra flipped through swatches with her long French-manicured nails. “I couldn’t even run around the Marina Green. The sun was so bright, I got a headache. I thought I’d stay here until I regain my equilibrium.”

  “What’s wrong?” Hallie asked. The desire to smack Kendra faded. Up close Kendra’s skin looked yellow and there were deep circles under her eyes.

  “I drank too much at the wedding.” Kendra groaned, stretching her long legs. “Usually I switch to water, but I didn’t have a chance. The waiter kept refilling my glass.”

  “It was pretty over the top,” Hallie agreed warily.

  “I don’t remember anything after dinner,” Kendra continued. “One minute I was searching for Jennifer Newsom, the next I was in the foyer of my apartment building. I don’t know how I got there.”

  Hallie was silent. The room was so quiet she could hear her own breathing. She could pretend she didn’t know anything. The whole episode could fade away.

  “I found this in my purse.” Kendra rummaged through her bag and brought out a black tux tie. “This is so embarrassing. What if I offended one of our clients? What if someone saw me?”

  “I’m sure nothing happened.” Hallie gazed at the tie as if it was a snake. “Probably a guest left it on a table and you put it in your purse. You were going to return it and you forgot.”

  “I just walked away with some guy’s tie! What if this ends up in San Francisco magazine or on the Gate?” Kendra exclaimed.

  “I wouldn’t worry,” Hallie soothed. “There were four hundred people at the wedding. Everyone was hammered. People were reeling all over the dance floor, no one would have noticed.”

  “Do you really think so?” Kendra smoothed her hair. Her color was coming back and she looked a bit more like herself.

  “I’m sure even drunk you were in perfect control,” Hallie murmured. “You’re always the picture of elegance.”

  Kendra’s shoulders relaxed. She studied the fabric swatches as if she was mesmerized by the patterns. She glanced at Hallie, her brown eyes wide and sincere.

  “You’re right,” she said, smiling. “I’m going to go home and drink a pot of ginseng tea. I’ll see you in the morning.”