“Indeed,” Bennett agreed. He crossed the terrazzo in three strides, preventing Pezzati from stepping away from his massive cushioned wicker chair, the back of which he clung to with bony fingers. “Nico,” Bennett said warmly, reaching to grasp his friend’s free hand. “It’s been too long.”
Bennett had provided a little background on our trip out here. Nico Pezzati had inherited his considerable wealth as a young man and had managed his many interests from a New York City penthouse up until about fifteen years ago. Widowed young, and tired of the frenetic American pace, he’d relocated to Italy, near where his parents had been born. He had two grown children, a son he had disowned shortly after he’d moved here, and a daughter, whom Bennett barely remembered.
As he’d provided this history, Bennett had adopted a wistful, resigned look. “We lost touch over the years, Gracie. I think Nico was ashamed of his son. Having managed so much wealth so successfully himself, he expected no less from his progeny. His disappointment in Gerard’s irresponsible behavior was too much for him.”
“And they have no contact at all anymore?” I’d asked.
Bennett had given a thoughtful sigh. “I should be a better friend to Nico,” he’d finally said. “We were so close so many years ago, and I’m beginning to grasp how little we’ve kept in touch.” Turning to me again, he forced a smile. “Neither of us is getting any younger. Maybe this trip will allow us to reconnect.”
I’d patted his arm. “I’m sure it will.”
Now, as Bennett introduced me, Nico took my hand in both of his. He was probably my height, but seemed shorter due to his stooped posture. Behind his age-spotted, sun-scarred face, I could see the handsome man he’d once been. Deep smile lines and twinkling eyes led me to believe his spirit embraced a more youthful existence than his body allowed.
“Grace,” Nico said, holding tight. He gave me a surreptitious once-over. “Your name suits you.”
“It’s my great pleasure to meet you,” I replied. “Bennett has told me a lot about your adventures at school.”
He chuckled. “I hope he hasn’t told you everything,” he said. “I have a reputation to uphold.” Letting go of my hand, he turned to Bennett with a glimmer of understanding in his eye. “When you told me that you would be accompanied by an assistant, I confess I had entirely different expectations. You are still quite the active man, aren’t you, my good friend?”
Bennett cleared his throat. “You misunderstand. Grace is my n—”
“Curator,” I volunteered, realizing that by cutting Bennett off I was probably feeding directly into Nico’s assumptions. I couldn’t allow myself to be identified as Bennett’s niece, though. Not yet, anyway. Not until we knew for certain, and we both understood that day might never come. “And estate manager,” I continued. “I’m in charge of the artifacts, the tourism, and the grounds.”
“Ah,” Nico said in a gracious tone that made it clear he didn’t believe a word I’d said, “my mistake. Allow me to present some of my assistants. They are nowhere near as lovely as you are, Grace, but I am in need of a different sort of comfort these days.”
As though to emphasize his words, Nico lifted his free arm and the man who hadn’t been arguing with him grabbed it and helped lower the elderly man back into his chair.
“Please, join me. Sit,” Nico said. He gestured blithely to the other man. “That is Angelo, and this”—he pointed up toward the fellow who was now arranging pillows—“is Gianfranco. Neither man speaks any English, although I believe they’ve begun to catch on to a couple of words here and there.”
At the sound of their names, both men made eye contact with us and gave a small nod of acknowledgment. As Bennett and I sat, forming a small U-shaped conversational area around a low, painted table, I studied the assistants. The larger of the two, Angelo, the one who had been arguing with Nico as we’d approached, stood about fifteen feet away from us, hands crossed in front of his waist, his pale face impassive, eyes staring straight ahead like a soldier who had just been told, “At ease.”