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“You have a beautiful home, Mrs Peabody,” I say in awe of my surroundings.
“Thank you, dear. Yes. I love it. Your immediate physical world has such a profound effect on your inner existence, don’t you think.” Mrs Peabody smiles serenely, and I nod, not fully understanding what she is getting at. “So, I was wondering if I could ask a favor.”
“Okay. Go ahead.”
“Well. There’s a certain picture that is coming up for sale in Italy that I would like to purchase.”
“How exciting. Please, tell me.”
“Mr Moretti is brokering the deal. I asked him to, and he seemed happy about it. I have the perfect spot for it… Come on. I’ll show you.” Mrs Peabody stands and walks into the house. We pass two staff members hanging the landscape paintings, which look fabulous on the wall, illuminated by subtle overhead spotlights.
I follow Mrs Peabody up the stairs to a study with an expansive view of the ocean. One wall is bare.
“He must go there,” she says waving an arm at the vacant space. Then she turns on a laptop on the desk. “Wait a minute. I’ll show you. He’s quite handsome.” She giggles. Mrs Peabody scrolls through some images and settles on one which she maximizes to fill the screen. “Here he is. Isn’t he gorgeous?”
The painting is a courtier, possibly sixteenth century. After Titian. A large blue sleeve dominates the canvas area. Piercing eyes set in a noble pale face, dare you to look away. A fine sculpted beard and mustache, fashionable of the time, complement his dark, shiny waves of curls. The dimensions of the canvas are underneath.
“He’s in Florence. But I want him here.”
“Great. So, Mrs Peabody. I love your soon-to-be new painting, but I don’t understand what the favor is that you want from me.”
“Do you have a passport?”
“Yes.”
“Great. I want you to go to Florence and bring him back with you.”
I’m stunned by this sentence and repeat it back to Mrs Peabody, just to make sure I have heard it correctly.
“Yes, my dear. That’s right. All expenses paid, of course. And I’ve already asked Mr Moretti, and he is more than happy to release you from your gallery duties for a few days.”
“Thanks for thinking of me, but I can’t go, Mrs Peabody.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have a cat.”
She starts laughing. “That is not a reason not to go. You have an animal that needs care while you are away. I can recommend numerous care facilities to accommodate. And you have friends or family who you trust?” I begin to nod as I think about Desmond and Sandy. Contessa practically lives at their apartment anyway. But still, I’m digging around for excuses not to go.
Why didn’t I want an all-expenses paid trip to Europe? Because the last time I was there my heart got broken and it’s still not repaired properly. The thought of seeing places I had crystalized in my memory seemed too risky. I didn’t want to relive the hurt. That and the possibility of seeing Gianni there was all too much.
“Thank you so much for your offer, but I’ll have to decline.”
“Ahh, that’s too bad.” Mrs Peabody looks crestfallen. “Listen. How about you think it over and give me a call in a couple of days? I understand. You just can’t drop everything and take off to Florence, flying business class and staying in a fancy hotel for three nights. Then collect a painting, making sure it’s packaged correctly, and bring it back to my home. I see how that could be something you need to think about.” I knew she was teasing me, and I suddenly feel stupid.
“Mrs Peabody,” I sigh. “I’ll call you tonight, okay? I just need to sort out a few things.”
Chapter 16
Gianni
Mamaisalwayshappywhen I’m home. She will come into my office unannounced to give me a hug, randomly, during the day. It doesn’t matter what I am doing. I might be on a call, trying to negotiate a deal, like the one this morning when I brokered the sale of a painting for Mrs Peabody. My mother will sneak in and hug me. It’s just her way.
At breakfast, I FaceTime Luisa in New York so my mom can see her, and they can talk. She asks about her new school and what she likes best about being in New York. Luisa waves and tells her grandma she is having a great time, that she misses her very much and she can’t wait to come back home at Christmas, which is only a few weeks away. My mother is almost in tears when Luisa says she has to go. She is on the basketball team, and they have scheduled weekly practice and tournament games at the weekend.
“Ciao Nonna. Ciao Papa. Talk soon, okay?”
“I think of her every minute,” Mama says with sad eyes when I disconnect the call. “I know she is alright, and the school is perfect for her, but I can’t help it. I miss her.”
