From the back of a truck, it was tough to catch the first glimpse of the Conte vineyard over its walls. I was packed in with a bunch of other guys, mostly Romanian, all of us eager to get down to business. We had lost a fair amount of time this morning in waiting for the truck, and if we were right, we might have missed out on two hours worth of pay over that. If we had just been allowed to stay in the vineyard outbuildings, we wouldn’t have to put up with this.
I wasn’t complaining, I rather liked Calovissi, and waiting around gave me a chance to explore. Every time I travelled to a new part of Europe I preferred to live near the locals so I could interact with them. Even if they could tell I wasn’t one of them from a mile away, they were kind and fun to hang around. People tended to be interested in talking to the one guy in town with red hair and a height above six feet. Across Romania and France, they’d known the name of Liam Kinkaid in tiny villages since I was considered something like a travelling freak show.
Just as we were passing under the gates into the vineyard, I noticed how many security guards were standing around, armed to the teeth. I could understand having a few people at the door, but I felt as if I were entering a prison and everyone was watching to make sure I wasn’t a violent threat.
My family’s vineyard back home didn’t need an army to protect it, nor had any of the ones that employed me in Europe. The hilltop villa surrounded by teardrop-shaped trees was definitely more impressive in person than on my laptop. I’d skipped over researching the place’s history, maybe there was something about it that would explain this level of security.
“Not taking any chances after what happened,” I picked out of a Romanian accent not far from me. The man who’d spoken was gesturing to the guards with a cigarette, and a few of the others nodded.
“How much do you know about what happened?” I asked, leaning forward. “Was there a break in? Did they take anything big?”
“Man, don’t you have the internet?” asked another Romanian. “We all looked it up.”
“Sure, I looked it up, that’s why I knew which train to take out of France. But I didn’t look at any news stories about it, should I have?”
“A whole gang broke in last year, maybe mafia,” said one of the fellas with a slightly different accent. Hungarian or Polish, maybe. “Killed most of the family, our boss is all that’s left standing.”
I’d thought the armed guards might have been too much, but now I wondered if it weren’t too little protection for such sprawling grounds. There were lots of half broken down outbuildings for people to hide in if they wanted, had someone checked them before we arrived?
We paused at the security checkpoint to let the guards check us for weapons. As professional as they were, they started to chat with us as soon as they realized we weren’t a threat.
“I thought this part of Italy didn’t have mafia violence. Is that going to be a problem while we stay here?” I asked, mentally squashing down a squeaky little voice that sounded like my mother’s.
The security officer gave me a once over, another evaluation I seemed to pass. “My team and I are the best Signorina Conte could have bought, and she has deep pockets. As long as you are on the job, we will not allow anything to get to you, don’t you worry your pretty head.”
It didn’t matter whether I liked being talked down to, he was the one with a gun and I had to put up with it. “So who do you think did it?”
“Rich kids,” the first Romanian who’d spoken flicked his cigarette at the bed of the truck and smothered it with his shoe before the guard could answer.. “Some crazy kids with nothing better to do, who even knows if it was mafia? All we get are rumors because the press doesn’t want to quit talking about it so they’ll find any excuse to dig up a new theory. You should really do your research.”
His comment burned into my chest making me think I hadn’t done due diligence. It was a good thing I hadn’t told my mother the name of the place that had hired me, yet. There was still time to cushion the blow before she researched it for herself and lost her marbles.
A few curses in Romanian brought my attention back the way we’d come. Over the gated arch we’d just passed under, a house was built into the wall. From the other end, it had looked like a few barred windows over the gate, but now I could see rounded towers on either side of it. I thought I could see a shabby-looking living room through the windows, but the glare was powerful.
“Is that where the guards sleep?” I asked.
“Half of it,” the guard admitted, having followed us to the point where we all climbed out of the truck.
“Do you always drift off like that, boy?” one of the Romanians asked. “You’re going to hurt yourself on the job.”
“Only when I’ve got something interesting to look at,” I rubbed the back of my neck, where sweat was already pooling. I’d corralled my ginger curls into the back of my trusty baseball cap, but even that couldn’t make up for the fact I’d put off cutting it a while too long.
The truck jerked to a halt, making us rock into each other as if we were all standing on a city bus. We climbed out, some jumping over the sides without bothering to wait in line. We stood off to the side to let the truck depart, finding ourselves between rows of semi-groomed grapevines that seemed like they’d been left to go wild.
“Do we know anything about the boss?” I asked aloud, distracted as I stood before the first vine.
“Early twenties, no experience in the agricultural side of the business, socially awkward.” The man who’d ended up answering was our driver, the only local among us. “We’ve all done our best to keep this place from falling into complete ruin, but without the familia around to keep us going, a lot of us had to go find work elsewhere. Sorry you have to take over now.”
“I guess that’s why we all talked to representatives of the agricultural agency instead of the boss. I doubt I’d want to talk to a bunch of strangers after what happened, either,” I shrugged. “About how much of this place would you say is a wreck? The agency said they’d evaluated it as moderately poor but that doesn’t tell me much.”
“Honestly? Most of the property is rubbish,” the man said. “The familia had stopped caring about us little people for a while, to tell you the truth. Stopped answering our queries about repairing the outbuildings until we could not live in them, anymore. Some of the big tanks for processing wine are out of use, the lake is turning into a marsh, and aside from the best of the vines we weren’t able to keep up with the land that much. The wine is good enough to keep us going, though, so here we are. Now it’s about time you got to work, amici.” He got back into the truck, and then drove back toward the village.
The whole day, I worked tirelessly on each vine I was assigned to. There wasn’t much difference between this and the other vineyards I’d worked at, aside from the declining health of the vines. The vines in those places had been meticulously examined each day, and never would have been let go wild the way the ones here had. I knew what to look for. Leaves with chew marks were discarded, old canes got cut off the vines, and I made sure that each one was well wrapped around the trellis.
It was almost as rewarding as coaxing the young foals at home into their first training courses, but I couldn’t let myself think about that. My sister’s first show with her palomino would be this weekend, and I wouldn’t be there to see in person. Hopefully, my nephew Kelan didn’t troll me with screech owl gifs instead of the actual footage this time.
A nice old lady came by in an apron and head kerchief both to hand me a boxed lunch and then later to collect my garbage so I could keep working. She was one in a whole fleet of villagers filtering through the rows. Maybe it was just something locals did, but it felt more intentional and regimented than the average favor. Back home, people dropped in from the local area to help, too, but they tended to do odd jobs and favors without seeming so coordinated.
Moving down the rows until dusk crept over us, most of the others talked among themselves in their own languages. It was my choice to come out here alone, so I couldn’t complain. I’d find my way into a friend group eventually, but for now I was absorbed in befriending the grapes.
“Are you still going?” the man who might be Polish asked when I’d reached the end of another row. How long had it been since I took a break? “Leave some for tomorrow! We’re not paid to miss dinner!”
I stretched my arms overhead, taking a deep breath of the salt air. The sound of distant waves must have been what lulled me into a trance as I worked, maybe tomorrow I should try an audiobook. “Trust me, I’m ready for dinner, too!” I grinned at my coworker who nodded as he led me to join the others.
We were all funneled into a series of long benches and tables set out in front of what should have been our dormitory building. Now that building looked like the setting for a horror movie. The aromatic trees around us looked a lot like what you’d see if you didn’t trim your toenails for a year.
I thought at first that I must be homesick imagining the scent of grilled pork chops after a long day of work. For a large group of laborers, the boss was sure to cut corners in order to cover the cost. The trays piled with thickly cut pork chops and vegetables to match were a startling sight. When the job listing had promised that lunches and dinners will be provided, I’d expected I might be lucky to get a half decent bit of fruit and a sandwich. As I was restraining the urge to wolf down everything in front of me like some viking set loose at a feast, a purple sedan with the winery’s branding printed on the side rolled up to the edge of our dining area.
A petite woman in a neat black dress that didn’t over-emphasize her curves exited the car. Her pale skin peeked out only in a few places, since she wore a jacket against the mild chill and a large set of sunglasses in addition to a broad sun hat. Considering how dark it was, I suspected the reason for that was more to do with fashion than anything.
She seemed to be choosing her footing carefully before each step, and took a moment to look back up at us as if she’d been putting it off. “Buona sera, everyone. I apologize for my remoteness up until now, but I hope that you know how much I appreciate your being here for me. I am Rosanna Conte, heiress to this… work in progress.” She twitched her hands together as if she had something to squeeze, like a stress ball. “The agency and I hand picked you all for this opportunity, I have faith that you will accomplish your tasks here skillfully and without incident.” She swept her hands toward the decrepit shell of a dormitory building, with all the grace of a dancer. “Though as you can see, the ordinary facilities for you to stay on the grounds are currently unavailable, I hope you will regard the village of Calovissi your home, and always feel welcome on the vineyard grounds while you stay here. If you have any troubles, please contact Giovanni Palumbo, the proprietor of the hotel you’re all staying in, or the agricultural agency. I will personally see to it that any concerns those parties cannot address are settled, for I am no less a part of this endeavor.” She pressed a hand over her heart, her long, narrow fingers standing out pale as marble against her black jacket.
There was a rumble of acknowledgment but little else. I expected her to climb back into her car, however she found her way to the only available seat: the one across from me. The breeze brought a fruity, floral perfume from her across the table to reach me. I couldn’t help but stare at her. Her lipstick was wine-stain red, her hat had a wide brim keeping the men to either side of her at a bit of a distance, and large angular sunglasses on past dark. She seemed like a Bond Girl just waiting to reveal how she was involved in an international heist.
Aside from a few greetings, nobody was brave enough to speak to her. A boss in the middle of the employees was weird enough, but someone so aristocratic seemed even more out of place surrounded by so much sweat and testosterone. She’d probably chosen to join us out of solidarity, which was commendable for someone who had to hire armed guards to feel safe. Since there was a picnic of the villagers not too far away, wouldn’t it have been easier for her to join them?
“Thanks for the food, ma’am,” I said, a little self-conscious of the twang in my voice. It wouldn’t have been there if I’d picked Italian, but since she’d given her speech in English I hadn’t thought to switch over. “It’s real nice, way nicer than anything I’ve gotten at my other jobs.”
Her little burgundy mouth popped open, and I realized it had only been so small because she was deep in concentration. Her lips looked so soft… “I… am glad you enjoy it.” Her nervous little voice tugged on my heart. “It was difficult to choose what to serve the first night, but then I realized with so many Romanians… I know how they love pork, so…” Nervous and considerate, then. The hat and glasses made sense, now: she wasn’t hiding from the sun, she was hiding from us.
“It’s the best I’ve had since I left home,” I told her gently.
“Where is your home? I can tell you are the American, though I’d thought you might be a Scot when I saw you.” Miss Conte had made me grin, but I could tell she was still uncomfortable.
“Scottish on my father’s side, Irish on my mother’s,” I said. “I was born in North Carolina, though. You’ve got a good eye.”
She ducked her head. “Thank you, signore. Sometimes I speak too freely, I thought I might have insulted you.”
There was something so endearing about someone so aristocratic referring to me as her language’s equivalent of ‘sir’ and being concerned that she might offend me. It was as if she considered me some high-flung dignitary that she had to impress. In the silence, she sat across from me eating as if it embarrassed her to be seen eating. I didn’t think anyone else noticed that she was so uncomfortable, she could have argued it was merely a matter of good manners. I’d always been a bit too nosy for my own good, so I spoke up again.
“It’s a real nice thing for you to eat with us, you could’ve just stayed up in the big house and fed us boring sandwiches.”
“I am not like that,” she said sharply. “What I mean to say is… I want to be different…” I thought she might be looking at me through the dark shields over her eyes, but she could easily have been staring through me at the rest of the army she’d hired. “What do you prefer to be called?” she asked me suddenly, and I realized she really must have been staring at me. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that, since as a beautiful girl was staring at me. Flattered as I was, she was my boss, and there were other reasons for her to be staring.
“Liam, ma’am, you can leave off Kinkaid since we’re friends,” I said. “At your service… and if you happened to have something else to do aside from the vine trimming and such, you only need to ask.” I’d spoken almost without thinking, in a rush at the idea that I might find a new excuse to spend time around Miss Conte.
A jab of memory reminded me that it was unwise to offer too much to someone in power over me, but I ignored it. As unnerving as it could be that she wouldn’t let me see her eyes, I couldn’t imagine what she’d gone through a year ago. Well, that was a lie, I had some idea.
She was making a wheezing sound. I jumped to my feet in case she needed me to perform CPR, but she put a hand up. “I am only… laughing,” she said that last word with surprise. “I do not think you would make such an open ended offer if you knew how much there was to do!” she smirked at me with a humorous challenge.
I sat back down, answering her smirk with a grin. I had often been told my grins were formidable. “I never make a promise I don’ t intend to keep,” I told her. “I really mean it, unless you think your husband would be too nervous having me around?”
This time I knew she was coughing, because I’d seen her taking a delicate sip of white wine. She spluttered a moment as I held my grin, hoping that would smooth everything over. I might have been a bit too bold, this time, but I couldn’t be sorry just yet.
“Who told you that I have a husband?” She asked when she recovered, making my heart sink. This was the first time the low murmur of talk from the others around us cut through.
My roommate jabbed me in the ribs with his elbow, muttering in Romanian about how I should keep my mouth shut.
I pretended I hadn’t understood him. I was too intrigued by her delicate, birdlike grace. I couldn’t even be sure what shape her nose was, and could hardly see any of her face, but I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned, she was the most beautiful creature alive. “Just a guess, it’s hard to imagine you’re not married.” I completely ignored the way someone was grinding my toes into the ground with his heel.
“I am not,” she said, cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “Do you ask this question to every girl you meet? You will get smacked someday.”
My grin gleamed full force again. “I haven’t yet! So I don’t have to feel guilty for asking to have extra little jobs, then? I could really use something to do with my free time.”
Miss Conte looked to the men around me with a skeptical little pucker in those burgundy lips. While she wasn’t looking at me, I had time to wonder what they’d feel like if I could just get one kiss… She was looking at me again before I could drift off into daydreams, and I wondered how much of my thought process was obvious on my face.
“Guilty? No, but you may regret it, anyway. I planned to hire a second force to work just in the house,” she said. “You have heard of my little difficulties, yes? I will be shocked if you haven’t,” she waited only for my nod, and not my apology, before she continued. “As I thought. The police were careful with the worst of it, made the house ‘clean’ you could say, but it must be redone from the ground up, and I need men I trust on the project. You will not speak to the press.” That wasn’t a question.
“I know how to keep secrets,” I said, and tipped the brim of my baseball cap at her. “I want to help you, Miss.”
“You are in Italy, you may call me Signorina Conte,” she said, with the air of someone teaching me a better way to do something without any irritation at my being wrong. “May I ask why you chose to come so far south? You could have stuck to Roma or Venezia.”
“I saw them, but they didn’t have the right kind of work for me,” I said, and dug into the rest of my dinner before it could get cold. If I weren’t careful, I’d spend the whole time talking to my boss, which wasn’t exactly what I’d planned. I just couldn’t help myself.
“You prefer to work the land,” she said quietly. I almost hadn’t heard her, or picked the words out of how thick her accent had gotten. “I understand. There is much land here,” she continued, rising to her feet.
How had she finished her food so quickly? My chest clenched at the thought she was about to leave, just when we were getting to know each other. I had to remind myself this wasn’t a date, it was only a chance meeting with someone I might otherwise have only seen on a magazine cover. I forced my hands to remain on the table, and not jerk out to grasp for her hand.
I noted a humorous twist in one corner of her lips, but only because I was staring. She smoothed it away before raising one hand, and only then did I notice she was making a toast with what was left of her wine. “My dear friends,” she said clearly, “I am honored to have shared this first supper with you, and I hope that we will all be together at the end of the season to witness the bounty of your labor. I can promise each of you a bottle of Conte wine, as well as celebrations at the midpoint and end of our time together. Please accept my gratitude once more.” She lifted her glass, and the rest of us moved mechanically to join her. “To our victory over time and neglect!” there was a bitter note in her voice a moment before she tipped the wine past her lips, but I was busy drinking the toast myself before I could consider it.
When I put my glass back down, I saw that she was walking back to her car. My chest clenched again, seeing her walk away without so much as a goodbye.
It struck me that to her, the whole exchange might not have been as significant as it had been for me. I just couldn’t let her leave like that.
I rounded the table and jogged up to the car, surprising her. “Signorina,” I said, bowing, and opened the door of her car. “A lady should never have to open doors for herself,” I explained. My heart was shuddering as I wondered if I’d flattered or offended her.
She laughed softly, but it really sounded more like a wheeze. “I have opened many doors,” she said, the amusement still on her lips.
“Sure, but not with me around,” I said looking up from my bow.
She whipped her hat off her head to load it into the car, and I saw that she had a ponytail of thick espresso curls. “Signore Kinkaid, you are a persistent one,” she remarked, controlling her accent with some apparent effort.
“Liam, please. You’re the boss around here, I don’t need anything more than that.”
“Liam, I will speak to you again. Though for now, you should go back to the party before your friends think something indecent has happened between us.”
I straightened, dispersing the ghosts of unprofessional thoughts. “Signorina, I wouldn’t tarnish your reputation.”
She closed the car door, then rolled down the window, and flickered her sunglasses off. It was too dark for them, anyway. I could only tell that her eyes were dark, but there was a sort of pull about them that drew me nearer. “Liam,” she said seriously, “one day you will return to America, and you will have a life there. Be careful what story you have to tell about your time here.” She started her car, and I stepped back, letting her drive away.
Moira and Mum would tell me not to be so eager to please my boss, it had gone so wrong in the past.
Comments