Lake Como by Anita Hughes Page B

Como when Portia and Marcus were young, but she never said she stayed at the villa. Hallie imagined Constance and Theodore dining with Sophia and Pliny and shivered.
    “I gather Constance never told Francesca she was our guest.” Sophia smiled as if she could read Hallie’s mind.
    “Hallie’s been on a plane for hours,” Portia interrupted. “Let her shower and change.”
    “Lea has prepared brunch.” Sophia moved toward the house. “We will eat and then you can take a siesta before the evening’s celebration.”
    Hallie followed Sophia through the double glass doors into the foyer. She had forgotten the scope of the house: the sweeping marble staircase, the intricate murals painted on the ceiling. Every chair, love seat, and ottoman was covered in thick gold brocade. It was like standing inside a jewelry box.
    “Portia tells me you have taken up interior design,” Sophia said.
    “I work for one of the premier designers in San Francisco,” Hallie replied.
    “Maybe you can teach Portia.” Sophia walked through double oak doors into the family dining room. “If she had an interest she wouldn’t concern herself with Riccardo’s peccadilloes.”
    “Veronica is not a peccadillo. She’s a twenty-two-year-old actress with breasts like hot-air balloons and the hair of Medusa,” Portia muttered, putting a celery stick and a baby carrot on a dessert plate.
    “Riccardo will tire of her.” Sophia shrugged. “They always do.”
    The table was covered with a burgundy tablecloth and set with inlaid china. Crystal pitchers held fresh juice and stone platters overflowed with fruits and vegetables. There were eggs simmering under silver domes, whipped mashed potatoes in warming trays, grilled mushrooms and tomatoes.
    “It is healthy to eat a large midday meal.” Sophia handed Hallie a plate. “Tonight you will dance it off.”
    Hallie felt the jet lag return, crushing her like a boulder. She filled the plate with melon balls, strips of ham, and green olives. She poured a glass of cranberry juice and sat in one of the ornate brocade chairs. She tried to bring the fork to her mouth but suddenly she grew dizzy.
    “I’m sorry.” Hallie gulped, trying to stop the room from spinning. “The jet lag caught up with me.”
    “Are you feeling ill?” Pliny appeared from the foyer. He walked over to the table and touched Hallie’s arm. “My mother has never been on an airplane, she doesn’t understand how travel can affect you.”
    “I could use a glass of water,” Hallie murmured.
    “You need to put something solid in your stomach,” Pliny insisted. “I will fix you a plate.”
    Portia ran to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Pliny strode quickly around the table and set a full plate in front of Hallie.
    “Eat, you will feel better,” he prompted.
    Hallie’s head tipped forward and she knocked the plate on the floor. Eggs and prosciutto spilled onto the ceramic tile and the plate shattered into pieces. She slumped in the chair, and the stained-glass windows, the plastered walls, and the gold drapes disappeared. She let the cool blackness swallow her up like Alice falling down the rabbit hole.

 
    chapter six
    “How am I going to go to the feast with a lump the size of an Easter egg?” Hallie lay back against the pillows in Portia’s bedroom.
    After Hallie fainted, Pliny had carried her upstairs and laid her on the canopied bed. Hallie woke up with a cold cloth pressed against her forehead and a brandy snifter held under her nose.
    “Alcohol is the last thing I need.” Hallie pushed the snifter away. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a train.”
    Portia set the glass on the bedside table. “We’ll put some powder on the bump and you’ll be brand new.”
    “Will Sophia forgive me?” Hallie groaned. “I ruined brunch and broke a family heirloom.”
    “You distracted her from worrying about me.” Portia sat on the edge of the bed. “All day long she plots how to get Riccardo and me back