Crossing the line - 16. Party time at the Villa Torronia

I don’t know about you, but I always find the problem with parties is that something interesting is happening elsewhere. Not that my conversation with Emilio de Romana, director of the museum, and Giulietta Vanesi, the deputy director, was uninteresting. We were talking about Scarpa, the architect. Giulietta was something of an authority, and of course both had regular daily intercourse with his work at the Castelvecchio.

I loved Scarpa’s work, but much of my knowledge came from books as a lot was not necessarily publicly available. We were talking about things tantalisingly out of reach, except Giulietta suggested I come back, and she could arrange visits for me. Now that was a prospect, and something I thought Dan might enjoy too.

I had got my duty talk with the curator of the exhibition over early. This hadn’t been a duty at all, we had an illuminating chat about the artist and the way his work had gone in a bold, exciting new direction. Frankly, I was unsure about that as I thought his early work was rather fine. We’d see.

Dan was deep in conversation with Tony. Short and rather blobby with a head of crinkly grey hair, not unlike a Brillo pad, Tony had a voice that oozed pure sex. He was an academic, had worked at the University of London doing research on Italian artists who did so much work in 18th century English country houses and I could imagine his voice, in his beautiful, Italian-accented English, seducing the girls. Presumably girls. I wondered what Dan and Tony found to talk about.

Both Tony and Paola were in their early 60s (which gave a hint as to Suki’s real age), and Paola certainly wasn’t a lady of leisure, though it was unclear what she did. She was well-upholstered, to put it mildly. Chignon, severe yet elegant dress with sleek lines that probably owed something to firm corsetry. She succeeded in being distingué and stylish whilst not looking like a stick insect.

The main hall of the Villa seemed made for such occasions, with guests spilling out onto the loggias, drinks and food in the smaller rooms to each side. These were not quite as spectacular as the hall, but still featured some stunning smaller pictures (again Italian Futurists).

My mind was wandering from my conversation, looking over the rest of the party. The guests themselves were a funny lot. Beyond the artistic crowd, to whom I was steadily being introduced, there seemed to be men in suits and women who were stylishly undressed. Certainly, the overall effect seemed to emphasise looks and style, without any of the artistic bohemianism that could make London parties fun. When you looked around, you wondered who these people were. Certainly, it didn’t look like a gathering of Paola and Tony’s friends.

“Excuse me. Scusi, Dottore, Dottoressa, my Father would like to introduce Signor Vaughan to someone.”

My rescuer was a slight young man, mid-20s, wavy dark hair, narrow face, pencil moustache, lively eyes. “Ercole, at your service. You stay in my parents’ Villa.” He looked nothing like an Hercules, and much more like Ulysses perhaps, foxy of face, slight, with cunning intelligence in his eyes.

I smiled, “Ah, Paola and Tony’s son. They didn’t mention that you would be here.”

“A late addition, sir”, he smiled. “I thought you might need rescuing. Even distinguished critics should enjoy themselves. My Father and I were talking about the garden with your friend.”

There was a twinkle in his eye as he led me over to his Father and Dan, who seemed uncomfortable, “I take it Dan has told you his preference is for flowers, the more the merrier, and that you ought to be thinking about drought tolerant plants. He’s been reading a lot of Beth Chatto.”

Tony had no idea who Beth Chatto was, but the idea of drought tolerant plants appealed to him. The garden cost a fortune to irrigate and maintain. With a smile he described it as his wife’s idiotic extravagance. Ercole made the odd comment, suggesting a lack of interest in the garden, along with a hint that he had something of a scientific bent. But before we could chat further, both Tony and Ercole were whisked away to talk to someone, and we were scooped up by Paola. Having Dan with me was a boon, as the combination of his blond looks and his fluent Italian piqued curiosity, though I suspect he tired of telling the tale.

People started to evaporate, the suits and stylishly undressed ladies being whisked away in their (equally stylish) limousines. Giulietta, the deputy director, had come to say goodbye, reiterating her offer about us returning to explore Scarpa’s work further, whilst the museum’s director had said that he looked forward to seeing us tomorrow. I suddenly wondered what we’d do about eating. Suki had rather frustratingly vanished earlier, so we were on our own. Perhaps it’d be the remains of breakfast, assuming the maid hadn’t tidied everything away. Would it be sacrilege to phone for a pizza; would it be even possible?

Ercole reappeared, Mamma always ate in her room after una festa and Papa never remembered to eat. But he was sure we were hungry, and Patrizia would be happy to serve. He usually contented himself with formaggi e salume, but Patrizia would be pleased to serve us pasta, if we wished.

Cheese and salami sounded great. He led us up to the garden loggia on the first floor, we could hear the remains of the guests departing but we were separate, and with a glorious view of the gardens at twilight. Tony seemed to be having an intense final meeting with a couple of the suits, it could hardly be business as he was an academic, perhaps there were other interest too.

Patrizia, the middle-aged woman from this morning, was charming despite probably having been on the go for the best part of 12 hours. She brought wine, water, bread, cheese, cold meats and olives. A feast.

As we ate, Dan asked Ercole what he did, and I had expected something esoteric. He was a road traffic engineer. I think he must have seen consternation or surprise on both our faces, and he laughed. After all, Italy had plenty of roads and plenty of traffic, so it needed engineers.

“How come?” Dan almost blurted out the question.

“That I am an engineer? It is a long tale.”

He poured us some wine and started. He had always been intended to go into his grandfather, Paola’s Father’s business. But when the problems came, Ercole shrugged expressively, suddenly there was no business. His Father worked at the university, and so he took a more relaxed view and encouraged Ercole to follow his own interests.

“I always wanted to be an engineer, and I discovered that I could pass the examinations, that I could do it and that I enjoyed it.” He shrugged again, and smiled, “So here I am.”

“Did any of your grandfather’s business survive for your Mother?”

“For Mamma, ah I see. No. Nothing survives. But my grandfather collected things, houses, paintings, businesses, he would buy, plan, then lose interest. This is what Mamma tells me. And she inherited this collection.” He shrugged, “A cotton mill that should be an arts centre, a castle, other small businesses, this Villa. Lots of crazy things. White elephants I think you say in English”, he smiled, “We sell everything, and we keep this house. It is grand, eh? But it is Mamma’s pride. Restored thanks to her.”

It seemed indelicate to ask but I was curious, “How come, such an expense?”

He looked puzzled for a moment, “Ah, how she afford it? Mamma’s business does very well.” He stared at us, “You do not know? Mamma created ‘Paola T’”

I kicked myself, how could I not have realised, and why the hell hadn’t Suki said something. ‘Paola T’ was a youth fashion brand that had sprung up. That was about the limit of my knowledge. At this point, Paola herself appeared, checking we were being looked after.

“Mamma, they did not realise that you were ‘Paola T’”

She smiled and perched on one of the chairs. She ruffled Ercole’s hair fondly, “Ercole was late arriving. He is always late. Tony and I, we wait 10 years for him. My friends, they were lucky, and I see their daughters grow up, and I hear their dissatisfactions with clothes, and I have an idea. My Father, he leaves me no business, but he leaves me his brain, and I make the idea work. Poof, we have ‘Paola T’. It is small, my friends’ daughters buy, their friends do, their boyfriends do.”

She smiled and stood up, taking the rest of her hard work for granted. She retired and left us with Ercole. Dan had got up and was looking at the gardens, now very different in the moonlight. I wasn’t quite sure where this was going. There was something suggestive about Ercole’s manner, certainly he was charming, and interested, but something more? Was his legs-wide-apart stance when sitting just the normal straight-boy stance or was he showing of a neat package. He noticed me noticing, and he smiled, a smile that did reach his eyes. But he didn’t respond further, simply picked up the conversation, perhaps hitting on your parents’ guests at a party in their honour was a touch too far.

“The house was my grandfather’s, one of the things he bought and then lost interest in. Mamma says that he was easily bored. The business problems happen because he is losing interest, so they say shall we do this or that, we can earn money quicker. He says yes.” Ercole shrugged. “He buy a villa, it is complicated to restore it, he leave it. When we sell grandfather’s things there is this Villa. It is not sensible, but Mamma is determined. And now here we are.” He smiled, charming, quite sexy. And available? Perhaps.

But the sound of his Father’s voice, not best pleased judging by the angry timbre, penetrated our discussion.

“I apologise, I said I would help Papa. I say goodbye and I will see you at the dinner tomorrow.”

He gave each of us a kiss, on the lips, and squeezed our bottoms. Cheeky boy. I grinned at Dan, “Was that bravado, or a promise?”

He shook his head, amused, “Search me. This family’s weird, that’s for certain. So, do we wait for him to return or what?”

“I’ve no idea. He did say, see you tomorrow. What would you like to do?”

“Is it boring to say it’s been a busy day and I’d quite like just a cuddle in bed?”

I put my arm around him, “Not boring at all, and some of us have to work in the morning.”

He laughed, “That’s not work, you love it.”

We walked downstairs, and the sounds of Ercole and his Father in heated discussion wafted from one of the smaller rooms.

“Was it just me, or was there something a bit off about all that?”

“All what?” I shrugged, “It seemed like a normal party to me. Rather more designer suits and expensive dresses than in London, perhaps.”

Dan’s nose wrinkled, “I don’t know. Too many folk having little private gatherings in the side rooms.”

“Happens. Though I was nabbed by the museum director and that crew, so didn’t really see much.”

“Hmm. Tony seemed busy, and Ercole too.”

“All those men in suits.”

“You noticed.”

“Well, some. And the undressed women.”

Dan gave a snort, “Those side rooms. Convenient for a quick meeting. And I counted at least three blokes, with their heavies, who barely stayed.”

“You noticed a lot.”

He gave me a look, “Training, innit?” then grinned. “The arty folk seemed genuine enough but the rest, felt a bit fake.”

“Tony and Paola’s dear friends.”

“Please. Suki might kid herself, but it felt like renta-crowd to me.”

“Well, as we left Tony seemed to be having a last-minute meeting.”

“Looked like business to me. Ercole was the same, slipping off with folk then wandering back with a smile plastered on his face and a drink in his hand.”

He paused, and I wondered if that was as far as his speculations had gone, but his next train of thought seemed entirely different. “What to do reckon all this costs?”

“The Villa?”

“Well, yeah. Keeping it spick and span. You’ve got to hand it to them. It’s in good nick.”

“Frankly, I’ve no idea. Why?”

“Think about it. They’ve a flat in town, and this place. The entertainment tonight seemed lavish enough. Tony’s a college lecturer and Paola has a successful youth fashion house. Reckon they bring in enough?”

I stared at him, aware where he was going. “Well, Paola’s a tough cookie and her Father’s daughter by all accounts.”

“If you do the dates, when Paola and Tony married, her Dad was mired in his dodgy dealings.”

“And Tony bought into the family firm?”

“Come on, all this doesn’t come free.”

“So, some less then licit business deals going on tonight?”

“Think about it. Between them, Tony, Paola and Ercole must cover some ground in business trips and the like. Good cover.”

“For drugs?”

He pulled a face, “Not carrying. Too risky. Other stuff, maybe.”

“You reckon?”

He shrugged, “Might just be my evil mind. I’d want to know a bit more if we ever came back.”

I gave him a look, “As if that will happen. I’m just the tame critic.”

He grinned, “Rented for the evening!”