Surely a goddess had smiled on Lago di Como, long before humans had discovered its stunning beauty. A memory flitted across Ruby’s mind as she recalled Niccolò’s description of Lago di Como.
It’s a culture of beauty. La cultura del bello.
Ruby had left her heart here long ago. Instead, she had devoted her life to acting, theatre, films, television. When talent agent Joseph Applebaum had gambled on her, he’d guided her into a rapid succession of films. Besides movies, Ruby had also lent her image to cosmetic and fashion advertising campaigns and starred in a long-running television series, racking up awards as she went. Even her signature perfume campaign won a Clio award. Now, she still welcomed occasional roles.
“If only Ariana could experience this,” Ruby whispered into the soft breeze. Ariana was her grandniece or great-niece, although Ruby seldom made that distinction because it made her sound ancient. Appearances counted in her industry.
As a child, Ariana had played in Ruby’s closets and developed a superb eye for fashion and costume detail. Ariana’s mother hadn’t condoned her daughter’s education in fashion. To tough-minded Mari, only a degree in science or business or engineering was worthy of investment.
When Mari refused to pay for Ariana’s study in fashion design, Ruby stepped in, despite Mari’s protests. Ruby paid for Ariana’s attendance at the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising in Los Angeles, where the young woman had blossomed.
Now, Ariana worked long hours at a studio as a costume designer for an ungrateful, emotionally abusive boss. And her boyfriend wasn’t much better.
There was nothing Ruby wouldn’t do for Ariana, the child of her heart whom she loved more than life. If only Ariana knew, or could accept, how truly gifted and loved she was. To Ruby, it was critical that she intervene in Ariana’s off-track life. She wanted her final gift to Ariana to be happiness.
But how?
Ruby was desperate to set things right with those she loved. Her sister Patricia’s death last year—and the instructions she left—made it imperative that Ruby address lingering issues. She owed that to Mari—and sweet Ariana, who loved her for who she really was, not the Technicolor characters she’d played. Patricia had left the most difficult task to Ruby.
Placing a hand at her neck, Ruby recalled the letter she’d read so often that she had memorized it like a script.
* * *
My dear Ruby,
By the time you read this, I will be resting peacefully. As I write, I am still grappling with my diagnosis but thought I should take measures while I can. You have my gratitude for whatever decisions you’ve had to make on my behalf. But I have one more private request that I cannot bring myself to face. I have left a letter and personal items in a safety-deposit box for dear Mari. Please understand that these are only for Mari’s eyes. I’ll leave it up to you to decide the details, Ruby, as to when, or even if, you want to share this with her. Be gentle; her will is as fierce as yours and her heart just as soft.
My dear sister, we have lived through the most heartrending times together. My deepest gratitude to you for the gifts you shared—not only with me but our entire family. You have all my love forever. Now, as to my instructions—
* * *
Matteo was motioning toward Ruby. Herd-like, the group had shifted toward the van. It was time to leave. Flinging her scarf across her shoulder, she strode toward the van.
“Signora Raines, if I may.” Matteo offered his hand to help her slide into her seat.
“Grazie, Matteo. Such exquisite manners.” Bestowing a radiant smile upon him, she slid her hand into his as she lifted her skirt, extended a long leg, and made her entrance into the touring van.
As Matteo smiled, Ruby lowered her eyes and inclined her head as Mr. Wyler had once suggested she do, making her entrance like a queen. The great director wasn’t known for giving much direction, so that guidance had made an impact. Usually, his instructions had been simple. Again, again. Or, Do better. Still, she adored him, and they’d grown close over the years.
Matteo held her hand and beamed.
Ruby smiled. She still had it.
After Matteo took the wheel, they started off. Ruby gazed from the window, delighting in the scenery. Oleanders, roses, and bougainvillea blossomed in profusion. On a small lane close to the lake, Matteo eased the van to a stop. Outside, a low stone wall covered in a jumble of jasmine and pink climbing roses partly obscured a tile-roofed villa from another era. Chiseled into the stone arch above the gate were the words, Villa Fiori.
Fiori. Flowers.
A villa of flowers. What could be more romantic?
A small, bright yellow sign tacked to the wooden gate caught her eye. Vendesi. Scribbled numbers beckoned to her.
Ruby’s skin tingled foresight, just as when that first spotlight had warmed her face. She leaned forward. “My dear Matteo, would you write down that telephone number for me?”
“That one needs a lot of work, Signora, but I’ll take a photo for you.” He gestured toward the phone in a sleek leopard case she carried. “Posso?”
“Grazie.”
Matteo pulled to the curb, and she handed him her phone. While he took photos, she craned her neck, trying to see more of the property. Stone walls. Tall windows. An overgrown garden. It was intriguing. But at her age, she reminded herself, it was only a dream.
Or was it?
The guide climbed into the van and handed her the phone. “Bellissima,” he said, touching his fingers to his lips. “Now you have beautiful photos to remember it by.”
Through the window, the sun shone warm on Ruby’s face. The van wound along the hillside, with the rhythm of the switchbacks lulling her to sleep.
* * *
1952…
Seated on the wide Spanish Steps near pots of purple bougainvillea, Ruby and Niccolò took turns practicing lines in their small scenes. Ruby was intrigued by how many different ways Niccolò could deliver his lines. He used voice inflections, facial expressions, and gestures to alter the tenor of his scene, often making her laugh.
After trying a few different approaches for her part, Ruby stopped and fanned herself with her script. She rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt another notch and loosened the scarf knotted at her neck.
“Hotter today than usual,” Niccolò said. “How about we get some gelato?”
“Sounds perfect.” Ruby pushed off the stone steps. Other people on set were taking a break, too.
Taking her hand, Niccolò led her along a busy cobblestone sidewalk. His grip was sure and confident. Holding hands seemed like the most natural thing to do, and his touch sent thrills through her.
As they passed small restaurants, a flurry of aromas jostled in the air—the scent of fresh bread, Italian herbs, and baked cheese. Ruby inhaled, savoring the intensity.
“How were you hired for Roman Holiday?” Ruby asked while they walked. She’d discovered that many cast members had worked together on other films.
“I answered a casting call,” Niccolò replied. “I acted in school, and my old teacher encouraged me to try out. She told me this was a big opportunity. How about you?”
“It was kind of a lark,” Ruby said. “My aunt lives in Los Angeles, and she knows a talent agent. On a whim, my mother sent some of my photographs. The agent liked them, so I took a train from Texas to meet him. Do you know, he sent me out for an audition the very next day?”