Fiona Hood-Stewart - Southern Belle

“Stop painting pictures in your head and get into the car, cara,” Gioconda urged, laughing, moving to the driver’s seat while the porter placed the bags in the back.

Elm smiled absently and climbed into the vehicle. Barbra Streisand’s “Memories” played on the CD deck. It was wonderfully appropriate. For a moment her eyes filled, and she leaned back against the soft leather seat, overwhelmed by emotion. Gioconda drove past the skating rink, where a group of young girls in bright, billowing ice-skating skirts twirled gracefully under the heavy flakes, like ballerinas in a music box. Elm swallowed hard, touched by how perfect it all was, how untainted and lovely and precious. Almost too good to be true.

Could seventeen years really have passed since she’d done figure eights on that same ice herself? And what had she achieved since then? she wondered. Then she pulled herself up with a jolt. It was pointless to get maudlin, as Aunt Frances would say. What mattered was that she was here now, almost as though she’d had to return to her beginnings to start all over again.

“I can’t wait to introduce you to everyone,” Gioconda was saying, bringing Elm back to the present. “There are several people already in town. A couple of old Roséens, Jim Talbot for one. Remember how fat he used to be?”

“No wonder. He lived at von Siebenthal’s bakery eating doughnuts, if I remember correctly.”

“Damn right. Anyway, he’s quite slim now.”

Elm shook her head. It all seemed part of another world and she felt suddenly ashamed that, barring Gio, she had not kept in touch with her old school pals.

“You’ll never believe me when I tell you who I saw the other evening.”

“Who?” Elm asked, grinning.

“Johnny Graney. Now, you remember him. You had a mega crush on him.”

Elm frowned, then nodded, laughing. “Of course I remember. Is he still as devastatingly handsome? I used to lurk around the basketball court during practice, hoping for a glimpse of that killer smile. Gosh, how silly we were in those days.”

“Deliciously, wonderfully silly,” Gioconda agreed, driving through the tunnel, then out at the roundabout and past the mölkerei—the local dairy.

“Gee, it’s still there,” Elm exclaimed, delighted to see so little had changed. “Are the yoghurts still as scrumptious?”

“Absolutely. You’ll have some for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

They turned right and drove on, up past the Park Hotel. A few meters later the car veered right again into a small side road and Elm could see Gioconda’s chalet twinkling through the layer of snow being swished rhythmically back and forth by the windshield wipers.

“I can’t believe it,” she exclaimed, a frisson coursing through her. “Everything looks exactly the same,” she marveled as they turned into the driveway and she was able to distinguish the chalet properly. “Do you remember all those wonderful weekends and vacations we used to spend here, Gio? It seems like only yesterday.”

“Don’t remind me,” Gio groaned dramatically, “I’ll be thirty-four next month. Can you imagine? Me? Positively ancient.”

“Rubbish,” Elm laughed, “You’re as gorgeous now, Contessa, as you’ve always been and you know it.”

“Bah! Non lo so. The men seem to think so, but I have a mirror. I’m seriously contemplating some of those injections I hear so much about.” Gioconda’s eyes twinkled. Then she shrugged as only Italians can shrug and sent Elm a mischievous grin. “But, anyway, you’ll be happy to know, cara, that the chalet only looks the same on the outside. I’ve redecorated the interior completely, thank God,” she added. “Remember those dreadful brown velvet chairs of my grandmother’s?”

“I do.” Elm grinned back, recalling Gioconda’s pithy comments at the time. At fifteen, Gio had already possessed a tremendous sense of style, she realized, amused. “What color are they now?”

“Mercifully they don’t exist anymore.” Gioconda gave a dramatic shudder. “I donated them to the Salvation Army. And frankly, darling, I’m not even sure they wanted them.” She pressed the automatic garage door, which opened immediately.

“Those doors always remind me of a spaceship,” Elm remarked, tilting her head dreamily. “Like in those movies where a spacecraft opens and you get zapped inside and—”

“Mamma mia. You haven’t changed in the slightest. Always that incredible imagination at work,” Gioconda exclaimed, laughing. “Still painting a lot, cara? I loved your last exhibition. And by the way, Franco and Gianni are still dying to do that exhibit in Florence we talked about.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Elm mused. All at once, a project that a few months ago had seemed a logistically impossible project struck her as challenging and exciting.

“Well, that’s a positive change,” Gio remarked, surprised. “The last time I mentioned it, you spurned the idea outright.”

“The last time you mentioned it, I was still living in La La Land,” Elm answered ruefully as the vehicle crawled into the garage.

“Ah, poverina,” Gio exclaimed sympathetically. “I suppose escaping into your fantasy world was the only way to bear that self-absorbed husband of yours. I’ll never understand why you married him,” she added, shaking her head, her well-cut, silky, shoulder-length black hair swinging elegantly.

“I guess it seemed a good idea at the time,” Elm replied with a noncommittal shrug. “But he won’t be my husband for much longer.”

“Thank God for that! When you told me you were leaving him and planning to get divorced, I made Umberto open a bottle of the vintage Crystal. We drank to your future and recalled all the good times.”

“Umberto! It’s amazing that he still works for you after all these years,” Elm smiled, fondly remembering the Mancini family butler.

“You bet. He still bosses everyone around and makes a general nuisance of himself. Nonno—you remember my grandfather?”

“Of course.”

“Well, Nonno offered to buy him a nice house in Umberto’s village in Sicily, and take care of him and his family.”

“And?”

“He was so insulted that the matter was never brought up again.”

Elm laughed. “I can believe that.”

“Frankly, I don’t know what Nonno would do without him. They still spend hours going over the defeat at Monte Cassino. They’re certain that if only they’d been the ones leading the Italian troops, history would have taken a different turn.” Gioconda parked neatly next to a shiny red Ferrari.

“Yours?” Elm quirked an amused brow in the direction of the car.

“But of course, bella. I haven’t changed. I’m still as extravagant as ever. Ah! There’s Maria.” Gio waved at the uniformed maid preparing to unload the car.

“Buona sera, signora.”

“Good evening.” Elm smiled back graciously, before following her friend up the carpeted steps.

At the top Gioconda pushed open the paneled wooden door and held it wide while Elm passed through.

“Benvenuto, cara. It’s wonderful to have you back.”

“It’s wonderful to be back,” Elm murmured, taking stock of the hall. “Wow, Gio, it’s totally different, perfectly divine,” she marveled, gazing appreciatively at the pine-paneled walls of the entrance, the regional antiques, the imaginative floral arrangements of wild flowers and berries. “That’s fantastic,” she exclaimed, enchanted, pointing to two heavy wax candles in wrought-iron stands flickering invitingly on an ancient wooden chest. “And that scent. I know that scent.” She stopped, closed her eyes and sniffed, breathing in the subtle mélange of cloves, pine and something deliciously mysterious. “It’s simply enchanting,” she murmured, delighted, fingers trailing lovingly over the polished wood, “Just lovely. Trust you to do a perfect job, Gio.”