Niccolò helped Ruby ease onto a swing suspended from wooden beams above a tiled patio. Laughter floated through the air as the last of the theater guests and cast members left the amphitheater on the hillside beneath them. A soft breeze from the lake lifted strands of hair from her forehead. With it was the earthy aroma of rich soil and ripening grapes.
“This is a beautiful location,” Ruby said as Niccolò sat beside her. “How did you come to find it?”
“It found me,” he replied. “It was my grandfather’s on my mother’s side. When he passed away—far too young—he left it to me. Guiseppe Sala. Thus, Sala-Mancini wines.” He showed her the label on the bottle. “He knew I would keep the property in the family, and he’d always dreamed of creating a theater among the vines. I don’t know if you recall, but he was the one who encouraged me to follow my passion for acting.”
Ruby lifted her glass. “And did you continue?”
“In Italy, yes,” he said. “Some in England, too, while I attended university. I discovered that I had more talent for producing films, so that’s what I did for many years. Still do, sometimes. But mostly, I watch the vines grow and plan the summer theater season. I leave acting to the young and ambitious.”
“That’s a lie,” Ruby said. “I saw you on stage.”
Niccolò chuckled. “Ah, yes. I thought it would be fun to reprise my role in Roman Holiday.”
Ruby swirled the wine in her glass. “I’ve watched it so many times that I know it by heart.”
“I remember our scene at the café where I saved your life from a runaway Vespa.” Niccolò touched her glass with his. “To those wonderful times. I wish they had never ended.”
“They didn’t have to.” For a moment, she hesitated in anticipation of the topic they were both avoiding, but when she saw the frown on his face, she forged ahead.
“What I don’t understand is why you never tried to reach me again,” Ruby said. “Even years later, you could have found me through my agent or publicist or any studio I’d worked for.” Hadn’t he been a little curious when she’d written that she was pregnant?
Niccolò covered her hand with his, which still felt as it had years ago. Maybe a little rougher, but just as warm and loving.
“But I did come for you,” he said. “Just as I’d promised.”
Ruby doubted that. “When?”
“In December of 1952. My grandfather gave me the money to travel. I’d written to you, telling you that I would arrive in December, but I never heard from you. Your letters just stopped coming.”
“So did yours,” Ruby shot back. “I only received two from you.” She still recalled every word of those letters—and how hurt she’d been when he didn’t write again.
“But I wrote many more to you,” he said, clearly confused.
Ruby had to ask. “Do you recall anything special in one of my letters?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Niccolò said. “I still have both the ones you sent.”
Ruby didn’t understand what could have happened to their correspondence. “In December, I was filming a western in New Mexico, Diary of a Pioneer Woman. After that, I went home to Texas.”
Niccolò frowned. “On the first of December, I went to your apartment in Hollywood and talked to your aunt, Vivienne.”
“Impossible.” Ruby’s pulse throbbed, and she took another sip of wine. Why would he lie about this? “Vivienne would have told me if you’d been there.”
Niccolò pressed her hand to his chest. “I can tell you everything about your aunt and the apartment. That blue couch where you slept. The porcelain roosters she collected. The pink petunias in the window boxes.”
“How…?” Ruby felt the blood draining from her face, and she searched for explanations. “Maybe you saw pictures in a fan magazine…”
“I went into the bathroom and saw a shampoo,” he said. “White porcelain, blue lid. Lustre-Crème.”
“That was a popular shampoo,” Ruby said weakly. “I even did a print ad for the brand.” Along with Lana Turner, Loretta Young, Maureen O’Hara, and so many other actresses.
Niccolò went on. “You’d left a yellow cotton scarf that you’d worn to Lake Como. I couldn’t resist; I took it because I wanted something of yours.” He sighed. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I thought I’d see you again and give it back to you.”
Ruby recalled asking her aunt for that scarf. Vivienne had hotly denied having it. “I thought I’d lost that scarf. It wasn’t worth much to anyone but us.”
Niccolò lifted a corner of his mouth. “If you want it back, it’s inside.”
Aunt Vivienne. Ruby felt her chest constrict with growing anger—though not at Niccolò.
“Vivienne told me you were filming out of town,” Niccolò said. “And I told her how much in love we were, and that I would wait for you. That seemed to make her angry. She told me that you never wanted to see me again. Vivienne said you thought you’d made a mistake, and you wanted to forget me.”
“Never,” Ruby cried.
Gently, Niccolò brushed her hair over her shoulder. “I refused to believe it, too. When I questioned Vivienne, she said she didn’t know when you’d be back, so I stayed at a nearby motel. For a week, I walked to the apartment every day and knocked on the door to see if you’d returned. And then, on Saturday morning, she was gone. The apartment was empty.”
Ruby drew her hands over her face. “By the time I finished filming, my aunt had moved. She’d told me that her landlord had kicked her out, and she needed more money for rent, so I gave it to her.”
“Vivienne never told me she was moving,” Niccolò said. “But I spoke to a neighbor who said she’d packed and left with no forwarding address. I even went to Paramount and talked someone into giving me your address, but it was the same one. I had no way of finding you.” Niccolò’s voice caught. “I was thoroughly devastated. I didn’t want to accept that you’d changed your mind, that you didn’t want to see me again, but finally, I had no choice.”
Ruby gazed up at him. “But my agent…”
“I thought of that, too, but I only knew him as Joseph. I couldn’t locate him,” Niccolò said. “And you never gave me your address in Texas. Anyway, by then, my money had run out, and I had to ask my grandfather for a return ticket to Rome. I was completely humiliated.” He leaned his head back. “For a long time, I didn’t want to live without you.”
His words struck Ruby’s heart, and she could hardly speak.
Ruby recalled that after she’d become successful, Vivienne had often asked for money, citing how she’d given her a place to live when Ruby had first arrived in Hollywood. Though Ruby gave her money, she had never forgotten how her aunt had cussed her out over the baby. She could still hear her words. Stupid girl! And then there was the Modern Screen disaster. In the end, Vivienne had died a broken, bitter woman.
Ruby gazed over the vineyards. Considering that Vivienne had left for California—also pregnant—when her boyfriend spurned her, Ruby could understand why she’d done it. Pure jealousy.