Villa Corno

Clean-shaven, Alistair leaned back in the sturdy rattan chair at the end of the table, put his hands behind his head, and looked out over Lake Como. At his left was a burly man wearing a Rolex. Jack Green.

Neither was particularly attractive as far as looks go. Jack was a bulldog of a man–square-jawed and with eyes that were always looking for the next meal. The locals' opinion of him had two flavours: they adored his money, and felt regular bewilderment regarding how one such as he, given the peculiarities of his habits, lack of etiquette, and spending choices, could have come to such vast wealth.

Alistair Patrick, on the other hand, with a tall frame made wiry by decades of marathon running, wasn’t the sort of person that people noticed at all. He had numbered companies. He was never in the news. He wasn’t married. And though he preferred function to ostentation, he did love that villa, and had barely missed the yearly gatherings until recently.

“Something’s different,” said Jack.

“My natural scowl has just been hidden by the beard all these years,” Alistair said, looking at him through wire-framed aviators.

“Could be,” said Jack and huffed a laugh. His big arms were on the teak table, and with narrowed eyes, he looked at Alistair and said, “You haven’t been out here in what, four, five years?”

“You’re right, man. Since the year Edith passed, I think?” Alistair said. He gave Jack an apologetic look and turned his palms skyward. “And then work, it’s just been–”

“I get it. I get it,” said Jack, swirling the red negroni in a crystal tumbler, ice cubes clinking, before taking a sip.

A spread of antipasto was on the table in front of them. Fruit trees across the village bloomed, and the early evening sun was high. Still, Alistair looked at his watch, a Casio, before reaching forward to fork a few pickled spears from the platter to the small white plate in front of him.

“The view here is insane,” Alistair said, “always has been.”

It was this sort of view, from where the men sat on the terrace, that drew the tourists. Carved limestone balustrades, potted lemon and tall cypress trees, steep green foothills, and the lake itself.

“Remember that first year here?” Jack asked. He cradled the tumbler with both hands.

“Vaguely,” said Alistair.

“I flew standby,” said Jack, laughing. Those days were long gone. The Green Phenom was known far and wide as Jack Green’s private jet.

“I know we all pitched in,” Alistair said. There had been a big group that year.

“Pitched in? Edie probably did everything,” Jack said. She always had. To secure the villa, Jack’s late wife Edith endured a great deal of bureaucracy. But Jack hated paperwork of any kind.

Jack knocked back the last of the negroni and arched a dark eyebrow to look for Gianna. She never seemed to be around when he needed her.

“Never been any hard feelings… with what went down with Edie?” said Jack.

A muscle ticked in Alistair’s jaw. He said, “We’re good.”

Two young men in colorful polo shirts appeared at the patio doors. Nicholas and Anthony Green. Back from college. Nick, in front, tripped on the threshold. Both young men laughed at this, exposing deep dimples and straight, white teeth. Anthony ducked under a clump of the last of the wisteria blooms.

“Hi, Dad,” said Nick, bending forward to right his flip flop. “Al. Hey. Almost didn’t recognize you,” Nick said and ticked a finger on his own cheek, signalling the missing beard. He then extended a hand.

Alistair stood, taking Nick’s hand and pulling him in for a light one-armed hug.

“Congratulations, my man, heard you’re one of us,” Alistair said. Nick had an upcoming graduation from their alma mater.

“Yep, heading back Wednesday,” Nick said.

“Oh?” said Alistair as he fist-bumped Anthony.

From his seat, and still facing the water, Jack said, “We’re all going. They’re giving him the Schele.”

Alistair’s brows shot up.

“Damn,” Alistair said, hands on his hips. “I guess you’ll be taking over from the old man soon.”

Nick said, “That’s the plan.”

“You’ve shot up,” Alistair said to Anthony. “I suppose you’re next.”

“I don’t know,” Anthony said. He hooked his thumb to the water and looking at his dad said, “Just gonna head out in the boat for a bit.”

“Alright,” Jack said, and the brothers, tanned and athletic, crossed the terrace. Then to Alistair he said, “Did you see the cruiser? I had an Aquarama restored.”

Anthony raised a hand and turned back to the two older men. He said, “My idea,” and gave them a cheery, dimpled smile. Bounding down the steps, he yelled, “It’s not a cruiser!” and then continued across the short, green grass.

“It’s a masterpiece,” said Alistair.

He’d seen it. The moment he arrived. The stone boathouse, a patchwork of flinty limestone blocks, was directly underneath the guest quarters–Alistair’s quarters. The mahogany speedboat was housed within, and just visible at the arched mouth of the grotto-like garage. Jack knew that Alistair was unlikely to ever own one.

Jack tapped the edge of the empty crystal tumbler with a finger before bracing himself on the arms of the chair to twist and look toward the terrace doors. He sat back in the chair.

“Great news about Nick though,” said Alistair.

“Gianna!” yelled Jack, tilting his head fully back, eyes flicking to the vines that twined through the pergola above them.

Just then, the sliding door behind them opened and Gianna, in a white apron, crossed the stone terrace. Her dark hair was in a low ponytail. She set down a fluted ceramic bowl veined with light brown crazing. Cold rice salad.

“Another,” Jack said, pointing to his empty glass with two fingers, and then pointed to his guest. “Al, you good?”

“No–yes,” Alistair said, waving his hand a little and shaking his head at Gianna, “I’m good.” But he leaned forward to take a sip of his spritz from a long straw, making eye contact with Gianna.

“Good,” Jack said, clapping his hands once, and readjusting in the chair. He looked up to Gianna with raised eyebrows. She hesitated.

“Go,” said Jack.

Gianna turned to walk back inside the villa, rolling her eyes out of sight of the two men.

They watched the water. The throaty chug of the motor sounded and moments later, Anthony and Nick took off in the gleaming wooden boat. Pairs of white waves ripped out behind them. Pockets of tourists and locals alike admired and envied every pass of the speedboat and the two young men.

Jack leaned forward, scooping a generous serving of the salad for himself. He gestured with the spoon. “You?”

Alistair again signaled polite refusal with a subtle motion of his hand.

“Listen,” Jack said, returning the spoon and leaving a trail of rice on the table. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

Alistair kept his eyes on the water and said nothing.

“When Edith and I started out,” said Jack, emphasizing the ‘I’. “You may have been misled about where the company was headed.” His head rocked on his wide neck from side to side like a seesaw as he spoke. “I guess I tricked a few of you.”

“Ancient history,” Alistair said quickly, sweeping a hand in front of him before again interlacing both hands behind his head and stretching out his long legs. He relaxed into the final warm rays of the sun.

“I mean, we had no idea it would lead to–” Jack motioned with a fork in his hand to their surroundings. “You’ve got to admit it was pretty clever though,” said Jack, as he shoveled rice salad into his mouth.

“That it was,” agreed Alistair, “very clever.” He turned slightly from the sun and nodded at Jack with the hint of a smile.

“I mean, I feel bad,” Jack said, chewing. “But I have to laugh when I think about how quickly you all signed in New York.” He laughed out loud.

Alistair laughed with him, as though mimicking his movements. A bit of pancetta from the salad had tumbled from Jack’s mouth to the table.

Jack looked directly at his guest as he laughed. Confusion wrinkled his wide face before he dug into the salad again, and continued. “I heard you all took your checks and blew them in Meatpacking.” At this he laughed heartily. Flecks of white, dark green, and pink were visible on his tongue and molars.

Wrenching the sliding door open with a foot, Gianna entered carrying the negroni in one hand, and a platter in the other. She set the drink down in front of Jack and the platter was placed between the two men. Sliced rolled porchetta, crispy, and fatty.

She raised her eyes to Alistair. “Vino?” she said.

“Sure, actually. Si,” Alistair said, and shifted from his lounged position in a swift movement.

Gianna grabbed the clear bottle from the silver wine cooler that was covered in dripping condensation.

“Grazie, Gianna,” said Alistair, holding the stem of the wine glass while she poured.

She smiled at him, maintaining eye contact as she wiped the neck of the bottle before returning it to the cooler.

“Take this,” Jack said, and flicked the plate in front of him. He continued, “Like I said, I feel bad when I think about how much you all lost. I knew you’d sell.”

Gianna paused at the threshold before reentering the villa.

Alistair was quiet for several minutes, but then he swirled his wine before taking a sip. He stayed facing Jack directly.

Grease pooled around the porchetta. Alistair leaned forward, pierced a thick slice and served his host, putting the meat on a plate in front of Jack.

“Yeah,” said Alistair, “the shares were sold to the other companies.”

“And then we went public,” said Jack, cutting into his porchetta. He chewed, looking up at Alistair. “Other companies?”

Alistair took a slice of the roast pork.

“We rolled the shares into a few companies, and a couple funds, over time,” said Alistair. “You signed off. But like you said, Edie probably did everything.”

“What?” said Jack.

“If you add it all up,” Alistair said, counting on his fingers, “I suppose my companies own all of your companies.”

At this, Jack laughed. “Good one,” he said.

“And all of this,” Alistair said, sighing and gesturing to their surroundings, “is mine too.”

The distinctive sound of the Aquarama rang through the air. Jack saw the colourful polos in the distance and looked at Alistair with a pang of recognition.

Cutting into the porchetta, Alistair said, “Them too.” Finally, he smiled wide, revealing deep, deep dimples.