The Villa

reports came in. The recall was being implemented. And soon, bottle by bottle, the wine would be tested.
    She couldn't think about the cost, short- or long-term. That, she left in David's hands.
    When she needed to step back from the hype and spin, she stood at her office window and watched men with harrows work the earth. It would be a year of rare vintage, she promised herself.
    They only had to survive it.
    She jumped at the next ring of her phone, and buried the very real need to ignore it.
    "Sophia Giambelli."
    Ten minutes later she hung up, then released pent-up rage with a vicious stream of Italian curses.
    "Does that help?" Pilar asked as she stood by the doorway.
    "Not enough." Sophia pressed her fingers to her temples and wondered how best to handle this next stage of combat. "I'm glad you're here. Can you come in, sit down a minute."
    "Fifteen, actually. I've just finished up another tour." Pilar settled into a chair. "They're coming in droves. Curiosity seekers for the most part now. Some reporters, though that's down to a trickle since your press conference."
    "It's likely to build again. I just got off the phone with a producer of The Larry Mann Show."
    "Larry Mann." Pilar wrinkled her nose. "Trash television, at its worst. You aren't going to give them anything."
    "They've already got something. They've got Rene." Unable to sit still, Sophia shoved away from her desk. "She's going to tape a show tomorrow revealing family secrets, supposedly, telling the true story of Dad's death. We're invited to participate. They want either you or me, or both of us, on the show to give our side of it."
    "It won't do, Sophie. As satisfying as it might be to slap her back in public, it isn't the way. And that isn't the forum."
    "Why do you think I was cursing?" She snatched up her frog paperweight, passed it restlessly from hand to hand. "We'll take the high road and ignore her. But God, how I'd love to wrestle in the mud with that bitch. She's been giving interviews right and left, and she's good enough at them to do considerable damage. I've talked to both Aunt Helen and Uncle James about legal action."
    "Don't."
    "She can't be allowed to use the family, to slander." Sophia scowled down at the frog. His cheerfully silly face usually lightened her mood. "I can't get down and dirty with her, which is a crying shame. But I can slap her back legally."
    "Listen to me first," Pilar said, leaning forward. "I'm not being soft. I'm not being manipulated. Taking legal action, at least right now when we've so many other battles to fight, only gives some credence to her and what she's saying. I know your instincts are to fight, and mine are generally to retreat, but maybe, this time, we do neither. We just stand in place."
    "I've thought of that. I've thought of it from both angles. But when it comes down to it, you fight fire with fire."
    "Not always, honey. Sometimes you just drown it. We'll just drown her out, with good Giambelli wine."
    Sophia inhaled, exhaled slowly as she sat back. She set the paperweight down again, turning it around and around while she considered. Behind her, the fax beeped and whined, but she ignored it while she figured the angles.
    "That's good." Nodding, she looked at her mother again. "That's very good. Drown the flames with one good flood. We're going to have a party. Spring ball, black tie. How much time do you need to put it together?"
    To her credit Pilar only blinked. "Three weeks."
    "Good. Work up the guest list. Once we've got invitations out, I'll plant some items with reporters. Rene opts for trash, we'll opt for elegance."
     
    "A party?" Tyler raised his voice over the rumble of disking. "Ever hear of Nero and his fiddle?"
    "Rome's not burning. That's my point." Impatient, Sophia dragged him farther from the work. "Giambelli takes their responsibilities seriously, are cooperating with the authorities here and in Italy. Merda!" She swore as her cell phone rang. "Wait."
    She pulled the phone from her pocket. "Sophia Giambelli. Si. Va bene." With an absent signal to Ty she paced a few feet away.
    He stood, watched her move, issue what were undoubtedly orders in Italian.
    Around them, the disking progressed. The noisy, systematic turning of earth and cover crop. Warmth teased the vines to bud, even as the breeze that shivered down from the mountains promised a night of chills.
    In the middle of it all, in the center of the ageless cycle, was Sophia. The dynamo with the future at her