The Villa

quickly and smoothly, to clear the ballroom for dancing. The terrace doors would be flung open at precisely the right minute and the orchestra set up there would begin to play. But not before the diva had been allowed her moment of adulation. She waited while Tereza and Eli presented the singer with roses, then signaled David, Helen and a few hand-chosen friends to add their congratulations and praise.
    As others followed suit, she nodded at the waiting staff. Then frowned when she saw her aunt Francesca still sitting, and obviously sound asleep. Sedated herself again, Pilar thought, winding her way through guests.
    "Don." She squeezed her cousin's arm, smiling an apology to the couple he'd been speaking with. "Your mother isn't well," she said quietly. "Could you help me take her to her room?"
    "Sure. I'm sorry, Pilar," he continued as they moved aside. "I should've kept a closer eye on her." He scanned the crowd, looking for his wife. "I thought Gina was with her."
    "It's all right. Zia Francesca?" Pilar leaned down, spoke quietly, soothingly in Italian as she and Don helped the woman to her feet.
    " Ma che vuoi?" She seemed dazed as she slapped at Pilar's hand. "Lasciame in pace."
    "We're just going to take you to bed, Mama." Don took a firmer grip. "You're tired."
    " Si, si ." She stopped struggling. " Vorrei del vino ."
    "You've already had enough wine," Don told her, but Pilar shook her head at him.
    "I'll bring you some, once you're in your room."
    "You're a good girl, Pilar." Docile as a lamb, Francesca shuffled out of the ballroom. "So much sweeter of nature than Gina. Don should have married you."
    "We're cousins, Zia Francesca," Pilar reminded her.
    "You are? Oh, of course. My mind is muddled. Traveling is very stressful."
    "I know. You'll feel better when you're in your nightgown and in bed."
    Mindful of the time, Pilar rang for a maid as soon as they'd carted Francesca to her room. Though she was sorry for it, she dumped the matter on Don and rushed back to take her place in the ballroom.
    "Problem?" Sophia asked her.
    "Aunt Francesca."
    "Ah, that's always fun. Well, having a priest in the family should help cancel out the odd drunk. Are we ready?"
    "We are." Pilar dimmed the lights. At the signal, the terrace doors were opened and music poured in. As Tereza and Eli led the first dance, Sophia slid an arm around her mother's waist.
    "Perfect. Wonderful job."
    "God bless us, everyone." She blew out a breath. "I could use a drink myself."
    "When this is over, we'll kill a bottle of champagne apiece. Right now"—she gave Pilar a little nudge—"dance."
    It looked like socializing, but it was work. Putting on the confident front, answering questions, some subtle, some not, on the situation from interested guests and the invited press. Expressing sorrow and outrage, both sincerely felt, while getting the intended message across.
    Giambelli-MacMillan was alive and well and making wine.
    "Sophia! Lovely, lovely event."
    "Thank you, Mrs. Elliot. I'm so glad you could attend."
    "Wouldn't have missed it. You know Blake and I are very active on behalf of the homeless. Our restaurant contributes generously to the shelters."
    And your restaurant, Sophia thought as she made appropriate noises, canceled its standing order on all Giambelli and MacMillan labels at the first sign of trouble. "Perhaps at some point your business and ours could work together on a fund-raiser. Food and wine, after all, the perfect marriage."
    "Mmm. Well."
    "You've known my family since before I was born." To establish intimacy, Pilar took the woman's arm, walked with her away from the music. "I hope you know how much we value that association, and that friendship."
    "Blake and I have nothing but the greatest respect for your grandmother, and for Eli. We couldn't be more sorry about your recent troubles."
    "When friends have troubles, they look to other friends for support."
    "On a personal level, you have it. But business is business, Sophia. We have to protect our clientele."
    "As do we. Giambelli stands by its product. Any of us at any time can be the victim of tampering and sabotage. If we, and those who do business with us, allow the perpetrators of that to win, it only opens others up to the same risk."
    "Be that as it may, Sophia, until we're assured the Giambelli label is clean, we can't and won't serve it. I'm sorry for it, and I'm impressed with the way you're handling your difficulties. Blake and I wouldn't be here tonight if we