I wondered if the horses would like it without oil and vinegar. "Sure will. Well

– "

"That your daughter?"

Bellarosa was looking over my shoulder, and I glanced back and saw Susan coming down the path. I turned back to Bellarosa.

"My wife."

"Yeah?" He watched Susan approaching. "I saw her riding a horse one day on my property."

"She sometimes rides horses."

He looked at me. "Hey, if she wants to ride around my place, it's okay. She probably rode there before I bought the place. I don't want any hard feelings. I got a couple hundred acres, and the horse shit is good for the soil. Right?" "It's excellent for roses."

Susan walked directly up to Frank Bellarosa and extended her hand. "I'm Susan Sutter. You must be our new neighbour."

Bellarosa hesitated a moment before taking her hand, and I guessed that men in his world did not shake hands with women. He said, "Frank Bellarosa." "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr Bellarosa. John told me he met you at the nursery a few weeks ago."

"Yeah."

Bellarosa maintained good eye contact, though I did see his eyes drop to Susan's legs for half a second. I wasn't altogether pleased that Susan hadn't put on her warm-up pants and that she was presenting herself to a total stranger in a tennis skirt that barely covered her crotch.

Susan said to Bellarosa, "You must forgive us for not calling on you, but we weren't certain if you were settled in and receiving."

Bellarosa seemed to ponder this a moment. This receiving business must have been giving him problems. Susan, I should point out, slips into her Lady Stanhope role when she wants to cause certain people to be uncomfortable. I don't know if this is defensive or offensive.

Bellarosa did not seem uncomfortable, though he seemed a little more tentative with Susan than he had been with me. Maybe Susan's legs were distracting him. He said to her, "I was just telling your husband I saw you riding on my place once or twice. No problem."

I thought he was about to mention the scatological side benefits to himself, but he just smiled at me. I did not return the smile. This was indeed a horse shit day, I thought.

Susan said to Mr Bellarosa, That's very good of you. I should point out, however, that it is local custom here to allow for equestrian right of way. You may mark specific bridle paths if you wish. However, if the hunt is ever reinstated, the horses will follow the dogs, who are, in turn, following the scent. You'll be notified."

Frank Bellarosa looked at Susan for a long moment, and neither of them blinked. Bellarosa then surprised me by saying in a cool tone, "I guess there's a lot I don't understand yet, Mrs Sutter."

I thought I should change the subject to something he did understand, so I held up the plastic bag. "Susan, Mr Bellarosa grew this lettuce – radicchio, it's called – in Alhambra's conservatory."

Susan glanced at the bag and turned back to Bellarosa. She said, "Oh, did you have that repaired? That's very nice."

"Yeah. The place is coming along."

"And these seedlings…" I added, indicating the tray on the ground, "vegetables for our garden."

"That's very thoughtful of you," Susan said.

Bellarosa smiled at Susan. "Your husband told me you eat flowers."

"No, sir, I eat thorns. Thank you for stopping by."

Bellarosa ignored the implied brush-off and turned to me. "What's your place called? It's got a name, right?"

"Yes," I replied. "Stanhope Hall."

"What's that mean?"

"Well… it's named after Susan's great-grandfather, Cyrus Stanhope. He built it."

"Yeah. You said that. Am I supposed to name my place?"

"It has a name," I said.

"Yeah, I know that. The real estate lady told me. Alhambra. That's how I get my mail. There's no house number. You believe that? But should I give the place a new name or what?"

Susan replied, "You may, if you wish. Some people do. Others keep the original name. Do you have a name in mind?"

Frank Bellarosa thought a moment, then shook his head. "Nah. Alhambra's okay for now. Sounds Spanish though. I'll think about it."

If we can be of any help with a name," Susan said, "do let us know." "Thanks. You think I should put up a sign with the name of the place? I see signs on some of the places. You guys don't have a sign." "It's entirely up to you," I assured our new neighbour. "But if you change the name, notify the post office."

"Yeah. Sure."

Susan added – baitingly, I thought, "Some people just put their own names out front. But others, especially if they have well-known names, don't." Bellarosa looked at her and smiled. He said, "I don't think it would be a good idea to put my name out front, do you, Mrs Sutter?"

"No, I don't, Mr Bellarosa."

Now I was getting uncomfortable. "Well," I said, "we'd better get back to our guests."

Bellarosa hesitated a moment, then said, "I'm having a little Easter thing tomorrow. Some friends, a little family. Nothing fancy. Traditional Italian Easter foods." He smiled. "I went to Brooklyn to get capozella. Lamb's head. But we got the rest of the lamb, too. About two o'clock. Okay?" I wasn't sure I'd heard him right about the lamb's head. I replied, "I'm afraid we've got another Easter thing to go to."

"Yeah? Well, see if you can drop by for ten minutes and I'll show you the place.

Have a drink. Okay?" He looked at Susan.

She replied, "We will certainly try to join you. But if we can't, have a very joyous and blessed Easter."

"Thanks." Bellarosa shut the trunk and went to his car door. "You mind if I drive around a little?"

Susan said, "Not at all. That's a rather long car to try to turn on this lane, so go on up to the main house and turn in the circle."

I knew if I wanted to annoy Susan I should tell Mr Bellarosa that the old homestead was up for sale, but I figured we had enough to talk about for one day.

Bellarosa looked at us over the top of his car, and we looked back. It was a contest, or maybe the first skirmish in the clash of cultures, I thought. Susan and I were both raised never to be rude to social inferiors unless they presented themselves to you as equals. Then you could massacre them. But Mr Frank Bellarosa was not trying to put on any airs or ask for honorary gentry status. He was what he was and he didn't care enough about us to pretend he was something else.

I was reminded of my first impression of him, of a conqueror, curious about the effete society he had just trampled, maybe a little amused by the inhabitants, and certainly monumentally unimpressed by a culture that couldn't defend itself against people like Frank Bellarosa. This, I would learn later, was an accurate first impression and was, as I discovered from the man himself, part of the Italian psyche. But at that moment, I was just glad he was leaving. I knew, of course, I would see him again, if not to eat lamb's head together on Easter, then some other time in the near future. But I did not know, nor could I have possibly guessed, to what extent we three would bring ruin and disaster on one another.

Bellarosa smiled at us, and I was struck again by that gentle mouth. He said bluntly, "I'm going to be a good neighbour. Don't worry. We'll get along." He ducked into his car and drove off up the sun-dappled lane. I handed Susan the bag of lettuce. "Oil and vinegar." I added, "You were a bit snooty."

"Me? How about you?" She asked, "Well, do you want to drop by for a quick lamb's ear or something?"

"I think not."

She stayed silent a moment, then said, "It just might be interesting."

I said, "Susan, you're strange."

She replied in a husky voice, "Yeah? Ya think so?" She laughed and turned back toward the tennis courts. I left the tray of seedlings on the ground and followed. "Do you think I should plant vegetables this year?" "You'd better." She laughed again. "This is bizarre."