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My eyebrows pinch once he’s finished firing his jumble of foreign words at me. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian.’
‘The road. It finish,’ he tells me abruptly. ‘You walk now.’
‘Oh.’ I dive into my purse and pull out some euros. ‘Is it far?’
He holds up two fingers and takes the cash. ‘Two minute.’
‘Thank you.’ I get out of the cab, tugging my small case behind me. The air is quite close, the streets busy with tourists. Wandering down the pedestrian zone, my case bumping behind me, I want to glance up and around me to admire the old buildings that are closing me in on the narrow street, but my attention remains trained on the path before me, my concentration acute. Now I’m here, a few nerves are tickling, giving me a moment to pause to consider for the first time what Becker might say when he discovers that I’ve followed him. I hear a lot of swearing in my mind. And I see an angry face. I’ll take his wrath. There’s not much he can do about it now. It seems he’s contaminated me with his thrill-seeking ways. He can deal with it.
The street narrows further for a few hundred yards, and once I’ve bumped my way through the crowds, it opens up onto a square. My pace slows until I eventually grind to a stop, and my head drops back, my mouth open. The sight takes my breath away. ‘Oh my days,’ I whisper to myself, staring at the ancient building, which looks like it could have grown up from the ground. Goose bumps pitter-patter across the exposed skin of my arms, my hands reaching up to my shades and pulling them off. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful but eerie, the exterior magnificent but almost gloomy. It’s a beast of a building, standing proud and powerfully, dominating the piazza, looking almost too big for the space. The small buildings surrounding it look like dolls’ houses, tiny and dainty, and the people wandering around look like mere specks of dust in the shadow of the Pantheon. It’s the most powerful atmosphere I’ve ever experienced, the history that’s seeping from the stone of the structure tangible. I’m rendered paralysed by it.
‘Oh,’ I yelp as something collides with my back and I jolt forward abruptly, being snapped from my trance.
‘Scusa!’ A man takes my arm to steady me. ‘Mi dispiace, non ti ho visto.’
I let him ensure my stability before I reach up to my head, making sure my wig isn’t sliding down my face. ‘Excuse me,’ I say, for what reason I don’t know. He bumped into me.
‘Ah, English.’ He smiles, and I nod, gathering myself as he releases me. ‘Please, I’m sorry. It is quite busy.’ He indicates around us, where crowds of people are all taking pictures or just standing staring up at the beautiful landmark. ‘You are a tourist?’
‘I’m here on business,’ I say on impulse, backing away from him.
He tips his hat and passes me. ‘Good day.’
‘Good day,’ I reply, wandering further into the square, looking around at all the cafes with tables and chairs spilling onto the piazza. I find an empty seat at one of them and settle down, taking the time after I’ve ordered a coffee to go over my plan. It’s quite simple. I’m going to call him and tell him that I’m here. That’s it. But before I face Becker’s fury, I decide to have a few quiet moments to myself, sipping my coffee and absorbing the sight before me. And maybe to build up some courage. Lord, Dad, I bet you’re spinning in your grave.
I drag it out for far longer than I planned, but the company of the Pantheon is beyond spectacular, and not only that, my mind is racing with where on earth Becker will start with his search. The building is colossal. He could be here for months, turn the place upside down and inside-out, and still not find it. If it’s even here to be found.
I sit, relaxed and thinking, until the sun has disappeared beyond the buildings surrounding the old church and a shadow creeps across the square, making it seem more foreboding. More eerie. It’s getting late. I need to call him. Face the music.
I ask for the bill and reach into my bag to retrieve my purse, but after a good few seconds of feeling around, I can’t lay my hands on it. Cursing, I pull my bag up onto my lap and practically stick my face inside. I frown. No purse. ‘Oh no,’ I gasp, my mind giving me a replay of the scene earlier when a man, quite literally, knocked me out of my trance. ‘He stole my purse,’ I say to my bag, looking up and around, my eyes darting as if I might find the dirty little crook. I can’t believe I’ve been pick-pocketed. My whole body slumps into my chair. What am I going to do? I have no money, no cards. ‘Shit,’ I spit, looking over my shoulder to the cafe as I weigh up my options. It takes just a few seconds to figure out that I don’t have many. Well, just one, actually. Run. But just as I’m coming to terms with yet another crime I’m about to add to my ever-growing list of wrongs, something catches my attention and holds it.
