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“I must be getting old,” said Neil. “I haven’t the stamina for market day that I once had.”
“I know what you mean.” I turned, leaning against the bench, and found him watching me. The strong midday sun caught him full in the eyes, making them glow a strange iridescent blue before he narrowed them in reflex.
“How many pets do you have, back in England?”
I stared at hi
m. “Not a one. Why?”
“I just wondered. Animals do seem to follow you about, don’t they? First the cat, and now a snail.” Again the brief and tilting smile. “I’d have thought your house would be stuffed to the rafters with strays.”
I shook my head. “No, there’s only me.”
“I saw your cat last night, by the way, when I went for my walk. Quite an adventurous chap, isn’t he? He’d gone clear across the bridge to the other side of the river, the Quai Danton.”
I heard the hint of admiration in his tone, and glanced up sideways, struck by a sudden thought. “I don’t suppose you ever adopt strays, yourself…?”
Neil intercepted my look with knowing eyes. “Much as I’m sure your little friend would enjoy the train ride back to Austria, I’m afraid I couldn’t take him. My landlady doesn’t allow pets.”
I’d been tempted to take the cat home with me to England, only it wouldn’t be fair to put him through the quarantine. I thought of winter coming on, and sighed. “He ought to live in Rome,” I said. “They have whole colonies of cats there, running wild, with women to feed them.”
“That reminds me,” Neil said, shifting on the bench to dig one hand into the pocket of his jeans. “I’ve got a present for you.”
I blinked at him. “A what?”
“A present. I meant to give it to you at breakfast, but Garland trapped me at my table…” He dug deeper, frowning slightly. “Don’t tell me I’ve bloody lost it, after all that… no, there it is.” His face cleared, and he drew the whatever-it-was from his pocket.
It didn’t look like anything, at first—I only saw his hand stretched out toward me. And then his fingers moved, and a disc of bright metal glinted between them, and he dropped the coin into my upraised palm.
It was the size of a tuppence but twice as thick, with a gold-colored center surrounded by an outer ring of silver. Absently I rubbed my thumb across the bit of braille close to the coin’s edge. “It’s Italian,” I said, faintly puzzled.
“Yes, I know. Five hundred lire. Last night at dinner I sat next to a kindly old Italian gent,” he explained, “who found that for me in the pocket of his overcoat. He charged me rather more than the going rate of exchange, I think, but I simply couldn’t let the opportunity pass.”
“You mean you actually bought this from someone?” I stared down at the coin, feeling the weight of it, the warmth. “For me?”
“You said your father gave you coins to wish with every morning, when you lived in Italy.” He turned his mild gaze upon the dancing spray that veiled the three bronze Graces. “Different fountain, of course, but I thought if the coin were the proper currency, you might still get your wish.”
I was stunned that he’d remembered such a small thing, that he’d gone to so much trouble. My vision misting, I tucked my head down, mumbling thanks. The specter of my five-year-old self danced happily beside me. What should I wish for, Daddy? And again I heard his answer: Anything you want. Anything…
I hadn’t heard Neil move, and so the touch of his fingers on my face startled me. It was a light touch, warm and sure and faintly comforting, as if he had every right to tip my chin up, to fix me with those understanding eyes and brush his thumb across the curve of my cheekbone, wiping away the single tear that had spilled from my wet lashes. “It’s really not that difficult,” he said. “Believing.”
“Neil…”
“Whenever you’re ready.” His smile was strangely gentle. “It’ll keep.” His thumb trailed down my face to touch the corner of my mouth, and then he dropped his hand completely and the midnight eyes slid past me to the crowded market square. “There they are,” Neil said.
The boys had spotted us as well, but it took them a few minutes to push their way through. I was grateful for the delay. By the time they reached us, I was looking very nearly normal.
Paul’s hands were empty, tucked into the pockets of his bright red jacket, but Simon had evidently fallen victim to the vendors. “…and you can’t tear it or wear it out,” was his final proud pronouncement, as he held up a perfectly ordinary-looking chamois cloth to show us. “You should have seen it, Emily—the sales guy even set fire to it, and nothing happened.”
I agreed that was most impressive. “But what is it for?”
“Oh, lots of things,” Simon hedged, shoving the miracle cloth back into its bag.
Paul grinned. “He’s pathetic,” he told us. “He nearly bought a radiator brush, of all things. Every salesman’s dream, that’s Simon.”
“Mom and Dad have a radiator,” his brother defended himself.
“And I’m sure that’s what they’ve dreamed we’d bring them home from France—a radiator brush.” Paul’s voice was dry. “Have you still got my bread, by the way? I’ll need it to feed the ducks.”
