Except, he soon realised, hehadseen it. It was the long blue dress she had been wearing when the Midnight Train had gone past La Zucca.
‘How do I look?’
Wilbur was in shock. But it wasn’t a terrible feeling. It was like, somehow, a shock of relief. ‘Like a miracle.’
She smiled, but then seemed a little concerned. ‘You all right, Wilbur? You seem a little dazed.’
‘I’m fine. I was on the bed and drifted off for a little while. I’m back now.’
He quickly got changed into his checked trousers and a polyester wide-collared shirt which he suddenly considered to be a little old-fashioned.
They walked to the restaurant through happy clusters of tourists and locals.
‘You in a rush?’ Maggie asked him with a little giggle as she struggled to keep up. ‘I don’t think we’re late.’
‘Sorry, Maggie … I’m just really excited to see the restaurant.’
When they were nearly there he told Maggie to go ahead andturn the last corner. He needed to test something out loud, to confirm he wasn’t going mad.
‘Can you see it?’ he asked her.
‘Ye-es.’
‘Is it limestone?’
‘I think so.’
‘With a plant growing up the walls? Does it have a wooden sign and is it perched at the bottom of the alleyway backing right over a little canal?’
‘Er … yes. How did you know that?’
‘There was just a very good description of it in the guidebook,’ he lied, knowing there was no description of it at all in there.
The Art of Belief
They entered the place.
There was noise and warmth and garlic.
Opera music could be heard softly in the background. An old mechanical fan whirred away on a reception desk. A smiling, moustachioed maître d’ in a black shirt greeted them both.
‘Buonasera.’
‘Buonasera,’ responded Wilbur, smiling apprehensively. ‘We have a reservation for eight p.m. The name is Wilbur Budd.’
The man checked inside the large leather-bound book and shook his head. But then: ‘Ah yes. Here you are.’
And they were led a little way into the dim-lit restaurant.
‘I like this place,’ Maggie told Wilbur with a small nod of approval as they sat down at a table beside the window.
He agreed. ‘Isn’t it amazing?’
It was a large menu. Probably about eighty dishes in total.
‘What is the bigoli?’ Maggie asked as the waiter returned to take their order, and Wilbur’s heart skipped a beat.
‘It is like spaghetti … but bigger than spaghetti.’
