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“So I could go into the dining hall and take one of everything on the menu and you wouldn’t charge me a single cent? Have I got that right?”
“Mr. Donatello was most insistent. We are to take the best possible care of you during your stay. You are his special guest.”
“So if I wanted your pen, you’d give it to me?”
He hands me a gold fountain pen. “It’s yours.”
I shake my head. “I’m only joking.” My cellphone rings in my handbag. “Hold on,” I say, rummaging for my phone. I find it at last, pressing it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Miss White. This is Alessandro Vermicelli. We spoke just now.”
“Yes, I remember. Did you get through to Marco?”
“There is a job waiting for you at a place he owns in the country. Could you get out there today?”
“How far is it from Chicago?”
“No more than half a day’s journey. Are you still at Carlo’s?”
“Yeah, I’m at the reception desk now.”
“Stay there and I will have a car sent to collect you.”
“That’s great. Thanks a lot. I really appreciate it.”
“Not at all. That’s my job.”
The line goes dead. I turn back to the concierge. “I think I’ll have lobster with caviar and foie gras on toast with a couple of pints of champagne.”
He looks at me, his mouth contorting as he tries to process what I just said.
“I’m only shitting you,” I tell him. “Any chance of bacon and eggs?”
“I suspect our chef may be able to handle a request of that nature.”
“Excellent. Through here is it?”
The dining hall I walk into is huge. All velvet curtains and huge glass windows. Each table has a red cloth over it. So many single candles burning it’s like a vigil for a murder victim.
A waiter with a mustache as sad as his eyes takes me to a table for one. “Bacon and eggs on their way,” he says in a French accent. “Do you wish for a drink, madam?”
“Coffee, black, please.”
“But of course.” He bows as he walks away backwards from me.
It doesn’t take long for the food to arrive. I dig in at once.
I get three quarters of the way through my meal before the concierge appears to tell me that my cab is waiting. I get to my feet, wiping my mouth with a napkin as I grab hold of my case. “Listen,” I say to him. “I’d love to tip you but…”
He shakes his head. “All taken care of, Miss White. You have a good day now.”
“Can’t possibly be as bad as yesterday,” I reply, walking through reception and out into the morning air.
The sun’s out. There’s not a cloud in the sky. The concierge shadows me, loading my case into the trunk before opening the cab door for me. “Thank you,” I say as I climb inside, digging out my ten dollars. “Please, take this. You’ve been really kind to me.”
He shakes his head. “You need it far more than I do, Miss White. Take care.”
He shuts the door, and we set off into the traffic. “Where we headed?” I ask the cabbie.
